The person you hate to love

"Am i supposed to? I just haven't been looking honestly.." Arthur said, sitting up and looking intently at Francis with his big green eyes.
"Not all of us are s*x gods like you apparently are." He huffed, folding his arms over his thin chest.
"Since when does it matter to you?"

It was the way his eyes shined like two green meadows, and the smell of freshly cut grass and peppermint that made Francis love Arthur. It was the way he was always so irritated with the world, how he was a pessimist who cliamed to be an optimist. His negative complained always resulted into some sort of logical outcome. It was the reasons he always pushed Francis away, that made the French-man fall absolutely head over heels in love with the boy.
"Ahh..." He wanted to say, It started mattering the moment I saw you...but the words were like glue in his throat. He choked on them, and found himself caught off gaurd by the question, "I does not matter. I was just curious." France said, as naturally as he could managed.

Arthur huffed and mumbled something before standing and putting his tea cup in the sink.
"I'm going to go get a shower.." He said, and jogged upstairs. Arthur locked himself in the bathroom- he always locked the door when Francis was home, because that pervert could come in anytime.
After a short shower, Arthur wrapped a towel around his waist and another lay over his shoulder, so dry his hair. He opened the door and walked into his room, sighing at the sudden coldness and closing the door behind him with a click. He listened downstairs for any sign of Francis coming up and got dressed quickly, before grabbing his wallet, and his phone. Arthur called his friend Aaron and soon they had agreed to go to the nearest pub. The Brit trotted downstairs and pulled on a coat, and shoving his phone in his pocket.
"I'm going out for a bit." He stated blandly. "Be back soon." And with that, Arthur left.

.::A few rum-filled hours later::.

Arthur stumbled into the house, laughing crazily, leaning on the counter for supoort. Since he didn't see Francis anywhere, he walked over to the fridge with a crazy grin and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and popped it open, chugging it immediantly.
"Bloody he** how old is this?!" He said, hiccuping before bursting into a fit of giggles, taking another swig.
"Can't be..older than me!"

Francis had decided to actually study for once. He sat in his room upstairs, a book resting in his lap, when the noice of Arthur echoed through the house. Francis paused for a moment, trying to decide how drunk Arthur was by just the sound of him. He only laughed like that after around 7-8 bottles of hard liquor, an amount that usually could kill someone. But Arthur always drank too much, the annoying Brit. And all he ever drank was scotch and whisky, while Francis preferred more dignifyed drinks, like wine.

He sighed, guessing that the Brit needed someone to guid him to sleep. The one time Francis didn't go out, Arthur returned home dead drunk, wasn't that supposed to be the other way around? The thought nagged at the back of his mind as he trodded downstairs, it was late, maybe 1:00 in the morning. This surprised Francis, he'd wanted to turn in early.

Seeing the drunk Brit, burning through a rather large bottle of whiskey, Francis sighed.

"Come now, mon amore'. We mustn't drink too much." Francis hummed, walking over to Arthur and grabbing the bottle, "It's time to sleep, okay?" Francis insisted, acting as if Arthur were a child.

"'EY don't touch me you bloody wank'ah!!" Arthur huffed, reached weakly for the bottle. He wanted it, needed it, right now he's do anthing to get it.
"Well?! Giv'it back Fr-awg!" He slurred impatiently, taking one false step and tumbling into Francis, putting them in a very awkward position. It didn't take arthur too long to realize Francis had dropped the bottle, so he scrambled over and grabbing it, flopping down on the couch with it.

Francis stood in shock, Arthur usually didn't touch him. And now as the electricity hummed along the planes of his skin, he found that we was paralyzed. "Mon amore, it's not wise to drink anymore." Francis pressed,setting next to Arthur on the couch and looking at him with cold but caring eyes.

Arthur scoffed, coughing slightly, pulling the bottle away from his lips.
"And why not frog? You want some?! ITS MIIINE! " He growled, squishing himself further into the cushions of the couch and lifting the bottle up again. Finding no more, the alcohol crazed Brit crawled over the back of the couch to get more, only succeeding in falling on his face with a yelp.

Francis sighed when the Brit fell on his face. He stood, rounded the couch, and placed his hands of his hips when Arthur came into veiw.

"This is exactly what I was talking about." Francis growled, he kneeled down nevt to Arthur and picked the Brit up bridal style, "Time for bed, mon amore..." Francis said with a sighed, beginning to walk up the stairs.

