Yes, It has indeed been about 2 months since last updating this story although I will only apologize as a formality. The big reason I haven't been able to write as quickly as I wanted to is that I became homeless as of May! It's been wonderful since then, as I went into an emergency shelter to get out of an abusive relationship and my depression became much less violent. Of course, this has given me much more to think about as far as writing this semi autobiographical story goes, but I have also had less time to work and a lot of stress. Nonetheless, I am doing fairly well and don't need much more help other than your continued love and support of this story! And onward we go!

Alfred and Matthew dragged themselves up to the stairs leading to their house, exhausted. Mondays were bad enough on their own, but a Monday after a weekend dealing with their pitiful alcoholic father was simply unbearable. Alfred moved slowly, almost reluctantly as he sorted through the keys. "Well, time to open the portal to hell." he huffed, rolling his eyes.

Matthew shook his head with a frown. "Come on Alfred…maybe Dad's asleep. He usually is anyway."

Alfred rammed his shoulder into the door and listened carefully. "No, he's in the kitchen." he said, sounding even more disappointed after Matthew had introduced a glimmer of hope.

"Hmm? Alfred? Matthew?" called a voice that most definitely wasn't Arthur. Alfred and Matthew simultaneously looked up in utter shock, their eyes widening behind their glasses when Francis popped out from the kitchen to greet them with a smile. Either they were hallucinating or their glasses were remarkably filthy, because there was no other possible way that Francis, the kind and caring man who had made the horrible weekend a bit less unbearable, was standing before them yet again. Not only that, but he was carrying a tray with two ham and cheese sandwiches and extending it out for them. When Alfred and Matthew didn't move Francis laughed softly. "Go on, I'm not a ghost. It's an afterschool snack for you two.

"An afterschool snack?" said Alfred with a grin. "Oh man, call off the ambulance Mattie, 'cause I think I died and went to heaven." Alfred leaned forward, taking a big bite and moaning in appreciation, bouncing on his feet. "Mmm! This is really good. What the heck did you put in this?" he exclaimed, closing his eyes and taking another bite, completely involved in the moment.

Matthew was a little more timid, taking a tiny nibble off of the corner of his sandwich and giving Alfred the side eye. Finding the sandwich to his tastes as well, his sad pout transformed into a small smile. "Thank you. We haven't had an afterschool snack in a long time." he said. Alfred opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the wall and nod, his expression seeming to have stiffened a bit.

"Well I'm glad you like it." said Francis with a big warming smile, putting his hands on the boys shoulders to comfort them, patting gently. "You don't have to worry about a thing, I'll be taking good care of the kitchen from now on and the two of you as well!" he cooed.

Alfred swallowed and turned back with a sly smirk. "Okay okay, listen dream, give me a hot tub with a treadmill at the bottom." he said, biting his lip and wiggling his nose. To his disappointment, he looked around and found that nothing had appeared. "Fine, I guess it isn't a dream after all, but dude! How come you're staying with us anyway? Did Pops lose custody of us or something?" he asked, almost hopeful.

"No no…" said Francis with a frown. He wanted to try explaining but decided to quickly change the subject instead. "Hey- once you're finished with your snack, would either of you like any help with homework?"

Matthew's eyes widened and he nodded eagerly. After a big swallow, he seemed meek again. "Um- if it wouldn't be a lot of work, maybe you could look over my French homework and well, not correct it but- ah.." he said, seeming almost flustered that he had dared to accept the help.

Alfred was too busy stuffing his face to quiz Francis more about what was going on, so Francis eagerly took the opportunity that Matthew gave him. "Of course! You can just come in and tell me whenever you need the help." he said, gently patting Matthew on the shoulder.

"Ah, thank you." said Matthew with a thin smile, shifting to reach for his polar bear water bottle out of his backpack. Francis watched Matthew carefully as the boy lifted the top to his lips and nursed gingerly.

"What's that?" asked Francis. Matthew's eyes widened again.

"It's. It's my water bottle." he said softly, looking to the side and tipping the bottle.

