Chapter thirty six – l'Amour

The Kirkland household was in uproar.

"We're not going to make it in time…!" Ivy was crying, running around like a headless chicken.

"No, no, it'll be fine! Arthur, listen, you're in charge!" Owain was trying to straighten the bows that had been tied around chairs very ornamental chairs, "don't let Alastair touch anything! Even if it means tying him up and locking him in his room!"

"Yeah, 'cause you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you, Owain?" The twins called over, rough grins plastered all over their faces.

Glaring, Owain growled, "Shut it and carry on getting the room ready! You have twenty four hours and twenty four hours only to make this place look like a suitable reception room! And I also need to mention that you need to go to the church and sort that place out as well, but don't worry too much about that – I've had a little word with the vicar and he seems to enjoy interior design. But that doesn't give you an excuse to slack off!"

Alfred popped his head through the door, "Francis is here!"

Blushing hotly, Owain's eyes widened, "R-right! Well, good luck. Mum, Arthur, twins, Alfred…" the Welsh boy paused, "Daniel." He nodded curtly, quickly escaping out of the door, ready to run off down the drive to meet Francis.

Sadly, Daniel was not going to let the boy go with that.

"Excuse me? And where are you going?" Daniel stuck his foot in front of one of the double doors, preventing Owain's escape.

"Out with a friend… Francis." Owain muttered, studying the tiles, knowing all too well where the conversation was going.

Daniel pouted his lip in mock thought, "Hm. And this 'friend', does he happen to be a boy?"

"Yes… he does."

"So that would make him your 'boyfriend' then, wouldn't it, Owain?" Daniel looked ready to gag at the word.

Frowning, and not attempting to point out the fact that just because hew as gay, not every boy he hung out with was out to be his boyfriend, Owain decided that he should keep the conversation as quick as possible – no matter what options he chose, he'd always end up with the same outcome; something, probably a heavy something, being thrown at him. He may as well do it quickly, "As a matter of fact, yes he is."

Raising his eyebrows, Daniel sneered, "So you're telling me, you're ditching us to go and get all friendly with that French kid? Oh, no, no, no. Number one, even if I wasn't getting married tomorrow, you would not be going out with that boy. Number two, as much as I hate to admit it, you are probably our only chance of getting this wedding to work, and I am not letting you ruin this day for your mother. So you can get right back inside that lounge and carry on making decorations."

Clenching his teeth, Owain was about to argue back at Daniel's orders, until someone did it for him.

"No. Daniel, he can go out. He's worked very hard these past days. I don't like the way you treat him like he's less than everyone else. He is my son, and soon will be yours too." The pair wheeled around to see Ivy glaring at her fiancé in the hallway, "I don't want to deal with this stress right now, but for god's sake, Daniel – I can't marry you if you treat my sons like they're nothing!"

Staring at his soon-to-be wife like she'd gone insane, Daniel glared at Owain, as if it was all his fault, "it didn't seem to bother you a while ago. These freaks will never be my sons!"

"Well, if you think of them as 'freaks' then I don't think I'll be able to marry you." Ivy announced loudly. So loudly, everyone in the lounge hear her, and all came running out at once, each with either a look of shock or an excited smile on their faces. "Owain, go on, and have fun on your date, dear. Don't let dear Francis wait too much. And boys," She turned to her other sons in the lounge, "go and wait up in your rooms, yeah? Daniel and I need a little chat."

Awkwardly, each of the boys nodded, all glaring at Daniel, and patting their mother with support as they trotted up the stairs. Owain, who felt awful for shaking his mum up so close to the day ran up to her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and making sure to shoot an obvious glare at Daniel, ran off down the drive to meet Francis.

"What took you so long?" Francis grinned upon seeing Owain, "I though you were going to chicken out…"

Owain, who was still a little shaken by the argument and just shook his head, "Argument. I caused it. Don't want to talk about it."

Nodding, Francis understood immediately, "I see, don't worry. You have the amazing company of moi to take your mind off it, non?"

Smiling and hesitantly stepping a little closer into Francis' body, Owain nodded, "Yeah… So where are you taking me?"

Waggling his eyebrows almost seductively, Francis snaked an arm around Owain's slender back, "Well, I don't want to give away too many hints, but I thought that seeing as we are so close to the city centre…" he reached inside his coat, bringing out two train tickets, "I thought we'd have a little shopping spree in London."

