Someone that has given me fabulous compliments and critiques told me that they felt the story was too rushed. So I went back and wrote this whopper of a chapter to fix that. I hated to think that I had cheated the readers (and myself) of a love story. I felt that I had indeed rushed it, but I only skipped over things to hide the fact that I was self-conscious about the way I wrote the beginnings of relationships. This isn't much of the relationship between Alfred and Francis, but it gives more background to the goings on of the characters after they meet. Plus Matthew is just a cutie. I hope you like this chapter a little better.
for good measure, Miguel is Cuba, Katyusha is Ukraine, and Lars is Netherlands
"Francis," Gilbert said, letting Matthew down off his lap to scamper over to his father. "How is this going to affect Matthew? You can't jeopardize his schooling just to get in his teacher's pants."
"Gilbert," hissed Francis, glaring at the albino and dipping his head in Matthew's direction. "And we haven't even spoken aside from some things about Mathieu's time in school. Here you are, darling, tell me how that tastes."
Matthew took the sautéed mushroom from Francis's long fingers and immediately put it in his mouth. He made a delighted noise and fisted his little hands in Francis's apron. "Good, Papa."
"Good? They're just good?" Francis scoffed, tone teasingly shocked.
"Uhh, they're…they're dee—no—deli…cious," Matthew attempted, looking to his papa for a reply.
The bright smile he received made Matthew grin back. "Very good, amour. Here, take your juice and go watch some television while Uncle Gil and I talk."
Matthew clutched his Sippy-cup to his chest and pattered over to the television, little fingers finding the power button easily. He plopped himself on his favorite floor-cushion and was immediately entranced by the show. Francis smiled wistfully as he watched his child, a sense of pride and adoration swelling in his chest. He turned back to his cooking and Gilbert, who was reclining in a chair at the kitchen table and growing increasingly annoyed at the Frenchman.
"You can't seriously think this isn't going to end badly, Francis. This guy could totally break your heart in about a week, and then Matthew would have to go back to school and face the man who wrecked his father. Do you really want to bring someone into Matthew's life right now? He's still so young and volatile. Are you even going to be able to move on from Jeanne for a man?
"I don't want you to be hurt, Francis. I care for you and Mattie more than anything and I don't want to have to pick up the pieces if this doesn't work out. Put Matthew first, Francis, or I will intervene until you understand that this might tear your family apart." Gilbert practically spat the words at Francis, who didn't respond and pushed the chicken and mushrooms around the pan.
Just as he drew in a shaking breath to respond, Antonio burst through the door with bags in hand.
"Hola, Francis, Gilbert," he trilled, grinning with green eyes sparkling.
Little feet thumped against the tiles and Antonio set the bags down on the kitchen table before sweeping Matthew into his arms.
"Mattie, it's so great to see you. It feels like I haven't seen you in so long," Antonio feigned overexcitement, holding Matthew close and kissing his cheeks until the boy squirmed.
"Uncle Toni, I saw you on Monday. That was just two days ago," Matthew said matter-of-factly, his pale eyebrows pulling down in confusion.
"Was it just two days ago? I suppose it was. Well, I'm still so happy to see you." Antonio smoothed Matthew's hair and smiled at the boy.
He walked closer to his friends, ruffling Gilbert's hair and rubbing Francis's back. "How've you been, Francis? What's this I hear about a love interest?"
Francis gave Antonio a look out of the corner of his eye and just sighed, adding a little white wine to the pan. Antonio looked back at Gilbert, who didn't meet his eye, and automatically felt the tension.
"Matthew, sweet boy, your papa, Uncle Gil, and I need to talk about some adult stuff. Can you go to your room for a little while? Please?" Antonio pleaded with the child, stroking Matthew's cheek.
Matthew gazed uneasily at his three caretakers and nodded timidly. Before he could pad off to his room, Francis snagged his T-shirt and pulled him back. He crouched and enveloped Matthew in his arms.
"Je t'aime, Mathieu. Always remember that, alright?" Francis cupped Matthew's face in his hands, gazing into dark blue eyes and allowing him a moment to bask in his child's beauty.
Cupid's bow lips quirked upwards just a bit and Matthew leaned in to kiss Francis quickly. His kiss landed near the corner of Francis's mouth, and the Frenchman laughed. He tucked Matthew's hair away from his face and patted him on the backside.
"Give us a little privacy, doux. We'll come get you when dinner's ready," Francis promised, blowing Matthew a kiss before his door closed with a soft click.
Alfred ran a hand through his hair, putting another sticker on a worksheet. He shuffled through the piles to locate the next sheet to receive a star and came to a familiar name.
