Forever yours

By: Ezio Bonnefoy

Frost crawled on the side of the kitchen window along with the wet leaves sticking to the flat surface. The wind howled and tore the late autumn air. Matthew was sitting inside in the warmth, holding a cup of tea and stared out onto the street. It was quiet. He could hear 3 of the clocks in the apartment tick, and only one of them was in the kitchen. The boy stirred his tea just to hear the sound of the spoon click against the cup. He sighed deeply and sipped on his Earl Gray. It was bitter, but warm. It caressed his throat all the way down to his belly. He could feel it very clearly since he'd felt cold since he got home. Matthew wore a red hoodie, but that didn't change the icy feeling he had in his stomach. However, he didn't feel anxious. He felt calm. The young Canadian thought back of the meeting with Francis. And where the French was, there was no cold, no anxiety. Just tranquil kindness and compassion.

Francis was warmth. He'd always make Matthew feel harmonious and heat the hail in his distressed veins. Even though the boy was so fragile that he cried, Francis had made him smile again. He always made him smile. Why was this? How could a mere stranger turn into a friend and make even someone as melancholy as Matthew smile? Even as the boy thought of him, he stretched his lips a bit. It felt good. Francis made him happy. Why did he make him happy? The boy took a deep breath and felt a familiar scent. Roses. It must have been from the t-shirt underneath his hoodie. Matthew grabbed the collar of the clothing and drew it to his nose. It smelled of Francis. It really did. The boy let go of the fabric and smiled softly. Yea, he sure did it love the smell.

Matthew stirred his tea again and looked down at the spiral he was creating. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. He was confused, yet fascinated. Francis presence did not frightened Matthew anymore. Thought it shook him. Francis made his already distorted and bitter mind into an even bigger cluster. Just like the spoon in the tea, the Frenchman stirred him around, but still his life tasted unpleasant, although now it felt warm. At the same time as Francis was building him up, Matthew broke himself down. The question was just: Which one of them would win the race?

Matthew opened his eyes again and noticed his fingers where trembling. He hadn't eaten anything today, and he didn't plan on doing it either. Anything drinkable felt like poison on his tongue. Even thought Matthew had tried, he wasn't able to get any food down. It stuck in his throat and even the thought of it made him shiver and feel sick at the moment. The tea was the only thing he'd managed to sip without feeling disgusted.

Matthew adjusted his glasses and looked out in the empty hall. The strange feeling of no brother there started to haunt him. When the boy had gotten home he checked on both Arthur and Alfred. They where both fast asleep and barely made any sound between their deep inhales and exhales. Alfred didn't snore like he usually did, probably because he was not really sleeping. Matthew knew that he didn't even try to get up this morning. He was too shattered to even pick himself up. The Canadian caressed his forehead as the worries grew in him.

Shit. Arthur was getting weaker. Alfred was cracking. And he himself was crumbling. What was he suppose to do?

"Matthew?" A hoarse British accent disturbed the silence. The boy turned and felt his heart jump in his chest. Arthur staggered into the kitchen with red eyes and messy hair. Despite him looking directly into the youngsters eyes, Matthew fixed his eyes on the hand that was caressing the mans forehead. He heard his brothers voice echo in his mind.

"P-Possible t-tumor in the frontal lobe. Further examination...n-needed."

Heartbeats raised and Matthew clenched his fists. He really stared at the fingers touching the left temple. Matthew wanted to see it. He wanted to see if the tumor was really there or if it was an illusion. Anxiety built up in his torso, grasping him tightly and deflating his chest. He couldn't breathe. The fear of not knowing smothered him.

"Where have you been?" Matthew blinked a few times, bringing his mind back to reality.

"Oh...uhm...I've-I've been here for a while..." He said with an uneven breath. The boy couldn't help but stare at the man in front of him. He'd never seen Arthur been in such a mess. Not even when he had been the night out he'd wake up and look this bad. His white shirt was wrinkled and was only buttoned halfway up and he wore no pants, just his boxers with the British flag on them. Seeing him in this state made the boy worry even more.

Was Arthur really okay? Was he in pain? Why wasn't he as sharp as usual? Was the tumor there? Did it weaken him?

"Yea, yea but you weren't here when your class had ended." Alfred shuffled his way to the tea standing on the stove that the boy made earlier. Matthew's eyes followed him.

"Yea well...a thing sort of happened." His voice lowered as he saw Arthur stretch for a cup in one of the kitchen cabinets. He wasn't able to grab it properly. This sent the china crashing to the ground. Porcelain shattered and stretched across floor. Matthew jolted back of the sound and hit the table with his knee, almost spilling his cup of tea.

"Bloody hell!" Arthur mumbled and looked down at his feet.

"Ouch...I'll get the broom. Don't move, okay?" Matthew rose from his seat, caressing his knee and went for the the hall. As soon as he got out the kitchen he herd Arthur call him.

