The first thing that people had told Arthur and Francis when their surrogate mother dropped twins was that they should join a support group. The second thing people told them was that the twins should be encouraged to develop separate identities. This was stressed above everything else.
God bless them, they tried, but the boys were having none of it.
When they were babies, Alfred would howl. He could scream for about four hours and not calm down. Much to the alarm of his fathers, whenever he did this, there was nothing wrong with him, if Alfred had a problem, he let someone know about it and had it fixed toot sweet. But, as it was soon discovered, whenever Al really started belting it out, it meant that Matthew had a problem. As soon as Mattie had his diaper changed or was burped – whatever it was that he needed – Alfred calmed right down, burbling happily as though he hadn't just broken the windows with his voice.
As they grew older, the proud parents wondered if this infantile habit wasn't more than just that. Matthew was reserved. He rarely spoke, and most often, when he did, it was through Alfred. When Matthew achieved something, his brother would excitedly tell their fathers about it.
"An-an-an an 'en Mattie builded the hugest sandcastle of all!" Alfred chirped, spreading his arms to illustrate the enormity of Matthew's achievement.
"That's wonderful, lads," Arthur smiled, "Matthew; why don't you tell me about your sandcastle?"
The boy with darker eyes shook his shaggy head and Alfred piped up, "No, Mattie don't wanna,"a brief poke in the ribs from the quiet twin prompted his brother; "He woned a prize! G'wan, Mattie, show dad!" Silently, Matthew produced a crumpled blue ribbon from his jacket pocket.
"Ah, Arthur," Francis said, tumbling through the door, laden down with bags full of beach-towels, sunscreen and other sand-sun-n-surf paraphernalia. Under his arm was a large beach umbrella, "Good to see you're home. Be a dear and help me with the cooler box? It's still in the car."
With a sigh, the Englishman hefted himself out of his armchair and ruffled the toddlers' hair, "You lads go upstairs and play, alright?" he said, pausing to watch them leave, hand-in-tiny-hand before popping out to pull the cooler box from the hot car.
~====o)0(o====~
"Now," Arthur said brusquely, hunkering down in front of the two boys. Six-year-old fishies heading off into the ocean of elementary school, "You two will be good lads, won't you? You'll do what teacher says?"
"Yeah, dad, we'll be fine," Alfred snorted derisively while Matthew nodded silently at his side. Each was wearing his favourite shirt; blue with a white star on the chest for Alfred and red with a white shirt underneath for Matthew, and Arthur thanked his lucky stars that they didn't dress alike. In many ways they were very different. But they were still so- so- what had the Twin Parents' support group councillor called it? Co-dependent.
Straightening up with a groan, the Englishman put a hand on each of their heads, "That's the ticket. Off you pop, lads, and Papa will pick you up at half past twelve, alright." Again, Matt nodded and Al crowed his accent before tugging the quiet twin along to the playground.
There were two classes for the twin's age group, and it was school policy to separate siblings wherever possibly to aid in the development of separate identities. The boys had already taken seats at the yellow plastic table, and Alfred had switched their chairs so that Mattie was sitting on a read chair and he was sitting on a blue one. Matthew looked over and flashed the grin that he reserved specially for his brother.
"Are you the Kirkland-Bonnefoy boys?" the teacher asked, bending over and smiling kindly, "I'm Miss Maes. Will one of you come with me please?" Immediately, Alfred stood, giving his brother's hand a lingering squeeze,
"I'll be right back, Mattie," he said, and the teacher's smile faltered slightly. It was sweet to see how mature the boy was being, but… Twins had to be separated. The one that must be Matthew nodded solemnly, eyes trained on his brother's retreating back as Miss Maes lead him out the door.
Five minutes later, she returned without Alfred, and Matthew's eyes remained almost unblinkingly on the door.
"Matthew, come sit on the carpet. We're going to introduce ourselves!" after a brief hesitation, he got up and walked over to the bright, circular carpet with its synthetic colours and synthetic fabrics.
"Do you want to start?" the teacher asked a boy three down from the twin, who was once more staring at the door. They went around the circle until it was the silent, determined boy's turn.
"Matthew, won't you say something? Tell us your name and something about you," Miss Maes pressed, a concerned frown on her lips as the silent boy shook his head.
"Please?" she wheedled, but still the answer was an adamant shake of his head.