Matthew Bonnefoy
The name was shaky but effort had obviously been put into handwriting, and Alfred felt his heart swell. He adored how sweet Matthew was in class and the little smile he had whenever he heard Miguel say something funny. Finding his sheet of special stickers, Alfred put a polar bear sticker on Matthew's drawing. He'd seen Matthew tentatively hold a stuffed polar bear before shoving the stuffed animal in his cubby and joining the other kids early on in the school year.
Despite the late hour, Alfred heard a knock on the doorframe of his room. He glanced up to see his neighboring teacher, Arthur Kirkland, and smiled.
"Hey, friend," Alfred called, sitting back in his chair as Arthur crossed the room.
Since college, Alfred and Arthur were close but fought like siblings. They could be screaming and throwing things one moment and making up with plans for ice cream the next. Arthur taught first grade and was eager to get Matthew the next year from what he'd heard from other teachers.
"What are you doing here so late?" Arthur asked, sitting on the edge of Alfred's desk.
"I could ask you the same thing," Alfred replied cheekily, grinning at Arthur. "I'm just trying to catch up on some work and think over some things."
"Things like what?" Arthur picked up the topmost drawing on Alfred's desk. It was Matthew's and Alfred felt a little protective of the paper. "This is good. Who drew this?"
"Matthew Bonnefoy, the boy you really want next year. He's an absolute angel," raved Alfred, organizing a stack of papers.
"Now, what kind of things are you thinking about?" Arthur asked again, pulling Alfred's chair closer to him. "Spill."
Alfred sighed, the noise pitifully weak, and let his shoulders droop. "Matthew's father and I kind of hit it off at Parent's Night and I really like him, but I don't want to mess up my career or Matthew's school life or Francis's entire life. I don't know what to do."
"He's French, isn't he?"
Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, but nodded. "Yeah, so is Matthew."
"Bloody hell, Alfred. Alright, I'll try to be gentle about your situation. You need to talk about this with…Francis. He will be the one to really guide you, because you two know your limits. I'd also talk to Vargas to make sure you won't break any laws or step on any toes. Just be careful," Arthur warned, ruffling Alfred's hair before standing. "I'm going home for the night. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you tomorrow," Alfred replied, lost in thought and concern.
Despite noting how Matthew moved sluggishly through his morning routine and refused much breakfast, Francis was forced to send him to school. He had a very busy day and wouldn't be able to take care of Matthew if he stayed home. Francis kissed the boy goodbye, watching him clamber out of the car a little unsteadily. All thoughts of the boy's actions were forgotten when Francis was bombarded with issues once he returned to the restaurant.
…
Alfred was retrieving extra construction paper and markers from a cabinet when someone tugged on his pants. He glanced down underneath his arm, finding Miguel's dark eyes peering back up at him. Smiling, he turned back and brought down the supplies.
"What is it, Miguel?" He asked, stepping around the boy to place the paper and markers on an empty desk for the children to take if they needed more.
"I don't think Mattie feels very good. He's not coloring and he looks sick," Miguel replied anxiously, wringing his hands in front of his brightly colored shirt.
Automatically, Alfred's mood changed and he touched Miguel's shoulder. "Where is he, kiddo?"
"Over here next to me, Lars, and Kat." Miguel led Alfred over to a secluded table, the favorite table of the four friends.
As Miguel had said, Matthew wasn't coloring but had his head resting on his arms on the table. His face was pale save for his cheeks which were a bright scarlet, almost matching the red and white sweatshirt he wore that day. Alfred recognized the sweatshirt as Matthew's favorite one to wear. He always shyly showed it off to his friends, running little fingers over the big maple leaf in the middle. Alfred pressed against Miguel's shoulder and patted his chair to have the child sit. He approached Matthew carefully and crouched beside the boy. Lars and Katyusha stopped coloring when Alfred appeared and watched their teacher closely.
"Matthew," Alfred called softly, letting his hand rest on Matthew's back. He could feel the weak rising and falling of the child's breaths. "Are you alright?"
Matthew picked his head up shakily, peering at Alfred through glossy indigo eyes. He took a shuddering breath and just stared at Alfred pitifully. Alfred didn't hesitate to collect the boy into his arms and stand. Holding Matthew close, Alfred poked his head into Arthur's room next door. His children were taking a spelling test so it seemed.
"Arthur, I have to take one of my kids down to the nurse. Can you watch the rest of them for a minute or two?" Alfred asked after beckoning the other teacher over.
"Yes, of course. I don't mind," Arthur assured him, and Alfred turned swiftly on his heel.
The nurse, a sweet, young woman named Lili, immediately fussed over Matthew. He just sat on the cot, swaying a little, and allowed her to take his temperature and so on until she deemed him too ill to be in school. As Lili called Francis, Alfred stayed near Matthew and watched over him protectively.