Owain's eyes widened, a huge grin spreading across his face, "London? Are you serious!" without even thinking about it, the Welsh boy flung his arms around Francis, "Diolch yn fawr iawn! Francis, you're amazing! It's been ages since I've been there! Thank you!"

"It's no problem, my dear Owain. What else could be the ultimate experience for two gays?" Francis chuckled, smiling down at Owain fondly, "oh how I've missed you."

Staring up at Francis, Owain felt like the French boy had enchanted him with some sort of magical spell. Thoughts and feelings of their time together last year flooded back into his head – everything before he'd been drowned in his own hatred for the blonde haired romanticist. He realised that, no matter what he'd told himself, he actually had missed Francis. An awful lot.

"I've missed you too… Francis. W-will you take me back…?" Owain muttered, suddenly realising that it had been terrible of him to just leave Francis last year… Now that it occurred to him, apparently Francis never really got over him… Oh jeeze Owain felt bad.

"Owain, mon cher, I took you back the moment you asked me out," Francis rolled his eyes at Owain's glare, "I'm sorry – I took you back from the moment you asked me to ask you out."

"Thank you…" Owain smiled gratefully, letting his hand run against Francis' rough stubble on his chin. The action was so simple and so familiar it was refreshing.

"Come on, then! We can't miss our train!" With that, Francis grabbed hold of Owain's hand, dragging him in the direction of the nearby train station. With all stressful thoughts of the wedding and Ivy and Daniel's argument gone, Owain let loose, letting a grin slide on to his face and a blush proudly beam out on his cheeks. Man, he'd missed Francis, but now the two of them were acting like they'd never even been apart.

It turned out that Francis' big idea for a date in London really was a big idea, and saying it was 'shopping' didn't really cover it.

The two began their romantic affairs on a very crowded tube ride into the centre of London. It was the middle of the holidays, so the train was crowded with both locals and tourists, though the amount of tourists easily outnumbered the locals by an outstanding number. Francis even made friends with a little French girl and her mother who were very excited about visiting the capital, as they'd never been outside of France before.

"Au revoir et bonne chance, mes chers~" Francis waved at the adorable little girl and winking at their mother, before returning to a giggling Owain. Gracefully hopping over the gap and on to the platform, then lifting Owain down, Francis wondered over to a huge tube map in the corner, greeting any French people as he passed.

"Well, mon cher, where should we begin our amazing adventures?" Francis teasingly slid an arm around Owain's waist, tickling it slightly. Immediately, the Welsh boy let out a little squeak of surprise, jumping away from the touch, which incidentally caused him to hop right in close to Francis' hold.

Before the rather romantic mood that had emerged between the two had chance to develop into action, a group of passers by took it upon themselves to break the moment by letting out a load cough of disapproval. Francis turned around, glaring at the group of middle aged women that had passed, clearly displeased by the public affection. Not to mention the gay display of public affection. Neither Owain or Francis were in the mood to be pushed around by homophobes. No, not this time.

"Excuse me?" Francis called back the women, who all paused in their steps, slowly turning around to meet their disturber. "I was just wondering, do you have a problem about me and my boyfriend?" Francis either didn't notice, or chose not to notice Owain's blush at the word 'boyfriend'.

Exchanging eyebrow-raised glances, the women looked at each other with a look that almost seemed amused. The woman in the middle answered, "Well, now you happen to mention it, we do have a problem with it." Oh, this woman was American – a tourist. Francis could use that to his advantage.

"I see. Well, do you also have a problem with the fact that I am French, or that my boyfriend is Welsh? I don't really have a problem with the fact that you are American or that one of your friends is Asian while the other is coloured." Francis' tone was deliberately naïve and ignorant. Owain grinned, knowing exactly what the boy was doing.

The women, now a little confused looked at each other, seeming to communicate telepathically. It was the coloured one who spoke next, "we have no problem that you're French. It's not your race that's the problem here. We were bothered by your inappropriate kissing in public. What point are you making?"

Francis smiled kindly, and then pointed over to a boy and a girl, holding hands, obviously in a relationship, "tell me, ladies, do you have a problem with those two over there?"

"Not really, no. But stop avoiding our questions." The Asian woman spoke this time, glaring.

