Title: Three Time's A Charm
Authoress: Ankaris123
Summary: AU. Their first connection was when they were switched at birth, the second was the internet, the third was love. Eventual AlfredxMatthew.
A/Ns: Aah, I didn't make it in time for Canada Day. Ah, well. Hope everyone had a good Canada day! Here's a little something for you all. P.S. I'm sorry that my faux chat speak is so bad.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Stuffing the last morsel of his peanut butter sandwich into his already full mouth, Alfred grabbed his wireless mouse and clicked the popup alert.
1 new message.
He was surprised how fast he'd received a response.
–Bonjour! Je m'appele...
Matthew almost leapt out of his seat when he saw the reply alert. He had spent the last couple minutes refreshing the browser nervously. His imaginary alter ego popped briefly to make inappropriate comments about his eagerness. His heartbeat grew louder from anticipation, he was really doing this. The message loaded, chewing his bottom lip he read...English?
–Uh, hi i think there's been a misunderstanding. i don't speak french, well not rly neways...
Alfred barely finished his second sandwich when his inbox received another reply. It was the Matthew guy again who wrote to him in French. Seriously, it didn't say anywhere on his profile page that he knew French. How he would reply, now that piqued the American teen's curiosity. The browser loaded.
–I apologize. It was my mistake for assuming so based on your city of residence...
"Argh..." Matthew groaned, forehead on the cold oak of his work table. He felt like such an idiot.
"That's because you are an idiot, idiot. I told you not to be hasty, but since I don't technically exist, it's perfectly fine to ignore my advice, hmm? I mean, it says right there on his profile that-"
"That he speaks English, I know! I should have looked there first, et cetera! Will you shut up already?" He had just made a complete fool of himself to a stranger and he really wasn't in the mood. Maybe he should just give up this penpal business, he definitely doesn't have the guts or the motivation to try again. Something on the monitor flashed, attracting his attention.
A reply.
–no sweat, man, could happen to neopp[p[[p[[[[srry gt peanut buttr on the keybord backspace s stuck. cant erasedammit ne sugestions?
Well, that was unexpected.
"Tell him to whack it on the desk."
"I can't tell him to do that!"
"Why not? It's just a matter of finger movements. I'd do it for you if I had tangible fingers."
"I mean it's not good advice, and he might think me crazy if I did..." he added in a subdued voice. "He's still talking to me even after I...you know, I don't want to scare him off."
Most people found conversation with the socially inept blond tiring since Matthew spent most of his time rearranging what he wanted to say in his head first in fear that he would be made fun of should he say something strange. As a result he spoke little and often, to avoid being obtrusive, very quietly. If you looked in a comprehensive dictionary, you'd probably find Matthew Kirkland filed under the entry for Unobtrusive.
"Type something. If you dawdle any longer, he might think you've lost interest."
At the same moment as the above exchange was taking place, Alfred was in the middle of a stare-down with the backspace and the surrounding peanut butter-coated keys. He wondered if it was safe to lick it off.
He looked up and clicked open the reply. It was only one sentence long.
–Whack it on the desk.
"I can't believe I wrote that..."
"Me neither. Good on you."
"Shut up."
"Hey, look. You got a reply." There was a brief scrabbling to sit up properly.
–didnt work
"H-he actually listened to me?"
"Congratulations, now stop looking like you'll wet yourself with joy. It's unbecoming."
"I do not!
"Tell him it works better if the keyboard is upside down when he does it."
"It does not work better. That's what I did the last time pencil lead fell into mine. I had to get it replaced! Do you know how much a good keyboard costs?"
"Why are you complaining? You got a cheap replacement. Besides, if this Alfred person listens to you, it's his fault for being a gullible dumbass."
"What do you mean me? You mean, you!"
"I am you."
"Not as far as I'm concerned."
"You hurt me, right here. In my heart. Ow."
"You don't have one."
"That remark hurts too."
"Good."
