Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
After his eleventh birthday, Francis was frequently invited to small parties, and with each one he grew to dislike his fellow nobility more and more. He dreamed of extracting himself from the company of his peers, of mocking them and hating them like he did the governesses, but he could not afford to do that. He needed to keep the appearance of friendship, stick to the careful dance of formality so he could maintain ties with these possible future allies. So he decided that rather than hate, he would love. He would make them all love him, truly love him, not just for show. His silent revenge would be viewing with utter contempt those who adored him.
Leaving memories of the past behind, he walked into the drawing room and took a seat, quickly checking over his hair and clothes before his guests arrived.
-o-o-o-
Francis carefully balanced the four glasses he was carrying as he walked back to the table. The girls he had left behind were clearly gossiping about him, but Francis did not mind – it was nothing more than a mark of their obsession. Hiding his contempt for these blushing airheads behind a handsome smile, he approached the table.
"Your drinks, ladies." He skillfully placed the glasses in front of the three giggly young noblewomen seated around his table with a small bow. He knew one of the traits that set him apart from the other boys (besides the fact he was devastatingly handsome, of course) was the aura of maturity he carefully maintained. While he may be a thirteen year old, Francis could easily exude the air of an experienced host when need be, and the girls fell for it every time.
Francis thought it was really quite impressive that the three young ladies could sit so unruffled, so outwardly friendly, while in reality they were seething with jealously and loathing. They had just started discussing Anya, a pretty, if somewhat unsettling, young woman who had left the gathering a bit early. Now that Francis had come back to listen, the girls had begun mercilessly tearing at her looks, her clothing, and her actions, hoping to eliminate a possible rival for Francis' affection.
"…and her family! I hear her parents are off in Russia or something and she lives alone with this strange older man. I don't even think he's related to her!" The girl left the implications unstated, but she did give Francis a pointed look. "I bet that's why she's so comfortable with the boys. Did you hear? She asked one of them to marry her, just a few days ago! Can you imagine?"
"Yeah, I was there," another fancy airhead chimed in. "When he said no, she looked ready to murder someone! It was terrifying!" She used the supposed fear from her memory as an excuse to lean closer to Francis, with a slight smirk directed at the other girls.
"Surely it could not have been that bad. Anya seemed like a perfectly nice girl when I talked to her today," Francis interjected. He actually agreed Anya was creepy as hell, but he knew that if he was nice, it would fuel their jealousy, moreover it would make them think that he would defend them against malicious gossip as well.
"Oh Francis, you're too sweet," cooed the girl leaning against him, accompanying her words with a small eyelash flutter. "You always think the best of people. As your friend, I have to warn you, be careful with her. I bet if any guy does agree to get with her, he'll be dead within a month, probably leaving her with all the money." All the girls nodded in knowledgeable agreement.
Francis feigned concern and nodded with them. Satisfied that they had eliminated Anya as a rival, the girls moved on to other equally frivolous conversations.
Francis understood the girls easily, with their transparent schemes and cruel gossip. The boys, though, he had initially found harder to deal with. Sure, there were a couple that were just as in love with him as the girls, and for the same reasons, but the rest were more of a problem. With boys, it was much easier to tell what they thought of you, and much harder to change it.
His personality in front of the boys was much different. He presented a cheerful and open front. He played all the silly games they enjoyed, and was careful to be just good enough to always be picked for a team, but never quite good enough to be the star. Being the absolute best made others resent you, after all. He would let the less socially adept gloat publicly, exposed to the jealousy and hatred of the rest, while he crowed in his own personal triumph in the much more important game of court politics.
The party carried on, coating everyone in a sludge of fake compliments and quiet cruelties. When the last of the guests finally left in a flurry of goodbyes and promises to return, Francis went up to his room, too exhausted to even write poetry, as he usually did after court events. He opened his wardrobe to change out of his court clothes, and was startled by a small, white, furry bundle that jumped out and started circling around his legs, tail wagging happily. He had forgotten about the stray. He leaned over to pick it up, and it happily licked his hand, tail still wagging madly, almost as it it was trying to fly off. Francis lifted up the little wisp of a puppy and examined it critically. It had not gotten any cleaner, and there was a suspicious scrap of colored silk caught in its tail fur. He decided it was about time he wash the dog. Dumping the shredded pile of cloth that had formed at the bottom of the closet (it had been one of his nicer coats a few hours ago) in the trash can, he carried the puppy to the bathroom, planning on filling the bath for it.