Francis took hold of Matthew's wrist and brought the bottle toward him. "I know, but I want to know what you have in it!" said Francis, feigning playfulness. He still had his haunting suspicions from earlier, despite Arthur's insistence that Matthew would never ever drink alcohol. It seemed pretty likely that Francis was merely being a little hyper cautious, what with everything he had seen up until now. For one thing, although Matthew seemed a little dizzy, he didn't reek of booze like Arthur did much of the time. Of course, perhaps Arthur's stench was so overpowering that it muted any other alcohol related aromas. It was difficult to tell.

Alfred shook Francis's other arm in excitement. "Dude! That sandwich was totally awesome!" he said. "Is there any more?" There were crumbs all over his mouth, which he brushed away with his sleeve. Francis was incredibly flattered.

"That was all I made right now, but if you want me to make you another one for dinner I can." said Francis, letting go of Matthew.

"Alfred, don't be so greedy." whined Matthew, clutching his bottle tightly to his chest and just getting started on nibbling his sandwich, staring down at the floor.

"What? Shut up, nerd." huffed Alfred, bumping his hips into Matthew. Matthew nearly lost his balance, stumbling back into the wall instead. Unharmed but irritated, he sucked his teeth to signify a pause in this brotherly battle that was to be continued later.

Francis frowned. "Be nice." he said firmly. "Dinner will be ready soon, just try to relax alright?" With a sigh and a shake of his head, Francis ducked back into the kitchen to attend to the stew, which was starting to expel quite the delicious smell.

With Francis' departure, Matthew looked up and wiped his mouth with his hand, still slowly eating his sandwich. "Do you think Dad is in really big trouble?

Alfred gave Matthew a shrug. "I dunno. Probably? Is he even here?"

There was the sound of heavy stomps coming from the hallway and before either of the boys could run away, Arthur showed himself, yawning. Noticing his son's, Arthur's eyes widened in surprise then crinkled in excitement as he rushed over to fuss. "Ohh! You're both home? Why didn't you let me know?" he gushed, ruffling Alfred's hair so hard his glasses slid to the end of his nose.

"We were talking to Francis." said Alfred, pushing his glasses back up and squinting up at Arthur with a grin. "How come you didn't tell us he was going to be staying here? Or is it like he's going to help you pay bills or something?"

Arthur snorted, covering his mouth. If only Alfred knew even half of what was going on. Financially, their family would never be in trouble. The last thing they needed was additional income, for it would just provide more opportunities for everyone to binge on their vices. "Certainly not. We would never come close to that kind of trouble, so don't worry about a thing." he said, patting Alfred's back. "No, instead, Francis is going to be...hmm. Sort of like a nanny, helping to clean and cook and-"

"Oh Thank GOOOOD." cheered Alfred, turning to Matthew with a cheeky smile. "You heard that right? Francis is cooking for us all the time now!" Matthew lifted his bottle in a meek toast, trying to hide his own happiness. He could already detect Arthur bristling with irritation at Alfred's over enthusiastic reaction.

"Well then." huffed Arthur, turning his head away and crossing his arms. "I didn't realize you were so ungrateful about the way I cooked." He scowled and dug deeper, wanting to make Alfred feel the same wound that he felt. "Besides, if you didn't like my food that much you wouldn't be the size you are now you little cretin." Alfred's playful smirk was wiped completely clean, dissolving into an unamused stare.

"See, why do you have to go so hard man, ugh. Geez." he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. "Can't even take a joke. I'm taking a leak." he announced, shaking his head and storming to the bathroom. Just as Arthur was about to turn and follow Alfred, Matthew stuck his arm out to pull at his sleeve.

"Mm- Dad…" he said suddenly, trying to think of something to say. Arthur's eyes turned to look at him and Matthew faltered under that critical emerald gaze. He chewed on the top of his water bottle in an anxious stupor. "Well uh- I'm happy that Francis is going to stay here too. You have... I think you have a lot of stress?" he offered, trying to word it right. "And I just-"

Arthur beamed from Matthew's words. "Oh, I know what you're worried about. You don't have to say another think. Yes, I can admit that there are going to be some...difficulties ahead for me in court and-" Arthur shook his head. "It's nothing to concern you, all you have to worry about is to keep coming back with those excellent, excellent, grades in school and that's enough for me." he said, hugging Matthew.

