Chapter Text
𝐹𝒶𝒾𝓈-𝓁𝑒, 𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒜𝓇𝓉𝒽𝓊𝓇,
The house was almost silent, only the sound of the oven and a rustling newspaper filled the large, open house. The intricate tiled flooring is warmed by the setting sunlight streaking in through the large windows. It's a warm spring day in France, a slight breeze coming through a slightly open window by the breakfast table in the large living room. Francis is in the connected kitchen, sighing as he waits for the oven.
Francis leaned on the kitchen doorway, staring at the man on his couch, the man's legs crossed and a newspaper in his hands. Francis smiled, it had become a regular sight for Francis. Arthur would come over late at night, oftentimes drunk, and stay the night. Sometimes, if he didn't have any important meetings or work to do, Arthur would stay the day; multiple days. Francis found it funny, this was the same man who refused to marry him, and yet they basically lived together. Francis was sure that Arthur hadn't realized his own hypocrisy, otherwise he would have already gotten flustered and stopped staying over. Which only made it cuter for Francis.
The oven's ding snapped Francis out of his thoughts. He stood up straight, moving to the oven and placing on an oven mitt before taking out the food from the oven. He placed the dish on the counter, getting two plates and serving the food. "Arthur~" Francis said in a sing song tone, placing the plates on his breakfast table. He just about scowls when Arthur doesn't respond.
He walks over to the couch, placing his hands on the back before leaning over and kissing the top of Arthur's head. he instantly flinched, turning to look at him, "Hey! what the hell are you doing?!". He folded the newspaper up as Francis stood up straight, crossing his arms. "You're the one ignoring me, come on, dinner is ready." He huffed, walking to the table. Arthur scowled, standing up and walking alongside him.
Arthur looked down at the food, humming in interest, "Whats this?" he asked. "Chicken cordon bleu" Francis smiled, clearly proud of his work; Arthur gleamed as he tasted it, Francis began to eat too, seeming content that Arthur liked it.
After a while of mostly silent eating Francis decided to speak up—he loved seeing Arthur flushed, and he knew this would be an easy way to see it— "Mon ami, may I ask you something?" he placed his elbow on the table, his chin in his palm. A small bouquet of flowers placed in a vase sat between them, the purple and green flowers seemed to glow in the sunlight. "Hm? sure." Arthur wiped his mouth on a napkin, sitting up straight. Francis watched him, a familiar feeling of fondness in his chest.
"You seem to be coming to my house a lot lately. Isn't it a bit of a travel for you?" Francis hummed, watching Arthur already tense up. "Not since 1994" Arthur replied, almost too quickly, it made Francis squint. "I don't believe you're taking the Eurotunnel every time you come over."
Arthur huffed, crossing his arms "Why not?"
Francis sat up straight again, "Because it's like a 2 hour travel time." Francis smiled as Arthur clearly started getting annoyed. "No, it's a 35 minute trip, it's 2 hours when you go through customs and shuttles."
Francis chuckled, "Right, and you get a free pass for customs?"
Arthur furrowed his brows, tensing up, "Well in fact I do!"
Francis went back to eating when he saw the slightest blush creep up to Arthur's cheek, "Fine, you take le tunnel sous la Manche."
Arthur grinned, "Chunnel."
Francis looked up at him, annoyed, "le tunnel sous la Manche."
"Chunnel."
Francis huffed, "I'm not calling it your deranged British tabloid colloquialism lingo." Arthur had a grin on his face as they both went back to eating.
Afterwards, Francis took both the plates to the kitchen, coming back with two glasses and wine. The two of them walked to the couch, side by side as they talked idly about anything they wanted. They sat down on the couch, their knee's touching as Francis poured their glasses.
Arthur took a sip as Francis rattled on about the wine, turning it in his cup as he relaxed.
Francis watched Arthur with a soft smile as he tasted the wine, "Hm You're right, it's almost floral", he took another sip as Francis relished in the feeling of having Arthur share his interests, of course, it happened often because Francis had amazing taste.
They talked for about two hours, or until the bottle emptied. Francis wanted to bring up him traveling all the way here again... it had to stir something in Arthur, it was almost insane how often he was traveling here now. It makes sense for Italy and Germany to be together, they practically live together, but these recent visits from Arthur seemed almost like he had some kind of recent revelation... it made Francis wonder.
"So, you seriously take Eurotunnel to Calais and then another god knows how long to Paris?" Francis asked, leaning on the back of the couch. Arthur seemed to tense up the topic again. "God is this all you've got on your mind?" he crossed his arms, and Francis just chuckled "What would you prefer I have my mind on?". Arthur looked away, crossing his arms, "Yes I take the trip."
Francis leaned closer to Arthur, who didn't back off. "Do you really want to see me that bad, or do you just not have any other friends?"
Arthur blushed at that, already embarrassed "You twit! its not like that at all!" He moved back on the couch, tensing up. Francis moved up again, "Then what is it?"
Arthur looked away "It's-" he stammered for a second, Francis knew the look on his face, it was that look like he was trying to decide between opening up for once and continuing to be the hard headed, pissed off, brit asshole he always was. He'd only seen it a handful of times before, mostly while Arthur was still growing up.
"I just.." Arthur gulped, maybe it was the three glasses of wine that he had but for some reason he wanted to be more truthful.
Arthur closed his eyes, looking away. "Okay fine! I like your cooking a lot!"
