Author's Note: So, this is the first Hetalia story I'm posting. Hopefully there'll be more in the future. Just a few notes before you start reading: 1. Canada has its own Canadian Football League (CFL); there are differences between the two versions of the sport, but they are similar overall. Look it up. 2. This story has FrUk and the FACE family in it, but the FrUk isn't the center of the story. Anyway, I definitely don't own Hetalia, and if you have any suggestions or thoughts, I'd love to hear them, so write a review if you like. I'd really appreciate it.
"You're going to apply to the University of Chicago, right, Mattie?" Alfred asked his brother, munching on a bowl of Lucky Charms before they went to school. It was October, and seeing as the both of them were seniors, it was also time for them to start applying to colleges.
"Maybe…I'm leaning towards McGill or the University of Toronto, though," Matthew replied, absentmindedly flicking through the news on his phone.
Alfred grinned. "Great! I'm thinking about going to those, too," he lied. After all, they both held dual-citizenship to Canada and the United States. Arthur, who they affectionately called the "mother" of their atypical family, hailed from England but had obtained American citizenship, while Francis, originally French, gained his Canadian citizenship after living in Quebec for a while. Alfred figured it wouldn't be too different from America up in Canada. Colder, maybe, but they lived in the North to begin with, so how bad could it be?
"Oh really?" Matthew was now looking at Alfred directly, a smug expression on his face. "So you're saying you've visited their websites, and can tell me which cities they're located in."
"Yep!" Alfred chirped nervously. University of Toronto—that had to be in Toronto, evidently. "Toronto, obviously."
"And McGill?"
"Um, uh…Quebec?" he tried. Damnit, Alfred. McGill sounds Scottish. You should've gone with Nova Scotia or something.
His brother looked shocked, but recovered himself quickly and narrowed his eyes in amusement. "Which city in Quebec?"
Alfred blushed, wondering how he was going to worm his way out of this one. "Montreal?" That was the biggest city in Quebec, right?
"Right," Matthew muttered, not quite believing that his brother was being honest. After seventeen years of doing everything with Alfred, he thought he would've been able to recognize when his twin was lying. Apparently not.
"Told ya so," Alfred said, playfully nudging his brother. He wasn't the middle school geography champion for nothing—he knew his cities. "C'mon, let's go. We're gonna be late for school." His voice was cheerful, yes, but frankly, he was nervous at the mere idea of college. What if Matthew wanted to go to a different university than him? What if he got into a better one than he did?
Since birth, they'd been inseparable. Francis had insisted in dressing them in identical baby clothes. They played the same sports (football in the fall, hockey in the winter, and baseball in the spring), took almost all of the same classes, and were constantly confused for each other.
Now that he thought about it, Alfred supposed that Matthew had good reason to want to make his own path. Having the louder, more abrasive personality of the pair, Alfred was well-known throughout the school. On the other hand, Matthew was quieter. Whenever someone mixed them up, Matthew was mistaken as Alfred—never the other way around.
At the same time, though, Alfred would be lost without his counterpart. They were the Kirkland-Bonnefoy twins, two halves of a whole. Alfred was better at math and science; Matthew was better at history and language arts. In football, Alfred was the quarterback, Matthew the center who passed to him each and every game. In hockey, Alfred was the right winger, Matthew the center. In baseball, Alfred was the pitcher, Matthew the catcher. Long story short, they relied on each other in almost everything they did. Was it possible that Matthew was just tired of Alfred after all these years? Alfred kicked the fallen leaves on the school's parking lot as he thought of ways that it couldn't be true. It couldn't be, could it?
Now that they were at school, comfortably inside their English classroom, Alfred glanced at his brother. He was messing around on his computer again, browsing the internet or something. Alfred squinted at the screen. University of…British Columbia? What? he thought to himself. They hadn't even talked about that one! Slightly annoyed with Matthew's secrecy, Alfred pulled out his own laptop and searched it up. Fine. He decided he would just have to apply there as well.
Alfred chewed thoughtfully on one of his fries. "D'you want some?" he asked his brother. Lunchtime was usually the best time of the day, but Alfred couldn't figure out what Matthew was so preoccupied with.
"Unless you've got some cheese curds and gravy, then no thanks."
"No one wants that heart-attack-in-a-snack of yours anyway," shouted Gilbert Beilschmidt, the school's one and only "Prussian" student, as he walked past them, snickering at his own remark. Alfred threw a fry at him good-naturedly.
