Arthur stood in front of the cooker, the usual scent of burnt food reached his nostrils, making him frown. He pensively eyed the charred pancakes and calcined bacon on the stove. His mood turned black, as dark as the inedible charcoal he had cooked. With a sigh, he played with a hard piece of bacon, absentmindedly poking it with a fork.
He reminisced about those days, long ago, when he cooked breakfast for his sons on their birthdays. Matthew was born a few days before his older brother, Alfred, but they always had a party for both children on Alfred's birthday. Francis, Arthur's boyfriend insisted that it brought bad luck to celebrate one's birthday before the actual date.
His lips formed a tight smile as he remembered how Francis used to laugh at his poor cooking skills. The Frenchman would always kiss his forehead sweetly, before taking over the kitchen and cooking a delicious cake. He had always been a bit jealous of his lover for being able to bake so well. He had to admit that when it came to pastry, Francis truly was an artist. Yet his little boys always ate their adoptive father's horrible food with an enthusiasm that never failed to amaze their parents.
Arthur's bright green eyes became glossy and watery as he reviewed those memories he still held dearly in his heart. Even now that everything was so different, that his beloved sons had left the house to live their own lives. That Francis had moved out, leaving Arthur alone in the empty residence. They hadn't been able to share a roof without their boys to keep them together, to keep them from drifting apart. The children had been the cement of their relationship, without them, they couldn't cohabitate without arguing continually. They loved each other and deeply enjoyed spending time with one another, but they also needed space.
Arthur had thus been left alone in this place that was no longer a home. The family still reunited for occasion such as Christmas and birthdays when possible. However, the rest of the time, the brit was had this modern, well equipped kitchen all to himself. The ceramic glass cooktop so clean it shone, the kitchen counter was in the same state. The sink still looked brand new even after all this time.
Arthur only cooked on the fourth of July, even when his boys didn't visit on that day. He liked the feeling of familiarity it procured him, warming his heart with happy memories of sunny summer morning filled with cheerful laughter and jovial conversations.
He wished he could turn back time, to have even only one more birthday morning with his loved ones. He missed having his family around him. He had been disappointed when his boys had announced him they probably couldn't make it home this year, and without them home, Francis wouldn't come either. He had no reason to, after all.
Arthur took a large bite of a charred pancake in a vain attempt to keep the salty water that stung his eyes to spill on his cheeks. The food wouldn't pass through his tight throat, painfully scraping at his oesophagus. Finally, after drinking a whole glass of water, the mouthful of disgusting charcoal-like food stopped obstructing his gullet. Slamming the glass down on the kitchen counter, the brit resumed his morning reveries.
He couldn't decide whether remembering about the happy years he spent with his family made him feel good. Maybe he was just pointlessly hurting himself. When one looked at it, it seemed cruel, indeed to inflict this to himself, relentlessly reviewing all those moments he could never get back. But even though it was only inside his mind, it made him feel like he was living them once again. And he missed his beloved babies way too much to be able not to remember the most happy days he had spent with them on such a day.
He missed Alfred's excited chatter about the latest video game released, his booming laughter, his eager explanations about some scientific discovery, or his ambitious talks about changing the world, making it a better place. He missed seeing his cute pout when he was upset, his wide, contagious smile, showing his perfectly white teeth, and how his strikingly blue eyes filled with stars when he was happy.
He missed Matthew's softer voice, his calming aura and gentleness. Though all of this seemed to suddenly vanish as soon as hockey was mentioned, then the boy became fierce. It was such a stunning contrast, like he had two distinct personalities. He had always loved seeing Matthew smile, it was always so sweet, the love contained in it reflecting in his amethyst eyes. Matthew didn't have such high aspirations as his brother, he wanted to make people around him happier, to help people daily, any way he could.
Arthur's heart swelled with pride at the thought of his two sons, who were now great men, successfully leading their own lives. Matthew was studying Psychology at university in Canada. Nobody had been surprised at his choice of career, it fitted him so well, it was like a destined job for him. As for Alfred, had recently been hired as a neurosurgeon in hospital. He had been so excited when he had called Arthur that the latter barely understood a single word he uttered.
He chuckled fondly at the memory, choking on a bit of burnt pancake. The ever-present crease between his thick, bushy eyebrows deepened as he tried to regain his breath between two coughing fits. Francis would have laughed at his face had he been here. The thought made him grunt, his frown deepening again as he grimaced.
Before he could start breathing correctly again, the doorbell rang, making Arthur jump. He placed a hand on his racing heart. The older he got, the more he hated surprises. Whereas he used to thrive on adventures, the unexpected now made him feel uneasy. He really had become a boring old man, as his elder son had once so rightly stated. He felt foolish, it certainly was only the postman or something. Who else would it be at such an early time.
As he opened the door, though, a pair of strong muscular arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly against a hard body. Loud giggles echoed in his ears along with the scent of clean cloths and fast-food that reached his nose. Following the giggles came a soft voice amusedly lecturing the owner of the arms.
"Guess who!" he heard Alfred enthusiastically exclaim in his booming voice. He couldn't help the sincere smile that grew on his face, which was buried in his son's chest. He wasn't the one who was supposed to receive gifts on this day, it wasn't his birthday last time he checked.
Though all he wanted was to reciprocate the embrace a stay in the security of the strong arms holding him, feeling the presence and hearing the sweet, gleeful laughter of his other son, a sarcastic reply left his mouth, as usual. "I don't know, I would say the postman but he usually isn't so keen on physical contact." He detached himself from the elder of the brothers with a raised eyebrow, though a smile still spread his thin lips. The eager look Alfred sent him and the affectionate smile he received from his younger son made his heart melt and he finally let himself hug his babies.
He knew that if the two young men had come home, his lover wouldn't be far behind. This year, they would, once again, celebrate the happiest event of their lives together as a united family.
AN: I hope you enjoyed reading this little story, I'm sorry if the end feels rushed. It's 3am where I am and I'm sleepy, but I wanted to finish this before going to bed. I was already too late for Matthew's birthday, and though I'm not exactly on time for Alfred's (in my time zone at least) I didn't want to be really late. Also, sorry if my English isn't very good and I apologise for any grammar mistakes. I did my best but I'm not a native speaker so be kind with me please.