"No! Let me go!" a voice shrieked in the corridor outside and Matthew's head turned toward the door, which banged as though someone had collided with it at high speed. Leaping to her feet, the teacher pulled it open, only to have Alfred squeeze past her legs and saunter over to sit beside his brother. An out of breath and teary-eyed Miss Braginskaya leant against the doorframe,
"I couldn't stop him," she said in amazement, looking at the two boys on the carpet. Alfred was happily introducing himself and his brother, their hands clasped between them, their knuckles white.
~====o)0(o====~
Matthew was Alfred's security blanket, and Alfred was Matthew's voice. They had been sent to counselling, and the therapist had shrugged his shoulders confusedly. He had seen the boys together and separately and insofar as he could observe, neither of them was dependant on the other; this was just the way that they preferred to operate. Matthew could indeed speak fluently and clearly when separated from his brother and Alfred was perfectly capable of socialising with other people without his brother holding his hand.
But despite professional assurances, Arthur and Francis were still worried. There was just something so very off about the way their boys gravitated towards each other. The way they would stop talking when a parent walked into the room.
"Mon petits," Francis said, a disarming smile on his lips as he sat in an armchair across from the loveseat on which the 11-year-old twins were perched, their hands once more joined, "Your father and I think that it might be time for you to have separate rooms. Wouldn't that be nice?"
The boys looked at each other in undisguised horror. Alfred's mouth opened and closed uselessly, his eyes tearing up at the very prospect of being in a different room to his beloved brother when the dark of night came creeping.
"No," was the emphatic answer, and it was Arthur and Francis' turn to exchange worried looks. It wasn't often that Matthew voiced an opinion on something when Alfred could just have easily said it for him.
"Chouchou, be reasonable, you're getting to be too big to share a bunk bed," Francis said quietly, a hand on the knee of the Englishman who was seated on the arm of his chair.
"We don't want separate bedrooms," Matthew said firmly, the hand his twin wasn't clutching moved to pat a trembling Alfred's shoulder, "We like sharing."
"It's not healthy," Arthur interjected sternly, "For young boys your age to share everything. You two will be sleeping in separate rooms this evening and that is final."
Scowling, Matthew pulled his brother up and out of the room, through the kitchen door and to the back garden. There they scaled their tree house, making their way along the branches to the thickest one, scooting far enough along it so that neither of their parents would be able to retrieve them.
Francis watched the two boys straddling the branch, holding both hands. Matthew shifted forward, pulling his brother into a tight hug. Closing the curtain he turned to his husband, worrying his lower lip, "Arthur, mon amour, are we doing the right thing?"
"I hope so," was an unsatisfactory answer, but it was the only one he was given.
o-O-o
There were tears before bedtime that night. The boys had to be forcibly removed from one another and taken to their now separate bedrooms.
"No! Dad, let me go!" Alfred shrieked, wriggling and kicking to break the hold Arthur had around his middle as he heaved the larger boy away, "Mattie!
"Al!" Matthew practically sobbed, "Papa, no! Alfred!" he tugged against Francis' restraining grip, managing to slip away for a moment. The twins' fingers touched for a moment before the Frenchman regained his hold and towed his son into his room. With heavy hearts, the parents locked the doors. The howls of outrage continued late into the night.
o-O-o
The guilt that twisted in Arthur's chest when he went to check on Matthew the next morning was not so much a dagger as a broadsword. The dark-eyed twin was sitting huddled against the wall that he and his brother's room shared. His palm was pressed to the cool plaster and he was whispering,
"It's okay, Alfie, they're going to let us out soon. They have to. It's going to be okay."
"Matthew, lad," Arthur's words trailed off uselessly as his son looked up with him. The dark smudges under his eyes were a loud testament to the fact that he hadn't slept that night, and the look in his eyes was venomous. Getting up, he brushed past his father and out into the hallway where Francis was just ushering Alfred out of his holding cell.
Alfred definitely came off worse. There were tear-tracks on his cheeks and his eyes were swollen from crying. Sniffling, he ran to his brother. Immediately, their hands links, and Matt's free hand moved to stroke over Al's body, checking for damage.
"It was so dark, Mattie," the blue-eyed boy sobbed quietly into Matthew's shirt, "And I couldn't find you."
