It is, without a doubt, the worst first date Francis has ever been on. Arthur complains about the movie, Francis can’t stand the food, and most of all they can barely tolerate one another. As someone who prides himself on being a connoisseur of romance, it’s insulting. He simply does not end up on bad dates—his verypresence should negate the possibility. “I don’tknow why I let Gabriel talk me into this,” Arthur says at the end of dinner,shoving himself into his—tasteless!—jacket and elbowing his way past Francis. “You’reinsufferable.” Francis,determined to blame the night’s disaster on someone other than himself, sniffsin response. “Maybe it was Antonio’s idea of a joke. The divorce has made him bitter.” “Like Igive a shit. That’s four hours of my life I’m never getting back.” He doesn’tnotice when Francis holds the door open for him; Francis rolls his eyes andfollows him out of the restaurant. “Have youever considered that it’s just your personality?” Francis suggests as they headdown the street. “I have chemistry with everyone. You must be truly disagreeableto break that streak.” Arthurturns to sneer at him. “I’d rather have too high of standards than none at all.” “Is thatyour way of saying you haven’t been laid in ages? Because, cher, there’s noneed to be coy—I can tell.” When Francis doesn’t get a reply, he thinks he’swon. But then he realizes that Arthur is no longer keeping pace with him, andhe turns to see Arthur several steps behind him, mouth wide open and expressionpanicked. “What is it? What’s wrong with you?” “Fuck merunning,” Arthur mumbles, ducking behind one of the short trees lining thesidewalk. “Don’t see me, please don’t see me, don’t see me—” “What onearth are you going on about?” Francis asks, then turns to follow Arthur’s panickedgaze. Coming up the street is a young couple—a blond in glasses, sporting abomber jacket and hanging on the arm of a taller man, with pale hair and a happilyindulgent expression. They’re well-dressed and good-looking, the very picture ofhappiness. And then the bespectacled one glances at Arthur and his eyes flashin recognition, and Francis knows exactly what he must do. “Come here,”he says sternly, grabbing Arthur by the arm. The other man is so startled thathe cannot protests, and Francis pushes his advantage and leans in for a kiss.It’s a terrible thing, really—sloppy and forced, no ambiance at all. Arthursputters against him, and Francis can practically feel the ire rising in him.Francis holds onto him, however, and doesn’t let him break the kiss until hecan hear a voice behind him. “Ah—Arthur?Dude, is that you?” Now Francisreleases Arthur and turns on the smile and charm as he faces their newcompanions. Arthur has turned bright red, and he looks a bit dazed as he glances up. “Al-Alfred.What are you doing here?” And yes, the way he’s looking at this Alfred is proofenough. Francis is sure he’s made the right call, even as Arthur reaches behindhim to smack his arm in retribution. “Oh, youknow,” Alfred says, “Just heading back to Ivan’s place.” Perhaps he doesn’tmean it to be suggestive, but Francis can only imagine one thing. He doubtsArthur is doing must better. “Ivan, isit?” Arthur says, voice high and strained. Francis might’ve been happy to seehim so utterly anxious, except that his genuine distress isn’t very fun at all. “Yup,”Alfred says, as Ivan inclines his head in greeting. “He’s a psychologist. Youcan call him Doctor Braginski, if you want.” “I don’twant,” Arthur starts to say indignantly, and that’s all the cue that Francisneeds. “Arthur,darling, why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” He widens his smile,extending his hand for Alfred to shake, then Ivan. “Er,”Arthur starts off, looking from Alfred to Francis and back again. “This isFrancis.” He doesn’tadd anything else, and Francis mentally shakes his head, wondering how a singlehuman being could be so thoroughly clueless. Lucky for him, Francis is a masterat these things. “Francis Bonnefoy,head of surgery at MGH,” he adds. He turns to Ivan. “Psychology, is it? That’scertainly a noble field, as well.” Ivan doesn’tseem too put out by the competition, but Alfred’s gaze narrows. “And you andArthur are…” “Hitting thethree month anniversary soon.” Francis loops an arm around Arthur’s waist,pulling him close. “I couldn’t believe it, really. Talented and handsome as heis, and single? It was a sign from the heavens, I’m sure. Isn’t that right,darling?” Finally cottoningon, Arthur nods, though his voice still sounds slightly hoarse as he says, “Ofcourse. I mean, no, it’s nothing like that. We’re just—” “So luckyto have found each other! I mean, what with my schedule at the hospital andArthur studying for the bar… it’s hard to find someone you really connect with,n’est-ce pas?” He leans in conspiratorially and continues, “And, between youand me, the sex is utterly fantastic. Like I said, a gift from the heavens.” “You said a sign,” Arthur grumbles, but he’s leaning into Francis’ side, now,and looking at Alfred with considerably more confidence. “So, then, you’ve beenwell?” Alfred isstaring at the pair of them, wide-eyed, and Francis notes with an internal crowof victory that Ivan seems to be rather interested in Francis himself. Missionaccomplished, he thinks. “Yeah, Imean I’m… I’ve been good. Real good.” “Well, don’tlet us keep you,” Francis says, leaning in to kiss Arthur’s cheek. “Enjoy yourevening, gentlemen.” PullingArthur along, he keeps walking until Alfred and Ivan disappear around the othercorner. Pushing Arthur away, he steps back and laughs. “What thebloody hell was that?” Arthur demands, rubbing vigorously at his mouth. “You’rewelcome,” Francis returns, all smug confidence. “Honestly, don’t you knowanything? Never show weakness in front of an ex!” There’s anawkward pause, and then Arthur mutters, “How’d you know he was my ex?” “Rarelyhave I seen a person duck for cover so quickly when matters of the heart weren’tinvolved.” Francis makes a vague gesture in the air. Arthurchokes out a laugh, at that. “You’re not the head of surgery,” he saysaccusingly. “No, but Imight be. Anyone who leads with their new beau’s profession is looking for a contest.And I don’t like losing.” “It helpsthat you look like a goddamn model,” Arthur scoffs, pinching the bridge of hisnose. It’s the first moderately complimentary thing he’s said about Francis allnight. “It wouldhelp even more if you didn’t kiss like a dead fish.” “Youambushed me! That’s not how I kiss, normally!” “Oh, I’msure,” Francis says. “But still, Monsieur Kirkland, a simple ‘thank you’ wouldbe more than enough.” “Fuck off.”Arthur says, marching down the street. Itcertainly is the worst first date Francis has ever had. But as he followsArthur down the path, he can’t help but think his perfect dates have neverquite led to perfect relationships. Maybe it’s time to change his formula. (He’ll makeArthur pay for dinner, next time. After all, he’s owed both a thank you and thestory of a very handsome ex.)
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