Chapter Text
Ah, Paris. The city of love, of art, of history. And, as it would seem, of Francis’s endless meddling.
The invitation had seemed innocent enough: “Come to Paris, mon cher ami,” Francis had said over the phone weeks ago. “Take a break, rekindle the flames of romance with your darling Alfred. Let the city work its magic.”
I had foolishly agreed, much to my later regret. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy Paris—I’ve always had a soft spot for its cobblestone streets and literary charm—but Francis was, well, Francis. His idea of “magic” often involved an exasperating blend of mischief and unnecessary extravagance.
Which was how Alfred and I found ourselves here, standing in the doorway of a love hotel.
The room was outrageously adorned. There were red silk sheets draped over the bed, rose petals scattered across the floor, and dim lighting that was suspiciously... suggestive. Candles lined the bathroom, flickering romantically against the polished marble tub. The entire scene screamed “Francis.”
“Artie! Look at this!” Alfred had darted past me as soon as we arrived, his excitement undeterred by my visible horror. He peeked into the bathroom, practically bouncing on his heels. “Whoa, there are candles in the tub! Candles! This is like a movie!”
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Bloody hell, Francis...” I muttered, dragging my suitcase into the room.
As Alfred admired the overly romantic setup, I pulled out my phone and dialed Francis’s number. He answered on the second ring, his voice practically dripping with amusement.
“Ah, Arthur, mon cher, how is Paris treating you?”
“How is it treating me?” I hissed, pacing furiously around the room. “You sent us to a bloody love hotel, you insufferable frog!”
Francis laughed—no, cackled—on the other end of the line. “Oh, come now, mon ami. You’re with your fiancé, are you not? What better place to celebrate your love than here? The atmosphere is perfect, no?”
I gritted my teeth. “Francis, no one has the right to meddle in my relationship, least of all you. Alfred and I don’t need rose petals and bloody candles to be happy together. We want our relationship to be ours, not some theatrical production orchestrated by you!”
“Ah, but Arthur—”
“No buts!” I snapped, my voice rising. “And don’t think I don’t know you’re laughing at me, you damn frog!”
I barely heard his response as the bathroom door creaked open, and Alfred emerged. Whatever tirade I was about to launch into next died on my tongue.
He was wearing a silk robe—where on earth had he found that?—and his damp hair clung to his forehead in soft curls. He looked... radiant.
“Artie, you good?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter. He must’ve noticed the stunned look on my face because he grinned, the corners of his lips tilting upward in that boyish way that made my heart stutter. “I mean, I know I’m hot, but you’re staring, dude.”
I blinked, then cleared my throat, forcing myself to look away. “I... was on the phone with Francis,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat up. “That bloody frog is insufferable.”
Alfred laughed—actually laughed—and sat on the edge of the bed, the silk robe parting slightly to reveal far too much of his thigh. “Oh, come on, Artie. You’ve known me long enough to know stuff like this doesn’t bother me. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”
His words were so simple, so sincere, and yet they struck me like a bolt of lightning. My chest tightened, warmth blooming in my heart.
“Alfred, love,” I murmured, sitting beside him. “I just... I hope you’re truly okay with this. I don’t want you to feel—”
“Artie.” He placed a hand on mine, his touch grounding me. “It’s fine. Seriously. I think it’s kinda funny, honestly. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll call Francis and tell him he’s a dork.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “No need. I already called him every name under the sun.”
Just then, Francis’s voice crackled through the phone I had forgotten to hang up. “See, mon cher Alfred? Even your darling fiancé cannot deny my brilliance. I have brought you both closer together!”
“Closer together, my arse,” I snapped, bringing the phone back to my ear. “You’re a bloody menace, Francis!”
“Ah, such gratitude.” He sighed dramatically. “Enjoy your evening, you British prude.”
I hung up before he could say more, tossing the phone onto the nightstand. “Honestly, that man will be the death of me.”
Alfred wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. “But hey, you’ve got me to keep you sane, right?”
I smiled, unable to stop myself. “Yes, dear, I do.”
And as we settled into the ridiculous, overly romantic room, I found myself thinking that perhaps Paris wasn’t so bad after all.
