A/N: Well, here it is 2018 and I'm still stuck deep in the Hetalia fandom. This here is a little plot bunny I got in my head after listening to the song Le bien qui fait mal by Mozart Rock Opera. I've got a few more chapters mapped out but maybe won't write more unless people follow/review this one. Either way, hope you guys enjoy this one! Also, kudos to anyone who actually translates the name of this chapter. Just my attempt at being cute.
Chapter 1: Horloges précises et blocs d'art
The brush moved delicately across the canvas, bathing the newly created cityscape in colorful hues of orange, yellow, and pink. It was a perfect morning. One of the last few warm days of the year. It was comfortable enough outside that he could sit on the balcony and re-create the city in the distance on the canvas in front of him. Erasing it of its imperfections and forever capturing it in its current peaceful state. He just needed to capture the exact angle of the rising sun's rays over the-
'I need to wake Matthieu up in exactly seventeen minutes.'
The thought completely threw off his current state of mind. In fact, it was so abrupt it made the hand holding the paint brush veer slightly off course, ruining the ray of light he had been working so hard to capture. The man took a deep breath. No matter, he still had a little bit of time, he could fix this…
He put the brush back to the canvas and had only just begun shaping a new ray of sun to illuminate his little city when another thought broke through and interrupted him once more.
'I really should check the traffic report before I wake him up. He'll be late if I choose the wrong route to school…'
Once again, his precise movement was interrupted, and he found the line he had been trying to paint ruined. Francis felt his lips press into a line as he stared at the canvas bitterly. Suddenly everything about it was all wrong. The cityscape was a jagged mess, the so-called sunrise was completely comprised of the wrong colors, and the angle of the piece was simply atrocious.
The young man let out a frustrated growl and stood up. He wished desperately that he had a cigarette to press into the canvas so that he could destroy the cursed image at that very moment, but Matthieu had found his last pack and flushed them down the toilet the previous night.
Francis knew that his younger brother was just trying to look out for his health. He knew that he really did need to quit the nasty habit, but he also knew that he really needed a cigarette right then.
The 24-year-old turned on the small tv in his room to listen to the traffic report before putting on a fresh nicotine patch and glaring at it irritably in the mirror. So far instead of satisfying him the damn things had only given him horrendous headaches and nausea. However, Matthieu was always so proud of him for trying to quit, so he forced himself to wear the awful patches every day.
Francis glanced at the clock and quickly started putting on his uniform for work. He was a waiter at a five-star restaurant in the heart of the city. He didn't make enough to live a very glamourous life, and some months were harder than others, but since he only needed to support himself and Matthieu he was usually able to make do.
Lately the man had been kicking around the idea of picking up a second job, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He already had so little time to pursue art and he was afraid a second job would completely nail shut the coffin that held his dreams.
Before his parent's untimely death, Francis had been an aspiring artist. He'd been finishing up his first year at an esteemed art school when the news of their car accident had reached him. Within four months he'd gone from talented and aspiring art student to the sole guardian of his one-year-old brother. It was almost funny, in an ironic way. People generally said that suffering made artists better, but suffering had almost completely separated Francis from his art.
He did his best to keep up with it and continue to try and follow his dream, but it was extremely hard between work and caring for Matthieu. Those two things took up so much space in his mind that Francis had been battling a case of art block for going on two years now. Every time he tried to break out of his rut it ended up like it had this morning, with him glaring at a ruined canvas and desperately wishing for a cigarette.
He frowned softly at his reflection in the mirror, expertly tying his bowtie before getting lost in his thoughts once more.
Poor Matthieu couldn't even remember their parents. Francis had done his best to keep their memory alive in him with photos and stories, but Matthieu couldn't exactly remember the first year of his life, so to him their parents were just kind strangers that Francis happened to know a lot about…
Francis knew Matthieu had unresolved feelings about the entire thing, but he had absolutely no idea how to approach the boy regarding them. He couldn't exactly afford a child therapist with his salary, and he didn't have enough time to try and read anymore sappy parenting books like he'd had to when Matthieu was still an infant…
So, Francis let those feelings remain where they were. Matthieu was a smart boy, if something was truly bothering him Francis was positive that his little brother would tell him about it. Sure, Matthieu was a little shy around others and overall very soft-spoken, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't tell Francis when something was up.
