It was nearing the end of Day 3 without his glasses. Everything looked like blurry blobs. Matthew hardly touched anything, didn't dare touch anything that resembled the crates.

He never left the inside of the house. The Germans were here to stay, stationed at the entryway to the château. Matthew still had a bruise on his lower back, and it hurt whenever he twisted too much. He'd already been humiliated in front of them once, it didn't matter if the soldiers were different each day – he was already too wary of them.

Lili kept him company much of the time. They hadn't had as much time to talk in recent months. He was glad for her friendship. And it seemed each day that passed gave him more reason to appreciate Francis's.

Matthew finished his modest dinner – they were growing more and more modest each week – and he stroked his fingers through Kuma's fur. Sitting dutifully beside him, Kuma walked with him as Matthew left the room and approached the stairs.

No matter how much he strove to pay attention, his foot still caught on the lip of the first step.

"Shit," he hissed low, falling forward. Two hands secured him at his elbow, pulled him upright. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"It was nothing," Francis said, amusement tingeing his voice.

"Francis, where did you come from?"

"From the shadows, lurking."

Matthew scoffed. "You're good at lurking like Kuma makes a good seeing-eye dog."

Francis laughed. "Another flaw to add to his list."

Kuma panted from where Matthew recognized his shape standing at the top of the stairs.

Francis kept a hold of his arm as they climbed.

"I should tell you that you have an appointment tomorrow morning," Francis said.

"What do you mean?"

He could hear the smile in his voice when Francis said, "We're going into town. The doctor will make you a new pair of glasses."

Matthew's jaw dropped. "Francis… that's too much."

"It's too much to be able to see so you can do your job?"

He bit his lip, knowing when he was beat. "But Francis, it must be expensive, especially at a time like this."

"Mathieu, you cannot see well enough to do any of your work, and you'll only hurt yourself more." Matthew pouted. "I am able to get you new glasses, and so I shall."

Honestly, it was a blessing. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Think nothing of it." They stopped in front of Matthew's door. "I will see you tomorrow."

Kuma strolled into his room. "I suppose he's with me tonight."

Francis chuckled. "I'll give him the chance to redeem himself. Bonne nuit."

"Bonne nuit."

He closed the door behind him, leaned against it and sighed out a breath.

.

"How are we getting into town?"

"In my car, naturally."

Matthew swallowed. That meant they'd have to pass the German soldiers.

"There is no need to worry. They've already inspected the car. Their only orders are to make sure none of the art goes out."

He shifted on his feet and jerked forward when Francis started walking ahead. They were taking his open-top car – Matthew really couldn't hide from them now. He buckled himself in and saw the soldiers' blurry figures ahead on the driveway.

"Nothing to worry about," Francis reassured. They approached the soldiers and he said pleasantly, "We'll be back this afternoon."

The Germans said not a word, but Matthew could faintly see them nod. Finally they were past the gates and Matthew could breathe a little easier.

"See? All is well."

"What about when we come back?"

"They'll do another inspection, but no more than that. It was one of our terms, Mathieu, for compromising on their being stationed here."

Matthew's concern for their own well-being lessened, but the entire ride he couldn't help but think about how much gasoline they'd be using – it was expensive now, Matthew didn't care how much money Francis had – and how much he'd be spending on his glasses. How much were they risking making this trip? All for Matthew? He was grateful, honestly, but he could also be entirely too selfless, he knew it.

Francis sung along with the radio like a war wasn't happening around them. Matthew wished he could have his outlook on life. The air was filled with summer, so Matthew tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and let the sun warm his skin.

Despite living so close to the town, he hardly went. His job required constant guarding and examining. A painting's condition could change at the drop of a hat. If the temperature changed by even two degrees the art could be at risk. His days were filled with typing up reports on the condition of the artworks, writing to museum personnel in Paris and across the valley, and then doing the process over and over. He'd almost forgotten what the town looked like.

The town appeared as if they weren't at war, but Matthew knew it was only a façade. Buying luxuries wasn't an option anymore for the townspeople. Food was starting to climb in price. But those were things he tried not to think about. Right now, he only allowed himself to feel the sun on his face, warming his hair, and let Francis drive.

At some point, Matthew opened his eyes and glanced at him.

He'd been watching him. Francis turned his eyes to the road.

"What?" Matthew questioned.

Francis didn't say anything for a minute, then he said, "Nothing."

Matthew looked ahead.

"You looked peaceful, is all," Francis said.

Matthew sighed. "I guess we haven't had a lot of peace lately."

"Maybe not," he replied. "But we deserve it every now and then."

"The problem is getting it," Matthew said to the road beside them.

Francis parked in front of a storefront that bore the name of the local ophthalmologist. Glasses in fashionable frames were displayed in the window.

