Arthur sat on the rickety bench, his eyes watching Alfred climb a tree, his mind anxious and overanalyzing every detail of the "lunch date" his stupid self had agreed to. He shifted uncomfortably. Was he underdressed? He'd worn a freshly pressed pair of khakis, and his favorite sweater vest, but his shoes were old and worn. The French were known for their fashion, right? Probably known for their judgment, too. Good god, this was a terrible idea!

He heard a delighted scream from over by the tree and leapt onto his feet, fearing a disaster. But Alfred had only fallen from a low-hanging branch; in fact, he was already clambering up again. Arthur settled back down onto the bench, unconscious of his fingers playing out an old pop tune on an invisible guitar. Suddenly he spotted an extremely stylish man out of the corner of his eye, his flowing blond hair tied back in a violet ribbon, accompanied by a little boy. The little one was clutching the man's finger, the one that wasn't occupied with a picnic basket. The child had a stuffed polar bear clutched against his chest. It looked like it was suffocating, to be quite honest. Arthur sympathized with the poor bear. Then he wondered what the hell was wrong with himself.

Across the way, Francis was in the middle of a conversation with Matthew, not noticing the awkward Brit sitting on a rotting bench a few hundred meters in front of him. They strolled through the undulating field of fresh spring grass and assorted weeds, children squealing and running around them. Families sat on benches, taking pictures of their kids playing in the dry springtime air. Couples (mostly teenagers) were perched on top of the stone wall running along one side, ranging from simply holding hands to full on make-out sessions. Francis felt a pang in his gut, wanting more than anything to be sitting up there with a lover of his own. Turning his attention back to his son, he asked, "So you do know Alfred, then?"

Matthew removed his thumb from his mouth to speak, kicking a stone along with his sandals. "We played together every day. He likes playing the Superman doll, and he rescues Kumajojo," Mattie said, in his whisper of a voice. After a pause he added, "I play Kumajiroop."

"Are you excited to see him, then?" Francis prompted, but for once Mattie kept on talking, ignoring Francis's question.

"And he trades…crackers with me. I like the crunchy wheat ones, and he likes the goldfish. And our favorite show is Postman Pat, but he really likes Dora the Explorer too. We draw pictures in art, and we get the crayons we like before the other kids take them. They have com-pyooders in the corner, and there was a typing penguin game, and you have to press the right button to get him fish. And Alfred got really good and the teacher gave him a sticker because he beat the high score. And we color our maths cards together with the crayons, and he always draws a Superman, and sometimes he shows me how to draw a bear. Sometimes I help him draw the Superman, or Dora because she needs special purple crayons…" Mattie went on and on, Francis feeling worse and worse with every sentence. It had been 2 and ½ months since he'd seen his brother, whom he obviously had an extremely strong relationship with. But the boy's eyes were lit up with something that wasn't always there, and a tiny smile had snuck onto his face. Regardless of whatever had happened in the past, they were going to see each other now.

Someone cleared his throat. Francis started and whipped his head around to see—

No. It couldn't be. Not the man from the tube.

"I presume you are Fra—"

"Eyebrows?" As soon as he said it, Francis clamped his hand to his mouth. Apparently his tact had decided to take an off day, today of all days. And for some reason it had flown all the way to China.

Arthur sputtered, his cheeks flushing. "Wha-? I—I beg your pardon?"

"Oh goodness, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. But yes, I am Francis Bonnefoy, and you are Arthur Kirkland, no?" He stuck out his hand, a desperate grin on his face.

Arthur looked down at the peace offering with an alarmed expression. Stuttering slightly, he shook it after a few seconds. "Charmed," he replied, sarcasm leaking into his voice despite his best intentions. He just knew this Frenchman wouldn't measure up. Figures he always had the worst luck.

While the two adults had been having their more-than-awkward exchange, the two boys had already run off together, elated at their long-overdue reunion. Alfred pointed at the tree swing, which the previous family had just left empty. Mattie stared at it as Alfred talked, squeezing Kumajiro to his chest. Apparently Alfred convinced him to get on, because soon Mattie and Kuma were soaring through the air, joy evident on his face. (Mattie's face, or the bear's?) Al was pushing, grinning with such a wide smile it looked like it would spill over the sides of his face.

Arthur stared down at his feet, unsure of what to do next, and Francis took the initiative to unpack the picnic basket on the grass. He spread out a blanket with a French university logo on it. Spots of dew soaked through, peppering the blanket with small dark dots. He placed plates assorted with cheese and petite tea sandwiches in the center, taking care to arrange the slices in a flower-like pattern. Feeling useless, Arthur watched the two children cajoling around the tree. He and Francis may have gotten off to a bad (horrendous) start, but Matthew and Alfred seemed to be having the time of their lives. Now Mattie was the one pushing Alfred, although he was pumping so furiously he probably didn't need much help.

