"ALFREEEED!"

The little dirty-blond boy squealed as he ran around the living room in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a sock on his right foot that was hanging by a thread. His father, a slim blond with green eyes and sizable brows, scowled as he chased after the wild boy, with clothes for said boy clutched in his fists. "ALFRED!" he screamed again. "Just put your clothes on!"

Arthur almost got Alfred, grabbing him by the elbow, but the small child squealed as he began to dash even faster in response. It was obvious this was all just a game to him; he smiled and laughed even harder as his Arthur tried desperately to get him to do the simplest task.

Suddenly, Arthur let out a groan of frustration, about to give up; he punched his fists against his thighs in an angry gesture, still grasping his son's clothes. "Alfred! Stop acting like a bloody brat and let me put your clothes on! We have to get going soon!" he shouted out in a last ditch effort to try to get his son to listen to him.

However, upon hearing this, little Alfred, still running around the house like a maniac, just craned his neck to look at Arthur, and stuck out his small pink tongue, giggling. Arthur growled. Why did his oldest son have to be the most energetic almost-five-year-old ever?

Standing just a few feet away, next to the couch, was a much calmer father-son duo. A handsome man with shoulder-length blond hair hummed to himself as he buttoned up the shirt of a little boy with violet-blue eyes and curls so much like his own. After he was done, and had helped the boy put on his small shorts and socks, Francis patted Matthew's shoulders lightly and smiled at him while still bent down to his level. "There you go, mon cher," he said happily, "all done."

Matthew smiled as he glanced down lovingly at his papa. "Thank you, Papa," he replied very politely.

Francis gave Matthew a quick peck on the cheek, still rubbing his son's small shoulders. "Of course, my Matthew."

As he looked into his Papa's blue eyes that had specks of violet in them, saw his strong jawline, the little stubbles on his chin, his hooked nose, and his sharp cheekbones, Matthew suddenly felt an onrush of love for him. Gently, he wrapped his arms around Francis and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which tickled his lips. "I love you, Papa."

Francis smiled, hummed, and ruffled Matthew's blond curls. "I love you too, Matthew."

Matthew continued to stare down at his Papa; he was so handsome, so kind, so perfect. Matthew wanted to be just like him when he grew up.

However, this loving moment between father and son was interrupted when Arthur groaned out to Francis, "Hey, bloody frog—if you're done dressing Matthew, would you mind giving me a hand with your other son, the rascal?" Alfred let out one of his trademark laughs (that was, in the best of situations, charming and cute, but in the worst of situations—like now—frankly annoying) at being given the title of "rascal." He put on an evil smirk as if to prove Arthur's point and stuck his tongue out at Francis.

Francis sighed. He looked from Matthew to Arthur to Alfred, and then back again. "Wait one moment, cher," he told Matthew, "Papa has to help Daddy with Alfie real quick."

Though Matthew couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, he meekly accepted this and nodded. As he watched Francis go over to try to tame the wild dingo named Alfred, Matthew let out a sigh; he jumped up onto the couch, swinging his thin little legs back and forth, folding his chubby hands into his lap, as he waited for his daddy and papa to be finished dealing with his brother.

This was in no way an uncommon occurrence in the Kirkland-Bonnefoy household; in fact, this was the norm of what would happen during the day. Alfred would always run wild, either throwing a tantrum, making a mess, being defiant, or just straight-up causing so much chaos and noise that he needed to be wrangled up—and Arthur was usually the one to do this. Francis would typically be either playing with, watching TV with, or snuggling with Matthew as this went on. However, Alfred would become too much for Arthur alone to handle, and he always had to call out for his husband to help him. This would force Francis to leave his son, Matthew, by himself. Matthew knew his papa didn't like to do that—it showed in his eyes every time he gave his youngest son the quick little glances, the pitying shoulder squeezes; he always told Matthew he needed to help daddy with Alfred real quick. It was always real quick. But it always turned out to be quite a bit longer than real quick. Multiply that by about three to five times in a single day, and little Matthew hardly got any of his Papa's time. He got even less of Daddy's time. But this was normal for Matthew. The little boy didn't particularly like it, but it was normal.

Matthew, who'd been staring into his lap for the past few minutes, looked back up when he suddenly heard laughter. Alfred's laughter...along with Daddy's laughter. Arthur now had Alfred pinned to the ground playfully, and was tickling him. Francis was standing up a few feet away, crossing his arms. "Watch out, Alfie—the tickle monster's coming!" Arthur exclaimed as he held his hands up high over Alfred's stomach. Then his scrunched fingers came crashing down onto the boy's belly, making him squeal and kick desperately, but yet laugh merrily at the same time.

