Matthew should have known that today would be a bad day.
When England had called around five thirty this morning, trying unsubtly to find out what present Matthew was getting France to give him an idea and had proceeded to scream and deny the facts,when accused of it, Matthew had thought it was a bad beginning to a good day.
Then when he got stuck in traffic for two hours on the way to the Parliament and got punished by his Boss who canceled his trip to Cuba, he realized that this was not going to be a good day. He didn't declare it yet to be a bad one, but it definitely was not a good one.
After that, while trying to concentrate on his files, he had received a phone call from Alfred who had spent over two hours ranting about Arthur, Francis and how the commies were trying to take over the world. He had finally managed to get off by telling his brother ha was going to McDonalds to get his lunch. After receiving the usual boisterous talk, he had been allowed to hang up and head to Timmies.
That's when he realized it was going to be a bad day.
He had decided to walk, since it was only a few blocks away when it suddenly started to hail. All out big pieces of ice, falling out of the sky in the middle of July. It stopped quite quickly by still, by the end he was soaked, freezing and bruised. But it was when he arrived at Tim Hortons and found it closed that he realized it was a Bad Day.
He decided he had had enough and went home, only to have another surprise await him. Kumachika had been outside during the storm and in his rush to come inside, had destroyed his door and his favorite Hockey stick that had unfortunately been in the way.
That's when Matthew had a fit. He started screaming and throwing objects everywhere cursing in English, French, Mandarin and in Inuktitut. He was still screaming when he felt warm hands slowly envelop him. An arm wrapped itself around Matthew's torso and the object he had been about to throw was tugged out of his hand. He finally relaxed against the muscled body behind him as he was directed into a chair and a few minutes later, a hot chocolate with maple syrup in it was deposed it front of him.
"Now, mon petit Matthieu, tell Papa what is wrong."
Francis listened to his story, wincing in the right places, laughing in the wrong ones before looking at him closely and asking, "Now, mon amour, tell me what is truly bothering you."
Eventually Matthew admitted that Alfred had once again forgotten his birthday. Francis waited a while before telling him that while his brother was a bit self-absorbed, he truly did care about him and that if Matthew was ever invaded, Alfred would be the first to defend him.
After a little bit more hot chocolate and comfort, Matthew felt better.
Maybe it hadn't been that bad of a day.
And he could always sneak out of Canada to go to Cuba.
XXX-
I wrote this when it started hailing outside in the middle of July. It stopped, but now they're a siren wailing somewhere in my neighborhood.
Anyways not to many translations,
Papa= Dad
Mon amour= my love
Mon petit= my little
I honestly don't really like it, but whatever.