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“Alright everyone! That’s all for today’s world meeting!” Alfred exclaimed at the rest of the conference attendees. Francis was confused the whole meeting. Like usual, nothing was discussed and only arguments happened, but also, Arthur didn’t arrive at all. Of course, like any rival, Francis worried about his poor Englishmen. He hadn’t heard or seen Arthur in a little bit, nor had he bothered Francis.
You might be wondering why Francis is so worried about Arthur. Well, the last time this sort of thing happened —not hearing from him in days, Arthur was in a great depression in England, so poor and weak that Alfred had to write a check for him; At least that’s what Alfred told him. Arthur was embarrassed about it since he was poor and Alfred selflessly helped him out, and Arthur is definitely the type to not want anyone’s help.
Francis couldn’t think of any reason why he wouldn’t have come to the meeting. Maybe he was still mad at him for their argument a few weeks ago? but Arthur doesn’t really hold grudges against their fights. Or at least he thinks he doesn’t. It was a weird situation. Francis hated how he was worrying about Arthur, he knew he probably hated him a lot more than Francis did.
Francis waltzed out the meeting room, holding a suitcase of sorts for his flight back home. He tried not to think about the stupid Englishman, but he couldn’t help but be anxious. Francis sighed.
He was going to get to the bottom of this. Whether he liked it or not. No, whether he wanted to or not.
~~~
Francis played with the telephone line while dialing Arthur’s assistant. Arthur made him call his assistant first since he always tried to prank call Arthur in “important meetings.” It was a stupid rule, but one he was willing to listen to. Francis’ telephone wasn’t like a cell phone at all, he still preferred the old phone with the wire where you could take the phone into the kitchen, the long wire. His black polished phone was one of his favorite things in his house. The call picked up, and he was met with Arthur’s assistant named Elizabeth Waite. She sounded like a young woman, maybe in her late twenties, though Francis had never met her in person.
“Hello, you have reached the Parliament.”
“Hello Ms. Waite.”
“Oh, Mr. Bonnefoy! How are you? What is your reason for calling?”
Francis sighed as she asked why he was calling and replied dramatically, “Well, I was wondering how Mr. Kirkland was doing? He surprisingly hasn’t bothered me in a long minute.”
“…I have to say that, I haven’t seen him…” Francis stood shocked at those words. What does she mean she hasn’t seen him? Isn’t she his assistant?
“What?”
“He hasn’t come to work in a week…I thought he was doing that paperwork he told me about.” In a week? Arthur is a workaholic! He loves working! Or he probably is.
After a few minutes of talking, Francis let Elizabeth go, subtly telling her not to tell Arthur he called. Just in case. He placed the phone down, scratching his forehead. Arthur hasn’t gone to work in a week, even his assistant hasn’t heard from him. The only possible thing he could do was find Arthur himself.
“Yes, Monsieur Bonnefoy? Is there anything you need?”
“Préparez mon avion, s’il vous plaît.” He said in French, with a rather intense tone.
~~~
Francis was here at the Englishmen’s house. A small quaint building painted with a depressing gray is where Arthur lived. Fitting. Francis had been invited to Arthur’s house before for a New Year’s party once, and he, of course, memorized where his rival lived.
Knock knock.
Arthur, open the door. Open it.
“Arthur, it’s me. Open the door…” Francis said out loud, his hand knocking on the door.
I am not opening the door for you, frog! Is what that Englishmen probably would have said. Is he…not home? Francis’ knocks got more and more frequent, and he finally tries the door and— he didn’t hear a peep from a lock. “…It was open the whole time.” he mumbled to himself.
Francis peeked the door open, surprised it didn’t make a single sound. Not even a creak. Francis half expected to find Arthur dead whether that be literally, or because he drank so much alcohol again. Either way, he found some things had changed since he had last been here. He traced his hand gently on the dresser right next to the door, which had a tray that contained keys, and an umbrella holder below it. Pretty classy for an English “gentleman.” It smelled like old wood and some sort of cologne, it reminded him of Arthur.
He was hoping to look around more, but he heard rustling. Sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen. Francis sighed as he made his way down the hall, and was met with more quiet rustling. A rat made its way in there, perhaps? Or maybe it was Arthur cooking up a nightmare of terrible tasting food.
