A/N: Apologies for a really long delay with getting this chapter up. I've been held up with deadlines. It sucks being a final year uni student sometimes. You have time but not enough brainpower. I was sorta planning on uploading this chapter up on either my birthday (20/4) or Arthur's birthday (23/4) but then I thought otherwise because I'm sick of looking at this over and over. So yeah, good for you lucky little things! And I hope this was worth the wait. Once again, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, favs and alerts! x

Pairings in the chapter: FRUK. A shitload of it. Prep yourselves.

"Shut it."

"I did not say anything."

"You're smiling."

"Smiling is not speech."

"Yes, well, but-" Arthur was awarded with a flash of Francis's rather triumphant-looking smile and he held back an exasperated sigh as he leant back against their shared seat, trying to ignore the man in favour of reading. He held his copy of Him magazine high and buried his nose into it. "You've been smiling all the way. It's annoying," he grumbled.

"Well, you cannot blame me. I feel very happy," said Francis brightly.

Arthur flipped to the next page. He tried to ignore how his heart was trying to claw its way up to his throat and forcefully swallowed it down. "Hm, is that so," he said, stilling his facial muscles into what hopefully seemed an apathetic mask.

"Oui, je suis content. You have agreed to come and that is the reason why my world is shining brightly," Francis stated.

Arthur snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. I came because you forced me to."

"Did I?"

"Mhmm."

"How so?"

"Well if it weren't for it being in the nature of a gift, I wouldn't have given a fuck. However, since it is, I have no choice to accept." He paused for a moment and thought back on how they had both hastily left the office together that evening, on the looks that were cast at their retreating backs, on the things that were whispered around the editorial wing. "I'm not an absolute twat, you know," he added softly.

"I wasn't under the impression that you were, my darling."

Arthur gave a non-committal hum. "So why the gift then?"

"I gathered this was the only way to make you come on this trip," said Francis, chuckling. "I have long planned to make beautiful memories with you in Paris, my love, and what better way to do so than in celebration of your thirty-second birthday?"

Arthur froze and slowly, a stunned look rose on his face as he replayed Francis's words. He was floundered, really, not knowing quite what to say because how the fuck did Francis Bonnefoy know that he was turning thirty-two?

"Le vingt-trois avril," intoned Francis with an upturn tilt of his lips which baffled Arthur. "J'ai raison, n'est ce pas?"

"Non, tu as tort. J'ai trente ans," Arthur blurted out.

"Oh?"

"Huh?" said Arthur, in an attempt to throw Francis off the subject. It was in vain though as Francis regarded him with much amusement.

"Hm, That's odd. I was certain that your file said you were born in 1980," he said, smirking a little.

"Oh my god, you did not." Arthur carted his hand through his hair (which he really ought to have cut – the tangles were irritating) and groaned. "Christ, I swear sometimes you are just impossible. I can't believe you actually went through company files to attain my personal information for your own benefit. That's way out of order."

"Our benefit," corrected Francis brightly.

"Whatever. I'm crossed with you."

"All is fair in love and war. Nevertheless, thank you." Francis turned to face him and without warning, planted a kiss to Arthur's shoulder.

"Hey." Arthur cast him a withering look. "I thought we'd agree on no PDA."

"Yes but that was in England," responded Francis coolly. "We aren't in England now are we?"

"Well, I'd argue that we're still under the English Bay, which does in fact belong to Britain so that rule does still apply," said Arthur, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. "Plus," He jerked his head to the right. "That woman over there. The one with the brown hat. Her eyes just bulged."

"Lucky for her then," murmured Francis and before he could try to kiss him again, Arthur executed a clever evading move by swooping down to pick up his bag and he dropped it between them to make (or rather, maintain) the space between them.

"No PDA," he said once again with firmness and when he saw Francis's face pinch in slight annoyance, he snorted with laughter. "What, so your weakness is being unable to be affectionate? Serious?" When Francis's brows furrowed into a tighter line, Arthur's lips stretched out into a grin. "Serious? Don't lie now. You're really not shitting me? Well, who would've thought."

"Oh no, that is not the case, mon lapin," interjected Francis and Arthur was gazing at him, a little dumbfounded upon being trumped.

"Wha-"

"My weakness is actually-" He suddenly leaned in close and his hot breath wisped across Arthur's ear as he spoke in a whisper. "-not being able to make love to you right now. Oh, you cannot imagine the things I want to do to you, Arthur. You've been looking sexy ever since we left the office. It's testing me, you know."

