The school had been abuzz with gossip all day. Something about how some French model was filming a movie at their school. Mattie didn't care. He probably couldn't act worth crap. He was just there for his good looks. All this would mean for Matthew was that classes would be interrupted by the actors, the film crews and their entourage to portray a completely stereotypical and fabricated environment with emotions faker than reality and that was a hard thing to do, especially in high school. Their whole school had had to sign one of the forms conveying that it was all right to be in a film, leading to squeals from the female portion about being in a crappy movie with a hot guy. Matthew was at least slightly cynical about movies. As an actor, it was simple and even expected for him to criticize films. His slightly pessimistic personality made it harsh.

The teacher declared the class over, even though there was still fifteen minutes until the bell rang and Matthew pulled out his script, half- reading through his lines while doodling in the margins. He drew unflattering caricatures of each of the actors before going through and erasing all of them, not wanting anyone to see them and get offended. He didn't even know why he bothered to look over the script again. He could recite it in his sleep. Actually, according to Alfred, his annoying twin brother, he really did recite it in his sleep but that was apparently before the aliens abducted him so Matthew took whatever Alfred said with a grain of salt. Also the play was tomorrow night so if he didn't know his lines, he was, to put it bluntly, screwed. As well as the rest of the drama class, considering he was the lead.

It was an interesting story how Matthew got into drama in the first place. Alfred was supposed to be in drama; their parents had made him so that he could have an appreciation for the arts. Their mother had masterminded this; she was an artist from France. Alfred had the choice between art, music, and drama. He picked drama, no surprise, Alfred was known for his love of attention and inability to stop talking. But due to a mix up made by either their parents or the counselor's office, Matthew was placed in drama. After they got their schedules, Matthew was told to stay in Drama by their parents, saying that he needs to get over his shyness. Instead, Alfred learned how to play the drums.

Matthew had felt nervous at first about public speaking but after he had gotten past the dozens of eyes staring at him, it was nice. Matthew liked being able to be a completely different person, one where he wasn't his brother's shadow, as cliche as that may sound. Apparently, he was better than he though because when auditions came around, he ended up with the lead.

Matthew knew it didn't happen often but he was proud of himself and all the work he had put forward. He was scared for his parents to see it though. He liked to draw and paint but was to conscious of how terrible his art was compared to his others that all of his completed work was deposited in the closet where it would stay until it disintegrated. Alfred was more of the show-off; he played football, basketball, baseball and wresting and their parents went to all of his games Matthew managed to get out of going to most of them luckily. It felt nice that for once it was 'Matthew's rehearsal' instead of 'Alfred's practice.' He was glad to get attention but it made him even more nervous for the next day. Today, he had practice until eight which ad he noted with satisfaction was longer then Alfred's.

The bell rang and Matthew took a minute to organize his stuff before joining his classmates as they were liberated from the daily horror that was school. Matthew headed to his longer, quickly spinning the dial in its well- practiced rotation.

. . .

Francis lazily surveyed the school out of the limousine's window as they pulled up to the front. It was supposed to be a completely average high school. He wasn't sure whether every high school was this. . .dirty. Francis had wanted to film his first movie in his native land of France but his agent, a lady whom he very much enjoyed th ecompany of, insisted that high school movies were all the rage and therefore, he ended up here. He got out of the limo after the door was opened and was met by a nervous- looking principal. He was used to adults being in awe. The principal was saying something about a student guide and Francis smiled.

"I'll pick one," he interrupted, deliberately amplifying his French accent.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll choose." Francis ended the conversation and strode to the school doors. There was no way he was getting stuck with some ugly honor student for a guide. A beautiful person deserves to be surrounded by beautiful things, non? Francis gazed around predatorily at each person. A flash of blonde hair caught his interest and he looked in that direction and saw, upon closer inspection, a cute delicate blonde boy, putting his books into his locker.

Matthew was switching out his bugs when he felt the feeling of someone beside him.

"Bonjour, mon cheri," a voice purred in native French.

"I'm not a girl," came the response as another book was shoved into his locker.

"What? I never said you were. You are clearly a man as your lack of breasts suggest." The boy blushed.