"My point, ladies is that we are all different. I am French, my boyfriend is Welsh, and you are Asian, while your friends are South African and American. We are all still humans. This of our sexuality as a nationality. If the fact that I'm foreign doesn't bother you, then my preference in gender shouldn't bother you either. I am no different from that couple over there. Thank you for your time, and I hope I have given you something worthy to think about. Have a good day, ladies." Francis bowed flamboyantly, and then returned to Owain, pecking him on the lips before flouncing away.

"Come back here! You can't just say all that and just walk away!" The American called, sounding pissed.

Sighing, Owain decided to pipe up this time, "I think you'll find he can, miss. Now, if you'll excuse us." The two boys smiled at one another, and hopped on an escalator, triumphant grins on their faces.

"That was great, you know? It was incredibly brave…" Owain muttered, looking up at Francis kindly, tightening his grip on the French boy's arm.

Shrugging, Francis smiled, "You gave me the strength, see? I know you hate being looked down on, especially with all the stuff with Daniel – it's terrible what you've been put through. Well, no more. I'll stop it. That is, if you'll let me."

"If you buy me lunch," Owain winked jokingly, giggling.

"Try and stop me, you adorable boy! Now, I was planning on taking you out to the most romantic place in London; The Bleeding Heart Restaurant. It's French, I'll have you know! Sadly, not only was it many, many zeroes out of my price range, it seemed they frowned upon 'silly schoolchildren's dates' in their own words when I called them to book a reservation. They flatly rejected me, but luckily, I found of a lovely little coffee house that is just as nice. It's not as romantic, but it is very homely. And guess what; their theme is 'The best of Great Britain' and I've heard that they do a few pretty good Welsh dishes…"

"Sounds interesting," Owain grinned, licking his lips and his grin expanding when he saw a very light blush emerge on Francis' soft cheeks, "bet'cha they're not as nice as my dad's."

Nodding earnestly, Francis smiled, "Yes, your father does seem to be one of those rarely blessed Britons that have the skill of cooking. And your mother's Sunday dinners aren't that bad. But anyway! It is only eleven o'clock – we're hardly ready for lunch yet, mon cher – let us go shopping!"

Owain beamed, letting out a whoop of approval as the gigantic escalator they were standing on arrived at the very top of the station, and out into the open air, bringing the two boys right in the middle of a very crowded, jubilant Piccadilly Circus.

"Sweet Jesus I'm dreaming…" Owain muttered blissfully, "You're bloody amazing, you know. Come on! I don't want to waste a second! Not a second of this date! We will shop until we drop, Francis, and then we will get up again, and shop more!"

Owain grabbed Francis' arm, dragging him into one of the nearest shops, taking the French boy by surprise. Francis chuckled, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm, "Yes, yes, whatever you wish, mon cher~ though do calm down, my dear, your enthusiasm, as refreshing as it is, is also so energetic it's draining. And a little bit scary."

Not bothering to reply – he was too involved in finding a new coat – Owain simply smiled at Francis almost patronisingly, before returning to his beloved clothes. Francis laughed quietly to himself, "Like you never even left…"

"Jesus, Owain, I knew you liked shopping, but for God's sake, even I think you may have overdone it, mon cher!"

"What are you talking about, Francis? I've hardly bought enough! I still need to get an entire outfit for tomorrow. Well, I don't need to, but I'm having second thoughts about the suit I chose, and I need a good excuse to get a really expensive outfit. Oh my God, Francis. I could get a cravat! Oh sweet Jesus why didn't I think of that before? I need a cravat."

"Wow, slow down! You're thinking at one thousand miles per hour, and I can't keep up, my love!" Francis chuckled, "Now slow down, sip your tea, and eat your food. Then we'll think about what we're going to buy next, though I don't know if we'll be able to carry much more…"

"I can't let this chance pass me by, Francis! I'm in London! I only come down here once a year, and even then the chances of me even catching a glance of this mesmerising city are slimmer than a pig escaping the slaughter house! I love this place; it's like my own drug! I simply can't think about consequences! A 'Spontaneous Shopping Spree' as I like to call it! Though I am incredibly tired…" Owain admitted quietly.

Francis smiled, taking a few of the seemingly endless selection of bags off Owain and adding it to his own collection of bags. Between them, Francis did a quick estimate, they were carrying about fifty bags from all different shops – some small, some large, some inside others. No wonder Owain was tired! "Don't worry, mon cher, I know exactly where we can take a little break. Remember that cosy little place I was telling you about earlier – the one I was planning to take you out to lunch in? Well, it's just about lunch time, I think."

