It was a rare moment of calm on a crisp, golden autumn day as Arthur, Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert gathered in Arthur's garden for an afternoon tea. The air was brisk, and the leaves, a riot of reds and golds, crunched underfoot as Arthur bustled around, setting out teapots, china cups, and saucers with his usual precision. He wanted everything just so; his hospitality was, in his mind, a reflection of his impeccable British standards.
The Bad Touch Trio lounged nearby, casting amused glances at each other and occasionally whispering between themselves. Arthur's level of detail and formality, from the perfectly pressed tablecloth to the tiny cucumber sandwiches cut into meticulous triangles, was both impressive and, in their eyes, delightfully mockable. Arthur was a picture of British restraint, his every move exuding a certain rigidity and primness that none of them could resist teasing him for.
"Really, Arthur," Francis said, drawing out his words in a slightly exaggerated tone. "Do you think you could be any more English about this?"
Arthur cast him a look, one eyebrow raised, and continued setting up the tea, keeping his voice cool. "Francis, if you have the good fortune of visiting my home, I'd expect you to respect my customs." He adjusted a teacup, as if the simple act could emphasize his point.
"Oh, but Arthur," Francis replied, an amused gleam in his eye, "we're in the presence of British perfection, non? Every crumpet, every spoon... it's practically begging to be admired."
Antonio grinned, joining in. "And these sandwiches, Arthur," he said, holding up one of the tiny triangles. "This isn't even enough food to feed a mouse! In Spain, we'd call this a 'snack for ants.' Don't tell me you're actually full after eating this?"
Arthur bristled, his posture tightening as he placed the teapot down firmly, though his voice remained polite. "We British value quality over quantity, Antonio. Not everything has to be excessive." He gave a prim, satisfied nod, as if to settle the matter.
Gilbert, not one to miss an opportunity, laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, yeah, you say that, but isn't it just because you don't know what real food looks like, Arthur?" He leaned forward, grinning as he jabbed a finger toward the small spread. "This tea party of yours wouldn't last five minutes with someone who's actually hungry!"
Arthur's mouth tightened as he glanced at the trio, his voice calm but with an edge of frost. "You know, it's awfully rich hearing such remarks from you three," he said slowly, straightening his already perfectly aligned cups. "I've never known you to be connoisseurs of refinement."
The trio chuckled, leaning back and whispering to one another, clearly amused by his attempt to defend his traditions. Arthur's patience was thinning, but he clung tightly to his manners, his anger simmering beneath a mask of calm. They were pushing him, and they knew it.
"Oh, come on, Arthur," Francis said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "There's no need to be so... British about it." His voice took on a high, mocking tone as he exaggerated his words, "I must say, your manners are absolutely impeccable, my dear Arthur!"
Arthur's jaw clenched, but he kept his voice steady, only the faintest tremor of irritation betraying his frustration. "I am simply maintaining a standard, Francis. Something you may not be familiar with."
But the remark only seemed to amuse them more.
Gilbert snickered, leaning forward. "Standard, huh? Is that what you call being uptight?" He scoffed, his smirk widening as he saw Arthur's reaction. "Let me guess, 'stiff upper lip' and all that, right?"
Arthur's cheeks flushed slightly, but he held his ground, his voice icily polite. "Perhaps," he said, choosing each word with care, "you'd all benefit from understanding that being a gentleman has its advantages. Though, I can see why that might be lost on you."
Antonio's eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly relishing Arthur's simmering temper. "Ay, don't get mad, Arthur! We're just having a bit of fun. Don't tell me you're going to lose your cool?"
"I am perfectly in control, thank you very much," Arthur replied, though his clipped tone betrayed the fact that his patience was wearing dangerously thin. The trio, sensing his rising irritation, exchanged a knowing glance.
Gilbert grinned, giving Arthur a deliberately exaggerated look of sympathy. "Oh no, he's 'perfectly in control.' I guess that means we should all just sit quietly, right? Wouldn't want to disturb the English gentleman."
Arthur stood straighter, his back stiff, every line of his body tense. His fingers curled tightly around his teacup, though he kept his voice level. "If you three cannot behave with a modicum of decency," he said, his tone almost painfully polite, "I suggest you leave my tea party."
Francis's mouth quirked into a smirk. "Ah, so now you're throwing us out? Very gentlemanly of you, Arthur."
Arthur's nostrils flared, but he took a deep breath, determined not to lose his composure. "I am simply suggesting," he replied in a carefully controlled voice, "that if you have no intention of respecting my hospitality, then perhaps you'd be better off somewhere else."
The trio's laughter bubbled over, their voices full of mock innocence. "Oh, we respect you, Arthur," Antonio said, his tone saccharine. "We just think it's adorable how you try to be so... proper, even when you're clearly about to lose it."
Arthur's eyes flashed, but he forced himself to remain calm, his words coming out clipped and cool. "I am simply maintaining a decorum, Antonio, something that seems entirely foreign to you."
But it was clear the teasing wasn't going to stop. Francis leaned in close, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Arthur, mon cher, if you want us to stop, all you have to do is say so. Though I must say, watching you try to keep calm is endlessly entertaining."
Arthur drew himself up, his posture painfully rigid, his voice low. "You three have been insufferable for this entire afternoon," he began, his tone still polite but with a biting edge. "Perhaps you find it amusing to ridicule others, but I will not stand here and—"
"Oh, but we're just warming up, Arthur!" Gilbert interrupted with a laugh. "Come on, isn't it fun to show a little passion once in a while?"
Arthur's expression darkened, and despite his best efforts, his composure began to slip. "I am showing plenty of passion, thank you," he bit out, "without resorting to—"
"—Resorting to what?" Francis interjected, smirking. "Being a little more... expressive?"
"Yes," Arthur replied icily, his voice steady but his eyes flashing. "Expressive." He stood his ground, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of an outburst. "If you three had any decency, you'd—"
The teasing continued, each of them goading him further, but Arthur held himself together with an iron will, his every word sharp and precise as he defended himself, refusing to lose his temper.
After what felt like hours, the teasing finally slowed, and the three of them exchanged amused, almost admiring glances. Arthur's resolve had been remarkable, his stubborn commitment to his manners relentless. Even though they had pushed him nearly to his limit, he'd never broken out of his gentlemanly politeness.
The next morning, Arthur entered the common room, his expression still cool and collected. But as soon as the Bad Touch Trio spotted him, their faces lit up, and they immediately began mimicking his polite, reserved tone.
"Oh, good morning, Arthur," Gilbert said, his voice dripping with an exaggerated, mocking politeness. "I trust you are quite well this fine day?"
"Indeed, Gilbert," Francis added, his tone dripping with fake civility. "It was simply delightful to see your impressive display of manners yesterday. So very... British of you."
Arthur rolled his eyes, though a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. "Honestly, you three have the maturity of children," he muttered, his tone as haughty as ever.
Antonio grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, Arthur, we love you just the way you are. Stiff upper lip and all."
As they all chuckled, Arthur sighed, realizing that perhaps, in their own strange way, they truly did respect him—even if they'd never stop teasing him for his very British stubbornness