Arthur tensed at this, his shoulders squaring a little as he cast Francis a sidelong glance from the top of his magazine. He tried to ignore the rush of excitement which coursed through him at the imagery his boss's words had conjured up and pursed his lips into a taut line, steeling himself against saying anything. Francis seemed to pick up on this unfortunately (he had developed an uncanny ability to notice his mood shifts, Arthur realised) and he smiled triumphantly before ploughing on. "Have you ever thought of having sex on a train?" he asked.

Arthur's mind became blank for a second. "What?" he asked, cringing a little at how pitchy his voice had become. He cleared his throat and gathered himself. "Sorry, what was that? I think you've lost me there."

"Sex on a train." It was said so casually and Arthur watched in bewilderment as Francis simply perched his chin on his hand, blithely disregarding the scornful looks that were thrown in their direction. "Surely such a fantasy has crossed your mind."

Arthur's eyes darted here and there in a moment of uncertainty as he desperately clawed through his mind for a suitable comeback. Or a scolding. Yes, the latter seemed more appropriate.

Arthur scoffed, "Well, of course I have. I am a man after all."

Brilliant.

Francis was sending him a meaningful look, his eyes shining with terribly repressed lust and shit, it was unnerving.

"No," Arthur chastised through a hiss. "We are not doing this."

"Come now." Francis smirked devilishly. "The lavatory is not too far. Do you not want to?"

"Lavatory?" echoed Arthur incredulously.

"Lavatory," Francis nodded.

"Lavatory. As in toilets."

"Yes."

"You're mad."

"Simply for you."

It was surreal, really, the two of them speaking in hushed tones like this as if they were two roguish teenagers (though it was more on Francis's part, really, in his attempt to insinuate himself in order to persuade Arthur into caving in). It made Arthur feel rejuvenated once again – alive and excited – and he couldn't help but welcome such a nostalgic feeling.

"Well?" Francis prompted with a wiggle of his eyebrows which Arthur found oddly charming for a man of his stature. For a moment, it almost felt like he was looking into the face of a younger Francis and well, that was a fancy thought wasn't it? Imagine that, Francis Bonnefoy as a university student. He was probably still as ridiculous stylish back then as he is now, donning a pair of glasses as he worked laboriously on his laptop with his beautiful hair all tied up in a loose ponytail and a half-smoked cigarette hanging between his lips…

"Well, shut up," said Arthur gruffly before turned to face his magazine in an attempt to hide the small smile which threatened to climb on his lips.

"Hm, do you have a better idea?"

"Fuck you. I'm not going to be charged for exhibitionism."

"Oh, but you do like the risk don't you, you kinky little thing. The possibility of being caught. It turns you on."

Arthur did his best to repress the shudder that ran down his spine and he let out a sharp breath though his nose. It was infuriating how Francis could easily get under his skin. "As if you wouldn't be," he countered in a low voice, keeping his eyes trained on the magazine. Aware of the attention Francis had placed on him, he slowly moistened his lips. "Why, you'd like it if I bound your hands together tightly because the possibility of you being seen in such a helpless position. It thrills you too, doesn't it?"

Francis shifted in his seat and he leaned his weight against Arthur's side in order to whisper a low, husky "Touché, mon chou" into his ear.

Arthur pursed his lips into a firm line and he observed how his boss slowly rose from his seat, how his hand had deftly swept across the back of his, how he had purposely, meaningfully brushed his knee against his thigh before he languidly made his way towards the back of the car.

After allowing a few seconds to pass, Arthur released a breath he had not realised he had been holding in and lowered his magazine. He closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to regain his lost composure. "This is stupid," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. "This is fucking stupid. I can't believe-"

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Steeling himself, Arthur fished it out and in slight reluctance, opened the text message he received.

Francis Bonnefoy

Did I mention that I currently have our handcuffs in my possession? I don't think I did. Oh dear, silly me.

19:41

"Shit."

Arthur's grip tightened around his phone and he really, really tried to ignore the fact that an erection from was slowly forming in his trousers because of it.

"Shit."

Not good. This was not good at all. Fucking Europeans and their stupid bravado and their attractiveness and god fucking dammit.

Arthur quickly made his way to the toilets.

"Hey, can I say something?"

Francis hummed in acknowledgement as he collected their room key from the receptionist at the same time Arthur had relinquished their luggage over to the bell boy with an awkward nod. "Anything, my love," he said as Arthur flanked him.

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder towards the reception desk, Arthur tugged Francis to side and he lead him across the lobby, passing a spaciously pleasant lounge. "You know, that guy at the desk. He was eyeing us strangely during the whole time we were checking in. Perhaps somewhat sceptically, if you ask me," he observed in a low voice.