Matthew followed him inside. A bell rung over the door and a man entered from another room.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy," the doctor greeted with a smile and nod. "Welcome. You must be Monsieur Williams," he said to Matthew.

"I am."

"Good, let us not waste time then."

The doctor proved to be efficient and quick. He examined Matthew's eyes, wrote him a prescription, and told him he'd have them ready in a few hours time.

"Really?" Matthew said, surprised.

He smiled. "Business is slower these days, I'd be happy to get these to you right away."

"We will take a walk around then," Francis said.

"Come back by three," he said. "I should be finished then."

Francis nodded and Matthew followed him out the door.

"We have four hours. What are we going to do?"

Francis smiled. "I can give you a tour of the town. We will grab something to eat at noon."

The tour turned out to be no more than a meander around unfamiliar ground, since Matthew couldn't see anything clearly. He walked close to Francis, using him as a guide. Francis didn't take his arm this time – only to steer him in a direction.

"Mathieu," he began. "Talk to me about something that doesn't have to do with this stupid war."

He laughed. "Alright. But I don't know what to say, I've already told you a lot of things."

"There has to be something you haven't told me yet," he said, and Matthew could hear him smiling.

He made a show of thinking about it. One thought popped into his mind. "I haven't told you this yet, but I have a brother."

He could also hear Francis's surprise.

"Really? I've asked about your family before though."

"I mentioned my mother and father. I didn't mention my brother."

Francis said, hesitantly, "Is it okay to ask?"

Fondness touched Matthew's memory, his voice when he said, "Yes. His name is Alfred. He's a year younger than me. He moved to New York around the time I moved to Paris. The last I heard, he'd joined the air force. I didn't mention him before because I didn't want to jinx him."

Matthew knew the last bit was going to prompt sensitivity.

"Do you think he will…"

"Be over here?" Matthew finished. "Who can tell?" He sighed out. "We wrote each other, before we evacuated Paris. I haven't talk to him since – not because we're not close… we just agreed that it would be easier for both our minds to focus on our work, without constantly waiting for a letter. I don't think he'd be able to find me anyway. When all this is over… then we'll find each other again."

Francis was watching him as he spoke. He remained quiet for a time after, the only sound their footsteps on the cobblestone.

"I hope you can see each other soon, then."

"Me too."

Another minute passed in silence before Francis suggested lunch. They went to one of the few cafes still open. Matthew pouted when he couldn't read the menu, and then he pouted at Francis when he laughed at him. So he let Francis order for the both of them, and they entertained more talk for an hour. One thing Matthew insisted on was paying for their meals. Francis tried to deny him, but Matthew was adamant. If Francis was buying his glasses, Matthew could at least pay for the food.

Sometime later they returned to the doctor's and he proudly proclaimed that Matthew's glasses were ready. He brought him a pair almost identical to his previous pair in shape.

Francis took them from the doctor. "Ah, they look fantastic, merci," he said to the doctor.

Matthew flinched when Francis slipped the frames onto his face, his fingertips tickling his temples.

Francis's face came into focus, at last, and Matthew blinked. He was grinning.

The doctor gave him a hand mirror, and Matthew's jaw almost dropped open when he saw himself. The glasses were the right shape, but the frames were obviously different, obviously a designer brand, thus obviously expensive.

"Francis. These are more than you needed to spend."

He kept smiling, the demon, and he only said, "Thank you again, doctor, have a good day!"

He left the shop and Matthew had to run after him.

"Francis!"

"Yes?"

"Don't play oblivious. These frames must have cost a lot."

"And?"

Matthew was flabbergasted. "And? You didn't need to do that."

"I wanted to, Mathieu."

"But why?"

"Because you are my friend."

"But…" he stuttered, no longer able to think of another argument. Francis could be so… Francis sometimes.

"We should head back to Lablanche, no?"

He opened the door to his car and slid in, so casually. Matthew huffed and got into the passenger side. It felt nice to see the world clearly again. Three days was enough for him, he couldn't imagine going longer.

They were driving up to the gates when Matthew finally said quietly, "Thank you, Francis."

Francis smiled. "You are welcome."

He could see the German soldiers standing guard ahead, and his gaze fell to his hands.

The Germans waited for them to exit the car and they kept it for inspection as Francis and Matthew walked the rest of the way to the house.

Inside the grand salon, Duval spotted them, grinned, and said, "Now, don't you look smart!"

Matthew laughed shyly. "I look like I can finally do work around here."

"Yes, Matthew, it was all your fault and I was going to fire you."

Even Francis laughed.

He rolled his eyes. "The both of you are terrible." Matthew walked off to check in with one of his colleagues about any work to be done. Another passing by stopped beside him.

"Bonnefoy got those for you, did he?"

Matthew glanced up. "Yes."

The other man looked him over. Matthew couldn't make out his tone.

"Isn't that special," the man said.

He furrowed his brow, but the man was already walking away.