Francis tsk-tsked, and cocked a brow. "Arthur, mon amour...I'm no parenting expert, but I'm pretty sure one of the most basic parenting rules is 'do not reward bad behavior.' And I'm pretty sure playing 'tickle monster' with a child who's been getting yelled at for an hour to get dressed is doing exactly that."

Arthur didn't respond, not immediately. He continued to tickle Alfred's stomach. He then looked up, panting from the physical exertion he'd just been put through, despite himself. "Well, at least the kid's got his socks and pants on now," he replied.

It was true—Alfred now had both his socks on his tiny feet, and his blue jean-shorts had been put on, too. However, his shirt was still grasped in Francis' tight fists.

Francis shook his head, tsk-tsked again, and threw the shirt down to the floor, defeated. "Fine," he scoffed. "Have fun trying to get him to put his shirt on now."

Arthur didn't listen, just kept on giggling and tickling Alfred. This was clearly now a game for him, too. Alfred had broke him down. Francis sighed; he sat back down on the couch along with little Matthew. He wrapped his arm around his son as they watched Arthur attempt to finish getting Alfred ready.

Finally, nearly twenty minutes later, Arthur (somehow) managed to get Alfred to put the rest of his clothes on. The family put on their shoes and headed out to leave.

Arthur and Francis were going to take Alfred to the house of his little buddy, Kiku. Then, they told Matthew they were going to take him somewhere special—just the three of them.

Matthew immediately perked up when he heard this. However, Alfred let out a squeal and proceeded to kick the back of Arthur's driving seat. "Why?" he asked. "Why can't I go with you?"

Francis turned to look at Alfred and beamed in a fatherly way. "Honey," he said, "You remember when we were talking about how some days, me and Daddy are just going to take you out to do something fun, without Matthew? And how we're going to do the same thing with Matthew?"

Alfred continued to whine. He began to beat on the back of Arthur's seat. "But why? Where are you guys even going? I wanna come with you!"

Arthur looked into his rearview mirror and snapped sternly, "Alfred! Stop kicking my seat!" Then he lowered his voice and softened it. "Matthew needs time with just the pair of us, love. Today's his day to do something fun. You'll have your days, too—just not today."

Francis craned his neck to grin again. "And besides, you get to play with Kiku today! All by yourself."

"Absolutely," Arthur said, his tone still light.

However, Alfred still didn't take kindly to this. He let out a grunting noise, and pouted his lower lip, crossing his arms.

Next to him, Matthew continued to smile quietly to himself, though. He looked out the window. He wondered where his papa and daddy were going to take him. He'd never been on a trip just with the two of them before, without Alfred. Sure, sometimes he went on special "dates" with Papa for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and sometimes he went to go to the movies with him, without the intrusion of his older brother. One time Matthew had gone out with Daddy to go clothes shopping, and then they'd stopped at Bob Evans to eat. But, Matthew had never gone somewhere with both of his parents before—alone. Without Alfred. Alfred just always had to be tended to first; therefore, he warranted the most attention. But not today.

Soon, they'd dropped Alfred off at Kiku's house, and drove off. It felt weird to Matthew, to look over to his left and not see his brother in his little blue booster seat. But it also felt good, in a way. The car wasn't as noisy—only the soft piano music Papa liked to have on the radio filled the quiet void (Arthur liked hardcore, rock music, while Francis had a taste for softer songs—they usually argued mildly over what was going to be played on the radio in the car whenever they went out. This time, it was Francis' turn to choose the station, though).

Even Arthur cracked a joke about it, a few minutes into the ride, as he looked through his rearview mirror. "You still back there, Matthew?"

Francis chuckled along. "I thought we'd left our son for a minute, mon amour—that's how quiet it is!" He reached over to pat Arthur's arm.

Matthew giggled too, covering his mouth with his hand. When he did, Arthur cracked an eyebrow jokingly. "Pardon? Did I just hear a noise?"

Francis snorted. "No—it's just your imagination."

Matthew laughed even louder, and so did his parents. Finally, when it had died down, Matthew leaned over to grasp the headrest of Francis' seat, poking his blond head up curiously. "Where are we going, Papa?" he asked.

"Somewhere special," he answered simply.

Matthew looked at his other father's face, to see if he'd offer some hint. But he didn't—his pale face continued to look stoic as he focused on the road.

Matthew then leaned back. He held his stomach as it—almost on cue—began to rumble hungrily. He crinkled his brows and asked his fathers, "Can we go somewhere to eat first? I'm hungry."