"What's this? Do I detect a hint of vindictive intent? Matthew, my boy, you're learning."
"Isn't that just wonderful."
Inner Matthew smiled humourlessly, propping himself up on the bed.
"On a roll too. Anyways, who says that the guy is actually doing what he says he did. He could be lying. For all you know, he could be some fat middle aged pervert trying to get on your good side. Or he could be who he says he is but is a complete bastard in real life."
"Shut up," he grumbled and began to type.
–Try turning it upside down.
–cant. laptop
–How did you get peanut butter on it in the first place?
–i was eating, duh
–Eating? At the keyboard?
–im hungry, ppl get hungry, uknow.
–Duly noted.
–wutevr nuthin i can do bout it. whoneeds backspce neways ?
And they continued on this tangent for the rest of the evening, a mundane flow of meaningless conversation. But somehow, just somehow, it lasted until the early hours of the morning and both slept with the faintest of small grins.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
–London, England
Golden rays of warm early autumn sun crept along the desktop over a stack of exercise books until it reached close-lidded eyes, coaxing them to open urgently. Blinking away the drowsiness, Matthew lifted his head off of his crossed arms to greet the new day. Protesting joints in his body cricked as he stretched, scrubbing his eyes free of sleep. His elbow bumped the mouse, causing the screen to flicker back on.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his violet eyes skimmed over the remnants of the instant messenger conversation. He swore that he laughed so hard last night his father had woken up from the racket.
–hey u asleep Matt?
–u tottaly feel asleep on me didnt u
–leving me all aloneeee
–Maaaaaaaatt u wimp! who sleeps 3? how do u expect to b my sidekick if u sleep so early? evryone knoes crime happens ne time specially night, n i cant be a hero if i dunt hav a sidekick it doesnt work lyk that wake upppppppppp
–fine b that way
–i bet ur actuly awake n sittin ther watchin me rant, jerk
–sittin ther reading ur books nd drinkin tea w ur pinky out n other britishy things lyk that yeesh
–Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatt im booooooooored wake up alrddddddy
–if u dunt wake up im gonna squeeze thru the net n hit u on the head ican do that uknow its one of my superpowers
–or mebbe i wont wake u up n do creepy thngs insted lyk draw on ur face n go thru ur closet
–crap my dad s yelling im gonnasleep
–good night, ttyl
To tell the truth, Alfred was partly right in a roundabout way. Matt stopped replying so he could focus on his reading and guiltily watched the one-sided conversation unravel just to see what would happen. Somewhere along the way he actually fell asleep at his desk.
The time displayed on the taskbar reminded him grimly that he had school in an hour and that he had woken far too late to make breakfast. Moving the cursor to hover over the close button on the internet browser, he lingered fleetingly on the page, his name in text reflecting off the lens of his round framed glasses.
It was the stupidest little thing, something he noticed just recently in the two months of continual chatting with the other teen. For one reason or another, Alfred always capitalized the M whenever he typed Matthew's name without fail. Yet he wrote everyone else's names, which came up whenever he talked about his time in the States, all in lowercase even his own. It was probably nothing, but it made Matthew feel a little special.
"You're smitten with a guy you met on the internet because he spells your name with proper orthography, no wonder you've never had a girlfriend."
A pair of socks phased through Inner Matthew's torso and bounced off the sheets.
"I-I am not smitten with him as you so eloquently put it. I just feel...' he struggled to find word to describe it, 'appreciated."
"You keep telling yourself that."
"Just leave, I'm going to change now." His statement was met with an incredulous expression that clearly said: You did not just ask me that. All the same, he vanished from view.
The blond was pulling on the tube socks when the fire alarm went off.
"Dad, are you cooking again?" Long fingers worked through the tangles and knots in his wavy hair, his other hand tugging down the sweater vest over his shirt as he rounded the corner and poked his head into the kitchen.
