A/N: I'm calling this my domestic verse. This is the second installment. Title translates to "together to always" in French. I think.
By the way, I made a stuffed animal last year for an art class. It's a lot of fun, and surprisingly easy to do.
Ensemble Pour Toujours
Francis and Arthur were already having breakfast when Alfred stumbled into the kitchen. Arthur was helping him into a chair, having already set out a plate of bacon and eggs for both boys, when Alfred broke the news to them.
"Iggy, Francis," he said before yawning loudly. "Matty's sick."
"What?" Francis put down his coffee mug and stood up. "Why didn't he wake me last night?"
"I don't know, he's still sleeping," Alfred said. "But I put my hand on his head like Iggy does for me when I say I'm sick and it was reaaally hot."
"Oh dear," Francis said, placing his empty plate in the sink and leaving the kitchen. Halfway down the hall and he could still hear Alfred munching happily on bacon and smell something burning—most likely the toast Arthur had prepared.
"Papa," Matthew groaned loudly when Francis stepped into the room the two boys shared. "I don't feel so good."
"Oh, shh, mon cher. I'm sure it's just a little cold, you'll be better in no time."
"Will I have to miss school, papa? Miss Elizabeta said we were going to make stuffed animals today." He sighed. "I wanted to make a bear."
Francis pulled out the thermometer he'd snagged from the bathroom on his way to Matthew's room and placed it in the boy's ear. After a moment, a dull beep sounded from the mechanism and Francis looked at the reading.
"I'm sorry, Matthieu, but you most certainly have a fever. You can't go to school like this; you might get the other kids sick." Matthew looked so sad that Francis felt a little guilty, even though there was nothing else he could really do in a situation like this. "I'll call Miss Héderváry and see if she'll set aside a bear for you, or we can make one together if you want."
Matthew smiled a little at that and buried into the comforter.
"Sleep now, Matthieu, I'll bring you some breakfast in a little bit."
He had not even reached the door before he heard Matthew's light snores. Smiling, he made his way back to the kitchen and the sounds of father and son most likely starting a war over nothing but how the eggs should be made.
When he reached the kitchen, he picked up the phone and dialed the number for the preschool. Between him and Arthur, they were rather well known—Alfred was always loud and outgoing, but he sometimes picked fights in class, and when Arthur couldn't pick him up from the school Francis was the one who needed to go. Matthew was always well-behaved, of course, but the teacher still disliked Francis for some reason. He was best friends with one of her good friends, so there was really no reason for the hatred, but Francis was definitely very afraid of her. The woman carried a frying pan, for goodness sakes. Around children, nonetheless! Francis was sure that violated some moral code if not a legal one.
Still, Elizabeta was very sorry to hear that Matthew would be absent for that day, and she promised to send Arthur home with some supplies after dropping Alfred off so that Matthew could make a stuffed animal and not miss out.
Francis thanked her and hung up, told Arthur that he would have to pick a few things up from Elizabeta, and saw the two of them out the door.
Arthur returned twenty minutes later carrying a plastic bag laden with cloth cutouts and jars of buttons and those scissors made specifically for tiny hands.
When Matthew finally awoke, he was thrilled by the contents of the bag, and immediately set to work organizing them and creating a detailed plan of what precisely he was going to do with them.
"I want the bear to be brown," he said. "You know, bear colors."
Francis dug around in the bag. "There are only a few pieces of brown fabric here, Matthieu. Plenty of white, though…"
Matthew seemed to mull this over. "I suppose it could be a polar bear."
"That's the spirit," Francis said, already glad that Matthew was looking slightly better. His cheeks still held a feverish tinge but at least he had kept down the soup he had had that morning.
They worked all afternoon on the little bear, cutting and sewing and, in Matthew's case, watching the process with extreme supervision. Because he was still a little weak, Matthew was banned from handling the needles, and instead relegated to cutting at the swaths of white fabric with the childproof scissors.
Francis had experience in repairing clothes that were still good but had rips, as there had once been a time in his life where money did not come easily and, although he wore nothing but the most fashionable pieces, they were not always the finest. He sewed the bear together with precision and vigilance, not daring miss a stitch for fear Matthew would be disappointed with him.
It was no doubt a ridiculous thought, as the young boy never showed anything but the utmost respect, and perhaps even love, towards Francis, but nonetheless the Frenchman was worried. He was relieved when the last loop went through and it was time to stuff the bear.
He let Matthew take care of this part, watching the boy unfold his hands from the safety and warmth of the blanket he had brought with him and take the folds of fabric that formed the outline of the bear. He reached into the bag of stuffing and pulled out a huge handful, stuffing it gently into the bear.
"You can go faster, mon cher," Francis urged, realizing that by the time Matthew finished, Arthur would probably return with Alfred. For some reason the other boy and his brash attitude had a strange impact on Matthew, as though it made the younger twin feel invisible. Francis knew that it was probably that way at school, but nevertheless he never would want anyone to feel that way, least of all this boy he had grown to care so much for.
Still, it wasn't as though Alfred was malicious to Matthew in any way. It was simply the way things were. The two boys were all that they had left in the world, and it was clear by looking at the way they interacted that they knew it, and loved each other all the more because of it.
Not anymore, Francis thought suddenly, surprising himself. They're not alone anymore. Matthew has me, Alfred has Arthur, surely that's good for them?
But Francis knew that he was not this boy's father, and neither was Arthur to Alfred, and they could never truly take that place. They could just do all they could to fill the gap.
"I'm done, Papa," Matthew said, holding up the bear. Stuffing was pouring out of spaces where Francis had not sewn tight enough, but it was still a very handsome beast.
"Excellent, Matthieu! Do you love it?"
