For the first time in many months Francis was just sitting in his apartment with nothing to do. Usually he'd spend most of his free time with Arthur, but since he was out of town because of some work, that was out of the question. He looked at Bosey laze in the middle of the open flat; the Brit had asked him to look after it until he got back. "Bosey?" he cautiously asked because it had been lying still for a good few hours now. The bulldog grunted and tossed itself to its other side. "I should have known by now," Francis sighed and leaned his head back against the big armchair. He wasn't in the mood to do anything. In fact, he was very bored. All he could think of was what he'd usually do at that time of day: he would be sitting at a diner with Arthur, having lunch during his friend's break and chatting of meaningless things. Francis liked that sort of thing - just simply being with someone who you didn't have to swoop off their legs. The more he sat there the more he thought of his friend and what they did together, until with an annoyed sigh he stood up and went for the kitchen. Grabbing the apron from a hook, he tied it around him and checked the pantry. Whenever Francis was moody - irritated, angry, sad or lonely - he would bake soufflés. Soufflés took calm nerve and a lot of patience to make, so he thought baking them was the best way to take his mind off troubling things. He wasn't too sure about what was the exact reason, though. "Maybe I'm just bored," he thought while rubbing his forehead after having got everything he needed.
It wasn't until the doorbell suddenly rang when Francis stopped baking and looked at his work. "Seven?" he said curiously when he counted the soufflés. Usually it would help when he baked one or two, but even now he still wasn't satisfied. Still a little irritated, he went to open the door. "Hola, Francis!" It was Antonio who had come to visit him. Francis invited the Spaniard in and after he had rid himself of his coat and boots, he lazily sat on the couch, stretching himself. "What are you doing in London, mon ami? Where's Gilbert?" the Frenchman curiously asked when he had made some coffee. "Gilbert's visiting his brother and I'm here on business," Antonio answered after taking a sip from the steaming cup. He spotted Francis still wearing an apron. "Baking soufflés?" His friend nodded. "How many?" he asked, kicking back on the sofa. "Seven," Francis answered and sighed. Surprised, Antonio sat back up again. "Seven?" he repeated and looked at his friend, a little worried. "What's bugging you, Francis?" The man in question shook his head. "I don't know." His friend traced what Francis was looking at - Bosey was sleeping in front of the door and after a moment of thought, Antonio's face spread into a wide grin. "Is it king Artie?" he asked, suggestively. Francis only furrowed his brow and hesitated before answering. "I..." he began, but shook his head as if in doubt of his own words. "I don't know," he finally answered and went back to the kitchen. Antonio followed, grinning.
"Are you sure?" he drawled, knowingly. He wouldn't mind if Francis had some sort of romantic feelings towards Arthur. Although the Frenchman was a known heartbreaker, he had never been in love with anyone. Sure, there have been the occasional falling in love with someone beautiful, but the first impression has always been deleted for him after having gotten to bed with the girl. Even though the trio might not seem like it, they really cared about each other's well-being. Antonio wished Francis to be as happy and carefree as he was before, but if he truly had some hidden feelings towards their new friend, the Brit, he would like Francis to be clear about his feelings. ... That and if it all were to be true, he would win a hefty bet he had made with Gilbert.
Francis gave him a questioning glare. "Why do you ask me all of these things?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Have you two said something to him again?" he demanded, taking a threatening step forward, but Antonio wasn't swayed by that. "Please, Francis, be reasonable. You know I would never get between you and your love life. Sex life maybe, but love? That's on a whole new level," Antonio answered laughingly, still wearing that irritatingly smug grin. Francis was taken aback from this sudden answer. "Love?" he asked, almost as if throwing the word over and over in his mind. He gave his friend a serious look and asked, hesitatingly: "You mean... me? Love Arthùr? Or he..." He trailed off and turned his back to his friend. Inside he was torn apart. He had never really doubted his unromantic feelings towards the Brit, even though there has been a weird factor swaying over his mind when thinking of him lately. Could it really be something like that?
"Non." "No? What do you-" Antonio's question was interrupted by a punch thrown right into his face by Francis. "It isn't like that! It can't be! Stop saying such stupid things!" the Frenchman yelled, frustrated. Antonio held his nose and squealed: "I think you broke something, you fucking idiot!" He was losing his patience with his friend. "You can be so dense!" he screamed back at him, blood dripping from his nostrils. "What?!" Francis hissed, a murderous look playing in his eyes. "Yes, dense, you moron! If only you could see as I do how happy you are when he spends time with us! Oh, and not to mention the lusty looks you subconsciously give him!" Antonio yelled. "What are you saying, I do not-" "Oh yes, yes you do! Subconsciously! You yourself, your mind doesn't- you don't even know you're doing it, but your heart does! I have no idea how Arthur sees you since I can never understand what the guy thinks or feels, but it is clear as day to me that you have a thing for him!" Francis looked at him, gloomily. "I am not attracted towards men, you know that," he said, his voice quieter than before, but still pretty loud. "But you have to admit there is something more than just friendship you feel against him! Bromance or whatever, but it's there! Something is there, deep inside of you, and if you only wasn't that ignorant, maybe you'd know what it was! Alright, maybe it's not quite love, maybe you're just interested in him more than you usually are of people, but still!" the Spaniard wouldn't quit. Francis smiled victoriously. "Exactly," he said, now perfectly calm. "I'm just interested in him and because he's the only normal and interesting person I know in London, I spend a lot of time with him! Nothing else," he added, as if reassurance to himself. Antonio threw his hands into the air in defeat, because he had had enough of arguing with his friend. "Whatever, just... Just drive me to the hospital, god damn it, you broke my nose," he grunted.
A few days later Arthur finally got back and stopped by Francis' flat to get Bosey back. Before going back to his apartment, he turned to his friend. "Hey, Francis, it's been a while, want to hit the pub tonight?" Francis hesitated before answering. Sighing, he finally said: "Pardon, Arthùr, I can't come over in a while now. I... I have a lot of work to do. I'm sorry." "O-oh, no, it's okay, you don't have to apologize," the Brit said, wished him a good night and left with his dog. Francis cursed himself after having locked the door. "He probably had waited all this time for us to go somewhere again," he thought to himself. It pained him how hurt his friend had looked, even though he had tried to hide it. Sad, he went to the kitchen and grabbed his apron from the hook.