**Omg! Look! It's a France x Britain (or FrUk) story. And this song is PERFECT for this ship. "Candles", by Daughter. Enjoy~**

Blow out all the candles,
Blow out all the candles...

The sandy-haired young man narrows his eyes in the dim light. No. No no no, he did not like him! Francis was an idiot. A perverted, self-centered idiot. Arthur really couldn't stand him; and it... it just wasn't proper.

You're too old to be this shy...

Francis smirks at Arthur. Arthur's a prude--but there's something about him that has captured him. The haughty Frenchman can't even explain it: it's just there.

He says to leave, so
I stay the night..

"Just go then," Francis says, his back to Arthur. They're fighting and the Brit is so mad he could scream! Francis is just... urgh, he's impossible! But he knows he's taunting him, and Arthur is proud.

He hesitates, and then he stays. Not because he likes him though. Of course not. He just... doesn't want to prove him right.

With his back still turned, Francis gives a small smirk to himself.

Just a young heart,
Confusing my mind...

"What are we doing..?" Arthur whispers out loud to himself later that night, staring blankly up at the bare ceiling. Francis snores softly at his side, his arm wrapped around the Brit's naked waist. Oh god... what were they doing...?

"Mm... Go to sleep, Art..." Francis murmurs into the tender part of the back of his neck. Arthur shudders involuntarily, and he tries to close his eyes.

But he doesn't sleep. His thoughts don't leave him.

Wide-eyed,
And both in silence...

In the morning, they act like nothing--or to be specific, last night didn't--happen. Arthur, being polite, offers to make breakfast. Francis laughs and says he's too young to die (Art had... a reputation for his food, you could say). They bicker about that. And it feels comfortable.

Francis makes croissants with Nutella on them. They're not bad, Arthur has to admit.

They eat in silence, when Arthur finishes. He wipes his mouth on his napkin and looks at Francis.

"Thank you."

"Hm?" the Frenchman swallows a glass of milk. He raises an eyebrow. "For the food?"

"No." Arthur says simply. He wants to say more, he really does.. But the British are raised with a stiff upper lip, right? So he says nothing else... just sips his tea.

Wide-eyed...
And both in silence...
Like we're at a crime scene.