Francis waited outside the kitchen, peeking his head in. He found a half tired blonde Englishman making some sort of evil soup. It seems Francis’ second idea was right. “Arthur.” He sighed, the latter jumping up. “Fr-Francis..?! W…what..are you…How did you…!” Arthur dropped the blanket that he had over himself. Francis smiled, “Your door was open.” Francis also noticed that he looked really pale.
“Why, you look like you saw a ghost! Are you that surprised to see me, mon ami?”
“N-no, I have been kinda pale for a while.” Arthur grumbled in response, turning to look at the evil concoction he was making. He ignored Francis’ nickname.
“…Everybody’s been worried about you, they say you haven’t come to work in a week!” Francis laughed harshly, but it wasn’t genuine. He was trying to lighten up the mood.
Arthur turned to look at Francis, his expression unclear. “I think I am very sick. I was trying to make soup for myself but…I can’t really see all that well.”
“Think. You THINK you are sick?” Francis replied dramatically, rolling his eyes, but his sight fell on Arthur’s expression. “…I mean, sorry I should probably be nicer.” He corrected quickly. “Um—I guess, I can make you some soup?” He offered, but the other man shook his head.
However, Francis wasn’t giving up. He began itching closer to him. “Go to your bed.” He insisted with a slight grin. Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Francis, I-I-I’m fine, okay, I dont need you—“
“Arthur.” Francis interrupted, grabbing hold of the pale man’s hand. Arthur froze, surprised, and his ears turned a bit red. “Let me take care of you, Angleterre.” He felt Arthur’s shaky shoulders as he held his hand. Francis had the urge to intertwine his fingers into his rival’s hand, but he didn’t follow through with his thought. He didn’t wait for a response and led the weak Englishman out of the kitchen. He pretended not to hear Arthur cuss under his breath.
“Where is your bedroom?” Francis asked. Arthur slowly pointed down the hall and Francis quickly stepped down with Arthur close behind. “How did you get so sick?” The Frenchman asked quietly. “I was trying to do a spell on…well, someone, but it went to me instead. Then I woke up the next day like a…weak little thing.” He explained, grumbling as he spoke. “Of course you are still doing little magic stuff. I think I have an idea of who you were trying to put that spell on, non?” Arthur didn’t reply.
When Francis reached his room, he tried not to act surprised since it is his first time in Arthur’s room. Or at least in this house. Arthur had lived in apartments, forts, and he recalled Arthur living in a mansion at one point. But it seemed he had a soft spot for cozy little places where normal people would live. Places where humans could live.
“Here, your bed.” Francis guided, letting Arthur go by himself. Francis glanced around subtly, noticing Arthur’s red leather jacket he wore in the 80’s and 90’s hanging on his door. God, did Francis love that jacket. He found his rival a bit more attractive during that time, he was more into punk aesthetics, and Francis found Arthur’s energy very appealing at the time. But he hadn’t seen him ever wear that jacket again since. He wished he hadn’t lied and made fun of it. Maybe he still wore it out sometimes, based on the fact it was on his door.
Francis turned back to Arthur, who sat idly in his bed. He stood above him, staring down at him with a gentle expression. “What soup do you want me to make?” He asked. “I-I don’t really care. Just whatever you want.” Arthur answered, avoiding eye contact. “Sure. Do you need me to get you any medicine?” Francis asked before leaving the room. Arthur mumbled some medication names begrudgingly.
Francis loves being domestic for Arthur.
~~~
I can’t believe Francis is in my house.
That is what Arthur thought when he saw Francis in his kitchen when he was trying to make some random soup he found online. He should have made sure the door was locked. Well, he is here anyway. He thought, then sighed.
A few days ago, Arthur was cleaning his boxes out in the attic. He opened a small brown box and found a big black book with a wand of sorts. When he flipped through the pages, he found it was a magic book, one that he had since possibly childhood. The last time he used it was during World War II, and he remembered how fond he was of magic and related stories. He had an argument with Francis a couple days before, and had an idea to test if he still was good at magic. Arthur performed a spell, he didn’t remember what it was called, but it seemed the curse went to him instead of that frog, and when magic hits you back, it apparently makes you very pathetic and sick. Arthur forgot about that of course, how is he supposed to remember something he did over 70 or 60 years ago?