Crap. Now he would be stuck with this idiot at least once a week, if not more, snacking on his food and having forced discussions with a man he already disliked within the first five minutes of knowing him.

Francis cleared his throat, jarring Arthur out of his thoughts. "The lunch is all set out, if you care to eat," he said, in that annoying French accent of his. Arthur obliged with a sigh, settling down onto the stupid French blanket to eat the stupid French lunch this stupid French man had brought in a stupid French picnic basket.

Man, was he prejudiced against the French. But they smell like blue cheese, so at least he had a good reason for it.

Arthur begrudgingly took a tea sandwich, disappointed that he had no tea to go along with it. As he munched on his food, (which was more delicious than he would care to admit) he glanced over at Francis, who was at present opening up a small container with an even smaller quantity of salad inside.

"What, are you not going to eat the food you brought?" he asked through a mouthful of cucumber and cream cheese. So much for manners. He had that weird British way of saying "what" as if there were an O in the middle. It bothered Francis, and it wasn't even his language. But hey, at least the man was talking to him. He might as well try to interact with him. Anything to make him forget that awful greeting.

"I brought this, didn't I?" he responded without thinking much, popping the cap off a small container of dressing. His mind raced for something more to say, something to steer the conversation towards something more pleasant, more sociable.

"I meant the sandwiches and cheeses and stuff," Arthur said, annoyed. The tone of his voice stung, and Francis did his best to keep from cringing.

"I usually have a salad for lunch. I'm on a bit of a diet, and all," he said with an uncomfortable laugh. "The cheeses and sandwiches are for you and the boys; I figured you might want something with a little more flavor than my bland selection of lettuce. Apparently Alfred is not impartial to cheddar? Is that true, or has Matthieu mislead me?" he said, fishing around to see what Arthur would pick up on.

"Em, no, he certainly enjoys it," Arthur answered. He looked over at the couples on the wall. A man had his arm around his boyfriend, and they sat together, talking and gazing into each other's eyes. Odd.

Francis, meanwhile, was trying to figure out what he could do to capture this man's attention. "Isn't love beautiful?" he said, gesturing to the two men Arthur was obviously staring at.

Arthur jumped, a blush spreading across his features. "Oh, u-uh. I guess. I've never really been of the romantic sort." He brushed off the topic and turned away from him, trying to hide his face.

Okay, so not that. There was a little crunch as Francis bit into his lunch. Once he'd finished chewing his lettuce, he changed the subject. "They get along so well. Matthieu and Alfred, I mean. Simply adorable," he said, smiling.

"That they do," Arthur replied. He coughed and turned towards the green grass, finishing off his tea sandwich and watching the blades flow in the wind. Tree leaves cut out intricate patterns with the absence of light, throwing shadows to weave in and out as their branches swayed.

Francis watched with curiosity the stare of the Englishman, so intently focused on something so trivial. To be fair, the scene was gorgeous; the sun had decided to make a rare appearance today, and the sunbeams and sparse clouds saturated the colors of the world, transforming everything into a rainbow. He would have liked to paint it. Arthur's thoughts were traveling along the same tracks, and if he had just left it at that, resigned himself to silence and appreciated the world around him, maybe things would have turned out more favorable for the both of them. But Francis was a conversationalist, and sitting on a picnic blanket with a stranger without exchanging a word was just as awkward in his mind. So he continued, nattering on, trying to find something to get the other man to talk. "Matthieu would not stop talking about him the entire way here. I believe the phrase is…how do you say…'brotherly love'?"

Arthur sighed a little. Please just leave me alone, he thought to himself before replying, "They are twins, I suppose one would expect that of them."

Francis grasped and clawed at something, anything, he could say to get a discussion going. He tried again. "So, how is Alfred at home? He seems like such an energetic little boy. Don't you ever get tired, being his father?"

"I've got my fair share of bruises from falling into random pieces of furniture thanks to him, so yes, you could say that." Arthur came off quite a bit more haughty than he had intended. Oops. Maybe he'd get the message and just leave him alone, and they could go their separate ways, set aside these few hours a week.

Francis refused to take a hint and tossed all caution to the wind, turning to his last resort—talking about himself. "See, Matthieu is such a docile and quiet child, sometimes I almost forget he's there at all."

Well that seems rather negligent of him as a parent, Arthur thought. He was liking this Frenchman less and less every minute, if that was possible.

