The young man's pale eyelashes flickered as he was bathed in the beams of sunlight that streamed in through the window. Despite the comforting warmth, he turned his head from the brightness in hopes of gaining more rest after such a rough evening. Then, the realization hit...

Hard.

Comforters flew back as a slightly disheveled Matthew Williams sprang up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar cabin. He breathed, heavy and sharp, trying to remember the events of the previous night. Searing pain erupted at the thought and he clutched at his strawberry locks as he tried to fight past it. His eyes welled up with tears from the force but he achieved some blurred memories. Torn flashes of snow-packed ground giving way beneath his tattered paws were muddled with the fear of being confined and the violent jostling of the Change, and- He hadn't been alone.

His slender fingers untangled themselves and fell gracefully into his lap to be thoughtlessly viewed by the empty indigo gaze.

Where am I? Or... where is he?

A low hum became apparent, drawing strained eyes to their right. There, in the dim glow of the dying fire, Matthew could barely make out a sleeping form lounging in a maroon chaise. He sighed in relief. This was good; he could still slip away as nothing more than a dream, or a dream... and a lost blouse. The fabric was high-quality silk and must have cost the Frenchman more than one pretty penny, but there it was, pressed to the bare skin of a stranger. It almost felt wrong leaving now, without giving any proper thanks. Francis had been kind even after Matthew had scared him nearly to death, but the boy knew better. He had to go.

His feet slipped silently from the bed and tapped ever so lightly against the wood flooring. The Frenchman didn't stir, even as Matthew drew closer to him, shuffling quietly forward to allow a whispered goodbye. Matthew's mouth opened to speak, but he did nothing but breathe for a few moments.

"Francis," he finally managed, "thank you for your care, though I did nothing to deserve it." He blamed his poor eyesight for the smile he was sure wasn't subconsciously gracing the other's lips. "Sleep well, ami."

And with that, Matthew Williams turned away from Francis Bonnefoy and walked across the room to the door to leave Francis's life and return to his own. Or so he thought, but his trusty eyes conveniently ignored the barrel in front of him, however his knees were not so lucky. With an earsplitting shriek of surprise and pain, the strawberry blond tumbled head-first into the object, startling the elder awake.

"Matthieu?" Francis shouted before he could even comprehend the situation. He rolled off the chaise with a heavy thud. Picking himself up, he charged over to Matthew and immediately wished he had been more generous.

Apparently, not even an over-sized shirt could hide the boy's delicate flesh. The stumble had thrown the hem toward Matthew's shoulders, leaving his pert rear up and exposed. The older male forced himself to look past his obvious plain of vision, and his obvious plan of action, to see the real problem.

What first occurred to him was that Matthew had somehow found a barrel and managed to lodge his upper body in it. Secondly, the impact had caused quite the scene and some reddening around the youth's right knee. And thirdly, his uncontrolled flailing was not helping any of the aforementioned predicaments, though greatly improving one for viewing pleasure.

Francis took a step back and gently slapped himself in the face. He had made a promise, so he would have to at least try to clear his head. However once he had, the main question was what a barrel was doing in the middle of his living room. But only after quizzically staring for a good five seconds at Matthew's fists pounding the wooden sides, did he finally remember why he had put it there.

"Matthieu!" He cried again, jumping forward and tugging the younger man from the previously ice-filled barrel.

Matthew tossed his head back onto Francis's shoulder, hair dripping wet and sticking to his face, gasping and spluttering and coughing up water. "P-Pardon my French, but, what the Hell was… was that there for?"

Francis looked at him, stunned.

"Oh…, right, you are French." Matthew felt himself blush at his ignorance as he turned his head away. "Heh, sorry."

Francis chuckled. "I'm afraid that in this case, it's quite alright, especially considering you speak it yourself. Now, as for your question…," Francis bent forward, careful not to upset the unstable Canadian, and fished a wine bottle out of the barrel, "it was ice last night."

"What?" The youth looked genuinely lost.