"Matthew?"

"Yea?" The boy fondled in the closet where they kept all their cleaning supplies.

"What T-shirt are you wearing?" Matthew looked down at his chest as soon as he'd gotten the broom. Oh, yea. He still wore Francis clothes.

"Um..." He walked back wondering what he should tell Arthur. If he said his clothes where stolen he'd be furious. No, he'd leave that out. Matthew bit his lip thinking and entered the kitchen again. Arthur was picking up the larger pieces of the now broken cup. Matthew thought it was strange seeing his bare legs. They where just a pair legs yea, but Arthur never wore shorts and he didn't like water so he never went to the beach aether so just the sight of them was a rarity. Besides, they were as bushy as his eyebrows.

"So?"

"Ah well... I-I...um...bumped in to someone during lunch and my clothes got ruined so a friend let me borrow his clothes." Arthur looked a bit surprised in his gathering of the broken china.

"A friend, huh? Who gave you the...uh.."The man gesticulated with his hands when his brain function had reached his limit. It was too much for Arthur to think out a hole sentence and be concentrated on the picking.

"Just a friend, you know how they come and go." Matthew answered and give him a bittersweet smile. The sad truth was that the Canadian hadn't always been as unpopular as he was nowadays. At one point in his life he even had two best friends. But, as time passed, they grew apart, making Matthew alone again. He wasn't the type to have friends for too long. However, the friendship with Francis was different. And though Matthew knew everything eventually would come to an end, he praised that he wouldn't loose contact with the French anytime soon.

"Damn it!" Arthur swore and twisted his hand back. A drop of blood trailed down from his thumb to wrist. A chock of fear struck the boy when he saw the red line.

"Oh god!" Matthew blocked his vision and turned.

"Don't worry Matthew. It's only a scratch." The man said in his British tongue.

"Yes...b-but you know how I feel about blood! Gosh!" The image that he saw really crawled in Matthew's skin.

"You're still that sensitive?"

"Of course I am!" Arthur was referring to an unfortunate incident when Matthew was young. Being an animal lover the boy always brought home stray cats and flightless birds that he found. All of it in secrecy of course since Arthur hated the idea of having pets. However, their mother had the opposite opinion. But one time, when the family where living in a larger house just outside the city, Mary convinced Arthur to give in to the boy's temptations. So they bought a rabbit. A fluffy white cloud that would hop around in a cage that they'd placed in the grassy green yard. Both Matthew and Alfred where overjoyed by the new pet. Although, Alfred brought friends over to pet and play with it, Matthew always did it alone. Arthur would get worried when Matthew hadn't arrived home from school but went outside to find him talking to the rabbit. No matter how you looked at it, the bunny was Matthew's. He also named the furry thing. Kumajirou. Arthur didn't know why he'd name it that since the boy couldn't pronounce the name at often times and the Brit himself always forgot the name. It turning to Komuro, Kajmero and Kuja.

However one morning, Arthur woke up to a terrible screech of terror.

"LET GO OF KUMAJIROU!" This resulted in both Mary and him sprinting out of bed in their bathrobes only to find Matthew sitting down in the damp grass. He was crying hysterically with the shredded rabbit in his arms. The boy was drenched in red blood from the dead animal but couldn't let go of him.

A stray dog had chewed up the fence around the cage and had gotten inside. Arthur, who was thick-skinned, wasn't so startled by the pet's death. He was more baffled by Matthew fighting of a wild dog. According to the boy it was as big as the neighbors collie. Matthew had gotten bit twice by the beast before it had let go of Kumajirou and run off. Mary had tried to calm Matthew while Arthur dug a hole in their perfectly grassed yard only to bury the pet with pride. When the rabbit was buried Matthew didn't stop crying. He continued all day. The strangest think about this incident was though when Matthew washed off all the soil on him. Arthur helped him in the shower, however when he saw the blood that rinsed off him and flew towards the drain the boy feared it deeply. He screamed on the top of his lungs that he was bleeding and that he was going to die. When Arthur assured him that that was not the case, Matthew then thought that the man was bleeding and cried even more, begging the Brit not to die.

And from that day on Matthew had been terribly afraid of blood. The smallest amount could startle him.

"Please p-put on a band aid or s-something..." Matthew was still looking away, fixing his eyes on the corner of the room.

"Just give me the broom, will ya?"

"No!"

"God..." Arthur turned slightly and fished out the first aid kit from one of the cabinets. He mumbled all the possible swear words Matthew could think of until he got the patch on his thumb. "Okay, I'm done. Give it to me." He said in his deep British accent. The boy handed it to him and heard a shuffling sound. Matthew stuck his head out in the hall and saw Alfred. He wore his big hoodie from last night and a pair pyjama pants. His honey blonde hair was in a mess and he didn't wear his glasses. Rearranging his face, the American was unaware of his brother until and tilted his head up. He stopped when he met Matthew's gaze, and was about to say something when he heard Arthur from the kitchen.