"Oh was he?"

"He was. And he's still doing it. What's his problem? Surely it can't be because I'm English now, is it? Because that's just shite and downright rude."

"Why! Arthur, my dear!" Francis threw his head back and he was laughing gaily. The sound, warm and hearty, had not failed to attract the attention of many patrons around them. While Arthur had gotten a little used to amount of attention Francis tended to gather wherever he went, he was still unused to the degree of focus people bestowed on him (not them – never them – because why the fuck would anyone want to stare at a caterpillar-browed person like himself?). It was precisely what he was facing with right there and then. The hotel guests – both male and female, old and young – were openly staring at them with such brazenness that it became slightly uncomfortable. It made Arthur's cheeks flush in colour with discomfort and out of embarrassment, he bumped his shoulder against the Francis's.

"Christ, why the fuck are they staring now? Tell me I didn't do something well stupid. Because if I didn't, then I clearly can't see why-"

"It's because of this."

"Huh? What are you-"

In one pivotal step, Francis steered Arthur by the crook of his arm towards the elevators and it was only then did Arthur catches a blurred view of his bedraggled appearance reflected off the polished elevator doors.

"Oh my god."

Francis wrapped his arms around his middle in a blatant attempt of containing his amusement.

"You absolute penis!" Arthur burst out, gesticulating wildly towards his reflection. "You– no don't touch me fuck you–you just–! Why didn't you tell me that my blazer was inside out all this time? A-And my shirt is all wonky with the buttons all wrong and now the whole of Paris knows that I wear Topman and I look like an absolute git and what the actual fuck?" Arthur lunged forward to assess his reflection before he reached up in a vain attempt to flatten his unruly mop in a flurry of shaky hands. "Mr. Bonnefoy, what the fuck did you do to my hair? Wha-was this why that fatarse was staring? Because you fucked my hair up? What did you tell him? I swear to god if you told him that we were-!"

"Train wreck," Francis suddenly said.

Arthur's shoulders deflated and he stared at him, at a loss. "Hah?" he said, blinking stupidly.

"Train wreck," Francis repeated, smiling. "I told him that we were involved in a train wreck. Ingenious, yes?"

A low strangled noise came from Arthur's throat and it only made Francis burst into more peals of laughter. Arthur could only stare at him in a mix of bewilderment and slight disappointment. "And here I thought that you would be smart in coming up with excuses," he said. "Honestly. A train wreck. Really? Tell me, what are the chances of Eurostar crashing? Actually, you know what, I don't want to know so don't bother answering that."

The elevator doors suddenly slid open and an elderly couple stepped out, chirping greetings at them. Arthur returned a polite nod to them before he quickly ducked into the car, dragging Francis along with him by his arm. He blindly pressed a button and the doors slid shut behind them.

"You know what, I'm gutted," Arthur continued as the elevator began its ascent. "I thought lovers were supposed to be kinder and considerate to each other. Not become menaces. You know, you are probably one of most unreasonable knobheads I've ever had the pleasure to meet."

"You spew poison!" gasped Francis. "Of course I am kind to you, mon chou! What I had done was involuntary, please believe me." Arthur snorted at this. "Come now, do not sulk. A face as beautiful as yours does not deserve to be pinched in moroseness."

"I am not sulking," Arthur said sulkily as he peeled his blazer off and turned it inside out. Well, he supposed it was a good thing that it was late at night and that they had mutually agreed to check in at the hotel the moment they left Gare du Nord. He would probably collapse in on himself in sheer embarrassment if he had found out about his shitty appearance in a fancy department store or worse, some classy restaurant. "And would you please stop calling me beautiful? I'm not a woman you know."

"Ah but I am not implying that you need be a woman. You are already beautiful in my eyes, Arthur, regardless of your sex." Francis said, leaning in to press a kiss against Arthur's ear. "Always so, so beautiful."

"Oi oi. What did I say about the PDA?" Arthur reminded as he pulled his blazer on. The right way round of course, he made sure of it.

"Mhmm but we are in France so I think I'm right to correct you that the rule has been nullified," said Francis with knowing smile before he tilted his head to the side and kissed Arthur on the lips. When Arthur made no indication of moving away, Francis's hand grasped his hip possessively and without any need for verbalisation, they moved in sync, going back two steps as they kissed aggressively until Arthur's back was pressed against the wall.

"Which floor? I need to-" Arthur let out a shaky pant between their lips as he broke for air from their heated kiss. Keeping their faces close, he blindly reached to the side for the buttons as Francis snaked his tongue out to lick his bottom lip.