Arthur gave a toothless smile. "We are going somewhere to eat."

The small curly-haired boy let out a little gasp. "Where are we going? McDonald's? Wendy's?" he began to guess.

Francis cocked a brow knowingly. "No..."

"Somewhere bigger than that," Arthur elaborated. "A dine-in place."

A small pause. "Your favorite place to eat in the world," Francis continued.

Matthew tapped his small chin as he began to think. He then let out another gasp, this time a bigger one. "We're going to IHOP!" he cried in triumph.

"Correct!" Francis announced, as if Matthew were a contestant on a game show.

Matthew squealed as he began to jump around in his seat giddily. "Yay! Thank you, Daddy and Papa!" If he could've reached over to give them the biggest hug possible, he would have. He loved IHOP! And this was going to be an extra special treat, because it was lunchtime, not breakfast time.

"Of course," Arthur and Francis replied in almost comical unison.

Matthew continued to smile to himself and bounce happily in his seat until they were at the restaurant. When the family got there, Matthew latched onto both his papa's hand and his daddy's hand, walking in between them as they headed inside.

Soon enough, they were all snug in a booth. Matthew had a whole one to himself, while Arthur and Francis sat across from him. A redheaded waitress came to ask what they wanted to drink; the two dads both got coffee. "Matthew," Francis said, "tell the pretty lady what you want to drink."

The little boy cowered. He meekly pushed his kiddy menu towards Francis, and pointed to the picture of a glass of orange juice. "Tell her that," Papa urged gently.

Matthew glanced up at the waitress, who smiled down at him invitingly; however, he continued to behave shyly. Francis then looked up at the woman and said, "I'm sorry; he's a bit timid. He wants the orange juice."

"That's fine," she said, writing their order down.

While Matthew was busy coloring and drawing on his menu, he felt a tap on his arm. He looked up; it was his daddy. "What are you going to get to eat, love?" he asked, smiling.

The boy began to mumble in thought. "Hmm..." He studied his menu curiously. He was definitely going to get a pancake, that was for sure—pancakes were his favorite food. "I want this one," Matthew said. He pointed at a good-looking pancake that had sprinkles, whipped cream, and icing on it.

Arthur chuckled. "The Jr. Cupcake Pancake combo?" He let out a whistle. "Okay. You better be lucky we're treating you, though."

Francis smiled. "What I think your daddy's trying to say, cher, is why don't you get a side of fruit with it, too?"

"Okay," Matthew agreed. Then he brightened up as his fathers let him look through their adult menus. "Hey, Daddy—you should get the cupcake pancakes so we match!"

Arthur cocked a thick brow and let out a snort, which made Francis laugh. "No..." the green-eyed man drawled out, patting his slender stomach. "Too much sugar for me, love."

Matthew made a big deal of pouting and frowning exaggeratedly. Francis mimicked his young son's actions, cupping his hands underneath his chin as he looked puppy-dog eyed as his husband. "Amour...he wants you to match with him..." he pleaded, making both Matthew and Arthur chuckle.

"No," Arthur replied, trying to stay firm even as he smirked. "Besides, I've already eaten breakfast; I wanted to get the fish and chips."

This immediately caused a big ruckus from both Matthew and Francis. "Fish and chips?! Sacre bleu, Arthur, you eat fish and chips every day. This is a breakfast place. Get an omelette, at least," Francis urged.

Matthew began to giggle, covering his mouth with his tiny hands. He saw some people sitting around them turn and stare at the family, surely because of Francis' loud tone, and perhaps his heavy accent and use of the phrase sacre bleu too. Arthur seemed to notice this as well and began to blush out of embarrassment. "Francis, you git, stop yelling. People are staring."

Matthew died down in his laughing, and cupped his hands under his chin, just as his papa had, and gave his daddy puppy-dog eyes. "Daddy..." he whined, "I want you to get a pancake so we match."

"Yeah, Daddy," Francis pleaded too, once again copying his young son's actions to prove a point, jokingly. He scooted closer to his husband until their bodies touched, and he laid his chin on Arthur's shoulder.

Matthew saw his daddy blush wildly, though it didn't seem to be because of the stares that were practically gone now. Even Papa's face tinted a little pink as he smirked at his lover, and squiggled his brows in a way Matthew saw as weird.

