Francis Bonnefoy Must Die
Chapter One
Alfred didn't notice it at first. The way he saw it, so what if Matthew would miss class on occasion and come back to their apartment late, or sometimes not at all? He didn't think anything of it. They were adults after all; it was only natural that his brother would have friends and flings that he didn't know about, even if he was exceedingly shy and introverted.
But one night he came back with a hicky quite possibly the size of Texas on his neck, and when Alfred asked him about it, Matthew turned so red Alfred thought his head would explode. He'd covered it up so quickly, not so much out of modesty, but more like… more like the way it had gotten there was supposed to be a secret. Then he'd run to his room without another word, and wore a turtle-neck for the rest of the week. Alfred had all but forgotten about it though, until a few weeks later and he had woken up and found a yellow post-it note stuck to their fridge with the simple message, 'Al! Gone to a friend's beach house. Have a good weekend and don't do anything stupid! Be back Sunday night. Love, Matt'
Needless to say, that had got Alfred's attention, and that Sunday night when he came back, slightly sunburned and face flushed for reasons he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the sun, Alfred asked him where he'd been.
"We don't know anyone with a beach house," He'd reasoned. "Come on Matt, spill. What have you been up to?"
Alfred was being honest with himself. It sort of hurt that his little brother had been keeping something from him. He knew that everyone had a right to their privacy, but they were family! And it was becoming obvious that it was something that had been going on for a long time, so why couldn't Matthew tell him?
"Promise you won't get mad?" he'd asked sheepishly.
"Of course I won't!" Alfred had said. After all, this was Matthew they were talking about; how horrible could it be? He was probably having a wholesome love affair with one of the girl's from his university's hockey team's fan club, or from that nerdy math group he belonged to.
"I went to Francis' beach house with his friend's," he'd said.
"That's really co-WHAT?" Alfred's eye had twitched. "Francis Bonnefoy?" he'd asked.
Matthew had nodded.
"But, but why?" he'd asked.
It was no secret that Alfred couldn't stand Francis. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was the son of some rich French businessman, he acted as if he was better than everyone else, and was a notorious playboy to boot. And to put it nicely, people like that really rubbed Alfred the wrong way.
He wasn't one to go out of his way and pick a fight with people just because he didn't like them though. Alfred was more than happy to carry on pretending he didn't exist… That is until he'd found him making out with his (now ex) girlfriend at a party. Needless to say, Alfred had broken up with her and broken his nose. Well, tried to anyways.
And now his own brother, his own flesh and blood was… was associating with that prick?
"Um, we'rekindofdating," he'd said so quickly Alfred had almost missed it.
Now, if he had been any less of a man, he probably would have fainted after hearing that. Instead, he'd just stared, wondering if Francis had somehow brainwashed his brother, or if someone had kidnapped Matthew and left an imposter in his place.
"Are you mad?" he'd asked quietly.
Alfred couldn't say anything he was so shocked, but Matthew took his silence the wrong way.
"Oh god, you think I'm disgusting, don't you?" he'd ask, face flushed with shame.
That snapped him out of it. "No, no, it's not that at all," he'd said. "I don't care about stuff like that. I just… why Francis? You know he's-"
"He didn't know Kate was your girlfriend!" Matthew said quickly. Apparently that had been on his mind as well. "He said he wouldn't have messed with her otherwise. She told him she was single!"
Alfred couldn't argue with that; it turned out Kate had also been seeing about five other guys when they'd been together. And it wasn't as if he had liked her all that much anyways, so it's not as if he'd been hurt by that, but still. He didn't trust Francis. And he certainly didn't trust him with his baby brother.
But Matthew was old enough to make his own decisions. So, sighing, he gave in. "If that's what makes you happy, then whatever," he'd said. "I still don't like him though."
And he had nothing against letting him know how he felt about him either. Alfred was civil with him for Matthew's sake, but he refused to like him. The funny thing was, Francis tried really hard to gain Alfred's favor. So hard, in fact, that he'd even taken to inviting him on the many adventures he, his stupid friends, and his brother went on.
And that's how, during their spring break from university and a week and a half Alfred had somehow managed to get off from work, he'd found himself getting shit faced drunk at a pub in Northern Ireland.
They had a private table, closed off to the rest of the pub by a latched door. Gilbert sat beside Matthew, who sat beside Francis who (much to his annoyance) had insisted on sitting next to Alfred as well, and Antonio sat at the end of the booth, texting vigorously.
"Lovino pissed at you again?" Gilbert asked before taking a big gulp of his pint. Antonio nodded, looking completely pitiful. "He told me he didn't want to come with us, but now he says he's mad at me for going, when he told me to go," he said. "I don't get him." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Man, you are so whipped."
