Arthur sits outside of a little café on a street corner. He's never been here before. He thinks perhaps he might finally get some decent scones in this place. He is not mistaken.

It's been three years since Alfred died. The ring sits on a chain around his neck. On the one hand, wearing it successfully wards off potential suitors, because Arthur will never get over Alfred. But on the other, it is difficult to have to keep explaining what happened to his husband. He doesn't want to talk about it. He never does.

His book is finally ready. In twenty minutes time Arthur will have a meeting with a publishing house (the very same one he worked at when he was with Alfred, go figure) to discuss books deals. Hopefully things will start going well for him after this. His savings and the little money Alfred left him have nearly run out and he doesn't know if he'll be able to keep his apartment any longer.

His tie is still crooked, which irks him more than it should. He sighs irritably and tries to fix it by looking at his reflection in the café window. It doesn't look right no matter what he does.

A shadow falls across his vision and Arthur looks up, frown not lightening when he sees a man standing beside him. He is slender and sophisticated-looking, and dressed as a chef. He smiles charmingly and immediately Arthur is rubbed the wrong way, and his frown turns into a downright scowl.

"Yes?" he asks somewhat icily. The stranger looks a bit taken aback, but he rallies magnificently and the small smile comes back full force. He is handsome, but nothing like Alfred. This man is all high fashion and elegance and has not a lick of boyish charm.

"Good afternoon," he says pleasantly enough, and Arthur notes with disdain that the man is fucking French. "I am François, the owner. I have never seen you here before. I just thought I would welcome you and ask your opinion of my humble establishment."

Arthur says nothing, unwilling to pay a direct compliment but unable to lie about how good the food was. A small part of him wonders, when did he ever get so bitter? His hands fiddle with his tie without his noticing. The stranger, François, stands around waiting for a response for quite a while before finally realising that he isn't going to get one. Instead, he lets his gaze travel down to Arthur's hands.

"Are you having trouble?" he asks. "Here, let me fix that for you." Unbidden, he reaches forward to tug at Arthur's tie, adjusting it quickly.

For a moment Arthur is too taken aback to react to the sudden invasion of his personal space, but after a beat his brain snaps back into action and he pushes the nosy man away with an angry splutter. He turns to the window again to see what damage has been done.

And notices that his tie is perfectly, absolutely straight.

His brain seems to stop working for a second or two, before he finally realises that this may be the one and only time he's ever seen himself looking exactly the way he wants to.

For the first time in three years, Arthur smiles.

"I'm Arthur," he says. "And your scones are bloody fantastic."