"You're a bloody angel." Owain felt like crying with joy at the promise of food. Yes, he was enjoying London, but after endless crowded tubes, huge queues, and walking for miles and miles, the country boy really did need a little fuel refill and muscle relaxation session. Plus there was the little perk that Francis knew what he was doing with food – you could always count on him to find one of the best spots in your environment to eat.

Owain wasn't quite sure Francis had managed it this time, though.

The pair found them standing outside a small, cosy looking place as Francis had described it. It looked and smelled very homely and well… British. All of this looked quite respectable and very appealing. Until you noticed the name of the café. Once you saw the three characters proudly hanging off the side of the building, all respect and dignity that the café had gained beforehand had just pummelled to the floor, and made you instantly want to leave.

"'S&M'" Owain recited the café's name, looking up at Francis as if he was insane, "You bastard! I knew you were kinky, but really? And I know we… 'experimented' a little with sadism and masochism, but do you really think this is an appropriate way to remind me of that!"

Letting out an amused laugh, Francis shook his head, "You misunderstand, mon cher, the 'S&M' doesn't stand for sadist and masochist – it stands for something a lot more innocent, and what I happen to know as one of your favourite dishes."

"And what's that then?" Said Owain, still doubting Francis' excuse.

"'Sausages and Mash', am I not wrong that you love that dish? Look, follow me, I will show you that it is a perfectly acceptable family café." Francis took a step closer to the door, holding out his hand, inviting Owain to come in with him.

Owain, still a little hesitant, glared at the hand, "If I come in there and find it's full of poles and R18+ content then I am leaving and you can consider yourself dumped!" He said before taking Francis' hand and entering cautiously inside the café.

It was indeed as Francis had said. The café was full of happy looking families, most of whom were eating sausages and mash as the name suggested. There were people of every age and race in there – a group of young girls in the corner, that looked a few years younger than Owain and Francis, a pair of gossiping old ladies by the window, children all running around the place with no sight of any parent following them – they were all relaxing on a pair of huge fluffy sofas by one of the fireplaces. The room was decorated to look quite stereotypically British – there were Union Jacks up everywhere, with pictures of the queen and other members of the royal family pinned up wherever possible. Huge bookcases lined the walls, filled with all sorts of British novels from Shakespeare to Harry Potter to Fifty Shades of Grey. There was a Beatles song being played through the stereo just coming to an end, and after it'd finished, Adele quickly began playing. Owain found that he'd been completely wrong about the place, and the only thing that seemed to resemble the kinky-sounding name were a group of young teenage boys, all with rather inappropriate images printed on their t-shirts. It seemed they'd made the same assumption as Owain.

"Hmm… Okay, I believe you. For now." Owain said half-jokingly, daintily sitting down on a large leather sofa, looking as if he was expecting the cushions to swallow him, "It is pretty romantic, to be fair."

"You can always count on yours truly to think up a romantic date…" Francis winked, taking the seat opposite Owain, "I'm quite good at the part that comes after the date too, non?"

Rolling his eyes, Owain flipped over a little pamphlet that acted as a menu. He quickly decided he was in the mood for herbal tea and a huge scone to go with the café's signature dish of sausages and mash, "So what're you getting? I'll go order."

"Nope! I'm ordering. Think of me as the gentleman in the relationship." Francis smiled, taking Owain's hand.

"And what does that make me, Mr. Gentleman?" Owain said, a knowing smile on his face.

"My very beautiful lady, of course." Francis teased, "One that everyone in the land envies."

"Oh shut up and get me my herbal tea!" Owain smiled joyfully. He'd missed this, and now he had only Alastair to thank that somehow he'd managed to get it all back. The French accent and all.

"Do you have something old?"

"Yes, this headpiece!"

"Something new?"

"My dress, of course."

"Something borrowed?"

"That'll be my underwear."

"Lovely. And something blue?"

"My lovely blue page boys around me!"

The wedding had finally arrived.