Arthur sighed, mutely saying that he'd finally relented. "Okay, okay, you guys got me." He reached his hand out and used it to ruffle Matthew's hair. "I can't say no to those eyes," he admitted, smiling a warm, glowing smile that was reserved just for his sons, and occasionally his husband. He then turned back to Francis, and pointed a finger accusingly. "You, on the other hand...you are too old for that. Stop acting like a git." Francis just snorted in return, and bonked Arthur on the head as he began to lean back. The Frenchman winked at Matthew, who gave a small grin back.

"Okay, okay..." Arthur said, "I'll get these blueberry pancakes."

Francis and Matthew both did an exaggerated motion of cheering. Arthur rolled his eyes, closing his menu and waving his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah—you guys happy now?"

"Yes," Matthew said.

"I'll match with you, Matthew," Francis said. "I'll get the cupcake pancakes."

Matthew beamed. "Yay!" he exclaimed. Francis held out his hand for a high-five, which Matthew gladly returned.

Soon, the waitress returned, and they ordered their food (Matthew once again being too shy to do so on his own). Francis and Arthur had a light conversation while waiting for their meals, while Matthew colored. The boy even hummed a little as he mixed red with green, blue with purple, yellow with orange, and so forth; he was just happy and content being quiet, and listening to his fathers talk amicably. He felt warm and comfortable just by being with them.

The food arrived. Francis and Matthew dug into their "matching" cupcake pancakes, while Arthur ate his blueberry ones.

Matthew loved his food—it tasted so good. And, better yet, he was getting the one-on-one time he so craved with both of his fathers. It felt good to be able to talk all on his own, and not be interrupted by Alfred. Matthew told his fathers what he wanted for his fourth birthday, which was approaching quickly; he told them how he was nervous to start his swimming lessons in a few weeks, nervous to start PreK in the fall; he told them about all the shows he'd watched, fun imagination games he'd played, his favorite toys and books...and Papa and Daddy nodded, and listened, and replied back happily, attention fully on him and nobody else.

Francis, Matthew, and Arthur all finished up the lunch nicely, and headed out the door swiftly. Matthew, who'd grown sleepy from having his belly filled to the brim with hot food, was nodding off in Francis' arms. He felt so, so good, laying in his papa's warm, burly embrace, stomach stuffed so delightfully with sugary and fatty goodness he felt that its small capacity was going to burst. A heavenly feeling came about him as he felt his curls being lightly blown by the wind, and he felt himself bounce just slightly as his papa carried him to the car.

Matthew was already asleep, peacefully, when he was strapped into his carseat, and when Arthur began driving. The little boy had already felt as if he were having the best day ever. Little did he know his fathers would have something in store for him that would amplify that notion to about a thousand times over.

Matthew woke up when he felt himself jostle at the sudden movement of being unbuckled from his carseat by Arthur. The little boy's eyelids fluttered open, and he asked groggily, "Mm...are we home, Daddy?"

"No!" Arthur replied. "Your fun day isn't even over yet, love! Wake up!"

Surprised at his daddy being so cheery, Matthew rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes and looked up to see what the man was talking about. Indeed, they weren't home. They were at a very large place, Matthew could tell that; they were in a parking lot, with lots of other cars parked. Being a mild-weathered early summer Tuesday, it wasn't exactly jam-packed; but nonetheless, a decent amount of families held the hands of children, ranging in size from baby-small to teenage-big, as they headed towards the entrance of the strange large building.

Matthew saw his papa walking in front of daddy, his gorgeous wavy hair looking platinum on the top, by the roots, and strawberry blond on the tips as it shined in the sun. Francis turned to catch his child staring at him and smiled. "Can you guess where we are, Matthew?" he asked.

Matthew just continued to stare, still looking dumbfounded. Seeing his son's blank expression, Francis gave some clues: "It's got lions and tigers and bears..."

"Oh my," Arthur finished off, chuckling.

Matthew thought as he sat in Arthur's arms. Then, suddenly, a lightbulb popped in his head. "We're at...the zoo!"

The huge grins on both the fathers' faces gave it away. This caused Matthew to basically start to go wild with excitement. He fought in his daddy's arms to get down, and when Arthur finally planted the boy's tiny feet on the concrete, Matthew zoomed ahead, trying to be the first one in the building.

Francis laughed. "Matthew—wait up, darling!" He began to chase after the small child.

Finally, Matthew stopped and turned back, settling on holding his papa's hand. Still, he tried his best to walk as fast as he could. If IHOP was Matthew's favorite place in the world, the zoo was his very close second.

Matthew couldn't contain his excitement; he wasn't even upset at having to wait in line, he was so happy. Once his fathers had paid to go in, they were finally free to roam.

