Prompt (from otprompts): Person A and Person B of your otp are neighbors in an apartment building. They haven't spoken much, but on the night of a thunder storm, Person B receives a knock on his door from Person A, who is apparently afraid of thunderstorms / lightning. Though they've only spoken a few times before, Person A comes up with excuses to why they have to stay over. Person B agrees (begrudgingly or not).

"Papa? The rain's gettin' heavier. Do you think we can still go to the game?" Matthew Bonnefoy sat at his kitchen table, swinging legs back and forth. It was around nine o'clock at night, and the two of them were at the table. His papa Francis Bonnefoy was doing paperwork, his chin propped up in his hand, but he looked up at the sound of his son's voice.

"I'm not sure, mon petit cherie," he said gently. "If the roads are wet tomorrow, then non." The little boy's face fell so he added, "But if not, then we can definitely go, all right?"

"All right." He said softly, though he still looked a little down. Francis smiled and leaned over to kiss his temple.

A clap of thunder shook the house, and both of them jumped. Francis frowned slightly at the ceiling.

"You better get to bed, Matthieu," he said firmly. "Take Kuma with you.

Matthew nodded and hopped off of his chair, their large white dog Kuma following him into his bedroom. Francis watched him go for a moment.

Mon dieu, how he had changed his life. Before he had been such a...man whore, for lack of a better phrase, especially after Joan had died... He shook his head to get those thoughts out. They were all right now.

Francis looked down at the paperwork in front of him again with a sigh. He scratched the bridge of his nose. He had to get this all paid by... What was the date again?

Another crack of thunder made him jump. Goddamn storm. If this made him and Matthew miss the hockey game tomorrow, well -- everything he did now was for his son, and if they missed this...!

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Francis paused. Had he heard that right? It was almost ten now, in the pouring rain. Who would be knocking?

He stood up anyway and walked to the living room. Should he grab the pistol in the kitchen closet just in case? What if it was Gil or Antonio?

He opened the door. It wasn't either of his best friends.

The man that stood there was shorter than him, with unruly blonde hair and soaking wet clothes. His eyes were bright and green -- a deeper, cooler green than Antonio's, less friendly and a bit bloodshot. And his eyebrows were the thickest thing that Francis had ever seen. They were probably thicker than this man's dick.

"Can I help you?" Francis said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. The man flushed and stood up more straight.

"Erm, Arthur Kirkland. I live on the bottom of the building."

"Francis Bonnefoy," Francis said smoothly, sticking out a hand for him to shake. "I don't believe we've met." And they did shake hands, Arthur's being sort of cool to the touch.

"I've just moved in with my son Alfred." Arthur said shortly. Francis' eyes lit up.

"Really? I have a son as well~" A small smirk climbed up onto his lips. "Maybe we could get them together sometime, cher~"

"I don't like the tone of your voice when you say that."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Whatever are you implying~?"

"..." Arthur didn't know if he was serious or not.

"Anyway," Francis lifted the corner of his mouth in a little smile. "Can I help you with something?"

A clap of thunder made both of them jump, but Francis saw it. Now he was never really bothered terribly by storms -- he loved falling asleep to the sound of rain. But sometimes Matthew was, so he was pretty familiar with the look of hesitant fear.

The look that flashed on Arthur's face just now.

"...well," Arthur said, his eyes wide but his voice steady. "You see, my power went off and I need to finish this paper I'm working on."

Francis raised an eyebrow carefully. Bull shit. For a number of reasons. But, being the nice guy he was, he opened his door to the strange-eyebrowed man.

"Would you like to stay the night?"

"Excuse me, frog?!" Arthur snapped, jaw clenched, and he whirled around to face him. Francis hadn't even done that on purpose. No, really this time. "Wha--no! I am not just some bloody easy bloke you can pick up whenever--"

"...mon dieu, I was trying to be a good neighbor." Francis said flatly. "I have a couch that pulls out. I could turn it into a bed if you'd like."

"...oh."

"Oh is right." He crossed his arms, though he couldn't help but look the smallest bit amused. "So is that a yes? Will your son be all right?"

"He's not home at the moment," Arthur said, shrugging. "Sleepover with some little Russian friend of his. I don't know the bloody details."

Francis looked at him, waiting for him to make a move to come in. "Mm. Well, I hope he has fun."

"So do I, of course." Arthur took off his coat with a sigh. "And... Thank you for this. Sorry about before."

"That's all right, cher, don't worry about it." Francis waved him off. "And you look exhausted. It's late; I can pull the couch out for you."

Arthur nodded sheepishly. "Much obliged."

Francis smiled a bit and did so. It didn't take more than like, ten minutes. He brought down pillows from upstairs too, and one of Matthew's old blankets, decorated with bears.

"My son's." Francis explained.

Arthur nodded. "Thank you," he repeated, and it sounded genuine. For the first time since they spoke.

"You're very welcome," Francis said back. "Sweet dreams."

He walked up the stairs. Francis opened the door to check on Matthew, who was fast asleep. He kissed his son's forehead before he went into his own room and fell quickly asleep.

The storm lasted the entire night. In the middle of the night a particularly loud clap of thunder woke him. He sat up, and looked around the room, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

Arthur Kirkland was curled up at the edge of the bed, trembling. Poor thing, Francis thought. So with a small smile, he wrapped another blanket around him and went back to sleep.