"I'm still not your dear." Francis raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Parlez vous Francais?"

"Oui. Couramment. Ma mere est Francaise."

"Merveilleux."

"Now, if you excuse me I have somewhere to be."

"Ah, do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Girlfriend then?"

"No."

"Bonne. Now tell me your name." Matthew pulled a sheet of paper from his locker, a flyer of some sort and taped it onto the locker next to him.

"Matthew." Francis was immediately interested. He switched sides looking at the flyer.

"Ah, a school play. How quaint. And are you an actor? If you are, I'll be sure to attend." He looked back at the boy. He was gone.

. . .

Francis watched Matthew's awe inspiring performance. He had almost forgot what it meant to act, truly act with all your heart and while watching began to realize what he had been missing. Francis had wanted to be an actor but had gone into modeling for money so he was elated when the movie was proposed. And now, finally given an opportunity, he couldn't find a spark. Matthew had given him some hope and he knew that he had to become closer to the boy.

When the actors came out for bows, he was surprised when Matthew was not among them. He went to look for them, slipping behind the curtain through the chaos that came with a successful performance as congratulations were exchanged and photos taken. He came to the dressing room and had dismissed it as empty and had started out when he heard a stifled sob and headed to the source of the noise. He found Matthew with his knees to his chest, crying softly. Francis headed toward the sobbing boy.

"Mathieu, what's wrong?" A sniffle was his only response. Francis dropped to his knees and wrapped an arm around him. Francis pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to him. Matthew looked at the textile before taking it and wiping off the tears. "Mathieu, cette pièce de théâtre et surtout vous a été extraordinaire. The performance of a lifetime." Matthew sighed.

"It's not that."

"What is it then?" When no response was forthcoming, Francis tried to distract him. "Mathieu, there are lots of people who want to congratulate you. Why don't you go see them?" He broke into another fit of sobs.

"Not the people I want to be here," Matthew mumbled.

"Who, mon cher?"

"My family. They said they would. I left reminders, but they didn't come. They promised but then they forgot." Francis felt like this had happened before.

"Well, do you want to see all of the adoring fans?"

"No."

"Then what do you want to do?"

"I am going to to sit here and cry."

"Well, do you have a ride home?"

"No."

"I'll give you one. Come along, Mathieu." Francis got to his feet and pulled Matthew up, who was still sniveling. Matthew pulled away from Francis' arm.

"No, I don't want to face everyone."

"Is there a back way, mon cher?" Matthew nodded and let him to a door opening to the outside. Francis called his driver and gave him brief directions. The limo pulled up and Francis took pleasure in seeing the shocked look on Matthew's face. Francis helped him in, waving away the driver, then prompted Matthew for his address. Francis' driver was used to his conquests, male or female, stumbling into the car, mostly drunk, and probably, already undressing in the backseat, but he had never seen someone cry before. The driver sighed and started driving; it wasn't any of his business and he was being paid handsomely for both the driving and confidentiality.

Francis pulled Matthew closer to him, letting him rest on his shoulder, not bothering with seat belts. The thought of trying anything was completely out of his head. His main focus was making sure Matthew felt better. He started soothingly running his hands through Matthew's hair and rubbing calming circles on his back. Slowly Matthew calmed down and Francis started light conversation. Soon, they pulled up at Matthew's house. It was mistakable, just another house in the vast land of suburbia.

Francis helped Matthew out of the car and into the house. Matthew stared at the fridge angrily, ripping the flyer off and tearing it into pieces before throwing them into the trashcan. He swept through the house, grabbing post-it-notes off the remote, off the computer and off the doors with 'Play thursday at 6 :)' written on each. After all traces had been removed, Matthew collapsed in a chair, exhausted and crying not to cry. Francis saw this and tried to distract him.

"Mon cher, do you want to go clean the make up off?" Matthew nodded and padded into the bathroom. Francis took the opportunity to find Matthew's room, curious on what it was like. The first room he came to was messy, covered in sports posters and dirty laundry. He dismissed it and moved onto the next room which was plain with a large bookshelf and a really neat bed with a read comforter.