Matthew froze up in the hug, stuffing his mouth with the rest of the sandwich so that he wouldn't have to respond and nodded hard. "That's a good boy,." said Arthur in complete satisfaction, giving him one last slap on the shoulder before walking into the kitchen. Matthew waited until Arthur was completely away before he started rushing his way back to their bedroom, covering his ears and panting hard as he passed the bathroom. He was so thirsty.

Arthur, who had wandered into the kitchen for a possible evening beer was disgruntled to find Francis was still in it. "How are you not a fat whale? Are you ever out of the kitchen?" he complain bitterly.

Francis gave an exaggerated gasp to feign feeling insulted, laying a hand on his chest while the other continued to stir the pot. "Oh no no Arthur, I appreciate food. I do not overindulge. Why do you think five star restaurants give you so little food?"

Francis's playful response calmed Arthur a bit. He smirked and crossed his arms. "Oh, so I suppose now you're comparing your talents to that of a five star?"

"And why not? Here, come taste this." said Francis, dipping another spoon into the stew and motioning urgently for Arthur to come. It did smell rather inviting. Arthur took the spoon from Francis's hands and brought it to his own lips. Well, Francis really did have a right to be smug.

"Mmm...that's perfect actually." said Arthur. He had completely forgotten about the beer he wanted now. "How did you learn to cook?"

"The same way you learned to I suppose." said Francis quickly.

"Well, that's not an answer." pressed Arthur. "I mean...after all you are…"

Francis sighed heavily and laughed, turning to Arthur. "Ah, since I'm homeless I must know a lot about stew and soup, is that it?"

"Whoa! I never said anything like that." insisted Arthur in surprise, feeling a little wary.

"Idiot." grumbled Francis, looking to the side and stirring the pot again. "I haven't made a career out of living on the street as you so affectionately implied. At least not in the way you're thinking. As you can see, I'm no drug fiend or sex addict."

"Ahem…I feel as though you may have gotten those last two terms mixed up." said Arthur weakly.

"Believe me." said Francis, nodding. "I definitely stand by the order I said that."

Arthur took a deep breath and bit his lip, thinking for a moment. "Okay, well Francis if you don't mind me asking-"

"I don't. Not too much. " said Francis, although he held the spoon stiffly, his hand going from a relaxed position into a fist, the stew being stirred faster. "After all, ahaa...I'm not homeless now anymore so it doesn't offend me." he said, shaking his head with a half smile.

"How exactly did you eat day to day?" asked Arthur. "And where did you spend your time? How did you afford that motel?"

"I worked on the streets."

"I thought you said you weren't a prostitute."

There was a sudden BANG when Francis's knee jerked, hitting the oven door. Hissing softly, Francis turned around and leaned on the other leg. "Do you pick up a lot of prostitutes, Arthur?" he snarled, waiting for the aching to go away.

Taken aback by Francis's violent reaction, Arthur stepped back a bit. The look on Arthur's face made Francis feel guilty that he couldn't admit that he actually didn't feel like talking about those times. Not yet anyway. Before Francis could apologize, Arthur sighed and leaned on the counter, arms crossed. "You're kidding, I've been abstinent for years."

Francis's pain faded away, and he gingerly stepped forward to put a hand on Arthur's back, turning the fire on the stove down a little bit. "How much do you miss her?" he asked in a voice just above a whisper.

Arthur exhaled and shook his head. "You...You can't even imagine." he said, pulling away from Francis and opening toward the fridge. "It's that, I'm just so absolutely angry at her." he said, going on a rant to intriguing that Francis didn't even try to stop him from taking the beer. "I'm livid, distraught, hurt, everything in between and beyond that. That's it." Arthur snapped the tab, opening the can with a hostile hiss. "And yet." he added. "I'm simply the most masochistic sort there is...because there is nothing I want more every single day...than to see her again."