Antonio shrugged with a smile. "I don't care," he said.
"Next time we'll just have to drag Lovino with us," Francis said.
"Or leave you there so you two can finally have sex." Gilbert added. "He needs a good lay. Maybe he'd be more pleasant then."
Francis slung an arm around Matthew and whispered something close to his ear. Matthew blushed and pushed him away. Alfred downed the rest of his beer and cleared his throat. "I'm gonna get another beer," he said. Antonio let him out, but instead of going up to the bar, Alfred decided to go for a walk. He grinned to himself, knowing that Francis would have to foot the bill.
He left the pub and pulled the hood of his jacket up; it had started to drizzle. The walk back to Francis' townhouse wasn't far though; he'd manage. He began to walk up the block and decided to take a shortcut through an alley. The sun had set hours ago, and he didn't feel like walking around in the dark any longer than he had to. Alfred knew that he was a little tipsier than was publicly acceptable, and the last thing he needed was to be arrested for public drunkenness.
"Alfred…"
He blinked and looked around. Had someone just said his name? He squinted his eyes and peered through the darkness but didn't see anyone. He shrugged it off and kept walking.
"Alfred…"
There it was again! He looked around once more but still saw no one. "Very funny, guys!" he said, thinking it was Francis and his idiot friends playing a prank on him. he waited for a moment, but no one said anything. It wasn't as if he was scared or anything, just a little weirded out that he was apparently hearing things. And that was definitely not supposed to happen. Eight or so bud lights might make you do a lot of things, but hearing creepy voices in a dark alleyway way not one of them. He began to walk faster, trying his hardest not to stumble.
"Don't ignore me, you drunk prat!"
Alfred could admit it. When he heard that, he'd jumped a little. And gave a startled gasp. Not, like, a scream or anything, but still. He had officially upgraded from slightly nervous to completely freaked the fuck out. He turned around and wound up tripping over his own feet. He caught himself on the wall and backed into it, looking from left to right.
"W-who's there?" Alfred asked. His heart was beating like crazy and he was starting to feel dizzy from all the alcohol swimming around in his brain and all he wanted to do was to crawl in bed as soon as possible.
"How would you like to make a deal with me?" the voice asked.
Alfred closed his eyes, willing the world to stop spinning. This was not happening. He was not drunk in a strange alleyway, and he certainly wasn't hearing strange voices either.
"Are you even listening to me?" the voice that he wasn't hearing sounded pissed. Alfred grabbed at his head and groaned, sliding down the stone wall to sit in a puddle. At this point he didn't care where he was. He just wanted the world to stop spinning and that damn voice to go away.
The voice sighed and Alfred laughed. Was a figment of his imagination getting frustrated? Oh that was rich.
"The first person to be able to hear me would be a drunk American," he said.
"Well at least I'm not just some weirdo voice," Alfred countered with a slur.
He laughed.
Oh great. Now the voice had a gender. Next he'd have a name and a life story.
"So," he continued, "Would you be interested in making a deal with me?"
"I'll do anything if you make me un-drunk again…" Alfred muttered, starting to feel a little queasy. Maybe if he was sober the voice would go away…
"This is too easy," he said.
All of a sudden, it was as if he'd never even stepped foot in the pub. His skin no longer felt unnaturally warm, his head wasn't swimming, and, most importantly, he could think straight again. And that was definitely not normal. Alfred shot up from the ground and looked around.
"Ok what the fuck," he said.
Maybe… Maybe he'd passed out there earlier for some strange reason and it had just been a dream. Yeah. That made sense.
"You know what, I'm feeling generous," he said. "As soon as you help me with what I need, I'll give you whatever you want, how does that sound?"
"This is not supposed to happen," Alfred said, starting to hyperventilate. Who the fuck was talking to him?
Oh my god, what if it was a ghost? What if it was a ghost?
"Oh don't freak out on me," he said. "Just do what I say and you'll never hear from me again."
"There is no way I'm going to do something that some strange, fake voice is telling me to do."
The air grew cold. "I don't think," he said, voice dripping with ice, "that it would be in your best interest to anger me."
Oh, so now his imaginary friend was going to cop an attitude with him? "I don't respond very well to threats," Alfred said, eyes narrowed.
He laughed, and it was like a sharp gust of cold wind had washed over him. He drew his jacket around himself tighter.
"I'm sure you'd change your mind if, say, your brother went missing." His voice was bitter. Hard.
"Who the fuck are you?" he screamed. He tried to concentrate on where his voice was coming from, but he couldn't pinpoint a direction. It was as if it surrounded him.
"Look," he said. "It's simple. You do what I want, and I give you what you want, and you never have to hear from me again, alright?"