He didn't answer, simply rubbing Alfred's back in soothing circles, his grip tightening protectively as he gave his parents a baleful glare.
The boys sat even closer together at breakfast, and as they did the dishes, Arthur turned to Francis;
"Both of their beds were made this morning. Untouched. They never went to sleep."
"Just a week," the Frenchman answered, "If it doesn't work out after a week, we'll stop."
The next morning, Arthur found the locks picked and Matthew in Alfred's bed; the two of them curled up like kittens.
On the third day, the locks were broken and Francis discovered Alfred in Matthew's bed.
Come the fourth day, both of their doors had been removed at the hinges and on the fifth day, Arthur and Francis gave up.
~====o)0(o====~
The twins didn't mind that Arthur's job involved a lot of moving around. Their best friends came with them; each other.
"So, you guys are twins? You don't look like twins. Do you do twin things like finish each other's sentences?" One of their curious classmates asked on their first day of high school. Most of the class was a bit perturbed that they were holding hands, but if they were twins, then that made sense.
"Why would we need to finish each other's sentences-" Alfred began, rolling his eyes.
"When we don't even have to speak?" Matthew butted in quietly. It was the first thing that he'd said in front of his new class, and they were appropriately impressed. Clamouring for attention, they pressed in closer to the pair, crowding them. In the crush, Alfred's fingers squeezed his brothers, his chest easing when the pressure was returned.
o-O-o
"Alfred! Get your head in the game!" Gilbert yelled him from across the field. It was just a practise, but still, the distracted American was having a very detrimental effect on the rest of the team.
Alfred whined under his breath, glancing toward the school buildings where he knew his brother was having a study session, waiting for his practise to finish. The space between them wasn't intolerable, but it was uncomfortable. The constant nagging ache that told him something was missing. His hand opened and closed restlessly, itching for its mate, the hand that fit so well in his own.
After the game, Gil cornered him. Practically tearing at his hair in frustration, Alfred turned to face the team captain.
"Look," the German said seriously, "I get that you and your bro have some super-special-awesome twin-thing going on here, but it's fucking with our game. I understand what it's like to look after your brother, I practically raised mine. But you need to focus. I understand, and I'm saying deal with it."
Frowning, the American shook his head, "No. You don't understand. You have a little brother to look after and take care of. When you're apart, you worry about him. Your brother is not an extension of who you are. When you're apart, you don't feel like you're missing an arm. You and your brother are 'Him and Me'. Mattie and I are 'We'. We're different people, sure, but we're the same entity. We can't be apart. Now I've gotta go, because Mattie wants to know where I am."
"You can't be together forever," Gilbert said at the retreating back, "One of you will die eventually."
"Where one of us goes, the other will follow," Alfred called back over his shoulder, "We can't be apart."
~====o)0(o====~
Another town, another school, Senior year about to start.
"So," the girl had long, dark pigtails and huge, chocolate-coloured eyes, "You like berries?" she bit her lip and nodded toward his basket, leaning into his personal space a little. One hand moved to play with a lock of hair.
"Yeah," Matthew laughed, "We love them." He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes sliding to the candy isle, seeking something out.
"We?" she asked, looking a little put out, pulling back. What was the use of flirting with a guy who had a girlfriend?
"Oh, right, sorry. Automatic plural; it's a twin thing. My brother's around here somewhere," a sheepish grin lit his face, and the girl leant right back in again. If it was just his brother, that was fine.
"Right here, Mattie," another man appeared, and Michelle didn't miss how their hands sought each other out, fingers weaving together as the newcomer dumped an armful of chocolates and candies into the basket 'Mattie' was carrying. Berry-boy seemed to visibly relax at the other's arrival. His smile widened and he leant into his brother slightly. He gave the blond-er twin a look, pulling forth a laugh.
"Dude, of course you're paying for it. Half of it is yours anyway!"
Rolling his eyes, Matthew nodded at the slightly bewildered-looking girl, an acknowledging little bob of his head; It was nice to meet you.
"Mattie's really pleased to have met you," Al grinned, shaking her hand and exuding a potent aura of back the fuck off, "But we need to get going. Maybe we'll see you around sometime."
~====o)0(o====~
"Alfred," Francis cooed, watching his sons slurp at their cornflakes, "Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No," Al scoffed between bites.
"A boyfriend perhaps?" he tried again.