The other couldn't help but crack a small grin at the innocence. "You're not too young for a small glass. It's still rather chilled if you'd be interested."

"I'm nineteen," Matthew replied off-handedly, "but, no thank you, I'm not too interested."

Francis blinked owlishly before brushing his disbelief to the side. "Well, obviously not now. You should take a few minutes to get your bearings. Wait here and I'll get you a towel." He assured himself that Matthew could stand on his own and then trotted out of view.

This was no longer simple. It would be cold outside in a drenched shirt but Matthew didn't have the time to have a choice. So for the second time that morning, he made his way to the door. And for the second time that morning, his knee betrayed him. He was two steps from the door when his leg registered the damage and gave out, and he crashed to the floor.

Francis raced back into the room. "Is this just a thing with you?" He yelled, dropping the towel on the boy as he knelt by his side, absent-mindedly fixing the hem that had, once again, been tossed up.

"Yes!" Matthew snapped, separating his face from the hard wood. "Yes, this is just a thing with me! And, this is the same reason why I need to get out of here! So if you'll excuse me, –"

"Excuse me," the Frenchman interrupted, "but, you will be going nowhere in your condition!"

Ignoring the command, the younger grasped the door handle and hoisted himself up. "Look," he countered, "I hate feeling so rude; you've been very kind to me, and for that I thank you. But, I really must be going."

Francis stood up with a sigh. Thinking it was a gesture of defeat, Matthew focused on unlocking his exit. But when a strong hand slammed against the panel next to his head, he glanced over his shoulder in wide-eyed shock. Francis's face was dead-pan serious. Matthew gulped as he his eyes darted from the hand to the face, the hand to the face. "You are injured," Francis hissed lowly.

Determination overtook Matthew's delicate features and he wheeled around. "Don't misunderstand me; thank you for your hospitality, but I have to go home! Please just forget you ever saw me! Here!" He leant against the door as his thin fingers swiftly unbuttoned the blouse, "Have your shirt back! I don't need i-!" …Oops... His face shot bright red and he clasped his hands over the fabric. "N-Never mind, I… I do kind of need it for right now."

Francis cleared his throat, pulling his hand back. "Mon petit, if you truly have to go, I will obey your every whim. But, that is only if you let me do something for that knee of yours." He smirked at Matthew's flustered face as he realized he was bleeding rather profusely. "However, if you try to leave before that is properly healed, then, by Dieu, Mr. Williams, I will make you regret your disobedience. Wait here, really this time." And with that, he left the room.

Upon returning a few minutes later, he was relieved to find Matthew had not left. However, he had slid down the door and was sitting dejectedly at its base, towel around his neck and ringlets hiding his face. Francis settled in front of him, placing a first aid kit on the floor and pulling out an antiseptic and a cloth bandage. The air was calm and silent as Francis cleaned and wrapped the wound.

"There," he announced when he'd tied off the last of the cloth.

"How long will I have to stay?" the younger male muttered, lifting his head.

"I don't think it's as bad as it looks, so…," the elder paused as he thought, "maybe five days, at most."

His eye fell. "Oh, um, okay, as long as you wouldn't mind."

Francis smiled reassuringly. "It's my pleasure."

"Y-You-," Matthew stuttered, avoiding eye-contact, "You don't have to lie. If I'm overstaying my welcome, then ple-"

"Matthieu," the golden blond caught his chin and tilted it up, "I thought we already covered that I don't lie to the beautiful. Besides, you haven't had any wine yet." He straightened himself up and extended a hand to the other, and this time it was accepted immediately with an honest smile.

"Just one, if you wouldn't mind. I am too young, after all" Matthew giggled as he was lead to the kitchen.

Not for everything, but, Francis thought ruefully, as of right now, you are untouchable.


A/N: Sorry it took so long, but Happy (slightly-belated) Canada Day!

I'm aiming to have the next update be for France Day

And I should update 'Damn Those English Roses' for America Day

So hope you enjoyed it, sorry again, and please look forward to my updates