"What do you wanna go see first, Matthew?" Francis asked as Matthew continued to pull on him, like a young, energetic dog on a leash.

Matthew didn't even have to hesitate when he exclaimed, "Polar bears!" Those were his favorite animals of all time. Favorite, favorite, favorite—so many favorites today. Today was a good day.

Arthur let out one of his sophisticated, melodic British laughs. "We can go see them in a bit, darling," he said, "but why don't we see the reptiles first? They're all in here."

"Okay!" Matthew replied, willing to agree to anything, as long as it meant fun, joy, and seeing something exciting and new.

So, that's what the family went to see. They saw frogs, tortoises, long lizards, every single one green, slimey, and bulky. They even saw two turtles sitting on a rock—one seemed to be resting on top of the other, its..."paws"...resting on top of the other one's shell. "Daddy?" Matthew asked when he saw the reptiles. "What are those two turtles doing?" He pointed at what he saw.

Arthur looked where Matthew was pointing, and once he did, he let out a little urk! noise. He covered Matthew's eyes, and chuckled nervously, steering the small boy away from the turtle exhibit. "Erm...let's go over here instead—shall we, Matthew?"

Matthew heard his papa begin to laugh hysterically. "What were they doing?" the little boy asked again.

"They were...just...playing, darling," Arthur replied, while Francis continued to howl.

Arthur finally managed to stir little Matthew's (and Francis') attention to a large tank full of stingrays. Matthew looked at all the other boys and girls, dipping their arms in to touch the creatures, which were all swarming in the water, streaks of blue and black and white flashing by as they did so. Francis held Matthew up so he could look down into the tank. "Do you want to touch them, Matthew?" Daddy then asked.

Matthew looked up at his father, eyes wide and nervous. "No..." he squeaked nervously.

Arthur chuckled sympathetically. "It's okay," he reassured softly. "Look at all the other kids putting their hands in. The fish won't hurt you."

Matthew peered down at the animals. He then again looked at the other children (and adults) poking their arms and hands in; they didn't seem to be getting hurt. And the stingrays didn't jump up to bite anyone, either; in fact, they kept their bodies and heads safely in the water, albeit near the surface. "Mmm...okay," Matthew finally complied, still slightly skeptical.

Arthur gently grasped the small wrist of Matthew, while he was still being held up by Francis, and slowly pushed his tiny hand down into the water, which felt cold and nice, like a pool. The boy waited anxiously for a ray to come. When one began to approach, Arthur said, "Okay, love, here comes a big one—get ready..." He pushed Matthew's hand in deeper.

Matthew let out a shrill shriek as his hand came into contact with the stingray's back. It felt cold and smooth, and just slightly slimy. He still stared into the water with wide-eyed wonder even when the ray passed him.

Francis laughed, rubbing his fingers on Matthew's torso. "Was that fun, Matthew?"

The small boy looked up at his papa, and smiled. "Yeah—it was!"

"You wanna try again, Matthew?" Arthur asked.

He thought for a minute, deciding between the twitchy anxiousness he still felt and the rush of excitement that was still passing through him. "...Yeah!"

"Well, get ready then, love, 'cause here comes another big one."

Matthew continued to touch the stingrays, letting out the same shriek every time he did so. He felt so brave, so grown-up just by having the courage to touch them. Alfred—his big brother—had never done something like this. Hah.

Finally, after the excitement of touching the thin fish had died down, the family headed outside to see more animals. Little Matthew was fascinated by every single one—from the pearly pink flamingos with the long black legs, to the sleepy lions, to the huge gray elephants, to the stocky capybaras that looked like giant hamsters, placed in with the anteaters, whose lengthy tongues darted in and out of their mouths. Arthur and Francis took pictures along the way, and occasionally asked Matthew to pose in front of the animal exhibits.

Only when they got to the arctic exhibit did Matthew start to become really excited. He only took one glance at the snowy leopards and the penguins before he zoomed past to look at the polar bears. The boy's lavender eyes sparkled as he pressed his hands to the glass, watching the big white creatures dive in and out of the water. Papa held him up once again so he could look closer, while Daddy touched his shoulder. "Your favorite spot, huh?" Arthur asked, pinching Matthew's cheek lovingly.

"Yeah," Matthew could only breathe out. He began to struggle in Francis' arms again, now wanting to go on the ground again so he could see the bears swim. Francis complied, and Matthew once again peered into the blue, blue water.