"He has a point, though," Ivan pointed out. "Poutine is not very healthy. Borscht, on the other hand, like my mother's, is quite nutritious. Good for the soul." He gestured to his thermos, which contained some kind of magenta soup.
Ivan was a fellow senior and co-captain of the hockey team. He was their goalie, and quite a good one, too. His bulky frame and quick reflexes made for an unlikely combination that had saved more games than they thought possible. When Alfred and Matthew had first come to the school back in sophomore year, Alfred and Ivan had immediately become enemies, but thankfully, their rivalry had since settled down a bit. Alfred wasn't sure if they were friends, per se, but he did enjoy hearing all those stories Ivan told about the crazy things people did in Russia.
"You must try it!" Ivan insisted, pushing his bowl closer to Alfred, who shrugged nonchalantly and took a spoonful.
He slurped it up quickly. "Hey, this is pretty good!" he exclaimed. "Mattie, you've gotta get a taste of this. It's like…sour, but sweet, and salty, all at the same time."
"No thanks, Alfred," Matthew said sharply, packing up his bag and leaving.
Alfred shoved his calculus textbook into his backpack. "Hey, where are you going? I'll come along. You want to find Kiku? He told me he had a new video game for us to try."
"No, Alfred." The angry edge in Matthew's voice alarmed him. The bell rang, and he struggled to keep up with his brother's footsteps in the sea of students.
Shoot, he thought to himself. Spanish class was next for Alfred, but Matthew had French. Language classes were the only thing that differentiated their schedules. Alfred would just have to wait until after school to figure out what was going on.
Stepping into the Spanish classroom, Alfred allowed himself to relax a little. He liked Spanish. It might not be his best class, but learning languages was fun, and he liked the others in his class. Well, except for Carlos, that was.
To be honest, Alfred wasn't even sure why the Cuban boy was in his class. He spoke Spanish fluently! In all reality, he probably took the course to boost his GPA, and the school couldn't exactly prove that he was a fluent speaker. Ever since day one, Carlos had disliked Alfred. Apparently, he'd been gunning for the position of quarterback on the football team, but Alfred had come out of nowhere in sophomore year and "stolen" it from him. Carlos was still on the team (unfortunately) as a defensive linebacker. The most infuriating part of it all was that Carlos was perfectly nice to everyone else. On the contrary, Alfred was greeted by a smirk and insult each time they saw each other.
"Hola, gordo," Carlos called cheerfully to Alfred, who made a point of sitting at a desk as far away from the other teen as possible.
"Mírate en el espejo," Alfred bit out gruffly.
"Aww, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?"
"Oh, cállate." Alfred rolled his eyes and opened his textbook, ignoring how Carlos moved to the desk right next to his.
"Alright, seriously. You're not being your usual obnoxious self. So, what's up?"
"Nothing. And since when have you been a psychologist?"
"Since you became super boring," Carlos said, popping his gum loudly. "If you don't tell me in," he checked his watch, "one minute, I'm going to tell Señora García that you copied my homework."
"Hey!" Alfred exclaimed. "Just because I did the homework right doesn't mean that I copied it!"
The Cuban teen had a bored expression on his face. "Uh-huh. You know I've got her wrapped around my dedito, sí?"
Alfred sighed in resignation. He really didn't have the energy for this, not today. "Fine. My brother's just been acting weird. That's all. You happy now?"
"You have a brother?" Carlos looked genuinely shocked for a moment, then a look of realization passed over his face. "Oh yeah, I remember him. Mateo, right? I beat him up once after mistaking him for you?"
"Yeah. That's the one."
"Lo siento, gordo. Can't help you there. You know how dysfunctional my family is." Alfred did know. The Carriedo family was insanely messed up, to say the least—his papa and Mr. Carriedo were friends, and whenever the Spanish man came over, trouble was bound to follow. Somehow, they all came from different parts of the Americas, and they definitely didn't all get along.
"Thanks anyway," Alfred muttered half-heartedly, immersing himself in his studies of the imperfect subjunctive.
After what seemed like centuries, the bell finally rang, and Alfred rushed down the hall to the French classroom. Vash Zwingli, an aggressive Swiss junior, threatened to shoot his head off (how kind of him) after Alfred accidentally bumped into him.
"Mattie!" he exclaimed, having caught of sight of his twin's familiar golden hair. "How was French?"