There was a loud sizzle and a cloud of thick steam as the flames were smothered and died. The brunet at the moderately charred stove looked up in a panic, caught between raising his hands in a defensive manner and putting down the metal pot.
"I'm so sorry, Matt! I-I let myself in and you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you up yet but then I remembered that you always made breakfast so I thought I'd-"
"Hey, calm down, it's alright-"
"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! I-I was just boiling water! And then there was the fire and-, I'll pay for the damages!"
"Feli! It's okay! Calm down!" he said, raising his voice and taking the pot his Italian friend was waving frantically. "I must have dropped something into the stove, making last night's dinner. Don't worry about it, okay? The stove's been charred dozens of times before, that barely did anything."
"I'm really sorry..." Feliciano murmured sniffling as Matthew opened the windows to let the remaining smoke filter out. Out in the hall, the alarm siren cut off abruptly. "It's just that we haven't done anything all summer, so I thought I'd make you pasta..."
Feeling a twinge of guilt in his chest, Matthew chewed his lip anxiously, searching the cabinet for an old dishrag to mop up the water. Feliciano Vargas, pretty much the only friend he had ever made in real life, had taken up full-time summer work as a barista at the local café in order to earn money for his older brother's college tuition fee (secretly, of course) and had very few days off work. It was with a heavy conscience every time Matthew forgot about or missed a day out they had scheduled partly because he had slept in after talking to Alfred all evening long. His friend probably thought he was avoiding him.
"No...it's my fault, Feli. I'm the one who never keeps our promises," he said, pulling out a plate of sandwiches he prepared yesterday. "Can I make it up to you after school today? We could go out for ice cream, my treat?"
"...I have work after school..."
"Oh."
The unnerving silence was broken when his father ended the kitchen, thick eyebrows furled with morning crankiness.
"Morning," he grumbled, smoothing down his bedhead ineffectually. Taking his usual seat, his blue eyes focused on the round stain on the worn floral tablecloth where his mug of strong tea should be. It wasn't there.
"I'm sorry, dad. I didn't-"
Chair legs scraping across the linoleum, the rumpled man rose and shuffled out, reflexively straightening out his necktie. There was a little commotion in the hallway by the coat closet before the door opened and closed noisily. Silence returned.
"...I guess we should get to school then," Feliciano said gently, prying the sandwich from his friend's yielding fingers and brown bagging it. Matthew nodded and went upstairs to pack his shoulder bag.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
–Paris, France
"Alfred! Réveille-toi! Il est déjà dix heures!"
Murmuring incoherent sleep talk, the blond American rolled over, burying his head into the cushy pillow. He was having a nice dream about driving big trucks, which transformed into jet planes, off bridges. A few more persistent calls roused him much to his annoyance.
Several angry stomps later and the door to his bedroom flew open, his father leaning peeved against the door jamb.
"I know you're awake, son."
"Good for you," he retorted, muffled into the cool sheets.
"This is quite enough. School is already in session, I will call in for you to be excused for being late but you must absolutely attend class. What sort of impression do you think you will make if you skip your very first day?"
"A badass one."
The French man clucked his tongue disapprovingly, uncrossing his arms and firmly grasping the corner of the sheets. A savage but swift tug freed it from its protesting occupant.
"I don't want to go!"
"Nonsense! You will go! And the faster you go, the sooner the day will end," Francis sighed, gathering the cloth into a ball, then added coyly, "Et tu veux parler à ton nouvelle amie, non?"
That woke him up.
"H-how did you-?"
"Oh please, mon fils, you think I know nothing? About the late nights in your room, tapping merrily away on your laptop? Papa is not stupid. She must be a charming girl to keep your attention for so long."
Yeesh, his dad is such a pervert.
"Matt's not a girl." That should put a wrench in the gears.
"Oh, am I mistaken?" Francis frowned stroking his neatly trimmed facial hair. "Although I suppose it is not truly a bad outcome to aim for a bigger playing field."