Suddenly, one of the biggest bears dived down into the water, and swam right past Matthew, who gasped in shock. The animal must've seen the little boy's curious face, or perhaps his big astonished eyes, for he placed his paw up to the glass, right against Matthew's face, as if he were trying to touch him.

"Papa, Daddy, look!" Matthew squealed to his fathers. "He sees me!"

Arthur chuckled. "That means he likes you!"

Francis smiled down at his son. "He's thinking, 'who's this handsome little boy?'"

Matthew returned the smile, blushing at the comment. He then stared back at the glass, where the bear's paw lingered, until the large animal swam away, probably to play contently, entice some other excitable young child, or to just chill in the water.

Matthew continued to have the most heavenly time at the zoo. He saw other animals, and there were even fun zoo-related activities to play outside, sort of like at a museum. Matthew felt special as he strolled through with his fathers, his left hand holding Arthur's hand, while he used his right one to hold onto Francis'; they occasionally swooped him up into the air, using solely the power of their manly arms, as if Matthew were a human swing.

Finally, when the family was about ninety-five percent done looking at all the zoo exhibits, they stopped to get some snacks. Francis and Arthur each got a soda and a bag of chips, while they let Matthew get a huge bag of popcorn and a tall cup of cold lemonade. The boy hadn't even realized he was that hungry and thirsty until he took his first handful of the salty, buttery corn and popped it into his mouth, and then washed it down with a sugary swig of the juice.

Since Matthew had been such a good boy at the zoo, his fathers decided to let him look around the gift shop—and, an even bigger treat indeed, they allowed him to choose one gift. Matthew blinked up at his fathers when they'd told him this, filled with so much love for them he felt he was going to burst. "You mean it, Papa, Daddy?" he asked.

Arthur only nodded, his smile a mile-wide, while Francis swooped Matthew up and twirled him around before planting him safely back on the ground. "Of course—anything for our little sweetheart, no?"

Matthew looked up again, not only at Papa, but at Daddy too. He then realized something that was quite mature for a boy of his tender age: he was being cared for to a degree that he'd never had before. At home, and even out in public most times, everything was always about Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. It was neither Arthur's nor Francis' faults, truthfully—Alfred was just simply a high maintenance child. But Matthew wasn't; he was always the quiet one, the reserved one, the one that could do most everything by himself, and had learned, over time, to tend to his own needs. Today was different, though. Matthew was in the spotlight today. He was the apple of his papa's eye. And the apple of Daddy's eye, too—even though Matthew never thought that would be the case.

After this had all passed through Matthew's brain, he smiled at Arthur and Francis with a tenderness he never had before, mutely screaming thank you to them. For everything they'd done. Not just today, but throughout his whole life. They tried. They really did try. Then, the small boy raced around the gift shop to pick out a souvenir.

Matthew thought he was pretty dead-set on getting a book called The Animal ABC's, until he saw it. He laid his eyes on a stuffed polar bear toy so big it was almost the size of himself; it had beady black eyes, a downturned mouth with a button nose, and round ears. Matthew let out a little gasp when he saw it, and tugged on his papa's sleeve. "Papa! I want this bear!"

Francis smiled, and reached up to grab the stuffed bear. He inspected it, and noticed it had a little name tag hanging off of it. He opened it up and read what it said inside, cocking his head to the side just slightly. "Hmm...Kuma...jiro?" he questioned, trying to pronounce the name, saying it like Kumajeroo. He then looked up at the woman working at the cash register, and asked her about the toy. "Mam—I'm sorry, but my son wants to buy this bear. How do you say its name? Kuma...jiro?"

The woman smiled. "Kumajiro," she corrected.

Francis chuckled. "Odd name for such a small bear, no?"

The lady laughed. "Yeah," she admitted. "We actually got that bear from a toy-making company in Japan. Apparently, Kumajiro means 'white bear.'"

Francis puffed his lower lip musingly, and turned back to look at the stuffed polar bear. "Huh. Interesting. Well, you sure you want this, cher?"

"Yeah!" Matthew exclaimed.

Francis handed the bear to the lady. After she'd scanned it, she smiled down at Matthew, handing him the toy. He accepted it with wide eyes. As he stared down at Kumajiro, Francis patted his head. "Say 'thank you,' Matthew," the father prompted.

Matthew looked up shyly, blushing a bit. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The woman smiled. "You're welcome. Have fun with your bear."

As Francis and Matthew went to go meet Arthur, the little boy looked down at his new toy as he walked, rubbing his stubby thumbs over the bear's stomach. What had that lady said his name was? Kuma...jimu? Kumahiro? Whatever it was, Matthew knew he'd just found his new favorite stuffed animal.