"Comme toujours," remarked his brother flatly.
Alfred was taken aback. He'd expected his brother to be back to normal after class; he evidently was not. Matthew stalked off again, chatting in amicable French with Michelle, that one girl from Seychelles, about the essay assignment due tomorrow. Alfred understood their conversation (how could he not, after growing up with Papa in the house?), but what he couldn't understand was the way Matthew was acting.
He found his brother waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the car that they shared. Luckily, Alfred had the keys, as Wednesdays were his days to drive. Considering Matthew's strange behavior, it probably wouldn't have been a stretch to assume that he would have driven off without Alfred if he had had the keys. Alfred faced his twin and crossed his arms firmly.
"Alright," he began, wavering slightly as he saw the coldness in his brother's violet-blue eyes. "What is going on with you?"
"As if you don't know," said Matthew airily, pulling on the passenger side door handle impatiently.
"I really don't know, so please enlighten me."
Matthew clenched his jaw. "Is it too much to ask?"
"Is what too much to ask?"
"Listen, we share an Apple ID. I can see which webpages you're looking at. You probably didn't even know what the University of British Columbia was before you saw me on their website."
"So? Just because I didn't know about it doesn't mean that I wouldn't like it."
"You're missing the point." Matthew sighed, softening his voice slightly. "Alfred, have you ever thought that maybe we're too…codependent?"
Alfred considered this. "Aren't brothers supposed to be? Especially twins, like us?"
"I love you, Alfred, I really do, but I feel like I'm not even a person when you're around."
"That's silly, Mattie. Of course you're a person! Ivan and Kiku know who you are! So does Michelle or whoever, and Gilbert, and Feliciano…"
"Five people. Maybe ten in this whole school, if I'm lucky."
"The others mistake you for me," Alfred stated delicately. "Easy solution! You wear red everyday—I know it's your favorite—and I'll wear blue. Soon enough, everyone'll know the difference!"
Matthew laughed bitterly. "I'm not just talking about high school, Alfred. I don't want this to continue our whole lives, especially not at university." Alfred's stomach dropped. He knew what his twin was going to say next.
"No," he pleaded softly. His brother looked down at his feet.
"I think we should go to different colleges."
The drive back home was silent. Alfred, being deep in thought, drove much slower than he normally would. The cars behind him honked angrily as they tried to pass him, but he couldn't muster the energy to yell at them like he normally might've.
"Alfred! Mathieu! Good day at school?" Francis asked them, untying his kitchen apron. "Alfred? Arthur should be home from the office soon. Would you two like something to snack on?"
"Not hungry," Alfred grumbled, trudging up the stairs to his room and locking his bedroom door behind him.
He dug out his physics homework, ignoring the wet tears that made splotchy marks on his calculations. The formulas he was supposed to be using were blurry despite his glasses. Eventually, Alfred gave up, pushing his work off of his desk and resting his head on his arms, hating himself more and more with each tear that fell and each shuddering breath he let out.
Three soft knocks sounded at the door. "Go away," he cried, feeling like the perfect example of one of those angsty teenagers from Hallmark movies.
"Alfred, what's wrong?" came the concerned voice of his papa. "Mathieu is not telling me anything. Are you fighting over Justin Bieber again?"
"No!"
"Just let me in, s'il te plait?"
"Fine," he said, quickly dashing to the door and unlocking it for Francis.
His father stepped in and patted Alfred reassuringly on the back, guiding him to sit on the bed. "Come on, mon fils. Believe it or not, I can help you. You just have to communicate."
Alfred took in a deep breath, glancing at his papa through teary eyes. "Mattie…Mattie says he doesn't want to go to college with me."
"Oh, Alfred. That's so far off; he could change his mind by then."
"We're applying already!" Alfred whined. "December. That's when early acceptances come in—that's when he'll decide to go wherever I'm not going!" He choked up a bit. "I want to go to school with him! I want to be roommates! Mattie's my best friend."
Francis looked like he was about to say something, but Alfred continued before he could get a chance. "I want to give him relationship advice about his girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever. I want to stay up late at night...just talking, or going to parties, and he'll help me back to the dorm when things get out of hand, and w-we'll drive or fly back home for the holidays together, and…and—"
His papa looked at him sadly, blue eyes unreadable. "Alfred, have you told him this? Did Mathieu tell you why exactly he wants you two to separate?"