"Don't mind him," his colleague told him. "They look great."

Matthew couldn't help but think that wasn't what he'd meant. He'd been a little afraid of it, in all honesty. At this point, Francis's money was precious. It heated the house to keep the paintings dry from the winter wet. It fed the whole crew so that they could keep doing their jobs. It provided their basic needs, their assurance at the château. Matthew didn't know how much he had exactly, but in his opinion the excess he spent on his glasses could have bought a week's worth of meals. And now the others in the house were misunderstanding Francis's intention.

He didn't want to be seen as spoiled, when so many had to go without. He didn't want special treatment.

After dinner, Matthew looked for Francis. He found him in his study, pouring himself bourbon from a decanter.

Francis turned and smiled when Matthew came in. "Ah, come in. Would you like some?"

"No, thank you."

Matthew stood awkwardly by the door while Francis took a seat.

"What is it, Mathieu?"

He twisted his fingers and said, "Francis, I'm not ungrateful for what you did for me. But there's one more thing I need to say."

"It's been settled," he said. "It was my gift to you."

"That's exactly what I want to talk about. I'd really appreciate it if this were the last gift. Some people think I was given special treatment. I don't want to create an antagonistic atmosphere."

Francis didn't say anything.

Matthew couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, Francis, I really mean it in the best way…"

"I understand." When he looked back, Francis had that easy smile on his face. "I am sorry if I caused you discomfort."

Matthew gave a small smile. "It's okay."

Francis held up his glass. "Are you sure you don't want any?" He grinned. "It's not a gift if I'm drinking too."

Matthew laughed, glad that everything was at ease once again. "Why not?"

.

August 25th, 1940

Matthew and Lili were in town together. The sky was a light blue, the air warm with the settled summer. He wore his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of his summer trousers. Lili wore a light pink dress and a plain brimmed hat adorned with a ribbon keeping her hair down. Matthew tilted his face to the sun as they walked through the shops in Lablanche proper.

Lili steered them into a bookshop, one she frequented on her days off, she'd told him. A little bell rang upon entry and the shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and a newsboy cap, greeted her with a smile.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Lili!"

Lili smiled back at him. "Bonjour," she replied politely.

Matthew had been slightly anxious about going into town. He worried about the questions people might ask. While they were in town, they kept themselves as modest as possible and never mentioned the château. Most of the townspeople knew they were from the château anyway, but he preferred not to bring attention to themselves. There usually wasn't any real reason to be in town; food was bought by and delivered to the château, their work was there, and the outbreak of the war lessened their desires and abilities to explore. But despite all this, there were one or two occasions when Matthew relished going into town.

It was Lili who had suggested the trip to the local bookstore. Both had the day off from their duties, and they agreed upon a short trip away from the grounds while the château was running smoothly.

They browsed the shelves, remarking on favorite genres or authors. Lili had confessed a fondness for the romantic likes of Jane Austen. Matthew's interest in romances tended more toward the 19th century dramas of revolution and adventure.

Matthew had tried to read at least something from Francis's impressive library. These days, Matthew couldn't bring himself to relax enough to read anything.

Lili didn't seem to be affected as Matthew was. She happily browsed the bookstore, deciding between two volumes to purchase with money she'd saved up. He absently thumbed through some volumes of poetry, but slid them back onto the shelves, trailing his fingers along the spines as he walked.

"Mademoiselle Lili is a regular here," came a voice from the side. Matthew jumped and found the shop owner leaning casually on his counter, speaking low to him. "At least, she was before this war, you understand."

"Oh," Matthew replied. "Was she."

"She's a really sweet girl," he said.

Matthew smiled awkwardly. "Ah, yes, she is."

The man looked him up and down. He smiled like they shared a secret. "Haven't seen her with anybody yet. It'll be hard with all this going on, but do good by her now."

Oh. Matthew opened his mouth to speak but at that moment Lili was beside him, placing a book on the counter for purchase.

The man sent one last wink Matthew's way and made light chatter with Lili while he finished the transaction. Matthew could feel his ears burning even as they walked out of the shop.

Lili smiled at her book and tucked it into her bag.

"Ah, Lili, I think that shop owner thought we were… sweethearts."

Lili looked surprised, but then she giggled behind a hand. "Goodness, we probably do look like that."

"I think we've given the gossip wheel another spin," he said, chuckling himself. True, since the start of the summer, after his outing with Francis, Matthew had tried to shake off the unease with the German soldiers by distracting himself with the town. And it was Lili who accompanied him more often than not.

"All that aside," she began, "thank you for coming with me. I've only ever come into town with Vash. The townspeople certainly know him."

"It's my pleasure," he assured her. "Why don't we head back?"

Lili agreed and they returned to the car, driving the short way back to the château. Thought Matthew still wasn't completely comfortable around the soldiers, he'd gotten used to these customary inspections each time they left and came back. He didn't need to say anything, in fact, which suited him fine.