"Douzième," replied Francis huskily and his hands were moving across Arthur's body with a newfound resolve of shedding his blazer off. Arthur hissed disapprovingly at this and he nipped at Francis's lip.

"Would you control yourself – we're in the fucking elevator-!" Arthur threw his head back against the wall, swallowing back a gasp as Francis's hand caressed his side. He could feel the tips of Francis's fingers skim across the hem of his trousers and he shuddered in excitement. "-weren't you already satisfied – we just shagged on fucking Eurostar of all places–!"

A small ping resounded around them and the elevator suddenly came to a stop. Arthur gave a pat to Francis's shoulder and they pulled away from each other, casually fixing their attire to appear decent just as the doors slid open.

"Oh!"

Arthur felt a small wave of panic rise in him and he glanced up with a French apology readily constructed in the back of his mind. He was confused however to find himself looking at an unfamiliar face who was blinking at them with recognition. Or rather, blinking at Francis with recognition. Arthur turned to Francis, opening his mouth to ask when a bright smile bloomed on the man's face.

"Oh la la la! Nirand?"

"Francis!" The bespectacled man – Nirand – beamed and hopped into the elevator, clasping the hand Francis extended towards him, giving it a hearty shake before kissing both cheeks. The two men exchanged pleasantries in French (fancy that, an Asian fluently speaking French!) and Arthur watched them, a little intrigued by how comfortable they were standing in each other's personal space as they chattered on about, from what he could understand, holidays and busy schedules and weddings. Huh. What a rarity it was to run into a friend of Francis. It was a bit of a refreshing sight, he had to admit. Seeing how occupied the two were, Arthur made an attempt to scoot over to the passenger controls.

"Oh, dear me! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, Arthur dear!" cried Francis, who seemed to have finally taken notice of Arthur and Nirand turned to him, his handsome face lit up with interest. "Nirand, please, this is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. He is with me."

An amiable smile rose on Nirand's lips and he took a step forward, offering his hand with an air of friendliness. "Bonsoir. Nirand Rattanakosin. I'm very pleased to meet you, Arthur," he said in good, clear English.

"No, no, please," Arthur took the proffered hand and he returned him a small, polite smile. "The pleasure is all mine, er, Neuron, I-I mean, Nirand. I'm really sorry. I'm never any good with names."

"Please, don't worry about it. Thai names have never been the easiest on tongues," chuckled Nirand. Ah, Arthur nodded, Suspected much. "I apologise for not introducing myself first before launching myself at Francis. I was very surprised to meet him again, and here of all places." He flashed Francis a charming grin. "It's been a long time since we'd last seen each other."

"I see." Arthur glanced between them. "Oh, are you by any chance also an editor?" he asked, a little sheepishly when Nirand's bright eyes peered through his glasses inquisitively at him. "I mean, I don't mean to assume but I figured since you and Francis are well-acquainted…"

"Non, non, mon chou," interjected Francis with a chuckle as he patted Nirand's back (whilst completely disregarding the stern look Arthur cast at him, unbothered with revealing the intimacy between them to his friend). "He may not look like it, but he is actually quite a notable fashion coordinator. We got to know each other well when I attended one of the London Fashion Weeks he was working on a few years ago." Francis actually looked rather proud of his friend as he said this and it made Arthur feel strangely…envious. Because he had nothing.

Nothing worth showing off that is.

Arthur swallowed back the lump in his throat and he shuffled his feet a little, feeling rather small. "No shi – I-I mean, well, wow. Just, well, that's…that's quite an achievement," he said feebly.

"Oh no, not really. It's not that great really," Nirand said modestly, blushing a little. "It's not as glamourous as it sounds."

"Yeah, but," Arthur began but stopped because the elevator had suddenly come to a stop and the doors slid open, revealing the lobby once more.

"Ah, yes, I was just heading down for a drink at the bar. Would you care to join me?" Nirand asked with a disarming smile and Arthur wasn't really sure just who was he addressing to.

Francis's face pinched into an apologetic look. "Ah, perhaps-"

"Go ahead," Arthur interjected and it caused both men to direct their attention at him. He tried not to shrink under their gazes.

"Arthur?" Francis's brows were raised in question. "You are not coming?" There was a small lilt of disappointment in his voice and Arthur couldn't help but smile a little at it.

He shook his head. "You go on and enjoy yourself," he said, nodding towards Nirand. "I'm sure Nirand would appreciate sharing a pint with an old friend."