Alfred sniffled, feeling a bit calmer now that his outburst was over. "Well…he says that when I'm around he's not his own person. I mean, people do mistake him for me, not that I understand how. We're so—"
"Different?"
"Yeah."
"Anyone who knows you, and I mean really, truly knows you, can see that. Others just need time to see that."
"I don't have time," Alfred groused, before brightening. An idea was hatching in his mind. An idea that was almost guaranteed to work.
"That's it!" he exclaimed. Everything was crystal-clear now. "I know exactly what to do! Thanks papa!"
"What? What are you talking about? Don't do any—"
"Bye, papa!" Alfred called after abruptly ushering his father out of his bedroom. He padded over to the washroom, a plan hatching in his mind. A perfect plan.
First of all, he needed something pigmented. Highly pigmented. After digging around in the cabinets frantically, knocking over several shampoo and conditioner bottles as he did so, Alfred managed to find a package of brown hair dye. Must be leftover from papa's brunette phase, he thought, not even bothering to read the instructions as he slid on the gloves provided in the package and worked the gooey (and smelly) substance into his hair.
Satisfied with his work, he let it sit for a while and then stepped into the shower to wash it off. Alfred towel-dried his now-chestnut-colored locks and grinned approvingly of his appearance in the mirror. Sure, he missed his natural hair color, but if it would help his cause, then it was a worthy sacrifice.
Hearing Arthur call him to eat dinner, he made his way downstairs, a new spring in his step.
"Hellooooooo," he greeted, relishing the flabbergasted expressions of his parents and Matthew.
His brother reacted first, eyes still wide open as he exclaimed what the three already-seated members of the Kirkland-Bonnefoy family had been thinking: "What the fuck, Alfred?!"
"What, you don't like it?" he asked as he twirled a brown strand of hair around his finger.
"No, I bloody well do not," growled Arthur. "Please, for the love of all things holy, tell me that it's temporary."
Alfred laughed nervously. "Well, I don't know about that. I just found the box in the cabinet."
Francis coughed delicately. "It's permanent."
Arthur turned to Francis, nearing hysteria. The color of his cheeks was verging on magenta at this point. "You can reverse it, right? Bleach it and then match the new color to Matthew's hair?"
"No!" Alfred shouted. "The whole reason I did this was to make sure people knew who Matthew was. He's quieter than me, so I figured that if I can get people to notice him for him in appearances first, and then in personality, then the whole problem'll be fixed."
Upon hearing no response from his family, Alfred continued. "Alright, it wasn't the best idea—"
"—You think?" Matthew interjected sarcastically.
Alfred was undeterred. "But anyway, it's just like that time in second grade, when we decided to get different haircuts so people could tell us apart! Same exact deal, just a teensy tiny step up."
"Hairstyles and a complete change in hair color are two very different things, Alfred. For goodness' sake, your eyebrows don't even match!"
"Oh, oops," Alfred said. He knew he had forgotten something in his endeavor.
"Francis, can you see if Feliks' salon has any appointments tomorrow?" His papa nodded, pulling out his phone to make the call. Arthur turned to Alfred, his green eyes scanning Alfred's appearance. "What's the real reason you did this?"
"I already told you," Alfred said weakly.
His father looked at him knowingly. Matthew shifted lower in his chair, obviously uncomfortable with their little family dinner.
"I-I'd like to go to the same university as Mattie," Alfred whispered, just loud enough that Arthur could hear him.
"I don't see what the problem is with that. I thought that's what yo—" Arthur glanced at Matthew, who was facing in the other direction and wincing. "Oh. I…get what you mean."
Francis had returned to the dining room after his phone call and nodded encouragingly at Alfred. "Go on, tell him what you told me."
Alfred met his twin's eyes, noting the guilty flicker that passed through them as he took in the sight of Alfred's dark hair.
"Matthew, I guess I'd just like to say that…you're my best friend. You've been my best friend since birth (even though you think you're older, for some reason)." Alfred swallowed, his resolve growing. He was going to make his speech sappy—the kind of sappy-sweet that could make your teeth rot in an instant. It's just like those inspirational speeches in movies, he realized.
"I know that someday we're going to get married or get jobs and we're going to have to go our separate ways. And yeah, I know that people always think you're me, and it's not fair at all, but I think we can fix that if we put some effort in. That red and blue clothing thing? Yeah, that would be good."
Matthew smiled weakly.