The man finished his routine by tying off his long hair with a small ribbon. His appearance was something he'd always worked hard to maintain, and he was thankful that the restaurant he worked for had an appreciation for his "sophisticated" look.
He glanced at his alarm clock and sighed in relief. Perfect. Right on time.
Francis headed across the hall into Matthieu's room and turned on the light. "Alright, time to get up! C'est un nouveau jour!" He said cheerfully and watched as the little cocoon of blankets began to move around.
"Nooooooon" replied the tired little bundle. "It can't be time for school already!" Matthieu whined.
Francis let out a chuckle and glanced at Matthieu's alarm clock. It was a dark blue color, matching with most of the room. However, Matthieu also insisted on collecting anything polar bear related, so the room was decorated with posters of the animal along with figurines, plushies, and even a white bed frame that had bear ears at the top (Francis had thought it was a little tacky but Matthieu had absolutely insisted on buying it.).
"School doesn't start for another hour and 26 minutes, but it is time for you to get up. Otherwise you'll be late!"
The 6-year-old finally poked his head out from below the bundle of blankets and pouted adorably. "We don't have to be right on time every day…" He mumbled.
Francis let out a snort. "Nonsense. Being on time is important. If you aren't on time to your job later in life your boss will fire you, you know."
Little blue eyes widened considerably. "Really…?"
"Really" Francis replied solemnly. "Which is exactly what will happen to me if you don't get out of bed and start getting ready right now! We're already a whole two minutes behind schedule!"
The child let out a small whimper but stood up and headed to the bathroom as Francis started to pull out some clothes for him to wear that day. Matthieu clicked start on the little electric timer on the sink and brushed his teeth with his polar bear toothbrush for exactly two minutes until the timer let out a shrill beep and he rinsed his mouth out.
By the time Matt had returned to his room Francis had finished laying out clothes for him and was already in the kitchen making breakfast for the two of them. It was Tuesday which meant he'd be making poached eggs with a side of bacon and some sliced fruit. His brother was a wonderful cook, but Matthieu wished that he would add a little more variety to their menu. If the 6-year-old was given a calendar he could probably map out exactly what they would have for breakfast lunch and dinner every day of the month.
The boy finished dressing himself and went out to sit at the island in their kitchen. Francis hadn't wanted to spend money on a table for just the two of them, so they made do with what they had.
Matt looked up as his brother set the plates down and took his own seat across from him. "Don't forget," the six-year-old began. "We need to go to the library after school today so that I can do some research for my polar bear report!"
Francis nodded. "Oui, I remembered. Now eat up! We have to leave in exactly fourteen minutes!" he chided as he started working on his breakfast, wanting to get through the dishes before he had to drive Matthieu to school.
Francis was glad that he had decided to listen to the traffic report this morning. There had been an accident on their normal route, but he'd had enough time to find a satisfactory detour and deliver Matt to school right on time, as usual.
He waved out the window to his little brother and smiled before driving off to work, not noticing the nervous look that crossed Matthieu's face as he approached the doors of the building.
As he drove to work Francis couldn't help but recall bits and pieces of his previous life. He'd won all kinds of scholarships for art during his final year in high school. He'd taken home first place in every school, county, state, and regional art show he'd been in.
It helped that he'd had his parents back then. They were gentle people, both hailing from wealthy families. His father had always had more of an eye for business than art, but that didn't stop him from supporting Francis however he could.
His mother had been his true inspiration. She'd been a small-time fashion designer and had taught Francis the basics of art when he was very young. She was always honest in her critiques of his work and was always willing to be a model for whatever wild idea Francis had thought up.
The man found himself smiling sadly as he drove. He had aspirations back then. People expected things of him. He was going to go places, do things. People around the world would know about him.
And yet… life had found a way to pull the rug out from under him. He wondered vaguely if it was because he'd stopped putting as much effort into his work when he had arrived at art school. He was leaps and bounds better than most of his peers, so he'd found himself instead getting involved in the party scene. School was actually where he'd picked up smoking… He was almost glad that his parents had never had to see him light up or do half of the things he'd done at school. They certainly wouldn't have approved.
The man felt a gentle blanket of sadness fall over him as he continued his commute. He'd been so surprised to hear that his parents were expecting another son during his Junior year in high school.
