Epitome of Awesome
Chapter 5: Welcome Visits
Stomach full of pancakes, Matthew wandered out the door of their home quietly, forgetting, as he often did, to lock the door. His hands found their way into his pockets, and his feet seemed to dance across the concrete, sweeping into the middle, as though the Canadian were balancing himself on a wire. His blond, wavy hair hung down to his shoulders, bouncing slightly as he walked along the street. His quick steps quickened as he passed through the alleyway, crinkling his nose at the smell of stale piss. But he managed to give a passing woman and child a small smile as they both hurried through. Matthew had expected that over the years he would have become accustomed to the smell - after all, he had to pass through this same alleyway every day - but he had had no such luck.
Finally, he made it through the alleyway, entering a bigger street. He was careful to watch out for any cars that might be passing by. No one, in the entirety of Europe, it seemed, paid any mind to traffic laws. A small smile lit his features. Even from a block away, he could smell it: the small pâtisserie on the corner owned by a middle-aged Frenchman named Francis. Matthew had found out later was one of Gilbert's best friends. Matthew hadn't really liked the Frenchman upon meeting him. The man couldn't keep his hands to himself and kept calling Matthew his 'cheri,' as though he expected that Matthew had no clue what he was saying.
Which Matthew most definitely did.
Gilbert, of course, was completely oblivious to awkward situation that he'd put Matthew in, and so Matthew found himself, for the first time in his life, threatening to hit someone with a hockey stick if that person didn't stop suggesting that they have a threesome. Francis had laughed at the threat, but did indeed stop and even offered to give Matthew a free pastry for his troubles. And after the first bite, Matthew became a regular customer and good friend.
In his defence, they were delicious pastries! Moreover, the Canadian had had the pleasure of more than once watching Francis create them, and it was certainly magical. He produced each piece as though it were destined to land on Francois Hollande's table; and the Frenchman concentrated so much, touching each one tenderly with the strangest expression of happiness and concentration on his face. Matthew smiled at the thought of it as he continued down the pavement. Perhaps he'd stay today, he mused. After all, he hadn't had a good, long conversation with the man in weeks! A gust of breeze scratched his face, prompting him to walk faster. It wasn't as cold as it had been the past few days, but Matthew's jacket was not very thick as it would certainly get much hotter in the afternoon. It was with relief that he eyed the familiar green, pink, and white colour scheme on the corner. Another smile graced his lips. He hoped Francis wasn't busy.
He pushed open the door hurriedly, immediately feeling the bliss that came with the warmth and smell of the patisserie. He stayed at the door, closing his eyes as he smelled the baking bread and sweet scent of—
"Est-ce que tu vas rester là tout le jour, ou vas-tu essayer un morceau de mon nouveaux gâteau?" (Are you going to be there all day, or are you going to try a piece of my new cake?) Matthew grinned, turning towards the smiling Frenchman. "Bonjour, Francis. Comment ça va?" (Hi [Good morning], Francis. How are you?)
Francis rolled his eyes. "Vien-ici!" (Come here.) The Frenchmen opened the small gate, and the Canadian gratefully passed behind the counter. Francis seemed to be sizing him up. The Frenchman always commented that Matthew looked too skinny. Seemingly satisfied with Matthew's weight, Francis smiled, his light blue eyes twinkling. "Maintenant, je suis très heureux. Je ne t'ai pas vu depuis... trois semaines? Est-ce que tu et Gilbert me detestez?" (Right now, I am happy. I haven't seen you in... three weeks. Do you and Gilbert hate me?)
"Peut-etre..." Matthew joked as Francis' eyes grew wide in melodramatic disbelief. "Mais si tu me laisses essayer de ton gateau..." (Maybe... but if you let me try your cake...)
Francis sighed dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. "Mon Dieu, les choses que je dois faire, si je voudrais avoir des amis! Ça va. Alors, viens." (My God, the things I must to do if I would like to have friends. All right. Come on, then.) Matthew laughed as he followed the Frenchman into the back of the bakery, where the magic happened. On the table, next to a few of the ovens, was a delicious-looking cake. It looked like a cheesecake, but Francis was unpredictable. It was a rather small thing, as though it had been baked for trying, not selling. The top seemed to covered in some-sort of reddish-pinkish sauce. Matthew waited for Francis to introduce the dessert to him. The Frenchman looked cake on the table with some disdain for a moment, then seemed to remember that Matthew was there as well. As though reading the Canadian's mind, he started, "It is indeed a cheesecake. Topped with raspberry sauce, and there should be a hint of mint in it. The cheesecake should also have some taste of lemon..." the Frenchman explained nervously in English, now. The baker was now wringing his hands together.
"I'm sure it's delicious, Francis," Matthew reassured him, recognizing how stressed his friend was. It seemed strange that Francis would be so nervous about the whole event. Had something happened today? This wasn't the anniversary of Jeanne's death - Matthew knew that much for sure - but he, too, began to feel a sort of nervousness. Had he missed something? Crap... what if this was for some reason a really important day for Francis, and he had been a terrible friend and forgotten?!
His rambling thoughts were interrupted when Francis pulled out a fork from his apron and nearly smacked him in the face with it. Matthew took a tiny step back and took the fork from him, a smile wavering at his lips. "Don't say that until you try it. I'm not sure about the lemon," Francis said warningly.