"Yes but…."

Arthur cocked his brow and god, wasn't that strange? It wasn't often he would see a hesitant look upon on Francis's face and he had to admit that it was a little endearing. He allowed a small smile to grow on his lips before he reached over and touched the small of Francis's back. "It's fine," he said reassuringly. "I'll be fine. Besides, I want to take a rest anyway."

Francis looked like he was going to protest but after a short pause, he relented. "Alright then," he said, returning Arthur's smile with one of his own. He gave Arthur a gentle pat on his cheek before he stepped out of the lift. "I won't take too long."

"No, no. Take all the time you need. You've the spare key after all."

"D'accord. À tout à l'heure," was the last thing Arthur heard and he caught a glimpse of Francis's hand settling against the small of Nirand's back just as the doors slid shut.

"Yeah. Laters," Arthur sighed wistfully to himself. He was aware of how his voice echoed around him in the emptiness of the elevator and after staring at the passenger controls for three long seconds – waiting, waiting, waiting for what? – he finally reached over and pressed button number twelve.

The elevator jolted to life and made its ascent.

Arthur stirred and he blinked a few times, peering into the dimness of the room. He could see the rays of sunshine filtering through a small crack in the curtains and whilst letting out a big yawn, he groggily wondered how long had he been sleeping.

"Ten hours."

Arthur blinked, suddenly feeling very, very awake and he slowly rose from his comfortable position in his nest of tangled sheets. He found himself face to face with Francis, who looked rather comfortable at the foot of the bed in a bathrobe. "I'm…I'm sorry?" Arthur croaked out, voice scratchy from sleep.

"I returned a little late last night and found you already asleep," explained Francis, reaching over to brush a strand of Arthur's hair away from his face. "I think you were sleeping for ten hours. I'm sorry you were so tired."

"Why are you apologising?" That's Kiku's thing, Arthur idly thought as he fought back another yawn. "It was night time after all," he added, shoulders sagging in contentment as Francis tenderly ran his fingers through his hair. "And it had been a long day then. A really long day. Full of activities."

"Activities?" Francis questioned, the corner of lips tugging up in amusement.

Arthur nodded. "Yes. Stupid ballsy activities which could have gotten us arrested. Did you sleep last night by the way? I don't think I felt you beside me."

"Mm, I did. But you took all the sheets, mon lapin," Francis chuckled before he pressed a trail of affectionate kisses across Arthur's mouth (there was a touch of mint on Francis's lips), the tip of his nose and the edge of his brow. "So I decided to watch you as you slept. Good morning and happy birthday, my love."

Arthur felt a warm bygone feeling settle in the pit of his stomach – security? – and overcome by a rush of embarrassment, he poked Francis's forehead with his index finger. "Wow, you're all fresh and minty and I'm just plain disgusting from waking up. Hm, good morning to you too," Arthur mumbled as he raised his chin and pressed a kiss to Francis's lips. "And thanks, I guess. You're a little early you know. I mean, my birthday isn't until like tomorrow or something."

"My, my. You are not aware that today is the 23rd?" Francis hummed, eyes dancing in mirth.

Arthur gaped at him. "What?"

"Truly!" trilled Francis and getting on all fours, he gently pushed Arthur back onto the mattress and began planting a trail of kisses across his face. "If you don't believe me, I can call the desk for a confirmation."

"What? No! Don't do that! That's a stupid thing to do, you muppet!" Arthur cried. He pressed the heels of his palms against Francis's jaw and pushed his face away. "Get off me."

"Not until I give thirty-two kisses to you," chuckled Francis, kissing him sloppily and uncaring where it landed. "Thirty-two kisses for my thirty-two year old love on his thirty-second birthday," he hummed. "Mm, you age beautifully like wine, my dear. I want to lap you up."

"Fuck you I'm thirty," Arthur insisted, chuckling. "I swear if you don't get off me this instance, Francis, I will throw you off this bed."

"What?"

"I said I'll chuck you so don't you dare underestimate me."

"No, no. Before that." Francis had paused his trail of kisses and he lifted his chin to meet Arthur's gaze. There was a look of wonder on his face. "You called my name."

Arthur blinked at him. "I did?"

"Yes." Francis pressed his nose against his cheek in affection. "Yes, you did. It sounded beautiful."

It sounded natural.

"Huh." Arthur looked to the side, brows pinched together in slight puzzlement. "Fancy that."