At first Francis had been a little weirded out by the thought of having a brother that young, but his parents had been so happy about it that he couldn't bring himself to stay mad for long. After all, he figured he wouldn't really have much to do with Matthieu since he was almost out of school and getting ready to start his own life. How wrong that had been…
Francis felt a small stab of anger in his chest. If Matthieu hadn't been born, then he could have just moved on after his parent's death. Perhaps gone through some sort of blue phase and be more popular because of it…
Instead he was stuck in the same no-name city he'd grown up in. Forced to work as a pitiful waiter of all things. Nobody expected anything of him now. Nobody knew or cared about his name anymore. He was just one of millions in a sea of mediocrity.
Francis gripped the steering wheel tightly, forcing such thoughts from his head. That wasn't true. Matthieu depended on him, expected things from him, loved him more than anyone else in the world. He couldn't blame his misfortune on his brother, he had nothing to do with it.
That was just something Francis would need to learn to accept.
Work was wholly unremarkable that day. Most people were outside enjoying one of the last few warm October days before Autumn really bore down on them and prepared to make way for Winter. Nobody wanted to spend their day trapped inside some stuffy French restaurant.
Since it was so empty that day, he got to spend the day in the back with the rest of the staff playing card games. He was even lucky enough to bum a cigarette off a fellow waiter and because of that was in a much better mood when he picked Matthieu up from school that afternoon.
"How was your day?" The elder brother asked as he set Matthieu's polar bear backpack in the backseat of the car that had gotten him through the last eight years of his life.
"It was fine…" Came the quiet reply as the boy looked out the window with a small frown.
"Just fine? Nothing exciting happened?" Francis asked as he pulled away from the curb and headed towards the public library.
"Non, not really… we did get to go outside and look at the leaves during science hour though!" The boy replied, his tone picking up a little as he began discussing all the pretty leaves he'd found that day.
Francis listened intently to Matthieu's story. He nodded when appropriate and threw in a few "Oh's" when needed. Soon enough they arrived at the library and Matthieu eagerly hopped out of the car. The boy insisted on putting the quarters into their parking meter before heading inside the large building with Francis.
The two of them walked up to the information desk where the librarian was hunched over working on something. Francis couldn't see the man's face through the mess of blonde hair and the man hadn't noticed them standing there at all.
After a couple moments of looking at the man expectantly, Francis finally cleared his throat. "Er-… Excuse me. Where might we find some books on polar bears…?" He asked awkwardly, waiting for the man to look up and acknowledge him.
Instead of looking up, the irritated man just raised a hand and pointed to their right. "590's." Came the harsh reply. "Specifically, 599 - the Mammalia section." Without another word the man lowered his hand and went right back to whatever he was working on.
Francis frowned very deeply. What a rude man. Weren't librarians supposed to be cute old ladies who found great joy in getting children to read?
"Right, merci." He replied tensely before taking Matthieu's hand and leading him to that section, trying to explain what he remembered of the Dewey Decimal System on the way.
Twenty minutes later they were situated at a table and Matt had a handful of simple zoology books that he was taking notes from to use in his little report. Francis vaguely wondered what kind of report a six-year-old could write, but school had constantly been changing since he'd graduated.
Matthieu's class used some form of smart device to learn almost every single day, and apparently his school gave out tablets to the middle and high school students to use for work throughout the year. The thought of it made Francis' head spin a little.
Satisfied that Matt was engrossed in his work, the man took out his sketchbook and opened it up to a fresh page. He hoped to just do a quick sketch of the cover of one of Matt's books, but every time he started to get into the rhythm he found himself interrupted by a question.
"Francis, what's this word?" Matthieu asked and turned the book, pointing to the word in question.
Francis glanced up from his drawing to check it. "Vertebrate." He replied and looked back down.
Matt glanced at it again. "… Francis, what does vertebrate mean?" The boy asked softly, looking up at his brother who frowned as he was torn from his drawing again.
"Vertebrate means that something has a spine. A polar bear is a vertebrate. Humans are vertebrates." He replied swiftly and returned to drawing. He almost had the eyes correct-
"…What about this word, Francis?"
The man took a deep breath. He was not going to get any sketching done here. He shut his sketchbook and moved his seat closer to Matthieu's to look over the word. Instead of getting a few good sketches done he spent two full hours expanding Matt's vocabulary.
By the time they were ready to leave the grouchy librarian from before had been replaced by a much kinder old woman who chatted with them as she checked the books out.