Francis blinked, his smile falling, and here he was thinking they were getting somewhere. "Seriously?"
"Yes! I admit it, your food is better than what I can cook!" Arthur seemed genuinely upset at having to accept this out loud. Francis sighed, putting a hand on Arthur's head, which he immediately looked pissed at, but didn't swat away. "Oh you poor thing, not having any good food in your sad rainy country, no wonder you relish coming here!" Francis spoke in a dramatic tone, petting Arthur. "Oh quiet! I never said that! I said I like your cooking!" Arthur finally swatted his hand away, bringing his legs up to the couch. Francis laughed "Yeah! you said I cook better than you!"
Arthur scoffed, pushing him away lightly "This is nonsense, I never said the British Empire doesn't have great food!" Francis put an arm around him, smirking "Mon ami, you are the British Empire, and you said my cooking is better!" Arthur pushed his face away "Shut it, twat! We both know thats not how this works!"
The arguing and laughing faded out for another hour, the sun long gone and the only light came from candles all around Francis' house and a warm lamp turned on in the foyer. The two of them had begun talked in hushed tones and yawning, a good sign they needed to sleep. Francis stood up, stretching—his loose button up rode up slightly at the action, and he didn't miss how Arthur's gaze lingered longer than it needed to. "Will you sleep in my guest bedroom again, or want to cuddle up with me tonight?" Francis asked, he meant it as a joke but the way Arthur looked up at him in surprise told him Arthur hadn't taken it as such.
"Really, you're this lonely?" Arthur stood up as well, scratching his neck with a small teasing smile. Francis rolled his eyes, "Lonely? hardly. Though I'm sure it's hard for you to be lonely with your imaginary friends." Arthur scowled, rattling on about how they weren't fake or imaginary, it's just that nobody else could see them! Francis found it almost endearing.
The two of them made it up the stairs by the foyer, the wood steps creaking lightly under the both of them as the warm lighting illuminated their movements, still talking in hushed tones. Francis stopped in front of his bedroom, looking at Arthur. "Goodnight, Arthur."
Arthur seemed to blink, almost surprised that they were here already. "Oh, right. Goodnight" He spoke almost stiffly. Francis frowned, taking his sleeve before he could walk off to the guest bedroom. "Are you going to be here tomorrow morning?" Francis watched his eyes in the dim hallway light, He seemed to everywhere but at him. It almost hurt, Francis used to love watching his green eyes; How they darted away when he held eye contact for a second to long, how they widened when he got excited, or crinkled when he smiled.. now they only ever seemed to meet each others gaze by accident.
"Tomorrow morning? Sure I will be, but I have a meeting with my boss at noon, so I should be off early." Arthur let Francis hold his sleeve, looking down at the contact briefly before looking back at.. seemingly anywhere but Francis. Francis huffed, letting go, "Fine then. Goodnight mon ami." Francis entered his bedroom, closing the door behind himself. Arthur stared for a second, his eyes tracing the wood pattern down to the door knob. He shook his head, walking off down the hall into the guest bedroom.
Francis' room was grand—with careful attention to not be TOO grandiose, in the case that.. well—it was about the same size of the living room. There was a king sized bed in the middle, purple and pink silk sheets with two nightstands to the side of the bed. his room had a large dresser, a desk, and two doors to the side. One of the doors was the equally as dramatic bathroom, and the other a walk in closet. On the other end of the room was a balcony, the doors already open and blowing the light sheer curtains in the room with the night breeze.
Francis sighed, lying down on his bed. If he hadn't know any better he would assume Arthur was being intentionally dense. Was he seriously coming all the way here for food? It was a cute thought to think about, but the more Francis did just that, the more disappointed he got. Sure he was flattered but..
He placed his hands on his face, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. He walked to the bathroom with a grumble, starting his nightly routine. Why in the world has he been getting so clingy? It must just be the frequent visits from Arthur. Francis undressed, then stepped into the shower. No, even in the past when they saw each other every day on the battlefield he wasn't this caught up on every action. It was almost embarrassing to be hopelessly in love with a bastard like him.
Francis stared at himself in the mirror when he stepped out of the hot shower, his hat dripping as it already started to coil right back up into his waves. He wasn't sure how much more of this aloof English Empire he could take. He really did want to grab him by the collar and kiss him, but thats no look for the country of love. He needed to make him realize it too.
Another thought came into his head. A devastating thought that quickly consumed everything else. What if he really wasn't interested? Maybe he's not aloof to his own feelings, maybe he really doesn't have any. Francis tired to ignore that, brushing his teeth and combing out his hair with some product. What if he's really just here for food? Francis shook his head, hanging up the towel and changing into a robe before making his way to the closet.
Francis wasn't sure what to call Arthur, he would hardy call him a friend, but he's not quite an enemy anymore. They were in this grey area where Francis wanted to get in his pants and...
Francis' hands quickly moved to put on his boxers.
What did Arthur think of him at all? He wasn't even sure. Legally they were allies, but that hardly meant anything these days.
Francis finished putting on his sleepwear, walking back to his bed with a groan. He laid down, staring up at the ceiling. He had come to a conclusion, he was sure Arthur felt the same, or at least liked him, Francis just needed to help him see it.
He got comfortable in bed, looking at the slightly open balcony door as he drifted to sleep. His big bed felt lonely for the first time in a while.