"So, how was school?" The young American was about to turn when Matthew entered the hallway and grabbed his wrist.

"Alf-" Alfred placed his finger in front of his brothers lips and then his own. The young American's eyes where red and sore from crying and his lips chapped and not curved upwards as Matthew always remembered them being.

"Mattie?"

"Uhm...fine I guess..." He shouted back to the kitchen. The Canadian grabbed his brothers shoulders and caressed them lightly and formed the words: are you okay with his lips. Alfred shook his head in response and looked down.

"Just fine?" Arthur continued while clinging the china he was cleaning up. Matthew read the words: I'm not here on Alfred's lips before he turned his head to the kitchen again.

"I-It was just an ordinary day." He looked back at Alfred who was slowly backing away. Matthew felt his chest ache from seeing his brother in pain. He was broken. Burnt and bruised by the harsh reality of Arthur's fate. Matthew tried to reach out to him again but he just shook his hand off and returned to his room. Feeling helpless and powerless the young Canadian didn't know what to do. Why did things like this always happen? It was fine as long as it only bothered him but to bring his family into this pain. Not knowing how to deal with the problem, denial and frustration grasped his chest. The voices in his head spoke for Matthew when his mind collapsed.

Alfred didn't deserve this. Why didn't Arthur tell them anything? He knew that there was something wrong with him and he still didn't tell them. It was so selfish! Keeping something like that from his own sons!

"Someone spilled food on you. I don't call that ordinary." Arthur spoke loudly from the kitchen. Feeling his anger build up Matthew just forgot to filter his thoughts and hissed against the Brit.

"If you don't like the answers don't ask!" Matthew covered his mouth and regretted his words. This wasn't Arthur's fault.

It was Matthew's.

He didn't know why, but he felt like it was. It has to be. He must have done something bad. Could he make it up somehow? He'd do anything really! If he just knew what he could-

"Hey, something wrong Matthew?" Arthur joined him in the hall with a bag with the broken cup in it. The boy turned to him and looked into his mossy soft green eyes. The eyes who could soon be no more.

Yes, something is wrong. You are dying dad. Alfred is breaking down because of you. He's lost and afraid. I am too. I'm terrified. I don't want you to die. Please stay. I'm sorry. I love you, so don't go. Dad, Alfred needs you. I need you. Don't leave me. Stay a little bit longer. Dad, I don't know if you love me, but I know you love Alfred. Stay for his sake. You don't need to die. I can take your place. I am no one. I don't matter. Just stay here. Don't go anywhere. I'm sorry. This is all my fault. Don't blame yourself. You are going to make this. This isn't going to break you. If this is going to break anyone, it's going to break me.

"No, It's fine." Matthew said and smiled faintly.

-x-

Matthew's mind was blank. He simply stared onto his pale ceiling. His breath slow and his eyes half open. Despite his lack of sleep, the boy didn't feel the need to rest. It was his mind who was in need of slumber. He wanted a break from reality and be able to relax without all this horror around him. Matthew sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

That scent. Roses. He pulled the shirt up and smelled it. Despite Matthew's worries, his pain and his angst, he smiled. Suddenly his cold and dull mind was filled by the Frenchman. He saw the man before him. That warm smile and laid back posture. The long blonde hair and charming deep blue eyes. Matthew heard his sarcastic comments in his French accent and rumbling voice. The boy took another deep breath. He smelled of Francis. It was as if he was there very close to the boy. Matthew felt like he could lay there and smell the fabric forever. Francis occupied his mind and Matthew longed for him.

The boy turned in his bed and watched the alarm clock. 21:23. It was getting late. Soon he had to go to bed and another day would come. The loop would restart. He wanted to meet the Frenchman again and break the pattern. He wanted to laugh with him and be happy. He wanted to forget all the pain and hurt. He wanted to smile with Francis. But, how? It's not like they had a reason to meet. And what if Francis didn't want to meet Matthew?

Then it hit him. The clothes! He was still wearing them. He had to return them. Matthew sat up in his bed and started to undress. The clothing's aroma got stronger when he drug it off. It was a shame that he's have to return them. Just the comfort of having something that belonged to Francis with him calmed the boy's senses. After taking the underwear off, Matthew went to his wardrobe and dressed himself in his own clothes. Being unworn and cold they gave the boy chills. To his surprise, they didn't smell anything. Nothing. Not even softener. He was too use to the smell. Matthew sighed and started to folded the French's clothes. Wait, should he wash them first? Well, it's not like it was needed. The boy carefully placed the socks on top of the pile of clothing. The only thing left was the underwear.

