Francis fought his way out of his tangled sheet and unplugged the blaring alarm before it could wake up anybody else. He waited in the dark for a minute, listening for the shuffling footsteps in the hall that signalled he had woken up Mathias. As always, his heart caught in his throat as he waited, but he was only met with silence. Mathias Koler was the actual owner of the house, and he was there all the time, even when the other foster workers left for the night. Francis pulled on a crumpled pair of jeans and t-shirt from off the floor. It was as black outside as it was inside, and not a sound could be heard as Francis slipped down the long hallway. It didn't surprise him; after all, not many people were up at 5:30 in the morning. Francis got up at 5:30 every morning though, he had to. There were around 20 people in the house at any given time, and 20 people made a lot of laundry, and needed to be fed a lot of food, and dirtied a lot of dishes. Somebody had to do all the work; it didn't do itself, the foster 'parents' didn't do it, the other kids didn't do it, and there would be hell to pay from Mathias if somebody didn't do it. So, by process of elimination, it fell to Francis to make sure that everything in the foster house was functioning properly and neatly, and there was no time to fit in the work besides from 5:30 in the morning, till 7:00 in the morning when everybody else got up. That was just how things were. Unless he accidently woke up Mathias, then it wasn't overly terrible for Francis. He didn't mind the work, or the quiet, and to Francis a few hours of sleep was well worth avoiding an angry Mathias. Francis prayed that the reason he hadn't woken Mathias was because he was already asleep, and not that he was out drinking. Mathias was a legendary alcoholic, and a violent drunk. And Mathias was always drunk. [Time skip, it's now 6:00] With his work finished early (several kids had graduated last year, and a few were at boarding school) Francis was well prepared to crawl back into bed, when he heard the front door slam shut. His stomach dropped as he heard Mathias down stairs, sounding more drunk than he'd been in almost two months. Francis still has bruises from the last time. He shuddered at the memory, standing by the wall in the dark hallway, hoping Mathias wouldn't notice him in his intoxicated state. His fear only grew stronger as Mathias lumbered up the stairs, cursing and banging into things as he emerged into the hallway. He fumbled around for a minute, and then managed to flick the light on, instantly revealing Francis. "Francis" He slurred, stumbling over and wrapping an arm around Francis's thin shoulders. "Come here Francis" he mumbled, half dragging the boy down the hall after him. Francis said nothing, knowing he could get away, but that things would only be worse in the morning if he tried. Mathias practically fell into his room, pulling Francis behind him as he collapsed onto his bed. Francis could only sigh in relief when Mathias fell asleep immediately. They lay in uncomfortable silence until the alarm went off. "Turn that motherfucking thing off!" Mathias yelled angrily, folding his pillow over his head and letting a stream of profanities leave his mouth. Francis reached over and clicked off the alarm, Mathias's arm still tight around his waist and Francis not daring to try and move it. Outside the door the chatter in the hallway faded as the other occupants left for school. "Mathias" Francis whispered "what?!" came the growled reply, voice still muted by the pillow. "I-I have to go to school" the arm still didn't move "you're skipping" Mathias grunted, tugging Francis closer to him. Francis whimpered quietly as Mathias shoved Francis's head into his groin. "Suck" he ordered, hands tight on Francis's shoulders, as if daring him to disagree. Francis complied, holding back tears as he went to work, his tongue dancing along the length of Mathias's cock, and eventually taking the whole thing in his mouth, almost choking as Mathias bucked beneath him. Francis's eyes stung with tears as he tasted pre-cum in his mouth. He had hoped that Mathias would withdraw before then. Mathias shot his load, the semen dribbling out the corner of Francis's mouth as he swallowed. "You wasted some" Mathias's voice was like ice, his open palm cracking across Francis's cheek, he stormed out of the bed. "You fucking slut!" he hissed angrily, practically pulling the top drawer clean out of his dresser as he looked for his whip. He shoved Francis into the headboard, tying his hands together at the top, his insults never ceasing. Francis closed his eyes and prayed it would be over quickly, wincing as his shirt was ripped off and the first lash cut into his skin.
If Arthur Kirkland was disappointed in his new town, then he was outright embarrassed by his new school. Not only was the school almost impossible to find (thanks to which he was late), but the people themselves were dull, stereo-typical, narrow minded hicks, and it infuriated him to listen to their chattering. It took him almost no time to find his first period class, but he was still five minutes late for chemistry. "Mr. Kirkland, glad you could join us." The teacher, a large and intimidating man names Mr. Lawson, bellowed from the front of the room. "Everyone else already has lab partners, so you'll have to be Francis Bonnefoy's partner. He's not here today, but you can sit there" he extended a meaty finger towards a desk in the very back corner of the room. The desk, Arthur figured, was the equivalent of the nosebleed section of a concert. Nobody wanted to sit there, but some poor sucker got put there anyways. He could barely see the chalkboard, and the desk was covered in graffiti; KT+ML=3, tiny meaningless symbols, and an abundance of poorly drawn penises etched into the surface. The teacher was loud, like he only had two volumes –loud, and louder. The day itself was monotonous, and Arthur was almost excited to leave the place. Almost. Arthur didn't live in a nice area of town, and after his three older brothers graduated, his mother had turned all of her motherly instincts onto him. Now she spent her days warning him about not getting in cars with strangers, and not taking candy from strangers, and not skipping through the park talking to fairies with strangers. At 15, Arthur was pretty sure he already knew all that. Hell, at six Arthur was pretty sure he knew all that. But no words could dissuade his mother, so Arthur had taken to spending his time locked away in his room, poring over an ancient copy of the Canterbury Tales, or curled up on his bed listening to music and letting his curiosity get the best of him. It was raining outside as the bus stopped at the end of his street, and he forced himself to drag his feet down the plastic steps and onto to sidewalk. As he neared his house, he felt his eyes drawn to a figure sitting in the windowsill of the house next door. The boy looked his age, with loose, blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, and pale violet eyes that stared desolately out over the dirty city streets. The boy was thin as a rail, and Arthur simply stood there in the rain, staring at him until their eyes met. The contact only lasted a moment, before Arthur quickly turned away and into his house, letting the door swing shut behind him as he made a break for his room, hoping to get there before his mother spotted him. He lay on his bed, his eyes closed, but he could see the boy in the window as clear as if he were looking right at him. He could see his soft, cream coloured skin, and the way his features all blended together, like glass. And that was what Arthur came to think of him as, the Glass Boy. Arthur sat there, his mind buzzing with questions, and making up answers. Why was the glass Boy sad? Arthur tried again and again to think of him with a different face, but he couldn't. Arthur couldn't make the Glass Boy smile. It was something Arthur could normally do with a person. He could see your face, and then picture all your different expressions. He would do it sometimes when he was talking to people to make the conversation more interesting, but try as he might, Arthur couldn't make the Glass Boy smile. This was how Arthur first met the boy he came to know as Francis Bonnefoy.