Owain was putting the final touches to the ceremony. The argument from yesterday had ended bluntly, but the bride and groom had forgiven each other, so the wedding was to go on. The church was packed with family and friends of the Kirkland family – among them were Ivy and Daniel's school friends, people they'd met in work, their family, even some of their teachers. Dafydd, Scott, Finn and Jack were all in the front row, waiting for their ex-wife to walk up the isle. Each of them was a little tearful, but on the whole happy for Ivy. Apart from the fact she was marrying a complete cunt as Scott had quite happily described him. Next to the middle aged men sat Alfred, feeling extremely awkward and willing Arthur and the other brothers to hurry up down the isle so they could come and sit with him. Daniel was already waiting at the alter, feeling more than a little awkward that Ivy was late, as usual, and the crowd began muttering impatiently. That was, until a single note on the grand piano at the back of the church silenced them all instantly. Everyone turned around to see none other than Roderich Edelstein sitting at the stool. Once his silence had been granted, he began a very flamboyant version of the Bridal March, and through one of the open doors walked none other than the bride herself.

Alfred had never really paused to admire Ivy Kirkland's beauty. Not in a weird 'she's smokin' hot' kind of way; like the way a mother appreciates how beautiful her daughter looks when she's off to prom. Her long, blonde locks that she'd given to Arthur, Owain and Peter had been pinned up into a loose bun, deliberately letting random strands fall down in a wispy, mysterious way. Her bright green eyes were wide and joyful, enhanced by just enough mascara to compliment her. Her wild eyebrows that she'd given to every single one of her sons had been attempted to be tamed – they weren't as big and bushy as usual, but whoever had the depressing job of plucking them must've given up on the impossible job. Alfred was glad – a Kirkland wasn't a real Kirkland without their eyebrows.

As for Ivy's dress… well it was indescribably beautiful. Whoever had picked it must've seen how many visual metaphors and parallels it had of Ivy's personality, or it'd been a huge, almost impossible coincidence. The dress was simple and white, but by no means boring; Ivy looked like one of those simple, boring mums, but she was definitely neither of those. There were cute fluffy parts of the dress, mainly attached around the train, but around the arms were flowing, graceful pieces of opaque material. Ivy was both cute and adorable at times, while refined and mature at other times. Then of course there was a little crown of ivy leaves that lined her veil. Only Owain could plan something so well.

Speaking of the Welsh boy, he and his brothers were walking right behind Ivy, all wearing crisp black tuxedos, snow white cress shirts, marbled waist coats and prominent ice blue neckpieces. Owain and Peter with a cravat, the twin's two loose bowties, Alastair wearing a completely undone tie, while Arthur had his tie pushed up so far it looked like it might choke him. Each boy had a little green flower tucked into their button hole, complimenting the cool colour scheme perfectly. Alfred had to admit that Arthur looked completely sexy in a suit and tie rather than his usual clothing taste. Now he looked like a true gentleman, and it was making Alfred blush.

Though, the focus of the room wasn't on the page boys and surprisingly not the bride either. It was who was holding the bride's arm, walking her up the isle. Everyone knows that the bride's father is meant to give her away, but then, if the bride's father has passed on – what do you do? Most people ask their uncles, perhaps ex-husbands or close family members to do it for them. Not Ivy, no, no. Ivy had picked her stand-in father to be none other than Miss Elizabeta Héderváry. Alfred's form teacher stool proudly next to Ivy, smiling comfortingly and muttering low words of support to the bride. She was wearing a beautiful dress, the same ice blue as the boy's neckpieces, but with little mint green flowers, the same as the ones that were in the button holes of Arthur and the others. Miss Héderváry did look stunning, and she seemed to compliment Ivy in such an odd way. Their personalities were completely different, Alfred knew that, but somehow they seemed to fit together perfectly. Hell, Alfred didn't even know that Miss Héderváry knew Ivy. He'd have to ask Arthur later.

The muttering seemed to suggest that Alfred was not the only one in the dark about the friendship between Miss Héderváry and Ivy. The whole crowed looked a little confused; even Daniel standing right at the front of the alter looked completely lost. Alfred noticed Mr. Edelstein play a little louder as if to silence the mutterings, though it didn't work. The only ones that looked like they really knew what was going on, Alfred noticed was Feliciano's uncle, Mr. Vargas, Gilbert's father, Mr. Belischmidt (again, what the hell were they doing there?) Francis' mother, whose name Alfred didn't know, and all of Ivy's ex-husbands he was sitting next to. All three, with the addition of Jack, were smiling knowingly, shaking their heads.

"Man, Daniel's going to hate her when he finds out…" Finn shook his head, chuckling.