He continued, the final sentences that sealed the fate of whatever their relationship could have been. "That stuffed bear he carries around probably talks more than he does. And I can never remember his name; it seems like it changes every time he says it. Do you know what 'kumajiro' means? I'm not sure he does, or even where he got the name from. Sometimes—"

"Why are you being so hard on him? He's barely 4 years of age," Arthur said. "That seems rather irresponsible to me, bad-mouthing your child in front of someone you've just met."

Fuck. At this point he was drawing a complete blank. How was he supposed to respond to that? His final strategy had fallen through, and now Mr. Eyebrows was mad at him. He tried to say something, maybe make amends, but Arthur wasn't having it.

"You—you can't just talk like that about a child! Don't you have any respect for him? I'm sure he's a fantastic little boy," he said, trying to keep from shouting. He didn't really like to cause scenes, but that never seemed to stop him.

"My apologies, sir, I was merely looking for something to talk about…you weren't exactly making it easy." On second thought, maybe blaming him wasn't a great idea, but there wasn't much he could do about it now.

"I hardly think that's a good reason to mouth off about your son. And just what are you blaming me for in this situation, hmm?"

"I was trying to be polite!"

"Well, maybe I didn't want to talk to you. Did you ever consider that?"

Francis balked. "That is what you are supposed to do in social settings! Did you ever consider that?" Merde, did this man make him angry! He wanted to scream just looking at his grumpy face, and his words were even worse. The feeling was mutual, apparently.

"Last I checked, reading a person's body language is expected in social settings too."

"You weren't even trying to talk to me! And, quite frankly, you always look irritable; how could you expect me to make a distinction?"

Arthur made a harrumph sort of sound, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest, baring the ugly sweater vest for the world to see. "Well! Some gentleman you are. Not that I should have expected anything more from the French." He spat the word with contempt. Turning away, he grumbled, "I knew my grandfather and his stories were true."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Oh putain. You're one of THOSE people, aren't you?" He brought his hand to his forehead, forgetting not to touch his face. "I can't believe this. Just my luck."

Just then the two children, hungry after a long session on the swing, wandered over to the blanket. Francis noticed them coming and faced them, plastering a pleasant smile on his face. Arthur shot daggers at him from across the blanket. "Ah, boys, you are back! Salut! Would you like some sandwiches? Help yourself." Alfred already had, plopping himself down with a pleased expression and a face smeared with butter. Mattie sat next to him, carefully taking apart the different elements of the sandwich and eating them one by one.

"Aren't you going to eat anything, Daddy?" Alfred asked, pointing at the sandwich plate. It was already half-empty, massacred sandwich remains smeared across its surface.

"I think I'm going to have some good British scones when I get home. I much prefer them to these," he answered, looking more at Francis than at Alfred. Francis narrowed his eyes at the insult.

"Ooh, can I have some too?" Alfred squealed, then turned to address Matthew. "Daddy makes the BEST scones. They're super yummy and crunchy!"

Francis stared at Arthur with horror. "Did you brainwash the poor child?" he hissed. Arthur huffed and looked away, a scowl on his face.

Finally, after what seemed like years, Alfred and Matthew had eaten their fill, playing with Kumajiro and tossing a ball they found in a crick back and forth. Francis packed up as quickly as he could while trying not to make it look like he was doing so. Arthur glanced at his wristwatch and gestured to Alfred. "Come now, Alfred, it's time we got back home."

The boys' faces fell. "Aww, man! But we were having so much fun! Is it really time to go already?"

A wave of guilt washed over Arthur, but he couldn't stand to sit here with the French idiot any longer. "I'm afraid so. You'll get to see each other next week, okay?" he said, already cringing at the thought of their next meeting.

Alfred stuck out his lower lip and said goodbye to Mattie, pouting as he walked over to Alfred. Mattie followed suit, dragging Kumajiro over to Francis and clutching his papa's pant leg. Francis picked up the picnic basket and blanket as the two said their last goodbyes.

As they were about to leave, Francis piped up. "So. Same time next week?"

Arthur held his nose high. "Can't wait."


Eh. It got a bit better, I hope. I've felt kind of dead all week, if that means anything. Anyway, I have a lot of ideas for later in the story, which I'm super excited for. So look forward to that!

As for Ludwig's Daycare - again, no promises on when it's coming out, but it'll probably be around 8,000 - 10,000 words, one chapter. A crack fanfiction, and an excessively weird one at that.

As always - please review! It's always great to receive questions, comments, constructive criticism, etc. as an author. And thank you for reading! Next chapter will be out next Sunday (on Easter).