Francis signed Matthieu up for a library card and watched his little brother excitedly write his name on the card before they put the books into his backpack and headed home for the night.
Matthieu could tell that Francis was frustrated on the drive home. He knew his brother wanted to spend time sketching at the library today, but some of those words were just so hard…
Francis glanced over at Matt and froze when he saw small tears streaming down the boy's cheeks. He quickly pulled onto a side street and kept his blinker on as he turned to face the boy.
"Matthieu? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" the man asked, concern evident in his tired eyes.
Matt sniffled and just shook his head as he let out a few small blubbers.
"T-Then why are you crying little one?" Francis asked softly and leaned over to gently wipe the child's tears.
"C-Cause you're mad at me!" Matthieu sobbed, more tears quickly replacing the ones that had been wiped away.
"M-Mad at you?! What have I done to make you think that?!" Francis stammered, genuinely confused by his brother's accusation.
"Y-You wanted to draw while we were at the library, but you c-couldn't cause I kept asking you questions!" He bawled. "I annoyed you! I'm sorry! Please don't be mad at me!"
Francis froze, and felt his eyes soften a little. He had read in one of those sappy parenting books that children were very good at picking up emotions, even those that you tried to hide. Had Matthieu really been able to notice his frustration? He felt bad for hurting his brother's feelings if that was the case.
"Matthieu, I'm not mad at you." He said softly.
The boy sniffled and looked up at him miserably. "B-But…"
"But nothing. I'm sorry if I seemed frustrated with you. It's true that I was planning on sketching at the library today, but your questions are much more important to me. I want you to feel like you can ask or tell me anything, Matthieu. Even if you feel like you're bothering me." He said softly, reaching over again to gently wipe the tears from the boy's cheeks.
Matt looked up with pitiful, wide eyes. "R-Really? Promise...?"
Francis nodded firmly. "Promise. Je t'aime, Matthieu." He said and leaned over to hug his brother close.
The boy sniffled and cuddled into the hug as much as the seatbelt would allow. "Je t'aime…"
Matthieu had been quiet after his little episode in the car, and Francis was thankful for that. Once Matthieu was fed, cleaned, and tucked in all according to schedule, the man found himself sprawled out on their couch, staring at the ceiling.
Had he really been so hostile earlier that Matthieu had picked up on it? Was he really that bad of a parent? Matthieu didn't even feel like he could talk to him…
The man rolled over onto his side and groaned as he buried his face in his hands. He wasn't cut out for this. While he was in college Francis had always pictured himself as a globetrotting artist with no time for a family life. Now that he'd been thrust into one, he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up.
He rolled over again and went back to staring at the ceiling. Was this some sign from God? Every time he tried to create even the smallest work of art he always found himself torn away by distractions such as work, bills, Matthieu…perhaps it was time he put away his brushes for good and focused on working towards a stable career that could better support his brother…
The man grimaced and shook the thought from his head as he stood up. Non, he couldn't do that. Give up on his dreams…? He promised himself he would never do that. Yet… life wasn't getting any cheaper. There was no way he'd be able to Matt through college on a waiter's salary… he needed to sleep on it.
Francis let out a soft sigh before heading to his bedroom, changing into some pajama bottoms and flopping into his bed. The thought of doing the exact same things tomorrow and for at least the next twelve years made the man sick to his stomach, but he forced the feeling down and tried to sleep.
Forty-five minutes later Francis found himself staring at the ceiling once more. However, this time he wasn't lost in thought, he was steaming with anger. He could hear some form of loud, terrible music coming from directly above him. He glanced over at his clock and saw that it was 12:23 in the morning. Didn't the jerk in the apartment above him know that he had to be up in exactly five hours and thirty-seven minutes?!
When the clock hit 12:45 Francis was unable to take it any longer. He threw off his blankets and angrily put on his bathrobe before storming out of his apartment and up the stairwell. He felt angered by the fact that he couldn't hear the music again until he got right to the apartment door. Were they really playing right above him?! Whoever it was, he was going to give them a piece of his mind.
Without waiting another minute, Francis raised his hand and started angrily pounding on the apartment door.
A/N: Well, there's chapter one. What do you guys think? Want to see more? Next chapter will be a look into Arthur's life and how he arrived to this point. Sound interesting? I hope you guys want to see more of this! Please leave a review if you're going to follow, they really keep me going!