Francis smiled, this was Matthew's. He opened the closet door and his attention was piqued by the canvases at the bottom. He looked through and was impressed. Francis, being French, had a very refine taste in wine, food, love, and art and these paintings were impressive. Francis felt the hairs on his neck prickle and looked to see Matthew, glaring at him from the doorway with his hands on his hips. As much as the glaring boy sort of scared him, he was glad to see that he wasn't crying anymore.

"Oh, Matthew. Je suis desole. But you're very good."

"I''d appreciate it if you didn't go through my stuff."

"Vous êtes étonnant! Both art and drama." Matthew pursed his lips.

"Please come away from there." Francis put all the pictures back and followed Matthew into the kitchen. "Would you like something to eat?" Matthew offered politely. "Pancakes?" Francis nodded. It was clear he was making it for comfort for himself and Francis' primary goal was still to pick Matthew up and if eating his food would help, then he wouldn't eat it. Once he had to eat some completely blackened scones, but being drunk had made it slightly better. He somehow doubted Matthew's food was that bad. He walked into the kitchen and was instantly amused at the sight of Matthew tying on an apron. Matthew turned and saw Francis' face.

"I just don't want to get my costume dirty," he huffed cutely. Matthew turned and started to assemble ingredients. Francis was surprised that he was making them from scratch in the land of freedom, fried everything, microwavable meals. In about twenty minutes, Matthew pulled the pancakes of the stove and served them with a smile and a large dollop of maple syrup. Francis surveyed the food; it looked al dente but he nervously took a bite and to his surprise, these were the best pancakes he had ever had. And having been to many gourmet restaurants in France, that was quite high praise. He looked to see Matthew observing his reaction.

"Did you like them?"

"Bien sûr. Perfection. Best crêpes jamais." Matthew smiled. They finished their pancakes in the comfortable silence brought on by good food. After they had finished, Matthew broached the subject of Francis' leaving.

"Uh, Francis, tonight's a school night and its kind of past my curfew. No one's supposed to be here."

"Ah, of course, mon cher, will see you at school tomorrow. Bonne nuit."

"Bonne nuit." Francis showed himself out and got into the waiting limo while Matthew sat at the couch, turned on the television and did the homework he had neglected to do during the play and the days preceding. It was another hour before he heard the key turn in the lock and his family tromped in the front door.

'"Oh, hello Matthew. We'd thought you'd be in bed by now," his dad commented.

"I wanted to make sure you guys got home alright. Where'd you go?"

"The movie theater. We saw that one about the commies and the nukes."

"That's a lot of movies Al."

"Anyway, both of you need to get to bed now, There's school tomorrow." Alfred groaned something about homework while Matthew headed upstairs to bed. He didn't know whether he wanted them to remember and rush home, rife with apologies or whether he took satisfaction in the fact that they still haven't remembered. Some part of him wanted to see when they'd remember whether it be days or weeks or months, when it suddenly occurred to them and they turn to Mattie and ask him uneasily whether he was going to do the play soon. Matthew would nonchalantly reply that it was a while ago and that they forgot. They will immediately feel apologetic and try to make it up to him and he would be the center of attention for a while.

Then Matthew realized glumly that this would continue. Even if they felt bad, it would fade with time and son, they would forget about him again and this would continue for the rest of his life. Matthew now wanted to cry again with the sheer hopelessness of it all. This time, he busied himself with getting ready fro bed and tried to concentrate on anything but his family and of course, Francis.

. . .

. . .I have no idea why I'm writing a Franada fic. . .ah well. I already have 13,000 words written and I will continue posting periodically. Please review because this is my first serious yaoi fic and I really need commentary. I tried to make Matthew's view of high school plausible and let me know how I did on that. Basically I need constructive crit. My goal for this fic is to be more detailed character-wise and feeling-wise. Having never been on a date in high school(even though I'm a sophmore), I have no idea what people do(except for one time when I was the third wheel on my friends date to TacoTown. Can you say awkward?) So suggestions are welcome. Remember, I have a lot already written so if you review you encourage me to post more. So happy new year.