Arthur tipped the beer can back, taking a long, slow and thoughtful drink. He trembled as he felt the warmth coursing through his body, feeling his mind melt in submission of the toxin he was willingly putting into his body. Francis felt sickened by what he saw. He wasn't disconcerted because of Arthur's lack of self control, but because he was able to completely understand the emotional turmoil. Arthur leaned against the countertop and gasped for breath. "I. I drink because." he panted hard. "I see her. I can see her and she comes back to me."

Francis stopped what he was doing and rushed over to grab Arthur as he slumped forward. Arthur was so heavy, groaning pitifully into Francis's apron. Francis tried his best to keep a good grip, holding him steady so that he wouldn't slam onto the floor. The poor bastard was feeling low enough already. "I'm sorry." whispered Francis, knowing that it wasn't enough for Arthur. Arthur wasn't in a state to graciously receive any kind of advice right now, even if the thoughts were buzzing in Francis's mind. "What does she tell you?"

"She says…" said Arthur, struggling to help right himself on his own. "She walks up to me, with those sad sad eyes and tries to tell me, she... she tries to tell me… 'Arthur, I love you' " he cooed, his voice getting soft and low. Then, the rage bubbled in his voice again as he reared up. "And I call her a liar! " Arthur closed his eyes, pausing, his voice lowering again. "Sometimes. Not all the time."

"Arthur, Please remember to stay with me." reminded Francis urgently, seeing Arthur's eyes glass over as the man went into his own dark world within his mind.

"But I need to hear it. No matter if it's the truth or a lie. I never hear it from anyone anymore." whispered Arthur, closing his eyes. "Nooobody...tell me anything. Nobody loves me. It's just what I've ended up deserving. Absolutely nothing."

Deep down, Arthur was just like everyone else in this world. Scared and soft underneath the bitter shell of adulthood. Francis shook his head. "Don't fall into that." said Francis firmly. "You'll never survive." He took the empty beer can from Arthur's hands, tossing it in the sink and stepping forward to wipe at Arthur's tears.

"Everything w-went to hell when she left." sniffed Arthur, looking away and wiping his face with his hands on his own, leaving his eyes red. "She left so hatefully, so violently." Arthur looked up with a gasp, eyes as wide as an animal facing its impending death. "So many nightmares. I see her...and...I see her. I see her." Arthur put his hands on Francis's shoulders. "Hana…"

Francis was mortified by how scattered and patchwork Arthur's mental stability seemed right now. Taking a deep breath, Francis straightened his position and squeezed him close. "You don't see anything, Arthur." he said weakly. "There isn't anyone here but you and me."

"I see…" insisted Arthur, his voice cracking. "It was your fish. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me for the fish."

Oh crap.

What was Arthur even talking about? Francis swallowed hard. "Arthur- It's...We're in the kitchen!"

Arthur stopped his mumbling and looked up. It seemed to be working, whatever Francis was doing. Francis closed his eyes and tried his best to fix this. "It's Autumn. Mid November in England."

"England…?" repeated Arthur, his grip on Francis loosening.

Francis nodded and smiled thinly. "It's 6 in the evening. You have two beautiful kids who love you very much. Alfred and Matthew Kiku Kirkland. You live on Princess Street in a wonderful house with them."

Arthur nodded weakly. "And...Hana." he added.

"No." said Francis. "With me."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Francis." said Francis softly, a gentle smile spreading on his face as Arthur calmed down. "Francis Bonnefoy, the prostitute that warned you not to get into the car."

Francis could feel that Arthur had stopped shaking. He pulled away and noticed that he himself had started panting as well, the situation taking an emotional toll from him as well. "From Canal Street." he finished, hoping he had succeeded in bringing Arthur back to reality.

Arthur looked at Francis, staring at him hard before finally sighing. "She's not here…" he realized. He shook his head mournfully, turning around and trudging out of the kitchen in sluggish shame.