Upon entering the bathroom, however, Francis realized he had never actually prepared his own bath before. The variety of knobs were a complete mystery to him, and he seemed to remember that there was some sort of metal thing his servant would always stick in for a bit, but he had no clue what it was and why it was necessary. That was alright, though. He was Francis Bonnefoy, sole heir to the Bonnefoy fortune and current master of this mansion, and he would not be defeated by a mere bathtub. The boy started playing with the knobs to figure out what they all do.
-o-o-o-
Matthew had been sent to check if the young master needed anything. He pitied Francis. The poor boy was no more than two years older than him, but he never acted like a child. Every time Mattie had seen him, he was either frowning over poetry in his room or smiling his lovely but utterly fake smile at a party. When Matthew had first heard his new master was going to be about his age, he had sort of hoped they could be friends, but the young master barely even noticed he was there. Then again, even the other servants sort of ignored him, so it wasn't really the master's fault. Thinking about how he could get the cook to actually notice him at lunch later, he didn't notice the puddle spreading out of Francis' bathroom until he splashed right through it.
What…? Did a pipe break?
Matthew opened the door to the bathroom to an astonishing sight. The young master was standing in the bathroom, extremely disheveled and completely soaked, struggling to figure out how to unplug the bathtub drain and turn off all the water knobs as a wet puppy splashed around him gleefully. Matthew paused for a second at the door, dumbfounded. Was he dreaming?
Francis turned around, looking very embarrassed for a moment, like a young boy caught mid-prank, before composing himself. He straightened up and tried to look like everything was perfectly normal.
"I do believe I asked you to knock before entering any of my rooms." Francis did his best to keep a calm, slightly derisive tone.
Recovering from his shock, Matthew bowed slightly and responded, "Excusez-moi, I thought a pipe might have broken." He was trying very hard not to laugh. Francis really looked quite ridiculous dripping wet in his court clothes, trying to look adult-like and authoritative. "Would you like some help with your bath, monsieur?" He dared not ask about the puppy.
"You may assist me in shutting off this water and heating it." He glanced at the puppy, then back at his servant. "And you saw none of this. If anyone asks, a pipe did break, but you fixed it."
"Of course, monsieur." Suppressing another bought of laughter, Matthew quickly turned off the water and started mopping up the water from the floor. Francis had picked up the puppy, dropped it in the tub, and started uncertainly petting it, clearly clueless as to what he was supposed to do in order to get it clean.
"Would you like some shampoo for the dog, monsieur?" Matthew offered.
Francis nodded his assent, once again trying to act as if that had been his idea somehow. He took the shampoo Matthew offered, squeezed out far too much, and started rubbing it into the puppy's fur. Matthew quietly joined him, subtly guiding the older boy as to how to hold the puppy so it does not squirm, how to get all the shampoo out, and how to dry it off without letting it slip away and jump back into the water.
"Have you named it yet, monsieur?" Mattie inquired.
"Non. I had not thought about it." Francis dried himself off as his servant held the now clean, dry, and fluffy puppy. He slipped on a dry shirt, took the animal back, and absentmindedly started petting it. Washing it with the boy – what was his name? – had been unexpectedly fun, and he was in quite a good mood. He authoritatively turned to the servant.
"What is your name?" Francis demanded.
"Matthew Williams, monsieur." Matthew smiled slightly. The young master had never asked about his name before.
"Thank you for your help, Matthew. You may call me Francis." While the tone was sill rather stuck up, it was clear Francis really was thankful for Matthew's assistance. He had never bothered to learn any other servants' names before, and he had never considered giving any of them permission to call him by name.
"Matthew, you, ah..." Francis' mask slipped for a moment to reveal his worry, "you won't tell the tutor about the puppy, right?"
"Of course not, mons- ah," Matthew smiled, "Francis." He bowed and left the room. The master had finally talked to him! This was really going to be a nice day. Plus, now he could play with the puppy whenever he wanted. Matthew's walk had more of a bounce than usual for the rest of the day, and he just smiled quietly when he heard the other servants exclaiming about the uncharacteristically happy mood of the young master.
A little happy interlude for Francis ~ Enjoy it while it lasts... it won't last long, sadly. I was actually planning on introducing Iggy in this chapter, but then I got carried away by the cuteness of the puppy. I promise he'll come in next chapter! An I'l try not to take so long with it as I did with this one!
Thank you all for reading! I hope your day is sunny and pleasantly warm with a nice breeze and absolutely perfect for tree climbing.