Really, he did not expect Francis's name to tumble out as easily like that. The usual weight of reluctance, the resilient reminder that he and Francis were nothing more than boss and subordinate who were conveniently just feeding off on each other, the little things which had always held him back and anchored him to reality…

"Say it again," Francis suddenly pleaded in a whisper and Arthur's eyes grew wide, his heartbeat stuttering.

"What…you mean…" Arthur dared to meet the man's gaze and he licked his lips before he slowly shaped the name on his tongue, rolling it around as if tasting its richness.

"Francis."

It came out as a drawl and he was suddenly rewarded with a kiss.

"Again." The word ghosted across their connected lips.

Arthur released a shaky breath. "Francis," he breathed.

Another kiss, this time a little fiercely.

"Again."

"Francis."

"Yes. Again," moaned Francis, nipping his lips as his hands desperately tugged at Arthur's shirt. "And again. Please don't stop."

"Francis." Arthur shuddered at the pleading sound and arousal flared up inside him, shaking him to the core. He snapped his hips up to meet Francis's and gasped, "Francis. Francis. Francis."

"You know I can't believe you actually got so high just from hearing your name," Arthur said, setting the razor down as he assessed his clean shaven face in the mirror. Taking Francis's aftershave (he wondered why the man really bothered bringing one around since he rarely shaves in the first place), he slapped it on and smiled a little at the good familiar scent. "You went mad like, shit Francis. Settle down a little yeah? If you reacted like this every time I call your name, it would be problematic."

"Oh but how can I?" Francis's voice wafted through the small space where Arthur had left the door slightly ajar. "The way you say my name simply alights me with such passion that I simply could not contain it. It's such a rarity. What has made you bold so suddenly?" His voice was bouncing off the walls and Arthur needn't to look up to know that the man had just entered the bathroom and perched himself on the edge of the bathtub. "Have you finally acknowledged the fact that we are truly lovers?"

"Huh. Think what you like," snorted Arthur as he combed his fingers through his damp hair and tugged at the tangles in distaste. "Though mind you that this doesn't change anything. I mean, just because I've caved into the idea of actually calling you by your Christian name doesn't necessarily equal I've fallen so into you. I just think that it's appropriate."

"Appropriate?" asked Francis curiously.

"As in…" Arthur stared at his reflection thoughtfully. "You've done so much and yet I've given you little. I'm not exactly the most romantic of men. I used to think I was because girls told me so. But then I realise, after meeting you…I don't think I really understood this stupid thing called love. Because all the things…the little things that you do to me are just…" His lips pulled into a thin line. "Sorry, I'm not making any sense. My brainpower's really low after that round and, shit, that lovebite on your shoulder is stupidly prominent. I don't remember putting that there though. Huh. Anyway, I don't think we can use the pool anytime soon so-"

A sudden weight pressed against his back and it took Arthur a few seconds to realise that Francis was hugging him from behind. And he was laughing, puffs of his breath sweeping across the side Arthur's cheek in minty bursts. Arthur could almost feel the warmth of his merriment seep into his back and rather than feel annoyed, he felt somewhat content. "Oh, my sweet Arthur," sighed Francis. "You really are one of a kind."

"Okay," said Arthur. "I'd attempt to persuade you to digress from that assumption but okay."

"You speak too much."

"I thought you liked my voice, Francis."

"Oh you are terrible. Are you asking for another round?"

"Shut up, you horny fucker," chuckled Arthur as he resumed combing his hair. "God I hate my hair. It's not effortless like yours. Tell me, have you always been blessed with a silky mane?"

"Are you calling me a horse now?"

"Never even thought of it!" cried Arthur, bursting into laughter. "You brought that up on yourself."

Francis responded with a non-committal sound before he simply tightened his embrace and Arthur sort of just sank back into it because huh, this is sort of…lovely. He felt at ease. He kind of liked this. The feeling of being comfortable, of simply being held in a someone's arms. A man's arms. It used to always be the other way around, him holding women. Emotionally demanding and unnecessarily complex women. Women who were probably and arguably the actual emotional fuckwits in relationships. Why, was this a perk of being gay?

Wait. What?

Who said anything about being gay?

What was wrong with being gay?

Wait, what?

"May I cut your hair?" Francis suddenly asked, his voice successfully halting Arthur's thoughts before they spiralled off into a chasm of ridiculousness.

"Huh?" Arthur gaped at him through their reflection. "What? Why?"

"A gift," answered Francis simply.

"A gift?"

"Yes."

"I thought this trip was the gift."

"It was one of the gifts."

"You're joking."

"No, not joking. This haircut will the first of today."

"The first? What, you're seriously not planning to bombard me with more clothes again now, are you?"