Arthur moaned and gripped his head, before burrying his face in Francis' chest. He sighed as he was layed down on the bed, but still clung to the frenchman.
"STay.." He growled quietly, not bothering to open up his eyes, for he was already asleep after ordering Francis to stay with him.

Francis looked at the sleeping figure next to him curiously. He stayed put, not wanting to displease Arthur. "Good night, mon amore, sweet dreams." He hummed kissing the top of Arthur's head sweetly before drifting off himself.

.::The following morning::.

Arthur woke up with a blinding pain in his head and someone's arm draped around him. He groaned and rolled over, facing Francis. He yelped and then winced at the pain as he tumbled backwards off the bed with a thump.
"Bloody he**!" He growned.

Francis shot up, his blond curls bouncing. "Mon am- I mean, Arthur, what's wrong?" He asked, sitting up fully and swinging his legs over the bed.

Arthur gripped his head and the world around him spun.
"Wh-What in god's name are you doing in my bed!?" He demanded with a huff.

Francis ran a hand through his golden blond hair and sighed, "You were drunk off of your ass last night. I put you to be like a good room mate and you demanded that I stayed." Francis explianed impatientlty.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and attempted to stand, having to lean on the bed to keep from falling over.
"Alright." He grumbled, slowly making his way downstairs. Once there, he made himself some tea and took some ibuprofen and sat on the couch with a sigh.
"Da**...." he groaned, leaning his head back and letting out another dragging sigh.

Soon after Arthur was downstair, Francis retreated to his room. He dressed in his street clothes, a white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, and ventured downstairs.

Arthur flecked open his eyes and blinked at Francis.
"Where are you going?" He asked, turning to look at his room-mate. Deep down, Arthur did just want Francis to stay, maybe watch a movie with him like normal roommates, or bake. He loved watching Francis bake, he was a natural, and he secretly loved the way he pulled his long silky hair back in a messy-bun, and how he got flour all over himself. Arthur sighed at the thought, his eyes floating to the floor.

Francis shrugged cauaully, his lean muscels showing through in his V-neck shrit. He sat on the couch, his legs crossed. "Sadly, mon- ahhh...Arthur, I have no plans." But damn it, Francis wanted to call Arthur [i]mon amore[/ it translated into 'My love' in English. Francis couldn't help himself, the wrods would just naturally flow off of his tongue when he spoke to Arthur.

Arthur raised a furry brow and scoffed.
"Why do you call me that- or..almost call me that?" He asked, not really knowing what the Frenchman was about to say, he just knew that Francis stopped before it came out. Arthur thought of things he could do that day, finish those mittens he'd been sewing..? He wanted to watch Francis bake, but by no means would he say so out loud.

((Some other nicknames France calls Arthur are 'mon petit lapin' (my little rabbit) and 'Anglettere or L'Anglettere xD)

((I'm so gonna use Mon Petit Lapin, Angletter just mean England in French xD))

Francis crossed his arms and grinned dangerously, a kind of devious grin that hinted way to much. "No reason, do not worry about it, mon petit lapin." Francis hummed. He felt his stomach growl and frowned, he hadn't baked in sometime. Frane took the rubber band from his wrist and messly tied his wavey hair up. He rolled up his long sleeves and ventured into the kitchen, "Would you like some cake? I'm making some now." Francis called from the kitchen, as he unloaded the sugar.

Arthur looked appalled for only a minute or too, before adjusting himself on the couch so he could watch.
"I'm alright.." He answered, yawning slightly. He stood slowly, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a cup, before getting out some milk and honey. He mixed it together then went back down on the couch, sipping it happily. One of Arthur's favorite drinks-besides tea of course, was milk with honey, it helped him calm down and helped with the hangovers.

"Suit yourself, Mon Petit Lapin!" Francis hummed as he unloaded the flour. He mixed a few things, creating a thick liquid. Francis stirred it hurridly and stuck it in to oven. He them got out some fondunt and began crafted small flowers with his nimble fingers.

Arthur watched francis work on the flowers, completely mesmerized at the craftsmanship put into it, all the emotion Francis put into his cakes. He sighed, smelling the sweet aroma of the baking cake, closing his eyes and trying to picture the delicious flavor, accidentally nodding off into sleep.

Francis had made 20 complicated flowers by the time the cake was ready. He danced over to the oven and scooped up the ban, an oven mit keeping the scorching metal fom touching his skin. He set the cake on the counter and then went to go make some frosting, the cake had to cool.

The ding of the oven woke Arthur, who yawned and blinked. He perked at the sight of the cake, stretching before quietly padding over to examine it.
"Looks good." He said, although in his mind many different words were coming to him.