Alfred didn't trust him, but he didn't know what else to do. "You're not, like, the devil are you? You don't want my soul?"
He could almost hear him roll his eyes. "No, I'm not the devil."
"Well, alright then," he said. "It's not gonna take all night is it? I don't want anyone to worry."
"Thirty minutes tops, I promise."
"And you said you'll give me whatever I want?"
"Yes, you imbecile. Now will you do it or not?"
"Well you could ask nicer ya know."
"…I need you to break into the antique store you're standing outside of and steal something for me."
Alfred's eyes twitched. "I am not stealing something. What if I get caught, am I supposed to tell the police the voice inside my head made me do it?"
The air started to grow cold again. He shivered, and when he exhaled he could see his breath in the air.
"Do I have to threaten you again?" he asked menacingly.
Alfred stepped back towards the wall. Not that he was cowering or anything, but it would be a complete lie if he said that Mr. Creepy voice wasn't frightening him just a little bit. Er, well, more that he already was. "Couldn't, couldn't I just buy it tomorrow?" he asked, hoping against hope that he wasn't on some sort of time table.
He sighed, exasperated, and didn't say anything for a moment. He held his breath until finally, he spoke again. "Didn't peg you for a goody-goody," he said. "But I suppose that would be acceptable."
And with that the cold seeped away, along with the voice, and he was left to wonder if the past ten minutes or so of his life had actually taken place.
-
The next morning Alfred woke up without the slightest hint of a hangover. And considering the rough state of everyone else, he found that to be quite surprising. He lay in bed for a few minutes, wondering why he felt completely refreshed when he should still be worshiping the porcelain goddess, or at the very least sporting a horrible headache. Hadn't he had four or five or twenty beers the night before? They'd gone to a few different pubs, then somehow they'd managed to find their way back to Francis', and then he'd promptly gone to bed and had the strangest dream ever…
He figured that it was probably best not to question the fact that he felt completely fine and decided to make the best of it.
Alfred wanted to wake his brother, after all they were going to be leaving soon and how often does one get to visit a foreign country? But he knew that the rest of his travel companions wouldn't rise until well past noon, and for some strange reason he had suddenly gotten a very strong urge to go for a walk, and so he did.
The seaside village they were staying in was still quiet and calm; most of the morning shoppers had yet to leave their homes. But a few people milled about and a few storefronts had already opened their doors.
One in particular caught Alfred's attention; it was an old antique shop.
The windows were dark and the door, once a vibrant shade of red, was now a faded, peeling pink, but the sign in the window read 'open'. Shrugging, he entered.
An elderly man standing behind the counter gave him a nearly toothless grin. "I've been expecting you," he said.
Alfred stared at him blankly, wondering what the hell the old man was smoking. "Excuse me?" he asked.
The shop keeper laughed. "Feel free to have a look around, Lord knows I've waited this long, what's a few more minutes?"
"What are you talking about?" Alfred asked.
The elderly man just smiled. "You'll find what you're looking for on the coat rack over there in the corner," he said.
"What?" Alfred said dumbly.
The shop keeper sighed. "Are all Americans this daft?" he asked himself aloud. "The coat rack, lad. In the corner." He pointed and Alfred's gaze followed the line of his finger across the room to where a coat rack stood with a single black cloak hanging from it.
Alfred looked from the cloak to the shop keeper. "Um, I don't… What…"
"Look," the elderly man said brusquely, quickly losing his temper. "Just buy the bloody cloak, alright?"
"But why would I-"
"Buy it."
Alfred muttered something about rude old Irish people under his breath, but walked over to the rack nonetheless. Picking up a bit of the heavy fabric, he examined the price tag.
"I can't afford this!" he shouted. "This freaking thing is almost three hundred pounds!"
The shopkeeper snorted. "That's all?" he muttered under his breath. "The man who runs this place must be a complete twat." He sighed and shook his head. "You've got enough to cover it, trust me," he said.
Alfred reached into his back pocket, intent on showing him that no, he didn't have enough money on him to pay for the stupid cloak, thank you very much, when three hundred pound notes greeted him from his wallet.
"How the hell-"
But before he could finish his sentence the bills- and the cloak- had been snatched from him. Alfred looked up at the elderly gentleman, completely confused, only to come face to face with a young blonde man with green eyes and decidedly bushy eyebrows.
"Thanks ever so much," the young man said with a cocky grin and a distinctly British accent. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a Bonnefoy to kill."
A/N: This was actually the original version of Dear Diary. (Don't ask me how I got that story out of this... ) I know I said I wouldn't post anything else until my other story was done, but I couldn't help myself! Also, if you're wondering why they're in Ireland, you'll find out soon enough. But I will say that the town they're in is based on a real place.