A/N: My goal for this chapter was to focus mainly on the relationship between Francis and Arthur. There isn't enough love between the two, I feel, and this chapter is kind of my attempt to show their relationship and to show how much they actually do value one another. Plus, I love writing their relationship, so this chapter is also my excuse to get my platonic FrUK fix.

Thank you so much for sticking with me this far, and I'm glad you all are enjoying the story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, as well, and don't hold the sudden mood change in the last chapter and the beginning of this one against me. There is a reason, I promise you. Thank you all again so much, and don't forget to drop me a review to let me know what you think.

Also, I am going through some mental/emotional problems right now, both with my relationship and with where I am in life in general, so I'm not too sure how often I will be in the mood to write. I will try to get my emotions calmed down enough to where I can write at least a little something, but as of right now I look at the computer screen and everything is a horrible blank. But, here's hoping for some magical ideas in the world of imagination.

Francis's hand was warm as he caressed Arthur's cheek. The young Brit shivered as the Frenchman ran his fingertips down from his cheekbone to the curve of his neck. He was sensitive there, and for some reason, Francis knew just where to touch to get him to squirm in his seat.

"You are the most exquisite man I have ever laid eyes on, do you know that, Arthur?" Francis's voice was low, practically a whisper as he leaned in closer to Arthur's ear. His breath was warm and moist as it ruffled his hair and danced across his skin.

"Francis, I don't think - " Arthur choked out, his cheeks burning red and his fingernails digging into his thigh. He cut off his words as Francis leaned in and nipped at the tip of his ear. The action sent a shiver of emotion through his body. His heart beat erratically as he tried to form his emotion into words.

Francis's hand traveled from Arthur's neck to his wrist. His grip was loose, fingertips barely brushing against his skin, as if he was allowing Arthur the time that he needed to think.

"How many handsome men have you had, Arthur? Seven? Ten?" Francis's voice was low, sexual, and teasing. "Or am I your first one?"

Arthur squirmed. He pulled his wrist out of Francis's grasp, sliding farther onto his bed so that his back was against the wall. His heart was still beating frantically, which he fought to control as he struggled to find the words he needed to say.

Francis watched, his eyes narrowed in sexual need, as Arthur's chest rose and fell.

"I can't, Francis," Arthur choked out. "I appreciate that you like me and everything, but I just... can't." His throat seemed to burn as he talked, the words spilling from his lips in a hurry.

Francis's eyes widened back to how they usually looked, his body straightening back up and the sexual, predatory expression falling from his face. He smiled warmly at Arthur, who had brought his knees up to his chest and was hugging them tightly. "That is fine, my dear," Francis hummed. "I will respect your decision because I am your friend. But, Papa still needs his hug." Francis leapt across the bed, his arms outstretched and ready to grab Arthur.

"No, you damned frog! I don't want your slimy sex hugs!"

Arthur's mouth was a thin line. His duffel bag was packed, dead cell phone shoved into the back pocket of the jeans (I guess they're good for something, Arthur thought begrudgingly as he shoved his phone's charger deep into one of the front pockets).

"I just think that maybe Francis might not want to see you," Alfred argued, his hands flailing around him in his desperation. "I mean, you did lie to him." Alfred wanted to take a step forward, to embrace the small man before him, to do anything that would help calm him down and loosen up his tense shoulders, but Alfred restrained himself. Even he could tell by Arthur's body language that he didn't want to be bothered. Which struck the jock as odd, but he decided not to question the Brit's change of attitude.

Arthur's voice was low. "I didn't intend to lie to him. I tried to come home. I just couldn't," he explained. "So I went somewhere else until I was able to bring myself to come back. Francis has always been there for me. And even if my lie was intentional, he wouldn't hold it against me."

Alfred scoffed, then immediately took a step back and regretted having let the noise escape him. "Francis just wants to sleep with you, though, I'm pretty sure. And, besides, a lie is a lie. So, yeah. If I were you, I would just come with me so I could, you know, protect you and stuff."

"'Protect me?' 'A lie is a lie?' Do you even hear yourself!?" Arthur turned around without warning, the duffel bag swinging from his arm and tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "And what do you call everything that you did? I think lying about going home - whether it was intentional or not - is a hell of a lot more forgivable than pretending to like someone just to embarrass them in front of the entire school. They all already thought I was a joke. They didn't need you help to see that." Arthur snatched up an extra pair of shoes, stuffing them underneath his arm as he made his way towards the bedroom door. When he passed Alfred, their shoulders bumped roughly, almost knocking the distraught Brit off balance.

Alfred's mouth hung open, struggling to control his breathing as his heart beat wildly. He tried to make his jaw work, tried to form the words that were swirling violently around in his head, but nothing happened. He couldn't defend himself. He could barely even comprehend what it was Arthur hd just said. He just stood there and watched as Arthur gathered a few more things around the room before making his way to the door.

"I have a real friend to get to, so I'm leaving. Make sure you leave before Anderson comes home." Arthur turned his face away, his voice so low that Alfred had to strain himself to hear his next words. "You might have tricked me, but it's impossible for me to hate you."

Arthur's heavy footsteps echoed as he marched down the stairs. His mother was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She had taken the time to clean the makeup off her face, but you could still see the tear stains on her cheeks. Her eyeliner and mascara were still smeared around her eyes, but the watery smile she gave her son was full of welcoming and warmth.