Matthew felt his cheeks getting red and his heart skip a beat when he realized he'd been wearing the man's boxer. He didn't know why, but somehow it felt extremely embarrassing. The boy sat down next to the bed covering his face, feeling it's warmth. Oh god. He took the underwear in his hands and looked at them. It was just a piece of fabric for Christ sake. The boy wondered if...

Yes, it did smell like him too.

"What am I doing?" Matthew whispered to himself and threw the piece of clothing on the pile before caressing his face in shame. The young Canadian shook his head and was about to pull out his phone when he noticed it was missing from his back pocket. Oh yea, it was in Francis jeans. Still sitting on the floor, Matthew searched the jeans pockets and found the flat android. He quickly tapped into it and the light almost blinded him since the light in his room was off. He was still in the contacts app.

Francis Bonnefoy.

Just the name made Matthew smile. The boy placed his shirtsleeve against his lips. Should he text him? He could tell the man he wanted to return the clothes. Although, it was a bit late. But Francis worked late usually, didn't he? Matthew thought he mentioned it. He might be awake. Now, the young boy knew what he wanted to do, he wanted to meet his Frenchman, but he was too embarrassed to really admit it. What if he said he was upset and needed to have a long walk? That might work. No, lying is not good Francis told him. Well, he wanted to see him anyways.

After much hesitation, Matthew finally tapped in the sentence: Want to take a walk? / Matthew. It wasn't fancy and it wasn't special, but it was the question he wanted an answer to. The youngster held his thumb hoovering over the send button.

What if Francis didn't answer? What if he didn't want to meet?

Matthew felt head starting to spin and quickly pressed down before he changed his mind.

Wait, what had he done? No!

The boy fiddled with his phone and tried to stop the sending precess but failed. Matthew curled up in his bed and mooched his face into his pillow. His chest was warm and his heart beating furiously.

Why was he acting like this? He just sent a text to... Oh god, this was a stupid idea. A really, really, really stupid idea. Why did he even-

"Buzz. Buzz. Ping."

Oh god...My my god!

Matthew slowly placed his hand on the android before slowly turning it. Francis Bonnefoy. Quickly, the boy turned the screen down again.It was from him. He answered. Francis answered. Holy Canadian Maple syrup. But what did it say? Matthew wanted to read it but the feeling in his chest was unbearable. It was swelling, making his go mad. It was pure and wonderful but it was so strong. Matthew could barely contain himself. He sat up and shook his head and spoke quietly for himself.

"Come on, Matthew. Just read the message. Jesus Christ!" Finally the boy took a deep breath and unlocked his phone. Meet me at the bus stop in ten minutes.

Ten minutes?!

It took him 40 minutes to walk there! Matthew looked at his nightstand. He took the scooter's keys and the borrowed clothes and flung out of bed and rushed out of his room.

-x-

The small scooter roared as Matthew took another turn to the left. His bangs danced on his forehead and his goggles shined as he passed the streetlights one after another. The breaks cried as he finally stopped by the sidewalk. The young boy placed his eye wear on the helmet and looked around.

Damn it! It's not here either!

Matthew swore like he'd never done before and he placed the goggles on again. No matter how he tried he couldn't find the bus stop. He'd been there just a couple of days ago but now he couldn't find it! He searched desperately in his mind where he could have been. Matthew remembered a dark street, flickering lights, the bus stop, old buildings a sigh with the street's name. The name! What was it? The boy consented and closed his eyes for a moment. It was a name, a foreign name. O. Something with an O. Oli- no. Ore- no. O and then an X! And then he remember there was an st too somewhere in there. Oxer...?

DAMN IT!

Matthew shook his head and let the tires screech before he drove off. It was somewhere around here. He knew that. Streetlights passed and the blocks almost seemed unoccupied. The dark had consumed the taxis, neon signs and the people in this part of the city. Suddenly Matthew saw a sign that he recognized. Hitting the breaks he turned swiftly and switched direction like a dart. He approached the green metal plate and read the letters. Oxenstierna st.

It's here!

Matthew's chest burst into crackling warmth. He thought he'd never find it. As the boy faced the street again he saw the bus stop. His heart went wild as he saw the tall figure leaned against it. The man stood still, resting one of his feet in front of the other. Hands in his long coat's pockets and a cigarette between his lips. It glowed and stirred smoke above him. His gaze was low and his lashes shimmered in the streetlights along with his tied back blonde hair. Matthew drove up to him with a smile on his lips and his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The boy's fingers felt slippery and weak, making him break to hard while stopping. He almost hit head in the speedometer but stiffened his posture the last second. As the boy looked up a bit embarrassed he met the glistening blue eyes that made him blush even more. His lips stretched and his charming smile greeted Matthew.

"Bonsoir, mon amie."

Bonsoir, mon amie: Good evening, my friend.