Today would not be like all the others, to Matthew's horror.

They approached the gates and Matthew could hear the sound of shouts and heavy crunches of wooden crates being forcefully opened and knocked around. There weren't any soldiers stationed the gates. They were left open and Matthew saw supply trucks littering the driveway.

His heart began pounding as he jerked the car to a stop. "Lili, be careful," he said, running up the steps into the house.

Right before his eyes a German soldier snapped the lid off a crate with a crowbar and began shuffling through the canvases inside.

Fear of the men left him completely. Fear for the art took over and made him react.

"Hey! Stop that!" he yelled tearing the box away from the soldier. "You have no right to touch these things!"

Other soldiers pushed him to the side like an insignificant child and resumed what Matthew realized was pilfering.

"Don't touch those!" he yelled, attempting to get in their way, separating them from the boxes again.

The sound of the hammer clicking on many handguns made him tense immediately.

"Matthew!" came Duval's voice as he hurried into the room. "Put your guns down!"

"Laurent, what's going on?"

The soldiers, disinterested in him, returned to their rummaging once more. Duval grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hall. Germans were everywhere, carrying boxes outside to the trucks, handling the artworks in all the wrong ways. Matthew's eyes swept around the place in a panic, not knowing what to do, not knowing what was happening.

"Matthew, listen to me. Nobody knew this was going to happen."

"What is going on?"

Anger and desolation colored Duval's gaze. "I just received a copy of some document claiming seizure of certain works for 'safeguarding.'"

Matthew's heart wouldn't slow down. "Seizure? On whose order?"

"Otto Abetz. The German ambassador based in Paris. Word is he's absolutely gluttonous for art."

One hundred ways to rationalize what he was hearing ran through his mind. "But… he has no military authority."

Duval sighed. "He got himself military authority. Keitel issued a directive that came from Hitler himself. They claim they're here to inspect the artworks and anything they deem inappropriately stored is going back to Paris."

Matthew couldn't believe this. All their hard work, all their blood, sweat, and tears…

"No… no, they can't," he repeated. "I won't let them!"

Duval was too slow to grab him. Matthew was charging at the soldiers again, determined to save anything he could, even if it meant putting his life at risk.

The soldiers were losing patience with him. With mean faces and hands on their guns, they were going to deal with Matthew no matter what he did, but he didn't care.

"Please, we don't need to draw weapons now," Francis said, coming between Matthew and the soldiers in one swoop. "We have no intention of arguing."

Francis was the one to grab Matthew by the arm this time and start hauling him away.

He struggled in Francis's grip, trying to pull his arm away, still hell-bent on protecting what he could.

"Mathieu!"

Francis was stronger than he looked. He couldn't get away from him, and every step they took away from the salon the more he couldn't breathe, couldn't think clearly.

Finally, a door slammed and his back collided with it, Francis's hands gripping his arms.

"Mathieu, listen to me!"

He looked at Francis, really saw him. He'd never seen him this angry. Those blue eyes that felt so warm turned to steel, and Matthew took a breath. They were in the silence of Francis's study.

"Francis… I–"

"There are some things we cannot save, no matter what we do. But I will be damned if I let you, or anyone else, be hurt again."

Matthew could feel his energy waning. His shoulders slumped, a lump welled in his throat and his eyes were hot.

"But… they're taking… thousands worth of–"

"No painting in the world is worth more than your life, Mathieu."

All at once, Francis's gaze softened, like he too had exhausted himself. He pulled him forward, wrapped his arms around Matthew.

He didn't know how much he needed it until Francis was there, and he smelled like clean cotton and lavender. His own arms slowly hooked around him, and he could finally feel peace settling in his mind.

Francis held him back, his grip lighter this time, and Matthew almost wished he hadn't moved away.

He swallowed, pushing the lump down. "Francis…"

There was a knock on the door at his back, and he jumped.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy? Matthew? Is everything alright?"

Francis's hands fell away from his arms and Matthew stepped to the side. Francis opened it, putting up a smile.

Duval's gaze flickered sadly between them. "They're leaving now," he said. "We're going to hold a meeting, to regroup."

"Certainly."

"Matthew? Are you alright?"

"I will be," Matthew said. "Laurent. I'm really sorry."

Duval gave a gentle smile. "Your heart knows no bounds, Matthew. Nobody was hurt, that's all that matters."

Matthew caught Francis's eye. He couldn't tell exactly what he saw there. Fondness? But then Francis looked away, toward the hall, and Matthew forced himself to leave the room with the two. A tiny part of him still wished he could have done something to prevent the thefts. The larger part of him still remembered how comfortable it felt, embracing Francis.

You don't realize you want something until you taste it.

Feeeeelings...
Poor boy.

Thank you for reading *smooches*