Matthew managed to keep a poker face on, but just. What was so important about this cake? As respectfully as he could, - Francis was pretty big on manners in the kitchen - he cut a small piece off, then put it in his mouth.
As expected from Francis was delicious. The slight hint of lemon and mint was definitely there. Normally, Matthew disliked the combination because it reminded him of cold medicine that he would drink as a child, but the mint was more of an after-taste while the lemon and raspberry flavors melded together perfectly beforehand. But Matthew knew better than to show how much he enjoyed the taste. Instead, as he chewed, he kept a small frown on his features, making sure to move his jaw slowly, and tilt his head to the side. Almost hesitantly, he went for another piece, staring at it slightly before putting it in his mouth.
"Bien?" (Well/Good?) Matthew did not respond, but merely went for another piece, scowling slightly.
"Matthieu! Arrête! Tu me tues! Est-ce que le gâteau est meilleur que ton meilleur rêve ou non?!" (Matthew! Stop! You're killing me! Is the cake better than your best dream or not?!)
Matthew sighed. He actually wasn't quite sure what the Frenchman had just spat out - the Canadian spoke French well, but even he had his limits when it came to angry Frenchman. Something about killing – hopefully he didn't mean killing Matthew—and something about 'better dream.' Regardless, he took yet another piece. Only three-fourths of the cake remained. "...Hmm, c'est... c'est... je ne sais pas, Francis." (Hmm, it's... it's... I don't know, Francis.) The Canadian took another piece. At any moment now, Francis would stop him. "C'est delicieux, mais..." (It's delicious, but...)
"Mais?" Francis very nearly screamed, his fingers bent each other, forward in back, anxiously.
Matthew took yet another piece. Half of the cake... enough, Matthew, he chided himself. He took one final piece, then exclaimed, "Mais c'est le meilleur morceau de gateau que j'ai essayé dans toute ma vie!" (But it's the best piece of cake of I've ever tried in my entire life!)
Francis grinned, ecstatic, and put an arm around Matthew's shoulders in triumph. "Oui ! C'est vrai ! Je suis le meilleur, je –" (Yes! It's true! I am the best, I – ) He took his arm off Matthew's shoulder. "That was on purpose, wasn't it?" the Frenchman asked testily, suddenly switching to English.
Matthew smiled sheepishly, reverting to his old self. "I... well, it really was delicious, eh? Heh. Heh, heh."
"I swear," the Frenchman said, "if you weren't so cute, I would have kicked you out and barred you from ever setting foot inside my home ever again." He winked suggestively, pulling a few strands of shoulder-length blond hair behind his ear.
Matthew raised an eyebrow. "We're not going to have that threesome any time soon, Francis."
The Frenchman laughed, twirling a bit of his hair between his fingers. His bright blue eyes shone with mischief. "We'll see about that," he murmured. Then, more loudly, "After all, you never know what other ingredients I put into my goods." He looked pointedly at the cheesecake, then back at Matthew. And winked again.
The Canadian's purple eyes widened slightly. "You wouldn't," Matthew protested, stepping away from the cheesecake as though it was poisoned. "C'est une blague! N'est-ce pas?" (I's a joke! Right?) Had it all been a show? Had Francis just pretended to be that nervous about the cake?
Francis merely looked at him, shrugging slightly. "I believe Alice claimed that it would take... oh," the Frenchman looked up at the clock on the wall. "By the time the long hand reaches the five." Matthew's eyes narrowed, suspicious. Francis moved a shoulder. The Frenchman smiled—then cracked up. "Oui, oui. I am indeed just playing with you. You can have the rest of it, if you'd like," Francis gestured towards the cake. Matthew looked at it hungrily, despite having eaten quite a large breakfast. With one last warning look at Francis, he went for another piece of the truly delicious cake.
"So, what's with this generosity, eh?" Matthew asked. Francis was once again silent, smile replaced with a pensive, serious look. Matthew felt doubt creeping upon him once again. What had he missed? A knee-jerk reaction, his finger rubbed the side of his mouth. When he pulled it away, the finger was stained with the raspberry sauce. Damn' Francis for not giving him a napkin. But the Frenchman noticed the Canadian's struggle and smirked. He walked away towards a drawer, pulled out a napkin, and handed it to him. "Merci," Matthew answered quietly, rubbing it against the edges of his mouth as he waited for Francis' answer. Strange... Francis was normally much more flirtatious; he did everything with a flourish and sort of grace and charm that Matthew near envied. What was wrong...
But just as the Canadian was about to inquire, the Frenchman spoke. "Haven't you heard the news?" Francis asked quietly, looking away from the Canadian and at a framed picture on the counter that held all of Francis' supplies. Matthew followed his gaze to the picture, a picture of pretty, young woman with short blond hair and fiery dark blue eyes. Matthew's eyes, even with glasses, were not good enough to see it in detail, but he knew exactly what the picture showed and what it meant.
"Of?"
Francis looked at him with a small, slightly sad smile. "France has legalised same-sex marriage."
A/N: Alice is fem!England/UK. If my French is off, please do not hesitate to correct me. :)