So now, Arthur has a terrible headache, is dizzy 24/7, and he is also weak. He couldn’t even get out of bed a few times. He had only eaten some leftovers he had over the days he was sick, and today he was finally making some soup for himself until Francis invited himself in. It was annoying, really.
Interrupting his thoughts, Francis entered, with a medium-sized bowl of soup. Arthur wasn’t sure what soup it was, but steam was coming out from the top.
“Do you need a tray?” Was the first thing the pervert said. Arthur nodded as soon as he spoke, not giving it another thought. The Frenchman returned rather quickly with a wooden tray that can be placed on the bed. Arthur didn’t notice Francis’ solemn expression as she adjusted the tan tray on Arthur’s blanket.
“Arthur, cher, you look like you want to tell a story.” Francis said cheerfully, carefully placing the soup onto the tray. Arthur froze. Tell a story?
“Do I?” Arthur asked, keeping the confusion out of his voice. Admittedly, Arthur was thinking of stories earlier before Mr. Beautiful Face came in. “Come on~! Mon amour, tell me a story!” Arthur realized it now, Francis just wanted him to tell a story. He grunted in disapproval, maybe embarrassment, at Francis who was gently nagging him to tell him a tale.
“…You do know I am…s-sick or whatever.” He mumbled, telling him to stop being annoying and nagging a sick man. “Mmm….do you want me to tell you one?” Francis asked in a sarcastic manner, one in which Arthur liked to use a lot. Arthur rolled his eyes, ignoring him and trying the soup.
Arthur wasn’t a food taster by any means, he had no idea how to cook after all, but he could tell some of the ingredients when he put a spoonful in his mouth. Some sort of beef flavoring, macaroni-like noodles.
“Is it satisfying? For a gentleman like yourself, I mean.” Francis smiled cheerfully once more, leaning forward. The frog had his back arched with one arm up and another arm down laying by his knees! Arthur was sure that position was on purpose. “Um— well, it’s good like your usual cooking.” He replied, slightly flushed.
“Tell me a story now, beau.” Arthur waved him off, trying to ignore Francis’ nickname. “Fine, fine. Here, uhm…how about this story? From when Alfred was little?” He thought out loud, bringing a fond smile to Francis’ face. Arthur noticed this, and his face turned annoyed and flushed. “…D-don’t look at me like that.” Francis just hummed in response. “Okay, okay…this was before the kid declared independence. I decided to visit Alfred for a while.”
~~~
“Good job, mates!” A familiar Englishman yelled as a brown ship reached the shore. Arthur smiled to himself, it was a beautiful day. Even the weather was mostly fine when his crew set for the new world a few weeks ago. Arthur didn’t want to say that he was excited to see his baby “brother,” but his crew put out comments like, “You seem very eager, captain!” and mentioning the little boy Arthur usually plays with when they visit the colonies. Arthur always talked proud of the young colony, and especially how cute he was. He had a feeling his crew liked him being so sensitive about something, even after they defeated Spain and France for the tenth thousand time. It is said that the great British Empire shows no mercy, but here he was, caring for a small boy.
“There are a few nice buildings here,” a smaller man said, as Arthur’s crew ventured out of the ship. Arthur nodded. “Steady progress has been achieved, since I was last here. Alfred is already pretty strong…” he sighed, noticing the woodwork on some of the buildings.
“Excuse me!” Someone shouted to the crew. It was a young white man, who looked like he worked in something to do with wood, since he had splinters over his arms. He also looked like a teenager. He ran over, with a smile on his face. Arthur almost thought that this was Alfred, but he had brownish eyes instead of bright blue orbs. “You all are from Great Britain, right?” He asked. Arthur nodded with a smile on his face. “Yes, young sir. I have been checking to see how the colonies are doing.”
“I assume Captain is looking for little Jones? It is morning right now, so he is probably eating breakfast. He always sleeps in and eats late.” Arthur lit up, causing a chuckle from his men and the American teenager. Okay, maybe he should’ve controlled himself a little bit. They can’t know the British Empire’s soft spot!
After brief formalities, Arthur told his crew to just hang around, maybe at the ship or whatever, while he tried to find Alfred. The teenager told him that they had a little restaurant of sorts, where everybody ate in the mornings. Eventually, Arthur found the building. It was a fine dark wooden structure, with small marks on it. It wasn’t very grand of course, but humble and small town like. Arthur took his hat off, hesitantly standing at the door. Alfred was growing rather quickly, he hoped that the young boy wouldn’t grow up so fast, but it seems he has made great progress in just a few months. He hesitantly put his hand on the handle and opened the door, causing a bell to ring. A bell? Arthur thought.
