Francis Bonnefoy was always a man who was one for love. He gave his love freely and expressed that others should do the same. Love was not binding or to be given solely to another and because of that Francis thought he could never wholly love any one person because he simply had to share it with the world. That was what he believed, until he came across a small British boy crying in the middle of a lonely park.

"What's wrong little one? Are you lost?" He had asked, bending down to the toddler's level. The younger blonde shook his head yes and then proceeded to blubber out.

"I was supposed to come home at sundown but I don't remember where to go. Sister Mary's says I don't live there anymore and I don't remember where I live now."

Francis' heart clenched, him remembering that Sister Mary's was an orphanage for small boys. Realizing that the boy didn't have a family Francis felt something he had never felt before. This small green eyed boy, with very bushy eyebrows had captured his entire heart, and he would never be able to let him go. So from that day Francis started the process of adopting a one Arthur Kirkland and hasn't let him go since.

So, when his precious Arthur came to him on that snowy December day, talking of dates and boyfriends of all things Francis was not amused. The boy opposite Arthur was well known as a star football player and very popular. He could easily be using Arthur for an array of things and Francis would not let his son be hurt by someone unworthy.

"No, Arthur is not allowed to date and certainly not by the likes of you."

This rather harsh remark from his normally passive father sent Arthur for quite a loop. Francis had never been so openly harsh to someone let alone without even knowing the person. "Now papa that was rude you don't even really know what Alfred is like and yet you judge him? Papa you always talk of spreading your love around and all Alfred is asking for is a simple date."

"Well how should I know if he is respectable or not? If he is smart or kind? Not just some empty bag of tan muscles. You are young Arthur and can be easily blinded by looks, trust me I know but I am not and I see through that large blank smile he has."

Alfred was obviously upset by these accusations. He lived his entire life trying to be the hero, the good guy and now without even knowing him he thinks he's not good enough for Arthur. It just wasn't fair and it wasn't going to happen. "Hey, I'll prove it to you that I'm good enough for him that I'm good enough for Arthur! That no one's better than me ever!" And just like papa to accept a challenge he did. Alfred now had to prove to him with whatever he could come up with that and Francis had a very vivid imagination.

"So as I sit here trying to work out just what my father has planned and see if it was book worthy sadly not. I couldn't help but think that even though the actual events of my life were not yet best seller, the way my life was lining up was possibly the next Pride and Prejudice, or at least Pretty and Pink, and since my toils are too unbelievable not to share and my friend count too low for me to do it in person I created this blog to share my details. Bits of life to share with you along with my own interpretation of events. Consider this the sandpaper rough copy of my memoirs. If I become famous whoever is reading this now gets to say they were the first. So consider this entry one; I don't know how long this will last but here's a start. I'll try to keep you updated, thanks for reading. Arthur."

Arthur sat there reading over his most recent blog post, groaning at the uncertainty of the fate that lay ahead of him. Checking his phone to see the only notifications being that Alfred had changed his profile picture, again he presumed his night to be over for the time being and retired to bed.

In the morning Arthur awoke to the smell of scones, a favorite treat of his, but only made when his father needed to talk to him, the sweet aroma left bitter as he made his way downstairs. His father was sitting calmly at the kitchen table, food all set out Arthur's chair askew to silently tell him to sit down. Doing so albeit regrettably he sighed as his father began.

"Arthur, do you have feelings for this boy?"

Arthur bit the inside of his lip, not sure of what to say. He wasn't completely sure of his feelings himself but he couldn't say that to his papa now could he? Alfred despite all his annoyances, made Arthur feel safe, warm, happy. But he was nowhere near any true describable feelings. But what should he say.

"He makes me happy, in a way, and we haven't started date- well spending time together alone much so I feel like I can't truly answer that until I do so?"

The pensive stare Francis had was enough to make the usually callous man squirm in his seat, them both sipping their respective hot beverages before the Frenchman continued.

"I simply do not want you to get hurt mon cher. You are so tranquil and this Alfred he is like wildfire and you cannot control him but I fear he will control you, in ways that drift you away from your dreams. How can I be sure that he will not hurt you?"

"By trusting me papa." Arthur replied, green eyes hardening in his resolve. "I wouldn't have even brought him to meet you if I didn't think he wasn't a good person. I trust your judgment papa which is why I asked him to get your approval but that is meaningless if you do not give him a real chance."

There was a pause in the room that seemed to speak volumes for the two men in the room. Francis simply took the moment, then in a motion stood up and brought his son into a loving embrace. "Alright mon cher, I will give Alfred this chance that you have. As wary as I am for your feelings I am just as happy that you are finally opening up your heart to someone. Invite this Alfred over to dinner tonight and then I will give you my answer as to spending Christmas Eve with him. That is not my blessing, but a trial run of how his family treats you. Okay?"

Arthur nodded and with a sprint jolted up to his room to try and call Alfred.

"Pick up git pick up the bloody phone."

"-ello who is this do you know what time it is?" Alfred groaned, a slurred tone to his speech coupled with a yawn.

"It's ten thirty you igit on a Thursday don't you do those morning run things with the track team anyway?" Arthur added shortly, pacing around his room.

"It's also during break and yes I normally do however Arthur I figured I'd let myself sleep in since the track team isn't meeting and there's a foot of snow on the ground. So what did you call me for? Is something wrong?"

Arthur, holding back the strong will to yell at Alfred that there had been snow since Thanksgiving, took a deep breath and tried to ask, though it sounded more like a demand. "My father has requested your presence at my house for dinner tonight and I would really like it if you would use it to make a good impression on him since yesterday went so absolutely dreadful."

There was a pause over the phone, and a rustling could be heard on the other line, presumably Alfred getting out of bed and putting on his glasses. "What time is dinner Artie?"

Arthur smiled. "It's a 7 sharp, Papa is making beef bourguignon so dress nice but not white because I know you'll make a mess."

"Alright Artie, mind if I bring Mattie and his fiancé Bella? I'm sure your dad will like them, Bella's even a pastry chef."

Arthur chuckled lightly and agreed to that amendment, notifying is father of the extra dinner guests, with a surprisingly positive review on the matter. Afterwards Arthur got off the phone with Alfred and turned his computer on

"Hello Readers. I'm actually in a really good mood today so why not embarrass myself. As you could guess my father is a splendid cook. I however am not. So how about I try to tell you about the time I was twelve and I tried to cook a Father's Day dinner for him?"