As he looked down at the bear, the kiddish imagination took over in Matthew's toddler brain, and Kumajiro grew a voice. Wh-Who are you? the bear asked him, his black eyes seemingly growing larger and more life-like.

Matthew gave the bear a silly you type face. The softest of grins crossed his lips. "I'm Matthew," he answered.

Kumajiro did an imaginary tug on Matthew's sleeve. When are we going to be home? I'm hungry. I want my favorite food—pancakes!

"Pancakes are my favorite food too, Kumasante," Matthew told his new friend. "We can see if Papa'll make them when we get back."

Kumajiro, seemingly satisfied with this, nuzzled down into Matthew's chest, already beginning to snore sleepily. The boy stroked his ears, the back of his soft head, as he wrapped his arms around him.

Francis looked down curiously, hearing his son Matthew talk—in little meek whispers, as was his normal voice. He saw the boy with the bear pressed up to his chest; he watched as Matthew picked up the bear's arm to wrap it around his own, to create the allusion that Kumajiro was hugging him. Francis smiled and thought to himself, awww... he must be "talking" to his bear. Francis chuckled to himself—the wit and imagination a young child could possess was sometimes sweet and cute beyond words.

When they'd gotten to Arthur, the British man immediately began making a fuss over the bear. "My, Matthew, what a lovely stuffed animal you've picked out!" He went to touch it, until Matthew stopped him.

"Daddy, you have to be quiet—Kumaboro's sleeping," Matthew said in a tone that was a bit on the edge of stern.

Arthur grinned, eyes widening a little in surprise. "Oh," he replied quite awkwardly. "Okay, then, love." He then looked at his husband, who winked at him.

"Matthew, cher," Francis corrected, glancing down at his son, "his name is Kumajiro—not Kumaboro! You're not going to be a very good owner if you can't even remember his name!"

Matthew, taking this joking comment seriously, gasped a little out a fright, his eyes widening as he clutched the bear even tighter to his chest. "No..." he muttered. "I-I won't forget his name again!"

Francis and Arthur just laughed as this, exchanging those typical fatherly glances that said look how sweet our son is. Matthew, however, continued to hug Kumajiro as tightly as he could. He would never forget him. Never.

Matthew still allowed the bear to "sleep" in his arms, even as he was buckled into his red carseat, and the family drove home, finally. On the way, of course, they had to stop and pick up Alfred from his friend's house. When the older boy hopped inside, he began to interrogate Matthew. "Where did you guys go?" Alfred demanded to know. Then, he grew even more suspicious seeing the toy in Matthew's arms. "What's that? Is that a new toy?" Moving as close as he could to his brother, what with being restrained by his seatbelt, Alfred tried to touch the bear. He gasped. "That is a new toy!"

Matthew smiled at his brother, though at the same time tried to swat his hand away. Kumajiro was still sleeping. "It's a polar bear," he informed Alfred. "His name's..." Matthew had to think very hard—he couldn't forget his name again. "...Kumajiro." Feeling on top of the world, like he could do anything, Matthew smirked savagely at Alfred. "And he's even cooler than Tony."

Tony was a stuffed alien toy Alfred had, with gray skin and red eyes. Alfred gasped in shock when he heard Matthew say that. He began to squirm. "No he's not! Tony is the awesomest in the world! I mean, the awesomest in space, cuz he's an alien! What kind of name is Kumajiro anyway? A stupid name, that's what." Then he shouted, clutching at his seatbelt desperately to try to free himself. "DADDYYYY! Why does Mattie get a toy when I don't?! That's not fair!" He kicked the back of Arthur's seat.

Arthur looked into his rearview mirror, his black brows furrowed together angrily. "Alfred! Stop your kicking right this instant! Today was Matthew's day with us—he was allowed to get a toy!"

Since Arthur was driving, and couldn't do much more in the way of discipline, Francis took over. "Alfred—you do not have to get a toy every time Matthew gets one. It was his day with us, and he behaved very well—that toy was his treat."

Alfred, not accepting either of his fathers' answers, continued to scream and kick the back of Arthur's seat ferociously, still wailing about how he wanted a new toy, too.

Finally having enough, Arthur shouted, "That is it, Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy! If you don't stop kicking and shouting right this instant, all the toys from your room will be taken out, and you won't get to play with them for an entire day! No ifs, ands, or buts!"

This finally caused Alfred to pipe down, though he still remained cross; he folded his skinny arms over his little chest, face still beet-red, and he angrily glared out the window.