Arthur glanced around first, and made eye contact with the man behind the counter. He seemed to be an older man with a mustache, yet his hair was a deep brown. He smiled at Arthur, and spoke with a slightly older and hoarse tone. “Ah, you must be Mr. Kirkland!” then, he turned his head over to one of the chairs. “Mr. Jones! Someone is here for you!” He then winked at Arthur.
“Who!?” A small voice said. Alfred gasped when he saw Arthur, almost immediately clinging to his leg. “Big brother! Big brother! Artie! Artie!” He chanted, a big smile on his face. Nothing had changed about Alfred since Arthur last saw him; he was still very cute and childish. Arthur was relieved. He knew it was selfish, but he never wanted Alfred to grow up. At least, not yet! Though, he knew that his brother wouldn’t need his support forever, so it was inevitable that his brother would be a man one day.
Arthur bent down to Alfred’s level, ruffling his hand through the boy’s blonde hair. “Hello, lad!” He smiled. “Did you come here to check on me?” Alfred asked tilting his head like a puppy. Arthur nodded. “You have a whole town here, don’t you mate?” Alfred lead Arthur to chairs by the bar. It is slightly concerning that there is drinks here, he hoped Alfred hadn’t been given any alcohol…
“What can I get you both?” The owner from earlier asked, but corrected himself when he remembered Alfred had milk in front of him. “Err, more like what Mr. Kirkland wants.” Arthur pushed the chair back, it seemed to be a pretty sturdy chair. “Um, I don’t need a drink right now.” He replied, trying not to drink alcohol in front of Alfred. He didn’t want to be a bad role model after all! “Artie can have some of my milk if he wants some!” Alfred proudly exclaimed, sliding his cup of milk between him and Arthur. The owner nodded, leaving the duo to themselves. “Well,” Arthur began, a fond expression on his face. “Is there anything interesting you’re building right now?” Alfred stayed silent for a moment, and replied “We are building a really pretty harbor! You use harbors for trading, right?” Arthur pat his head. “Yes! You know, big ships like mine also come in the harbor.” Alfred turned to him, as quick as a bullet with sparkles in his eyes. Arthur knew that Alfred loved pirates and ships. “Really?! I forgot about that! Artie’s ship can go in the harbor?” The captain nodded. “Uh huh, Now you know where Artie will be when he visits.”
A few more conversations later, and Alfred had finished his milk. “Do you want any more milk, Alfred?” The young boy turned his face to Arthur, his milk mustache making Arthur giggle. “Hey! What’s so funny?!” He wiped the milk off with his red sleeve, causing a little “hmph!” from Alfred.
“Artie, do you want to know about my new friend?” Alfred tilted his head again. A friend? “Sure.” Alfred seemed satisfied with Arthur’s answer and began to speak excitedly. “North from here, is a really pretty field! It has a lot of weeds, but there are also flowers. On this day, I was picking flowers to decorate some of the new structures we built.” Arthur thought it was cute that Alfred personally collects the flowers for decoration, but let him continue.
“Then! All of a sudden…!” Alfred added to the suspense, but Arthur just laughed, causing a pout from Alfred and just continuing instead. “A blonde man appeared! I didn’t think he was from here, he looked very fancy. Not like the clothes we have here. I saw him venturing the field, so I went up to him and said ‘your outfit looks great!’ and then he went over and played with me for a little.” The boy described, a hum coming out Arthur’s mouth.
Fancy blonde guy not from America? “I didn’t get his name though…” Alfred whined. “That’s a shame. What made you think he was really fancy?”
Alfred thought hard for a second, trying to remember his appearance. “He had really pretty blonde hair. He kinda had a hat like your pirate hat! And he had…blue clothing. He also talked like he was from somewhere else. Like your voice…” he added. Arthur was more confused than he was before. A man from another country with blonde hair, fancy blue clothing and-…
Arthur grumbled. “I think I know who you met.” He said to Alfred softly, causing the boy to jump up from his seat, practically falling over. “Eek!” He screeched, but luckily Arthur caught him. “Thank you, big brother!” Arthur nodded, pleased to see that his manners were okay. “You’re welcome. But uhm, your new friend…” he started, Alfred’s smile almost immediately turned into a frown. “Huh…? What’s wrong, Artie?”