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Ah, Paris—city of love, art, and more pastries than one could reasonably consume in a lifetime. After the initial fiasco of the love hotel, Arthur decided that the least he could do for Alfred—who, despite everything, was thoroughly amused—was plan a proper date. One that didn’t involve silk robes, rose petals, or Francis’s meddlesome laughter echoing in the back of his mind.
The morning was crisp and bright, the kind of day that practically begged for exploration. Alfred, ever the early riser when excitement was involved, was already dressed by the time Arthur emerged from the bathroom, still fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
“Artie, hurry up!” he called, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overenthusiastic child. He was wearing a simple leather jacket over his usual casual attire, but his energy was enough to rival the sun.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Arthur muttered, adjusting his collar. “Do you even know where we’re going?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a grin, grabbing my hand. “I trust you’ll take me somewhere cool. You’re the one who’s all sophisticated and cultured, right?”
Arthur couldn’t help but roll his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Alfred.”
“Pfft, says the guy who totally loves it when I flatter him.”
They stepped out into the bustling streets of Paris, hand in hand. Despite Arthur's initial reluctance, He had to admit that there was a certain charm to the city. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, and the streets were alive with a symphony of chatter and the occasional accordion melody.
Their first stop was a small café the brit had read about in a travel guide. It was tucked away in a quiet corner, far from the throngs of tourists. They found a seat outside, shaded by a bright red awning, and Arthur ordered them a selection of pastries and two cups of coffee.
“Whoa,” Alfred said as the waiter placed the tray in front of them. “This is fancy. What’s this one?” He pointed at a delicate, golden croissant.
“That,” Arthur said with a touch of pride, “is a plain croissant. The best in Paris, according to the locals.”
“Plain?” Alfred looked skeptical but took a bite anyway. His eyes widened. “Oh my God. This is so good!”
Arthur chuckled, sipping his coffee. “You Americans and your obsession with sugar. Sometimes simplicity is best.”
“Says the guy who makes tea like it’s a sacred ritual,” Alfred teased, crumbs falling onto his lap.
After the café, They wandered through the streets, stopping at little boutiques and bookshops. Alfred insisted on buying a ridiculous beret at one shop, plopping it on Arthur's head with a laugh. “Look at you, Artie. You’re practically a local now.”
The brit swatted him away but left the beret on, if only because his laughter was utterly infectious.
By midday, The found themselves at the Louvre. Arthur had been hesitant to bring Alfred there, worried he might get bored, but to his surprise, he was genuinely interested.
“This place is huge!” he said, craning his neck to take in the grand ceilings. “How do you even decide where to start?”
“I thought we’d visit the classics first,” Arthur said, leading him toward the Mona Lisa.
Alfred spent a good five minutes trying to decipher her expression before declaring, “She looks like she knows a secret but won’t tell anyone. Kinda like you when you’re up to something sneaky.”
Arthur laughed despite myself. “Perhaps. Or perhaps she’s simply amused by the sheer number of people staring at her every day.”
The rest of the day passed in a delightful blur. They strolled along the Seine, watched street performers in Montmartre, and even climbed the steps to Sacré-Cœur. By the time evening rolled around, the city was bathed in golden light, and Alfred was practically glowing.
“Artie, this is the best day ever,” he said as they stood on a bridge overlooking the Seine. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, and the faint hum of music floated through the air.
“I’m glad,” I said softly. “You deserve it.”
He turned to his lover , his blue eyes shining with a warmth that made Arthur's chest ache. “You know, you’re pretty awesome when you’re not yelling at Francis or being grumpy.”
His lover smirked. “And you’re tolerable when you’re not stuffing your face with burgers or dragging me to amusement parks.”
They both laughed, and before he could overthink it, Arthur leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and slow, the kind of kiss that made the world fade away.
“Whoa,” Alfred said when they pulled apart. “That was... wow.”
Arthur chuckled, resting his forehead against his. “Come on, poppet. Let’s find somewhere to eat. I hear Paris is known for its romantic dinners.”
“Lead the way, bae,” he said with a grin, lacing his fingers with the other's.
As They walked off into the Parisian night, Arthur couldn’t help but think that perhaps Francis’s meddling wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Just this once.
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