Matthew couldn't help but smirk to himself as he glanced out his own window, Kumajiro still tight in his grasp. He loved his older brother, he really did; they did everything together—they lived together, shared the same bedroom, and they were basically best friends, however different they were.

But it wasn't like Matthew felt bad for his brother when Daddy and Papa took his side in an argument.

"And the beautiful princess and her handsome prince lived happily ever after—the end." Arthur closed the story book and hoisted a pajamaed Alfred off of his lap, while Francis did the same with Matthew. "Okay. Bedtime now, boys," Arthur announced.

Matthew immediately yawned in agreement. Alfred, on the other hand, wasn't going to relent. He began to whine, crinkling his thin brown eyebrows close together. "No, Daddy...I'm not tired..." However, the meek tone in his voice suggested otherwise; even the defiant punches he tried to throw at Arthur were rather weak.

"That doesn't matter. You have to go to bed," Arthur replied, his tone just a bit stern. He picked his older son up and tucked him into his small blue bed with the Donald Duck-themed bedding. Alfred continued to whine and beat at Arthur with limp tiny fists, yet it didn't last for much longer after the blankets were pulled up to his rounded chin. Arthur kissed Alfred tenderly on the cheek. "Good night, my love," he told the boy softly.

Alfred grew just a hint of a small grin on his face. Pleased at this, Arthur put on a wider smile as he picked up his son's toy alien, Tony, and placed it in the crook of his arm. The boy held onto the toy tightly.

Likewise, Francis was also tucking Matthew into his red Mickey Mouse bed. He drew his hand over the little boy's tender curls, making them fluff away from his forehead, until they sprung back once the man removed his hand. He kissed Matthew on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, mon cher," Francis said soothingly. "I had fun today."

Matthew smiled up at his papa—his handsome knight in shining armor. He hugged his newfound favorite toy, Kumajiro, to his chest tightly. "I did too, Papa."

Francis began to ruffle Matthew's curls for a little while after that, until he once again gave Matthew a kiss and pulled his blankets up over his chest, and Kumajiro's stuffed chest as well.

Then, Arthur came over to kiss his younger son goodnight. "Have a good sleep, love."

Matthew just nodded as Daddy looked down at him. He stroked the boy's round youthful cheek in a way he never had before. It made Matthew feel anxious, in a way—he wasn't used to getting this much affection from Daddy; Papa was the only one who stroked his face tenderly, and looked into his eyes like that—but on the other hand, he liked it.

Then Arthur spoke. "I had loads of fun with you today, Matthew. I hope we can do it again—okay, love?"

Matthew grinned, and slowly nodded his head. "Yeah. Me too, Daddy."

Again Arthur kissed his youngest son. He just stared down at the boy's face for a few seconds before he said, "You're a special little boy, Matthew—I hope you know that. I love you very much."

"I love you too, Daddy. You're a special daddy, too."

Matthew thought he saw the briefest hint of tears form in his father's green eyes; if he'd been a bit older, perhaps he would've realized what those tears were from. But alas, Matthew just took a blind eye to it, even when Arthur flicked at his eyes gingerly with a thin finger. He then patted his son's chest affectionately through his thick blankets before getting up. After Francis was done kissing Alfred goodnight, the two dads exited the room.

Matthew turned to his left side, his favorite side to sleep on, clutching Kumajiro even tighter to him. Kumajiro was a warm bear—soft and fluffy. Someone good to cuddle with.

He did have a fun day with his fathers. Matthew thought about being stuffed to the brim with warm syrup-slaughtered flapjacks and sweet orange juice; he thought about walking into the reptile building of the zoo, eyes still static-y from the nap he'd just taken in the car; he thought about the polar bear he'd seen, and how cool his paw had looked on the glass; he thought about the greasy smear of butter and salt that had gotten on his hands after eating the zoo popcorn, as well as the delicious taste he'd had in his mouth after drinking the lemonade; he thought about holding Kumajiro for the first time.

The fun day even fell into the evening, long after the family had gotten home. Kumajiro hadn't got the pancakes he'd wanted for supper, but that was okay. Papa would probably make them in the morning, anyway. Later on, Kumajiro had played with Matthew, along with Tony and Alfred. Matthew had wanted Kumajiro to get in the tub with him at bathtime, but Papa had said he couldn't; he'd let Kumajiro stick his paw in the water, though.

Matthew thought if he could have more days like this, he'd be the happiest little boy in the world.

The last thing that crossed Matthew's mind before drifting off to sleep was that maybe, just maybe, he was just as acknowledged, just as important, just as loved as Alfred was.