“You see, uhm…” Arthur was having trouble telling Alfred this. He felt bad, but knew it had to be done. “Alfred, don’t see that man anymore.” Alfred pouted quickly, Arthur responded by patting his head. “That man is the enemy. He is not to be trusted.” Alfred’s pout deepened, an argument coming out from his mouth quicker than Arthur expected. “B-but! He said he would give me good food better than big brother’s.” The Englishman’s face transformed into a scary scowl at those words. He knew it! Francis had visited and spoke with Alfred. That wine-loving bastard! He wouldn’t let him play with his baby brother like that. “WAAAH! Big brother has a scary face!” Arthur forgot that Alfred was still there. “Oh Alfred! Sorry!”
~~~
“The end…or whatever,” Arthur finished quite abruptly. Francis just hummed once more, but Arthur couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He cleared his throat. “So um. Did you…” he gestured to Francis, who had a fond expression on his face. “I find it funny that you knew it was me. But yes, I suppose I did see a young boy in a field like that once.”
“What were you doing there?” The Englishman inquired, reaching for his soup. “If I recall, we were defending our territory a few miles away. I had ventured off to find some materials and ending up finding the field and your cute little brother.” Francis recalled. Our territory? “I thought we kicked you out of the continent!” He said confused. “I mean, we still had a little tiny bit of land…” Arthur sipped more of his soup. Yeah right. “Or perhaps it was before you kicked me out?” He shrugged. “But I am happy your story telling is still good as before!” He cooed. Arthur huffed, but it wasn’t an annoyed huff. Francis did a “hmm” and abruptly got up. “What are you doing now?”
Francis felt Arthur’s forehead. It was pretty warm as expected, but Arthur couldn’t help but like Francis’ delicate hands. It wasn’t like it was a new experience for Arthur to feel Francis’ hands, which were either really warm or cold, but it was reassuring…though of course, he would never tell that to the bastard. “I think I will put a cool towel on your forehead. Get you some water too, chéri.” He left the room, leaving Arthur to his thoughts. Arthur simply sighed. Did Arthur like Francis? Truly? There was bloody hell a lot that Arthur didn’t like about Francis. His pervert tendencies, the way he made fun of Arthur, his competitive nature and how dramatic he was…and there was a lot more he didn’t like about the Frenchman. Now, what did he like about Francis? Nothing. I don’t like anything about him. That is what he originally thought, but his own brain betrayed him. Well…he did like how gentle and sweet Francis was when they were not fighting.
By the time that the water in the kitchen stopped running, Arthur had thought of things he liked and hated about Francis. Comparing the hate and like, “Hate” had only one more thing. Arthur stubbornly wanted to believe that this meant he hated Francis more than he liked him! Although the difference was only one thing more. “Here, water…” Francis said to himself as he walked in. He placed the water on the bedside table. “Lay down.” Arthur rolled his eyes but listened, carefully putting his back on the mattress and his head on his pillow. Francis put the towel on his forehead, and Arthur immediately felt a little better…so much so, his face lit up a little bit, which Francis smiled at.
That smile was enough.
Arthur sighed slowly, Francis watching him. “Do you want to go to sleep?” he whispered softly. Arthur hesitated, and then nodded. It would be good to get some sleep. Francis responded by nodding in agreement. I think you should get some sleep. Arthur once again ignored Francis’ stupid soft smile, and focused more on trying to close his eyes and get in a comfortable position. “Good night, Francis…” Arthur mumbled quietly. “…Good night, Arthur.” A soothing voice replied.
~~~
“Artie! Artie!!” Arthur awoke as soon as he heard the whining rushing from the other room. “Y-Yes, what is it?” He yawned when his little brother came in. It seemed Arthur was working on some papers, but he fell asleep. Alfred was holding back tears. “W-well, my friend, Davie wants these flowers, but I haven’t found them yet!” He explains, tears welling up in his eyes. “I saw him today,” he continued, “but he looked upset at me!” Flowers?