Her smile dropped when she saw the tears falling down Arthur's cheeks. "Arthur, pumpkin, what's wrong? What happened?" She reached out to take her son in her arms, hoping that he would fall against her chest and let her hug away the pain like she had so many times before, but he simply just walked past her.

"I will be fine," Arthur murmured once he reached the front door. "I am going to Francis's. Please don't tell Anderson we were here. I love you, mom." He opened the door and stepped outside, letting it fall shut heavily behind him.

When Arthur lifted his eyes, he found Francis leaning against the hood of Alfred's truck. His hands were crossed over his chest, a soft smile on his lips. "I saw the boy's truck pull in. I had to come say goodbye to my best friend."

Arthur's tears were hot on his cheeks as they fell. With this duffel bag still slung over his shoulder and his shoes tucked underneath his arm, he walked forward and leaned his head against Francis's slim chest.

"I need you, Francis," he whispered. His voice was thick with tears. "You're the only one who hasn't tried to hurt me. Can I come back to your place?"

Francis's eyes widened. He lifted his arms and wrapped them around his friend. When he glanced up, he could see Alfred in the upstairs window. The blonde's head was pressed against the window, his hair ruffled and glasses askew.

What happened...? Francis wondered, his eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip around his friend. "Come on," he whispered, turning Arthur towards the end of the driveway.

"You need to take a shower."

Arthur rolled over on the bed, throwing the pillow over his head. "I took a shower at Alfred's," he mumbled. "I just want to sleep and forget about today."

Francis threw his damp towel over at the boy sprawled on his bed. The towel landed on Arthur's head. "You have eyeliner smeared on your neck and cheek. You need - "

" - can we watch a movie?" Arthur's voice was muffled. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over at Francis. He was standing by the bedroom door, tying the strings on a pair of silken, purple pajama pants. His chest was bare, his abdomen and chest covered in fine, blonde hair. "And can you please put a shirt on? No one wants to see your froggy nakedness."

Francis ran his hands down his chest, his fingers brushing over his softly-defined abs and stopping at the hem of his pajama bottoms. He hooked his thumbs within the waistband, sliding his hands around the circumference of his hips. When he released his pants, they fell back in place, although slightly lower than they had been before.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, dropping his arms back down on the bed and burying his face in the pillow again.

"Actually, my dear friend," Francis purred as he sat on the edge of the bed. "A lot of people would love to see my 'froggy nakedness.'" His face twisted at his friend's choice of words. "You, poppet, are just weird. What movie would you like to watch?"

Arthur rolled over so his back was against the wall. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, thinking for a few seconds. Sad. He wanted sad.

"That movie about the striped pajamas," Arthur decided. "You can do that projecting thing your phone does, and we can watch it off the ceiling like we used to."

Francis repositioned himself on the bed, laying down so that his feet were hanging off the bed. With his phone in hand, he set up the projection and opened the movie. "So, you want to cry some more, then? You really are a strange kid, Kirkland."

The movie played. Halfway through, Arthur had switched his position so that his head was resting against Francis's hip. The Frenchman's fingers played with the tips of Arthur's hair as they watched the movie. The two young men were silent.

It was towards the end of the movie. Bruno was making a sandwich, climbing through the shed window when Arthur finally spoke.

"Which one is it this time?"

"Pardon?" Francis propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Arthur. From the angle he was at, he couldn't see anything beyond the mop of hair covering his eyes.

"That's what Alfred's brother said," Arthur explained. His voice was quiet as he spoke. He rolled over so that his face was pressed against Francis's bare stomach.

Francis placed a hand on the back of Arthur's head, massaging his fingers through the Brit's thick hair. A small, sad smile pulled at his lips. "Is that what you were so upset about, dear?"

Arthur groaned, moving his head in time with Francis's fingers. His voice was muffled as he spoke. "Of course. What if he really was lying and the only reason he brought me back to his house was to gain my trust so he could go through with that stupid deal he made? What if I'm just an idiot who cares too much for someone who doesn't deserve it? Francis, this boy has made me hate myself more than I ever did, and he wasn't even the one who did anything." As Arthur spoke, his voice grew in pitch, his breathing hitched, and sweat broke out all over his body. Thinking about it made his hands shake violently.

Francis sighed. "First of all, mon petit, do not ever let me hear you say that you hate yourself. There will be none of that. You are an amazing - albeit boring - young man, and I will not stand for you to hate yourself when so many people care for you so deeply. If Alfred doesn't want you, then that is his loss. But, I must say, Matthew does have a tendency to say thing just to be mean when he smokes."

Arthur picked his head up, his wide green eyes searching Francis's blue ones. "How do you - ?"

Francis jumped up, spilling Arthur onto the floor. "Well, the movie is over," he announced. "We must be off to bed. Goodnight, dear friend. I will be downstairs on the couch if you need me." Francis grabbed his phone and the speaker he had the device hooked up to and began to make his way towards the bedroom door.

"Wait - uh, Francis?" Arthur called meekly. When Francis turned around, his eyes wide and questioning, Arthur gulped, swallowing past a large lump in his throat. "Uhm... today kind of sucked... So I was wondering... if..."

Francis sighed, chuckling slightly as he made his way back into the room. "Yes, Arthur, you incorrigible baby. That is fine with me." Thankfully, Francis's bed was large enough for the two men to fit comfortably side-by-side. Francis being Francis, however, refused to stay strictly to his side of the bed and found himself being tossed onto the floor numerous times throughout the night.