"…Francis?!"

The believed food critic, Matt was 99.99% certain, was Matt's French uncle, Francis Bonnefoy. The 'elegant' chin length blond hair, 'sexy stubble', fashionable taste and love of fine dining? All pointed to the rather startling coincidence of reuniting with the man who had helped raised him through childhood.

A man, who he had believed dead.

Very, extremely, body has probably melted dead after the high security French prison which Francis had been staying in had exploded quite dramatically. True, Francis had been known for disappearing frequently only to re-emerge with an entirely new name, credit card, passport and special lady/man ("fuck-friend", Francis had uncharacteristically called them quite crudely on one particularly drunk occasion.)

-But, but, the concrete had liquefied! It was hardly surprising the conclusion he'd come to.

Too bad he'd already been declared dead when they re-evaluated Francis' case in court and found that Francis had not, in fact, been the rapist (because he'd been elsewhere filming a fully consensual, if extremely kinky, sex video.) Maybe Matt would still have had some family who cared and looked after him, then. He'd been living with Francis after his parents had kicked him out, but when the scandal had broken, Francis had been deemed an 'unfit guardian'.

Francis, the uncle whom Matt had called 'Papa'.

Francis, who taught Matt French as a small child and later, French swears and dirty, hilarious jokes.

Francis, who was openly, flamboyantly, pansexual, who cross-dressed for fun and accepted the fact that the person formerly known as Matilda was now a Matthew.

Francis, the romantic who believed in free love – freely given, freely taken – yet was called a rapist (or worse was, pedophile) and given a guilty sentence despite his innocence.

…Francis, who gave up custody for Matt, as one of the terms for a more lenient sentencing.

Of course Matt had mixed feelings, seeing a ghost from a past he'd tried his best to leave behind. With Francis believed dead, Matt had nothing. Francis had not left a will behind, and so all of Francis' possession were sold off, and the money went to places that was basically anywhere but to Matt.

So when Arthur had stepped forward, Matt had been surprised.

Matt was just trying his best just to hide the fact that he was crying. Francis' court case had finished up although it was a bit too late for it to have mattered to Francis.

Poor, falsely accused Francis.

He'd seen the older man who slowed down as he passed Matt on the way out, hesitant to comfort a complete stranger but too nice to simply pretend to ignore him (as the others had.)

"W-would you like a tissue?" the man asked in a stereotypically English display of awkwardness. Stiff upper lip and all that – maybe he was going to tell Matt to please leave because you're ruining the room with your presence and could you please go and have your little mess of a breakdown elsewhere, because the tears are leaving a stain on the benches and it's very unsightly. Ta.

"…Thank you. Sorry about all this." Matt accepted the offering and gestured vaguely at his blotchy face, red and wet from crying. The man nods, but doesn't say anything, tactfully looking away.

About ten seconds passed, with Matt losing himself to grief as the man shuffled around on the spot, determinedly trying to be polite and not stare.

The guy didn't look like he would be willing to leave, judging by the honest concern on his face. Touching, and also slightly funny with the way he was hovering like an awkward helicopter without the slightest clue on how to salvage the natural disaster that was Matt.

No one said his analogies were good, okay.

Matt managed a small but genuine smile. "I'm Matt. Matthew Williams. You are?"

The man looked up a little too quickly, as if he'd been waiting for a chance to talk but unsure about whether it would be welcomed. "Ah. Pardon my manners. Arthur Kirkland, please call me Arthur. I was on the jury."

Arthur paused as he struggled to decide whether he should say something. He took a deep breath in, catching Matt's attention.

"Please, honestly answer me. Are you alright?"

Matthew's startled exclamation was cut short when a rose scented hand suddenly covered his mouth, muffling him.

"Shh! Not so loud." Francis hissed, but Matt could see that Francis was genuinely happy to see him. He lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper. "You don't know me. When we meet later at the park opposite the street, it is because you wanted to get some fresh air and bump into me as I enjoy taking photographs of the beauty in this world. Okay?"

Matt barely stifled his laughter ('beauty of this world' indeed. Francis always did like checking out the joggers.) He visibly composed himself, for Francis' sake. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone I knew." he said, instead.

"It is fine." Francis replied, looking charming but like they've never met before. It hurt Matt's heart a bit to see. "I was wondering if the entrée was done yet. It has been thirty minutes, but I notice you have been understaffed, so I understand."

Totally not Matt's fault. Nope. 'Course not. Cough, cough. He looked away in embarrassment.

He was turning red with guilt, Matt just knew it. Matt knew Francis knew. Francis knew Matt knew Francis knew.

Francis always knew when Matt was feeling guilty, mostly because of all the trouble Matt had gotten into as a kid ('little brat', Francis called him.)

Matt made the mistake of looking back at Francis, who is grinning unapologetically. "How unprofessional, Mr Waiter. Would it be you who is the reason why the poor restaurant has been understaffed?" Francis teased.

"…Maybe."

"Yes, you mean?" The grin only widened.

"…Yes."

"Naughty boy, late to work. What was so distracting that you could not wait?" Francis' tone sounded like he was flirting madly with Matt to everyone else in the café, but Matt knew Francis well enough to understand that Francis was genuinely curious. Francis knows Matt hates disappointing people.

"I…met a guy. He's cute and interested and I don't know why but I feel like I have a chance with him?"

The look which had been in Francis' eyes (charming, pleasant but said I don't know you) disappeared and was replaced with the warmth Matt remembered as a child. When he was still loved.

"Did you, now?" Francis said softly, smiling. "He must be a very lucky man, to have your affections. I hope he makes you happy. If not, he shall have to deal with me, and he will regret hurting you."

"Well, I like him. I thought he was a model at first, he's got the traditional blond hair and blue eyes of sexytimes."

Francis gave a bark of laughter, startled but happily so. (Matt might or might not have been more willing to become a bit more forward like Francis, after Francis died. Well, 'died'.)

"So unprofessional, now! I like it. But as lovely as it is to hear about your love life, your work is calling. We can talk through all the details later,petit."

Indeed, Yao Wang was glaring at Matt from the kitchen door, mouthing "What are you doing?! Work!"

"Argh, right! Meet you at the park later, sorry!"

Francis just smirked and slapped Matt's arse as Matt ran off to help.

"Oh, Matthew. You deserve to be happy, of all people." Francis murmured, unheard.