"Were you feeling like this before you came to school, Matthew?" Lili asked him when she returned, smoothing his wavy hair comfortingly.
Alfred stayed with Matthew until his father came. When Francis appeared in the doorway, he was flushed and panting, wearing his uniform from the restaurant. He darted over to Matthew, immediately kneeling in front of the boy and cooing in quick, honey-sweet French. Matthew let his father smooth his hair away from his face and feel his forehead without a fight. His little hands were holding onto the cuffs of his sweatshirt sleeves and he blinked slowly. Finally, Francis scooped Matthew up into his arms, cradling the child close, and thanked the other two.
"I had no idea that he was feeling so unwell this morning. He seemed a bit sluggish, but I thought he was just tired. Thank you for taking care of him until I could get here," Francis said, tangling long fingers in Matthew's silky hair and massaging his scalp soothingly. The boy melted into his father's arms, cuddling close and breathing deeper.
"It was no problem, Mr. Bonnefoy. Matthew's such a sweet boy, and I hated to see him so sick. I'm sure he'll feel much better in a day or two," Lili replied, smiling and giving a little wave to Matthew as Francis moved to the doorway.
As Alfred followed him out, he remembered Matthew's bag sitting next to his chair in the classroom.
"Matthew's backpack is still in the room. If you'll wait here, I'll run go get it for you," Alfred explained to Francis who nodded and situated Matthew more comfortably in his arms.
When Alfred disappeared down the hall and back into the classroom, Matthew sat back in his father's arms. Francis braced a hand on the boy's back and smiled comfortingly at him.
"You should have told me you weren't feeling well this morning, chéri. I hate to think that I sent you to school when you were so sick," Francis crooned, tucking some of Matthew's hair behind his ear. "What kind of sick are you?"
Matthew rubbed his eye and sighed weakly. "My tummy feels odd."
Francis cursed wildly to himself, but smiled for his son. "We'll get you feeling better in no time, darling, I promise."
"I don't want to leave Mr. Alfred, though. I want to stay," muttered the child, staring down the hall as his teacher reappeared from the classroom with Matthew's backpack.
"You can't stay, Mathieu, I'm sorry. You don't feel well and I don't want you to get sick while you're here. I'd rather you be at home with me, Aunt Laura, and Uncle Gil, alright? That way we can take care of you. Mr. Alfred will understand, sweet."
"What will I understand?" Alfred asked, smiling brightly at the pair when he returned.
"That Matthew needs to go home. He wants to stay," Francis stated as he rubbed Matthew's back softly.
"Your papa's right, Mattie, you need to go home and rest. I'll still be here when you come back, I promise. If you feel up to it, color me a picture while you're at home and I'll hang it up when you get back, okay? How does that sound?" Alfred soothed, handing Matthew's pack over to Francis. Their fingers brushed and Alfred felt his breath catch in his throat.
"Alright," Matthew mumbled softly, tucking himself against Francis's chest and shoulder. He looked very tired. "Bye, Mr. Alfred."
"Bye, little buddy. I hope you feel better." Alfred smoothed Matthew's hair and smiled at Francis.
"Thank you for watching over him. He trusts you quite a bit, and I'm sure he was glad you were there. I appreciate it," Francis told Alfred, keeping his voice low as Matthew was snuffling lowly against his neck. He made the soft noise in the back of his nose and throat when he was attempting to get comfortable enough to sleep.
"It wasn't a problem," Alfred assured him, giving the single father a soft smile. After a moment of hesitation, Alfred gathered enough courage to say, "Listen, I talked to the principal and the school board and I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime. We could get dinner, just you and me."
Francis held Matthew close, swaying a bit to ease the child into sleep, and smiled against curly blond hair. "I'd like that, Alfred. I'd like that a lot."
Alfred let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and grinned. "Great. Here's my cell number. Call anytime and tell me when you're free."
With two fingers, Francis took the slip of paper that Alfred had ripped off a flyer on the corkboard outside the nurse's office. He didn't look at it right then, but held it tightly.
"If you don't mind, give me an update on Matthew in a few days. I'd like to know how he's doing," Alfred said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"I'll do that," Francis agreed, smiling despite himself. When Matthew's fingers curled in his shirt and he made a quiet noise of discomfort, the Frenchman started. "I should get him home. Thank you again for being with him. I'll let you know how he's doing."
"Alright, I'll talk to you later." Alfred smiled brightly and gave them a little wave as Francis turned to leave.
The children immediately knew something had gone on when Alfred bounded back into the classroom and decided to break out his guitar. They asked him, but he just told them someone had made him very happy.