Alfred took in a deep breath. "We don't have much time together to begin with, so why cut it short? Think of all the fun things we could do in university together: double dates ('cause you know people will be all over an exceedingly attractive pair of twins), elaborate pranks, and, um…stuff in general, I guess."
"Seriously, I'll wear a big sign around my neck that says 'Alfred.' If someone can't tell the difference between us then, then I suppose they're just a complete and utter douche. I mean, you're all about that 'quiet dude who could probably get away with murder' personality, and I'm more like 'dude the murder would get blamed on because he can't shut his mouth.'"
"Don't murder anyone," Francis reminded them amusedly.
"Can't promise you that, papa," Matthew joked.
"Okay, so we're like best buds and all that, two peas in a pod, and all I'm asking is that maybe…we apply to the same places, then decide together where to go?"
"Matthew?" Arthur inquired, curious to see what his reaction to Alfred's monologue would be.
"That…sounds good," Matthew said sheepishly. "I'm really, really sorry, 'Alfie,'" he apologized with a small smile, poking fun at Alfred's constant use of "Mattie" instead of Matthew.
"I didn't know that was how you felt. Actually, I thought I was holding you back. I was sure you'd want to go to some fancy engineering or STEM school, and I'd go to a regular university for a degree in languages or something like that. I was especially frustrated today because that one Vietnamese girl—I don't even know her name—started threatening me in the hallway because she thought I was you. What'd you even do to her?"
Alfred had the good sense to at least blush. "I, um, kind of lost a video game to her and then quit before the win went into the system and counted in her favor."
"Alfred," Francis scolded, his tone revealing that he was slightly disappointed.
"Mattie, don't apologize. You do that too much, and I 100% understand where you're coming from in wanting to do to a different school than me. Also, nah, MIT can kiss my ass; it's full of nerds anyway.."
"Language," Arthur scolded, not truly all that concerned.
"And you're not one of them?" Matthew asked, barely containing his laughter. "You shot off those rockets you built all the time when we were younger. Remember poor Kumajiro? I'm just lucky you didn't char him beyond repair."
"Hey, rockets are NOT nerdy!"
"Oh, but that one cartoon? Intergalactica? It sure was. You actually made me believe that aliens were coming to abduct us."
"Nonbeliever," Alfred accused playfully. "It's not as bad as the time we went skiing for the first time and you cried every time you saw the snow because it was 'too perfect.'"
"When you were much too young to remember, mes jumeaux," Francis added, "you only knew one word in French: rosbif, because that's what I called your dad. So when we went on a trip to visit my relatives back in France, you two would shout that endlessly. As you can imagine, it definitely turned some heads."
"That's more embarrassing for Dad than it is for us," Matthew argued. "Rosbif," he taunted, relishing the pinched expression on Arthur's face.
The Brit in question soon gained a devious smirk, something that was never a good sign. "I have the best story of all," he hinted, watching as Francis tensed.
"You wouldn't…"
"But I would. Oh, this was back in the late '90s, I think. Francis, being the genius that he is, decided to open the washroom window while he was taking a shower. A bird—let's affectionately call it Pierre—flew inside the washroom." Arthur paused for dramatic effect. "After a rather arduous struggle, Francis captures the bird in the towel and decides to go release it outside."
In a shocking turn of events, Francis was the one with a scarlet face and his head in his hands now. Arthur, taking note of this, continued. "He goes outside, in the middle of a busy street of Montreal, where I happened to be passing through, and releases the bird."
"Oh no," moaned Alfred. "Papa, no. No. No. No. Oh my god. You were naked?"
"It wasn't intentional!" he cried out in defense. "And besides, those people should consider themselves lucky to have witnessed my corps magnifique."
Arthur snickered. "I should know, seeing as I was one of them. And that, lads, is the formerly untold story of how I met your father."
"How romantic," was Matthew's sardonic reply.
"Hmph. I've been holding that one in for over seventeen years now. I was hoping for a better reaction."
Alfred was quick to rejoin the conversation. "Well, I thought it was simultaneously the worst and best story I've ever heard."
Arthur pointed a finger at Alfred accusingly. "You—Mr. Brunette—you don't get to talk. You're no longer a part of this family until you fix that mop of yours. I can't even look at you without laughing at those eyebrows." As if to prove his point, Arthur let out a short burst of laughter.