“…W-what flowers does he want…?” Arthur was still tired, his eyes were still slowly blinking down at Alfred. “T-they were these! Pretty blue flowers!” He showed Arthur a drawing of the flowers, a drawing he clearly made. “I haven’t seen those flowers around here…” he mumbles to himself. But, they did look a little familiar to him. That is when he realized, these flowers grow in England! Arthur sighed, and got down to Alfred’s level. “These flowers do not grow here, Alfred…they grow in England.” Alfred looked terrified, his face was pale and he didn’t even say a word, but he started crying loudly. “WAAAAA!”
Though, Arthur knew exactly what to do in this situation. He pat his head with a grin on his face. “Well, —as your big brother, I will go and fetch those flowers for you!” He exclaimed to Alfred. The young boy froze, and his face turned into surprise, but his crying immediately stopped. “R-Really?” He sniffled. Arthur nodded, “of course! Can you give me your drawing so I know what they look like?” Alfred held up his hand and passed the drawing to Arthur with a tearful smile. “Thank you, big brother.” While Arthur tried to get Alfred to call him “Arthur” or “England” he always ended up calling him big brother again and again. It always made him teary-eyed.
Arthur wouldn’t have minded it at all now.
~~~
“Mmm…” Arthur murmured, as he felt his heavy eyelids awaken. His eyes looked around, a small sad expression creeping out when he saw it was just a dream. He turned over the other side of the bed, and found…Francis?! Oh, that’s right. He took care of me yesterday. What he still didn’t expect was to find Francis still sitting in his chair with his head on Arthur’s mattress. It seemed like he was with him the whole night…He didn’t need to do that. Arthur thought. He glanced at the clock near the door. The time read 9:39, which explained why it was it felt so bright, the light was peeking out from the blinds. He slowly found himself staring at Francis sleeping. He was still beautiful even when he slept. Arthur’s head rose from the bed, Arthur also shook his sleeping hand to wake it up.
Once more, he peered at Francis. Arthur grumbled, and rest his hand on Francis’ golden locks, gently rubbing his hair. “Francis…” he said out loud. “Wake up, you frog. You’re going to hurt your back in that position.” He played with his hair a little more, hoping that he would wake up soon.
Arthur let an exhale come from his mouth, deciding to play with his face instead. He carefully put his hand on his cheek, slightly squeezing it. “…Hmm…?” Arthur didn’t hear Francis’ signal that he was awake, so he kept doing it; he only stopped when he felt Francis lean into his touch. He immediately pulled away, wiping his hand on the blanket like it had a curse on it. Arthur knew that his cheeks were a scarlet red when he saw Francis open his eyes and a little mischievous grin appeared on his lips. “Ah…quelle heure est-il…?” Arthur didn’t understand what he said, but saw that he tried to look at the clock nearby. “It’s 9:44.” Francis stretched, lifting his head up from Arthur’s mattress. “Does your back hurt now?” Arthur said sarcastically, as he eyed Francis. The Frenchman narrowed his eyes but nodded.
“How do you feel, mon amour?” Francis asked. The latter shrugged. “I mean, I just woke up. I am not really sure, I guess I still have a headache.” Francis nodded. “I am glad it doesn’t seem anything serious. Do you want me to serve you breakfast in bed?” Francis’ hand brushed against Arthur’s slowly, purposely. Arthur jolted and red appeared once again on his neck. “U-uhm…I think I can eat at the table…”
“Do you need help getting up?”
“I am fine, I don’t really feel as weak anymore…” he excused himself, waving his hand at Francis. “Okay, okay. I’d love to watch you fall over.” Francis smugly scoffed at Arthur, though it wasn’t malicious. “Yeah, yeah.” Arthur carefully placed his hands on the blanket, taking it off of him. His legs plumped on the ground, and he began walking. Arthur tried to ignore his shaky and wobbly feet. Francis was watching closely nearby.
Alas, Arthur’s legs found it to be a hassle to walk a single bloody step, and his knees buckled. “Fuck—!” Something yanked at his hand. Francis had caught him before he completely fell on the ground, and he was holding Arthur’s hand close to his face and holding his waist. Arthur had the urge to smack him on the head, but Francis had a tint of red on his face that stopped him from doing so. “A-are you okay?” The frog asked, though he knew the answer. Arthur’s legs were still slightly shaking. But Arthur could respond, Francis laughed it off, “How about I just…carry you like I do after drinks at the pub?” Arthur then smacked him not so lightly on the head.
~~~