Francis's lips quirked up. "Maybe."

Arthur gave him look. "Right. Look, I appreciate the sentiment but I think we both know that you're not a hair dresser. And even if you claim so, you've got no tools."

"I have scissors."

"You can't be serious."

Arthur watched in bewilderment as a pair of scissors were procured out of Francis's bum. Well not really but it could have very well been because seriously did Francis actually walk in, carrying a pair of scissors in the hopes of actually hacking his hair off? Why was he even bringing scissors on this trip? No, no, Jesus fucking Christ, how long had he actually planned to do this?

"You are not touching my hair," Arthur said a little horrified.

"Please? I have something in mind and I promise you, you will look stunning," insisted Francis and oh god, was he actually pouting at him?

Why did this feel a little…déjà vu?

Arthur shook his head and hardened his gaze. "No."

"No?"

"Absolutely not."

"Come, it will be good."

"What good? I'm sorry Francis but you aren't touching a single hair on my head."

"Please?"

"No."

"You can top me."

"What?" Arthur turned red."Tha-That is-!"

"What do you say?" Francis's hand slid down his side and he teased the fold of Arthur's towel. "You know you can always take charge of me whenever you want to."

"What, is this like another gift of yours?" When Francis cast him a meaningful look through their reflection his heart almost stopped because what the actual fuck is he serious what sort of shit is he setting up how the fuck am I supposed to be top this bonafide sex god of wholesome wangs fuck fuck fuck-

Arthur frowned at him. "Fine," he said finally. "But I'm not caving in because you said that stupid crap about topping or whatever. It's not like the idea excites me or anything so don't start looking pleased because you think you've won me over."

"I will not disappoint then." Francis pressed his nose into Arthur's hair. "Merci."

"What. The fuck. Did you do."

Francis took a few steps back to assess his work and he gave it an approving nod. The bastard actually looked so proud of himself. "It looks perfect," he crooned.

"It's shitty," Arthur said, deadpan as he assessed the damage inflicted on his poor unruly mop…which still looked unruly but in a sort of manageable unruliness in spite of its cringingly short length. "Seriously, what the hell. My fringe is almost non-existent and my eyebrows are really obvious now. And fuck they're so-"

"Beautiful," interjected Francis.

"Fucking ridiculous," corrected Arthur bitterly.

"Come now, I think they are charming and full of character. I don't understand why you think so lowly of them."

"Yeah, well, it's not like you can understand," snapped Arthur, cringing a little at the harshness of his tone. He stared hard at his reflection. "People have always made fun of these fucking caterpillars. And it's not like I can't do anything about them. I mean, I've shave them off in the past but they just grow back even more stupider than before." He released a heavy sigh, running a finger across his fringe. "So I gave up and just hid them because that way it's no bother to anyone. And it's worked out fine, you know, and now-"

"Fuck those people."

Arthur looked at Francis in disbelief, his train of thought derailing almost immediately. 'Did he actually just swear?' he thought incredulously. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find his voice and his words and his thoughts, before he finally croaked out an "I'm sorry?" in the awkward pause which fell between them.

Francis bent his body forwards and placed his hands on Arthur's knees. He levelled their gazes so he was looking directly into Arthur's eyes. "You are an exceptionally beautiful man Arthur Kirkland. Don't let people tell you otherwise. You might not think I'm sincere but I swear to you on my heart that you really are a gorgeous man. Inside and out. I didn't cut your hair to spite you, my love. Believe me, I did it to enhance your beauty."

"Right. Sure."

"Truly. Your eyebrows brings out the sharpness and colour of your eyes. Have I ever told you how much I love them?"

"All the time."

"And you have heard the phrase? That the eyes are the windows to one's soul?"

"Of course." Arthur shifted on the edge of the bathtub. He wasn't sure if he liked where the conversation was going. "Everyone has. Look, let's just-"

Francis brought his hands up and he cupped the sides of Arthur's face, bringing their faces close until the tips of their noses touched. "I want to gaze into your soul, Arthur," he said gravely. "I want to see everything."

Arthur's brows furrowed in bewilderment. "Everything?"

"I want to see the love."

"Love?" scoffed Arthur.

"Yes," confirmed Francis, unsmiling for once. "I want to see your love. Your hate. Your happiness. Your sadness. Your honesty. Your lies. Everything."