"Nope," the answer was barely a grunt as he drunk the dregs of milk from the bottom of the bowl.
"Ah. Then, chouchou, could you please explain the love bites on your neck?" Alfred paled visibly, his hand flying up to his neck as though the little bruises would stick out of his skin.
"He was making out with some chick at that party we went to last night," Matthew supplied, his head still bent over his cereal.
"Ah- hahaha," the panic in his eyes dulled, but his voice was still uncertain, "Yeah. It was no big thing. She left with some other guy. Uh.. That's not a bad thing, right? That I kissed someone?"
"Of course not!" Francis soothed, sipping his coffee as he leant against the counter, "You're young, spread your wild oats! You too, Matthieu. But if either of you make me a grandpapa before you're twenty-six, I will not be responsible for my actions."
Getting up, the boys washed their dishes and wandered off, hand-in-hand.
"Nice save, Mattie," he heard Alfred whisper as they walked away.
With a trembling hand, Francis emptied the rest of his coffee into the sink. He felt sick.
~====o)0(o====~
Senior prom gave the worried French man hope and just as soon dashed it. The evening began well, in all fairness. Matthew had asked Michelle who was resplendent in matte turquoise silk that flowed around her lithe figure like the ocean. He had given her an experimental twirl and her skirts a swirled quite wonderfully as he reeled her in to land against his chest. Alfred had asked Michelle's cousin, the soft-spoken Madeline, who wore red and white, draped taffeta. Her slim, pale fingers rested on the arm of Al's matching white tux and Matthew had never been more tempted to hit a woman in his life.
After an hour or so with their proud, tearful parents, the teens embarked in a hired limo for prom.
The boys were perfect gentlemen. They got the girl's drinks; they danced with them when asked. They were polite, they made conversation. They didn't hold hands, though occasionally Matthew's right and Alfred's left hand would twitch; reaching.
In the middle of the slow dance, Madeline leant up, wrapped her arms around Alfred's neck and kissed him full on the lips. Matthew stopped swaying with Michelle, feeling as though he had been punched in the gut when Alfred reciprocated the kiss.
o-O-o
"Hullo, lads," Arthur said, looking up from his book when he heard the front door open, "Did you have fu-"
"Mattie, I'm sorry!" Alfred pleaded, hot on the heels of an irate Matthew as he stormed through the living room, trailing a thunderhead of injured, murderous rage.
"What happened?" their father demanded, leaping to his feet and following after them.
"Someone poached my date," Alfred answered in Matthew's voice.
"Alfred!" The Englishman said, straightening up, affronted.
"She kissed me! What was I supposed to do? Call her a whore in front of the whole senior class?" the offending party threw up his hands in desperation, his palms open, offered up to Matthew in supplication and begging for forgiveness.
"Yes!" his brother snarled, storming into their room. Alfred blanched as the scraping shriek of something heavy being dragged across the floor and a bang as something was shoved violently against the wall.
"No!" the blue-eyed twin yelled hoarsely, "Matthew, no, what are you doing?" charging into the room, Alfred froze. Their beds – previously pushed together in the middle of the room – had been torn apart and his brother's had been slammed unceremoniously into a corner. Matt hadn't even bothered to turn on the light. He was just sitting there on the edge of his own bed, his elbows resting on his knees, back bowed under the hurt. His hair fell forward to cover his face and Alfred's heart ached.
Closing the door on his father with a soft click, the blue-eyed blond walked forward with faltering steps to kneel before his brother. Taking Matthew's hands in his, Alfred rubbed the pad of his thumb over the scared skin, one-too-many fights on the ice having split the knuckles. His expression tender, he kissed each scar, knuckle and freckle, pressing his brother's long, pale fingers to his cheeks.
"I wish it had been you," he murmured against warm skin, "I couldn't push her away, but I wanted it to be you. I wanted to dance with you at our prom. I wanted to kiss you. I tried to pretend she was you."
"It just hurts," Matthew whispered, eyes watching the way moonlight brushed highlights into Alfred's hair, "That she gets to kiss you like that and I don't. Maybe… Maybe we shouldn't do-"
A finger pressed to his lips, silencing him.
"Don't, Mattie. Please don't say that. Don't even think it. I promise. We're going to get out of here. We can change our names, we can be together. We'll be lovers. I promise. Just please don't leave me, I love you so much," leaning up, Alfred's lips touched his own finger. And then the finger was gone and soft, slow kisses passed between them, warm as the embers of a rekindling fire.
