Francis woke up to his cellphone's buzzing under his pillow. Yawning, he reached for it and stared at the unknown number calling. "This isn't a French number," he thought to himself when he finally answered it. "Francis?" came from the other end and Francis sighed in relief that it wasn't some kind of government agent like a tax-collector, since he wasn't too sure how stuff like that worked there in Britain. "Ah, good morning, Arthùr," he replied and sat up. "I found your note and wanted to apologize for any inconvenience," Arthur said with a tired voice. "Non-non-non, it's alright. I'll be over there in just a minute with your key." Francis stood up and stretched himself, enjoyable memories from last night flashing through his mind. Having put on his morning robe, he took the key from the small end table next to the door and went to unlock his neighbor's door bare-feet, wearing nothing other than boxers, a t-shirt and the robes he had just put on. When the click had sounded from the door-lock, Arthur immediately opened the door. "You've been up for long?" Francis asked, looking at him already dressed. "No, just woke up and thought I'd change from the clothes I slept in. Umm... to show my gratitude for not leaving me in the elevator... would you care to have breakfast with me?" Arthur asked a little awkwardly. "Sure, but you'll have to forgive me my dressing manners," Francis replied, smiling, after having stepped in. "Morning, Bosey," he scratched the dog, who was laying in front of the kitchen counter. "I don't have anything fancy, forgive me, we can make sandwiches and porridge," Arthur said apologetically when he was rummaging through the pantry and the fridge. "They'll do just fine. Want some help?" Francis offered his help which to Arthur declined, saying he's the one doing the thanking. "But I want to thank you for last night. I had a really great time," he insisted. "Haven't you heard that the British are a stubborn bunch of people? Now go on, make yourself at home," Arthur declined, laughing, and started to set the table, or rather, the counter. Francis had to accept his defeat and he started to walk around the apartment, finally managing to see it in daylight. He didn't know that all the flats looked the same, so it came as a surprise to him that it was built the same way his was. It was furbished nicely and different shades of black, white, gold and dark green had been made to contrast each other at nearly a master level. It was a modern pad, with few old objects commenting the surrounding. Francis noticed a colorful piano in one corner of the big room and asked: "Have you played the piano for long?" "For quite some time, yes," Arthur replied while stirring the porridge. "If you're wondering about the odd colors and pictures painted on it, then for your information I bought it from a children's charity auction. It sounds nice, though." Francis couldn't help but to smile when giving the piano a closer look. Although so weirdly different from the rest of the apartment, the position and look it had somehow worked with the rest. He noticed a few framed photos on the wall next to it and couldn't help but to smile even more. It wasn't a mystery who the small boy with the thick brows and messy golden hair behind a piano was and he guessed that the people on other pictures with the grand piano were his family. "You were a cute kid," Francis noted. "Yeah, what happened, right?" Arthur laughed. The Frenchman noticed that the door where he got the paper last night was closed and having been taught so, he knew that one should never enter closed doors in someone else's home unless the host himself allows it. Being polite like he always was, he ignored the door, although his curiosity was burning; he was so sure all the "delicious" info was in that room. About ten minutes later he joined Arthur to sit behind the kitchen counter. "You have a tidy and a lovely home," he said when spreading flavored butter over a piece of bread. "Thank you and same words to you too. You... probably drink coffee in the mornings, right?" Francis nodded, which to Arthur sighed. "I don't really like the stuff myself," he said while searching the drawers for a French press he had gotten years ago, "but I have the press and a bag of ground coffee in case I have visitors who like to drink it." Francis watched as he, awkwardly, tried to prepare it. A few long minutes later he poured him a cup, which the Frenchman gratefully accepted. Having taken a sip of it, he immediately regretted he hadn't take a cup of the breakfast tea Arthur had instead. It was unbelievably bitter and even though disgusting, he managed to swallow it and say it was good. "That bad, huh?" Arthur asked, a little disappointed in himself, having seen through his little play. He took the cup from his hands and poured it down the sink along with the rest of the coffee. "Here, try this," he gave him another cup filled with creamy liquid: English breakfast tea with milk. "It's delicious," he said for real this time, having sipped the drink. He knew that the British usually drank their tea with milk and at first he had been skeptical about it, but Arthur had proven him otherwise. Arthur's face was gleaming with content when Francis asked for another cup.
After finishing the nice breakfast, Francis helped Arthur clean up the table before leaving for his own home. Before he was out the door, Arthur stopped him. "Hey, it's Saturday, so I have nothing much to do, so... I thought that maybe you'd like to go around town a little? You know, so you'd see more of London and you'd know where to go and what to do," he said, scratching his head. "Besides, Bosey needs some exercise." Francis was happy Arthur had asked him to toggle along, so he didn't have to ask the already busy Brit himself. He accepted the offer with a smile and said he'd come back to his place in an hour. Closing the door behind him, he was glad that he had managed to befriend a good man such as Arthur was, who was appearing to be even more interesting than he had thought at first.