Arthur fell silent and after one, two, three seconds, he slowly released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. Something shifted then. Arthur could feel it in the air, gliding across the hairs on his arms and snaking its way into his heart. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and his fingers curled by his sides because he was uncertain with what he should do at that moment, with what he should say. It was one thing for Francis to cut his hair to make him look decent and arguably more attractive (he still wasn't convinced, sorry), but to cut his hair for the purpose of seeing his true self? What true self? Hadn't he always been transparent with Francis all this time? Hadn't he always, and without fail, constantly reminded themselves – himself – that there was nothing developing between them?

Unless.

There was.

There had.

There always had and that in actuality, there had always been a something which he had always refused to acknowledge and swept under the carpet.

Could it be that he had actually been lying to himself all this time? Was he deluding himself with the fabrication of a false reality where, at the end, they both would just walk out of all of this as if nothing had happened?

As if the three months of nude sleeping, heated kisses and comfortable 'eating-cereal-from-the-box-whilst-wearing-nothing -but-boxers-and-designer trousers' telly watching had never happened?

As if Francis's 'mon chou's and 'I love you's were for nothing?

For some reason the thought made him uncomfortable. It was like staring into a room which had no windows. An apparent feeling of knowing that a something was out of place, that a something was missing. A piece of him would be missing. The Francis piece.

"Shit," Arthur whispered. He wasn't sure when he'd reached up to clasp Francis's hand, but he was currently pressing it firmly against his cheek as if not doing so would shatter the moment they were sharing.

"Arthur?" Francis asked and for the first time, Arthur felt like he was looking at the man. Really looking at him.

Why, could it be that the happiness and love he had been curious of and longed and looked for in the pieces of literature he studied a decade ago was actually staring at him in the face all this time? Could he be the Agnes Wickfield to his David Copperfield?

"It's you?" asked Arthur, looking baffled.

Francis returned him a puzzled look. "Hm? What do you mean?"

Arthur tugged Francis's hand past the shell of his ear, towards the back of his head and he ran their joint fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "It's you," he said once more. He was aware that it didn't sound like a question now.

"Yes, it's me." Francis's other hand caressed his cheek gently and he leant in to press his forehead against Arthur's. "It's always been me."

A small portion of Arthur's mind noted how this felt like a game. A game which neither of them knew the rules of and yet they simply played along with it, making things up along the way. A treacherous love game, sneered the little voice in the back of his head and Arthur willed it away, focusing on the dazzling blue hue of Francis's eyes.

"It'll take forever to get used to this," he slowly admitted. Deep down, however, he wasn't entirely sure just to what exactly it was he was referring to.

"I can wait forever," said Francis simply, curling his fingers against Arthur's scalp, massaging it fondly.

"Really now."

"For you, I can wait until the next life and the next."

Arthur quirked his brow. "What, you're a Buddhist now?"

"No. But if reincarnation really does exist then I wouldn't mind being one if it would fulfil my wish of staying with you. Nothing means more to me than you being by my side and filling me to brim with so much love and happiness."

There was a lovely cluster of warmth which grew in his belly as Francis said this – the sort of good magical warmth you would get when you clasp your hands around a hot cup of tea – and Arthur sighed, expelling some of the giddiness from his body in an attempt of trying to keep his composure. He was not a woman. He will not be easily swayed by the bewitching words of this ridiculously incredible man. "You know, sometimes the things you say is unbelievable," he said truthfully. "I question it sometimes. Like, do you conjure these words from thin air or is this scripted to make me feel like I'm on top of the world?"

Francis let out a small bark of laughter, his minty breath sweeping across Arthur's lips. "No script. All of these are words straight from the heart."

"Well, it's a little too good to be true," Arthur remarked.

"Everyone needs a dose of magic sometimes, even you Arthur. But in your case, I'll always give you magic if it helps me win your smile."

The corner of Arthur's mouth lifted in amusement and Francis was positively beaming at this, French praises falling from his lips. "You're really that into me?" Arthur couldn't help but ask, still in slight disbelief.

"I'm very into you. Ever since that moment I found bacon in your hair."

Arthur groaned, pulling his head back to bury his face his hands. "Oh shut up. I was hungover and all shades of uncool."

"Quite the contrary, mon chou. I think you're very cool." (Arthur couldn't help but raise his brows at this because seriously Francis saying 'cool' was probably one of the coolest things to happen today, alongside the swearing) "You're like a breath of fresh air to my dull life. There's always something unexpected and new whenever we are together. Honestly Arthur Kirkland, where have you been all my life?"

"I've been sitting behind a desk in your department for the last two years," replied Arthur and at Francis's bemused look, he gave him a smile. A genuine smile which reached his eyes for once. "Who would have thought. Francis Bonnefoy. Attracted to a man with a head sprinkled with bacon."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."