The Virtues Of Literature

Part 6

Chapter 6

Francis' day is not going very well. Not at all.

He curses his life, annoyed at having to deal with numerous mood-ruining and stress-inducing problems. He had overslept in the morning somehow, most likely because he'd had to stay up stupidly late the previous night trying to get an assignment finished, and wound up missing breakfast and his morning coffee which really made him grumpy. It didn't help that Arthur was awake while Francis was rushing around the apartment, snickering at the lack of his usual composure before realising with annoyance that he wouldn't be getting any of Francis' breakfast that morning. Francis had been kept behind lectures by his professor and ended up late for work, earning him a warning from his boss that made another addition to the crappiness of his day.

Francis leaves work and walks home in rain, the weather suitably fitting his mood, and finally makes it back to his warm apartment. He shuts the front door behind him and shudders at the chilliness of his damp clothes. Arthur is lying on the sofa on his laptop and looks up lazily as Francis comes in.

"You look pissy."

Francis glares at him. "Wow, what a lovely way to welcome someone home. Thanks for stating the obvious, Mister Sarcastic." he says bitterly. By this point, he can't find the effort within himself to keep up his charming personality or flirt with the irksome Brit.

"Hah, I hardly think I'm the sarcastic one at the moment."

Francis scowls, dumping his bag and art folder in his room and he slumps down on his bed with a heavy sigh. After several hours of working in the afternoon, it is already rather late and Francis realises with a groan that he'll have to make dinner. Despite being tired and in need of a rest, he doesn't feel like ordering in some expensive takeaway and definitely doesn't want to have to go back outside, so he hauls himself back off the bed and makes his way into the kitchen.

Francis prepares a pasta bake quickly, just hoping to eat something warm and then relax. He places the meal in the oven and leaves it to cook while he reads the newspaper.

A while later after Francis gets himself absorbed in the tragedy that is British politics and various strange news articles, Arthur walks into the room.

"Hey frog, isn't that burning?"

Francis immediately snaps his head, instantly noticing the strong odour of burning after it is pointed out to him.

"Shit!"

He runs to the smoky kitchen, reaching to pull the charred pasta bake out of the oven and remembering oven gloves just too late. He hisses with pain at the searing pan, whipping his hand back and grabbing the oven gloves to retrieve the ruined dish. All of the pasta and cheese on the top is thoroughly burnt; inedible.

"Merde, I forgot to set the timer!" Francis wails, exasperated at everything. "Why does life hate me, it's like I'm destined for misfortune."

"My god, there's no need to be so melodramatic."

Francis narrows his eyes at Arthur while sucking on his burnt finger.

"Anyway, what the hell are we supposed to do now you've messed up our dinner? I thought you were actually supposed to be a good cook or something."

"For god's sake, do you really feel the need to turn everything against me instead of actually helping? You're so overly critical and condescending, it would be nice if for once you were actually kind and sympathetic like normal people try to be! And you're being so utterly hypocritical; it's not like anything you attempt to cook comes out any different!"

Francis finds himself getting more and more angry with everything. He knows it isn't like him to act so cruel but he can't stop himself when so much stress has built up over both the day and the year. Francis isn't a hot-headed person (he usually leaves that to Arthur), but occasionally he can get so frustrated that he just can't keep things in. At this point he can feel himself becoming almost blind to his actions. A small part of his mind is telling him to stop but his thoughts are too clouded.