"I could say the same to you, dad," Alfred fired back with a grin. He no longer felt weighted down with concerns about the future, because he and Matthew were going to go to university together. Together! It was true that they had no idea what laid ahead, and they'd inevitably come to a fork in the road someday, but for now, they were back to some semblance of normalcy.
Alfred turned to his brother and lifted his glass of sparkling apple cider (non-alcoholic, of course) for a toast. "Here's to senior year," he proposed.
"And here's to the Kirkland-Bonnefoy family," Matthew finished, joined in by Francis and Arthur raising their own glasses of wine and ale respectively.
It's weird, Alfred thought, just how much can change in the course of one day. But he couldn't dwell on that thought—he had some college applications to fill out.
"Is everything moved in from the car?" Matthew asked Arthur. His dad nodded in affirmation, stepping back to look at their dorm room and make sure everything was in place.
"I guess this is it," Francis said, his voice cracking slightly.
"Oh, you bloody frog. They'll be back to visit in no time," Arthur remarked reassuringly. He addressed the twins, who were now standing in their newly-furnished dormitory room. "Don't do anything stupid," he instructed, not without a pointed glance at Alfred.
"We won't, dad," Alfred promised. "I think that whole hair dye fiasco was my low point."
"And mine?" Matthew asked curiously.
"Oh, it's coming," hinted Alfred. "I'm thinking freshman stress, paired with a nasty hangover, some bad sushi, an exam the next day…"
Francis waggled his finger at them. "No hangovers."
"Be nice to your quad mates, too," Arthur reminded the pair, trying desperately to ignore the tears threatening to well up in his eyes.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about me. It's Mattie who'll get you. He's a silent killer. Like…high blood pressure."
"Thanks," Matthew said dryly, before smiling softly. "I'm really going to miss you guys."
"Me too!" interjected Alfred.
"You've got to be better at checking your phones, okay? I bet I could get a serious injury and try to call you, only to receive a call back three hours later," Alfred implored.
"Non," Francis denied. "Not true."
"Oui," Matthew countered. "It's true."
Alfred pulled out his phone. "You know what happens if I don't answer my phone for a few minutes? Sixteen missed calls from dad, four from papa, and three voicemails. And that was from today when I was getting those boxes from the car."
"I was just worried, that's all!" Arthur wailed, having finally realized that he wouldn't be seeing neither hide nor hair of Alfred and Matthew until they came back home for fall break. In an uncharacteristic show of physical affection, he pulled the twins closely into a hug, Francis joining in by wrapping his arms around the three of them.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry to intrude, but I just thought you should know that your car is being towed. It's in the fire lane," a young student with chin-length brownish hair and green eyes told them before stepping out of the room.
"I think it's your car," Alfred told his parents. "Ours is in the parking lot."
"Damnit, Francis," said Arthur.
"Don't blame this on me. You're the one who wanted to park there because ten extra meters of walking is too difficult."
"So, is this goodbye?" Alfred asked awkwardly, breaking the tension between his parents.
Arthur sighed. "Yes, but only for a month, you know."
"Au revoir, mes fils," Francis said, dabbing his eyes with a silk handkerchief.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh, cut it out with the French."
Francis crossed his arms defensively. "Jamais."
"No matter. Goodbye, Alfred. I fully expect you to be working with NASA once you've finished here, and goodbye, Matthew. Remember, I want to see your novel displayed in every bookseller I pass." Both brothers nodded to this, amused that their father had such high expectations for them.
With that, a sobbing Francis and teary-eyed Arthur headed out the door to reclaim their towed car, leaving Alfred and Matthew to their own devices.
Alfred felt like he had just walked across the bridge from adolescence into adulthood—or maybe not. After all, they weren't exactly paying for their own tuitions or food. But it was definitely an important step in becoming a fully independent adult (not that he especially wanted to). He admired the name tags they'd placed on their desks in preparation for tomorrow, the first day of classes, and made sure his things were in order one more time before climbing into his bed.
"Are you ready, Alfred?" his brother asked him from the other side of the room as he got his supplies ready.
"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied, a smile never leaving his face as he slept.
TRANSLATIONS:
Gordo - fat
Mírate en el espejo - Look at yourself in the mirror
Cállate - Shut up
Lo siento - Sorry
Comme toujours - Same as always
S'il te plait - If you please (please)
Mes jumeaux - My twins
Au revoir, mes fils - Goodbye, my sons
Jamais - never