"Well he'll have us to answer to, won't he?" Scott grinned roughly, clenching a fist, "He deserves to be pummelled to the floor after what he's done to our sons… That bast-"

"Yes, yes, thank you for your input; it was much appreciated, Scott. Please remember we're in a holy place and there are kids around!" Dafydd smiled all-too-sweetly, looking at Alfred out of the corner of his eye.

"Aye, aye, whatever, Dafydd. You know, if our sons weren't as close as they are, I think I really might find you annoying…" Scott gritted his teeth, but smiled sweetly.

"Well, isn't that a shame…" Dafydd growled nicely. How someone can growl nicely Alfred didn't know.

Jack, who was the only one sitting quietly like you're meant too rolled his eyes, "Give it a rest, both of you! You're like children…"

"Nice one, bro." Finn grinned at his brother, "Your nephews would be proud of you. Speaking of, they do look pretty smart, don't you think?"

"Well, let's put it this way; I've never been able to get Alastair to even buy a tie." Scott grinned, "I'm guessing I can either blame Ivy or Owain."

"You know, you four are really loud…" Alfred muttered, getting conscious on how many people were glaring at them – Ivy and Daniel included.

"Sorry…" Dafydd muttered, blushing and shutting up, the other three copying his actions.

Ivy had now reached the front of the alter from her slow walk up the isle in time with Roderich's music. The Kirkland brothers smiled at their mother, all kissing her on the cheek in turn and then going to sit down in their seats, apart from Owain and Arthur, who skipped down to the back of the hall and traded places with Mr. Edelstein at the piano, letting Arthur sit at the stool, and Owain sit at a large harp. With a nod to each other, the two began playing. Ah, Alfred thought, this must be the infamous composition Arthur was trying his best to compose over the weeks. The piece went well with Owain's quiet harp, and somehow put a soothing smile on everyone's faces.

"Thank you, Elizabeta." Ivy smiled at Miss Héderváry.

"Ivy, it was my pleasure, honey," and, with that, the Hungarian leaned down (she was considerably taller than tiny little Ivy) and kissed her gently on the forehead. Taking the bride's hand, Miss Héderváry carefully took it and placed it gently into Daniel's outstretched palm, "Take good care of her," the teacher said, though everyone heard the silent 'or you'll have me to answer to' hanging about the air.

Daniel pretty much ignored Miss Héderváry as she took her seat with Alastair, Peter and the twins and Mr. Edelstein on the other side of the hall. Then, the priest cleared his throat, opening his book and began the service.

"You know," Finn muttered to Alfred, "We've all stood in his place," The rough Irishman pointed at Daniel, "and for all of us, the day that we stood at that alter was the best day of our lives. To this day it still is. Or for me it is."

Alfred smiled sadly, "It's a shame it didn't work out…"

"It really is…" Scott muttered, sounding quite emotional.

"Well, it's our loss…" Dafydd smiled sadly.

Thinking for a moment, Alfred quietly said, "You're all still in love with her, aren't you?"

Dafydd, Scott and Finn looked down at with, a little shocked, but then the three seemed to realise something, and with a look at one another, they seemed to agree to something mentally.

"You know, Alfred, you're one of the smartest American's I've ever met." Scott grinned, "I think you might be right about that."

A/N

N'aww :'D that was fun to write! It finally feels like I'm giving the characters the ending they deserve X'D I'm quite fond of Ivy and Elizabeta's little scene in this chapter, and is it wrong that I bloody love the brother's dad? X'D Is it wrong for the writer to adore their own OCs? X'D they just make me giggle!
TRANSLATION STUFF~

Okay, you probably know that l'amour is 'love' in French, but yeah, just in case X'D
'Diolch yn fawr iawn' is 'Thank you very much' in Welsh ^^

'Au revoir et bonne chance, ma cher' I HOPE is, 'Good bye and good luck, my dears' in French.
And that is it with translation stuff X'D
Also, that 'S&M' place is a real place. I've never been in there, but it does stand for 'sausages and mash' rather than the kinky alternate X'D you dirty minded people! But I've seen pictures of it, and it doesn't look that cosy :I so I changed it! XD
Also, I've just realised that I overuse the face 'XD' XD
One or two chapters left! X'D I plan for one, but hey, it'll probably be two! X'D
See you in the future, loves~