Looking at a loss for words momentarily, Alfred settled with flopping back onto the mattress and turning away.
"Well, it's none of your business. I don't want to go today, I'm not feeling well."
"Alfred."
"Leave me alone."
"If you keep this up, I'll throw you off the balcony."
"Ha! As if you could!"
"Then," knuckles were cracked dramatically, "shall we give it a try? You wouldn't believe how heavy a full soup pot can be."
Unable to help himself, Alfred let out a surprised yelp as he was yanked off the bed by the ankle. His head made a pleasant thump against the thick carpet. Looking back, his father only seemed slightly winded from the effort. The teen decided not to chance it.
"Alright, alright! I'll go, dammit!"
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
–London, England
With an exasperated sigh, Matthew slumped onto his desk in the back corner. Every year without fail, he would come to class early and claim a seat in the front row. At first it was because of his bad eyesight, after receiving his first pair of glasses, it had become a habit. Besides, he liked being close to the front.
While his classmates mucked about in their usual rambunctious manner, Matthew entertained himself by staring down the crude carvings on the wooden surface. He sighed again, kicking his feet idly. Just where was the teacher?
"Too bad, eh?" said his imaginary carbon copy, sitting in the empty seat to his left.
Matthew replied with an incoherent grumble. As it turned out, Feliciano and he shared barely any of their classes unlike the year before when they had all but one together. He wasn't sure how he was going to survive tenth grade.
"Come on, stiff upper lip, kid. Be a little brave and talk to someone. You already talked to a stranger over the internet, what say we up the level a bit and try it in real life?"
"It's not that easy…"
"You're just saying that. You're scared. But that doesn't matter. Didn't someone say that courage isn't being without fear but overcoming the fear or something? I don't remember really but it sounded really good."
"Can you just leave me alone?"
"Oh…sorry, is this seat taken?" the voice was quiet, gentle, and feminine. Matthew jumped up from his slumped position as a short haired blonde girl stood, indicating the seat in which Inner Matthew was sitting. Her round blue eyes filled with concern when he didn't reply.
"N-no! Please, go ahead!" Oh boy, did he just squeak?
Inner Matthew smiled good-naturedly and vanished after a perky: "Good luck."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
–Paris, France
It wasn't opening.
He didn't know why but the door was not opening.
The unyielding double doors shuddered under the force of a well-placed kick. It was a lucky thing no one of an authoritative position was around to see it.
Diligently following his 'papa's request, Alfred had gotten dressed and allowed himself to be driven to the international school. Dumped out on the freshly mown lawn, he had grudgingly decided to be a good kid for the day and actually attend class. And now he was held up by the doors not opening. What the hell.
"What's wrong with these doors?" He gave them another kick fuelled by unadulterated frustration. Still no good. Someone behind him snickered.
"What?" Alfred growled, turning around, fists curled and ready for a good stress reliever. A teen stood there, hair a shocking silver-white colour, stifling his cackles none too successfully.
"The, the doors, they don't open that way. You have to pull."
"Then why is it marked PUSH?" he waved his hand sharply at the sticker on the reinforced glass for emphasis.
"Because I put that there."
Across the street a squirrel jumped into a bush.
"So, what? Do you have something to say?" the white-haired teen said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his fashionably torn jeans. He took several jaunty steps towards the other teen, his stance giving off an arrogant, larger than life vibe.
There was brief non-verbal exchange and a handshake was exchanged. Alfred returned the cocky grin with one of his own.
"I'd say that school might not be so bad after all."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
A/Ns: Not much story development in this chapter. I'm going to try and speed it up next chapter since all the major characters have been introduced. Hope it was enjoyable all the same. Here are some translations which I may or may not have screwed up:
Réveille-toi! Il est déjà dix heures! – Wake up! It's already 10 o'clock!
Et tu veux parler à ton nouvelle amie, non? – And, you want to talk to your new friend, no?
Until next time!
Thank you for reading and reviews are gladly received and appreciated!