"Yes, very much! Thank you so much!" Matthew stood up on the chair and shyly leaned over, kissing Francis on the cheek. He made a face that suggested the man's stubble had been scratchy, but he was smiling despite. Francis felt his own features form a grin.
"It was no problem, none at all! Are you feeling any better?" Francis asked, hoping that the blush on the boy's face was not from the fever.
"Oh, yes," Matthew replied. His face lit up brighter. "I… I hope you don't get sick from staying with me all day."
"Matthieu, that's what my job is."
The young boy looked skeptical, but smiled and jumped off the chair, taking the bear with him.
"What are you going to call him?" Francis called after him.
Matthew stopped. "Well, in class the other day this boy said that his word for bear was Kuma. I like the sound of that…"
"Kuma? Well, it certainly is an interesting name," Francis agreed, before getting up to make himself a cup of coffee. He listened to Matthew's sock feet padding down the hallway in the direction of his room, and hoped that the boy would be able to get some sleep before Alfred and Arthur came home.
It was at least an hour and a half later, actually, before they came home. They were arguing, as per usual, about some trivial thing or other, but Alfred was smiling (which meant he thought he was winning) and Arthur looked smug (which meant he thought he was winning). Francis gave them a glance that told them Matthew was sleeping and could they please be quiet, thank you, before turning back to the television where some Spanish drama was unfolding.
He could only thank Antonio for the vocabulary that allowed him to understand Maria was pregnant with Juan's child even though Jose thought it was his own, even though he was having an affair with Catalina.
Arthur took one glance at the television, muttered something that was probably an insult to Antonio's heritage (he wasn't too fond of the Spaniard for some reason, although the feeling was pretty much mutual) and flipped the channel to football, which Francis didn't mind so terribly either. Alfred snuggled in next to him and complained that the people weren't using their hands at all, and where were their helmets, and where were the cheerleaders, until Arthur finally sent him to go check on Matthew.
The boy ran off to the room, but not before flaunting his own stuffed animal to Francis, which was some kind of gray extraterrestrial being, with the stuffing coming out and one eye dangling a little too low.
"That boy," Arthur clucked, and Francis smiled.
"You like him, admit it."
"He's… not as horrible as one may be lead to believe," was all Arthur replied.
The rest of the day passed by quickly, as Arthur left to return to work after dinner and Alfred played some kind of video game that involved mushrooms and two Italian guys (though they were nothing like the ones Francis knew). He continuously checked on Matthew, though the boy slept through most of the day, only to wake for dinner.
Finally, Arthur returned home and sank onto the couch, tapping Alfred on the head and ordering him to turn off the game simultaneously. The young boy obeyed, obviously tired, and curled up beside the Brit. Arthur pulled out some pocket book and began to read quietly, lulling Alfred to sleep. Francis took that as a cue to go check on Matthew for the last time that night.
Matthew was, surprisingly, awake when Francis entered the room. He winced as the lights were flicked on.
"I was calling for you," he said quietly. Francis sat on the bed and pulled the boy into his arms.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't hear you. You should have come to find me."
"I didn't want to bother you." They sat like that in silence for a bit, before Matthew spoke again. "I don't think anyone ever hears me."
"That's not true," Francis said. "All you need to do is speak up, and they will listen."
"No," Matthew said, and it broke Francis' heart to hear that. "Alfred listens, but not really. I was talking to Kuma, but he's not real. It's not like he knows I exist."
"I know you exist," Francis said, looking down at Matthew's mess of blond curls. "And I will always, always listen to whatever you want to tell me, even when you don't want anyone to listen."
Matthew sniffed, and Francis was unsure whether it was because of the cold or from tears. "I really like you, Papa," he said.
"I really like you too, Matthieu," Francis replied. He tucked the six year old back into the bed, flipping off the light beside the bed.
"Good night, mon cher," Francis whispered as he bent over his young charge. Matthew let out a deep breath as Francis pushed back his bangs and pressed a kiss to his warm forehead.
Francis closed the door softly behind him and headed back to the living room. He took his place on the couch next to Arthur and turned his attention to the television screen, tuning out Alfred's soft snores and the digging of small, sneakered feet into his thigh. Arthur had one hand resting on top of Alfred's head, carding fingers through the thick blonde locks, while in the other hand he held his cell phone, on which he was frantically texting someone.
"Is something the matter?" Francis asked.
"Hmm?" Arthur glanced over at him. "Oh, no, it's nothing. My brother seems insistent on messaging me at the oddest hours."
"Anything good to say?"
"I'm afraid not." Arthur sighed and snapped the phone shut, just as Alfred began to stir on his lap. After another muffled snore and one more kick to the leg, Francis reached over and gave Arthur a light tap.
"I think you should bring him to bed. Matthieu is most likely fast asleep by now."
"Oh, okay," Arthur agreed, gingerly collecting the young boy into his arms. Alfred did not even seem to notice, but simply insisted on clutching at the hideous sweater the Brit was wearing and burying his face into it. Francis did not miss the cautious smile that graced Arthur's face.
"It's okay to like them, you know," Francis said. Arthur turned to him slightly.
"I know." He looked hesitant. "I just don't believe for one moment that I'm good at this."
"Parenting?"
"Everything. It's all new to me. I can't possibly be doing it right."
He began to move in the direction of the children's room when Francis stopped him again.
"You know," he said, "No one is perfect at everything. I mean, I come close to it, but even I get worried that I'm not… doing the right thing. With these kids, I mean."
Arthur mumbled something that sounded like "stupid frog", but Francis continued.
"I think all that matters is that we're here for them. We don't have to be perfect; we just have to do the best that we can do. At least, that's what I think."
Arthur lifted one hand and placed it on the back of Alfred's head. "Yeah," he said. "I think that sounds right."