The calming sounds of deep, steady breaths and reunited lovers' lips smouldered in midnight's silver illumination.
Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Matthew's hands stroked over his twin's cheeks, his lips just brushing the kneeling twin's forehead when a shaft of artificially golden light burst in, outlining Francis' dark silhouette.
"You're reconciled. Très bien," he gulped and shut the door quickly, feeling as though he was intruding on something private.
"Am I forgiven?" Alfred whispered, his fingers lacing with Matthew's. His only answer was a chaste, lingering kiss, but it was answer enough. Smiling in relief, he rocked back on his heels, standing and pulling his brother with him.
"Come on, Mattie. Let's get you out of that monkey suit," Their hands responded automatically, pushing away blazers and unknotting ties. Together they thumbed through their buttons, pausing ever now and again to appreciate the skin beneath their fingers. Stripped to the waist, they moved closer, popping flies and stepping out of slacks. In unison they toed off shoes and socks, leaving their rented suits in a crumpled pile on the floor for the morning's inspection.
Their hands linked, Matthew lead them off to the side, back to his single bed, still separate from Alfred's. He didn't want to just hold hands tonight. He wanted to hold his brother close and fall asleep against the sun-warm rise and fall of his chest. With their legs tangled and their hands woven together, to lie skin against skin and melt together. To feel heartbeats and breathing and the tingle of pleasure they each felt at the simple contact.
They tumbled into bed together, both wholly too big to even consider fitting in without overlapping and not minding in the slightest as they snaked their arms about each other. Matthew's head rested on Alfred's shoulder, his lips gently worshipping the skin before him. Alfred's legs hooked around Matthew's and the hand that wasn't holding Mattie's was wrapped around his waist, keeping his brother firmly pressed to his chest. His twin's large, warm hand stroking the firm, smooth skin of his back stilled Matthew's lips with sleep and his even breathing soothed Alfred into dreamland.
~====o)0(o====~
Matthew stood under the tree, looking up at Alfred, who was slung, boneless and leopard-like over their branch. His arms hung down and his face was tilted so eyes that were sleepy with mellow summer could watch his twin approach. The earth-bound twin's hands were shoved into the pockets of a brown leather jacket and his dress-shirt was red and white plaid. The fact that Matthew had a habit of dressing like an off-duty lumberjack always gave Alfred cause to smile.
"For me?" He asked, a wide, lazy grin stretching his face. Matthew nodded, his own quiet smile brightening his face.
Swinging down so that the rough bark of the tree pressed its imprint into his palms as he hung like a gibbon from the rainforest canopy, Alfred dropped to the ground in front of his brother, his shins stinging with the impact of the fall, but undamaged.
Silently, Matthew took his twin's right hand; the hand that he always held, and pulled a box out of his pocket. It was a plain metal band the width of his fingernail, and it was cold against his skin as the indigo-eyed brother slipped it onto Alfred's index finger. It was a little small.
"Mattie, I don't think it goes on that finger," he laughed, heart beating apace in his throat all the same at the significance of a ring.
"No," Matthew breathed, pulling it off again and moving it to Alfred's third finger, "It goes here, but Dad and Papa might have kittens if they see that."
"Promise rings?" Alfred tried, a lump of unnameable emotion doing its damnedest to thwart his attempts at speech.
"Eternity rings, Alfie," his voice was shaky. He was always the one who expressed doubt. It was illegal. It was immoral. It would break their father's hearts. There was so much wrong with what they were doing, no matter how much they might love each other, or how wonderful it might feel to be safe in each other's arms.
"God, I can't kiss you, we might get caught," Alfred's blue eyes were filled with tender emotion, "Our name changes are official now, right? So when we move, no one will know us as brothers?"
"Alfred F Jones, shut up, you know they are," with a quick glance around, Matthew leant in, pressing a brief kiss to his brother's lips.
"Pardon me for wanting our new life together to be perfect, Matthew Williams," he chuckled, chasing after the kiss as it pulled away, and then after Matthew. They ran circles around each other in the warm yard, tripping over stick and shoelaces and each other, kissing when it was excusable and just laughing in eager anticipation of a future in which they no longer needed to hide their love for their dearest brother.