Chapter 10

Francis and Alfred had cleaned up the kitchen while Matthew tried to console a demon that locked himself in the bathroom. The pot of stew was left on the stove, and their father reminded him to tell his friend to grab his bowl with two hands for the next one before retiring upstairs to his office. His brother could be heard trying to impress Arthur with his video game prowess in the living room, but it was quiet between them for a moment.

Once two new bowls of stew were ready, Ivan surprised Matthew by asking, "Can we go outside with these?"

"What about all that 'yucky' snow?"

"Anything would be better than that angel's stench."

Matthew was more than fine to sit outside in the middle of the winter, as long as it was not too windy. The both of them snuck pass the living room doorway, and he quietly closed the front door behind himself as if nobody inside would bother them if he did. They settled on the first stair, overlooking the front yard stretching to the street, and the winter did not seem as frosty at that moment.

Ivan seemed to struggle a bit with handling a spoon, and he choked on the stew, whether he forgot to chew properly or in surprise, "Your father made this?"

"Yeah, it's one of the best things about him coming home. Well, besides seeing him doing fine of course. Do you like it?"

"I like it? Matthew, what if I said this is the warmest and freshest food I had since I came here?"

"You what? But you've been around for almost two weeks now!"

"Yes, and I am very hungry. Would you mind if I went back for seconds, thirds and forths?"

Matthew gave his head a shake when he realized his mouth was hanging open. "Please do. My dad will take that as a good sign." He gazed distantly at the stretch of snowy grass in front of him as the front door shut. "What am I going to do with you? Though, I sort of asked for this, didn't I?"

He quietly laughed to himself, but piped down when a gust of warm air blasted his back as the front door swung open. His brother's voice broke the peaceful atmosphere, "You're seriously taking the rest of the food?"

"Yes," Ivan dead-panned, "I am." With that, he slammed the door once more, and flopped beside Matthew in a noisy thump. However, instead of carrying out a new bowlful of stew, he brought the entire pot outside, and immediately went to town.

"Um...I know Papa said that you could...you..." Ivan only paused in his viscous chowing for a split-second side glance that stopped that poor suggestion in its tracks. Matthew keenly observed, "That's a lot of stew."

"Yes!" Chomp! "It is!"

"Wow." Matthew turned his attention back to the front yard, but his expression morphed into a bright smile from the saneness of it all. "Demonic appetite, am I right?"

Ivan's chewing slowed in confusion. "Yes?"

Matthew snickered into his fist, which only made him even more confused. In just a few minutes, Ivan managed to clean the entire pot, and set it on the porch to put a hand to his stomach. He let out a content sigh and complimentarily pat. "That good?"

"Good puts it very lightly." Ivan dug at his clunky boots to kick them into the grass and further max out his comfort, as much as he could with the cold biting any exposed skin. "Then again, garbage is like fresh meat when you are almost ravenous."

"And we can't have a hungry, hungry demon on our hands, can we?" Matthew leaned forward to prop his chin on his knees. I wonder if we had just avoided a great disaster via large pot of stew.

Once he abandoned his other shoe, Ivan wiggled his toes. "Ah, that feels nice to get those off."

Matthew glanced down to his bare feet, only to exclaim in shock at the large, angry welts decorating his pale skin. "What's wrong with your feet?" He blurted, then flinched. "Sorry, that came out wrong. Are your shoes too small?"

"They may have been. I could not find any footwear to fit my feet. Humans have small shoes."

"We got to do something about those blisters!" Matthew scrambled to stand, and grabbed the dirty pot from the porch. "Come on!"

"Must I? I just grew somewhat comfortable..."

"Ivan!"

Ivan let out a heavy sigh before he lifted himself to his sore feet, snatched his shoes, and hobbled into the warm house.

"Hey!" Alfred called from the living room couch, "Close the door!"

Arthur had also twisted around to gaze at the other man shuffle his footwear into one hand and give the door a good shove, which was enough for the hatch to click. Avoiding any eyes, he kept his head to the floor and went for the hallway's bathroom. It was sort of a new meet up spot of theirs.

However, Matthew breezed out of the kitchen after dropping off the stew pot, and whispered, "Upstairs."

"Hm?"

He only made a beckoning motion from the first stair before sprinting up the others. A narrow hall stretched to the other side of the house, but he ducked into a door about halfway though, which belonged to a much roomier bathroom. "Here," he pointed to the toilet lid, "have a seat while I look for ointment or something."

Relieved to rest his feet again, Ivan eagerly complied and wiggled against the cold porcelain. "This ointment will make the red marks go away, yes?"

"Eh, eventually." Matthew lightly tossed a bottle of hand lotion to him. "Try this. We don't really have anything for blisters specifically, but it'll make them sting less. Having socks will feel better, too. They won't make you feel all gross or sweaty, and they protect your feet from being rubbed raw from your boots."

Ivan tipped the bottle over in confusion before popping up the cap with a slight jump. "I hardly find any socks on the cloth lines, though."

"Clothes lines?"

"Yes! I find it very generous that humans hang their clothing on lines for people who need them! I have not found anything that fits me comfortably yet. What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I...you...you've been going into people's yards and taking their clothes?!"

"I put them back when I am done!" Ivan gave his feet a more vigorous rub. "Is that not the nice thing to do? Should I keep them?"

"No, you shouldn't be stealing people's stuff!" Matthew spat. He sighed and put a hand to his forehead when Ivan let out a low grumble. "Sorry," he started in a softer voice. "There are shops full of clothes. If you buy them from there, you will never have to worry about returning them or getting caught stealing. They would be yours to keep, and they will fit you...if you get the right size."

Ivan's cheeky smile returned, and he resumed nursing his sores. "You will take me to these shops? I do not have a form of currency to get clothing through...legal methods."

"I'm not exactly Mister Money Bags either, so I'll have to ask my Dad for some cash. Wait, let me get you socks first, since you don't have any."

Ivan eagerly hobbled behind him after he left for his bedroom. "Can we go tonight?"

Matthew pushed open his door and pressed against the wall so his company could step into his room. "Aren't you tired? It's getting late, and most of the shops around here don't stay open all night."

"Oh, I hope I get some new clothes soon. When I stop looking like a ragged quilt, call me 'cool,' okay?"

"Ha-ha, okay. You might have to remind me, though." Matthew patted Ivan's back, but snatched his hand away as he walked to his dresser. "Uh, let's get you something warm for your feet for now."

In a suddenly serious tone, Ivan spouted, "Thank you."

Matthew glanced in his direction, surprise all over his face. "O-of course!"

"Together, yes, Matthew?"

Matthew felt his insides turn into goo, but it was a warming, happy pile of goo. "Yep! Together! Catch!"

Ivan neatly caught the socks. "What a generous man you are!"

"Papa taught me manners."

"What about your brother?"

"I'm not sure. Oh, right!" Matthew snapped his fingers, "I need to talk to him. Stay in here!"

Ivan only giggled as Matthew hurried out of his bedroom and made sure to close the door behind himself. He stuck a hand to his cheek, as if to contain multitude of smiles, before pushing away for his father's office just across the hall. "Papa, can I come in?"

"Quoi? Oh, of course, of course!" Francis looked up from hunching over his notebook at his desk and smiled warmly at his son. "What is it you need, my boy?"

"I, um...I kind of would like to borrow your debit card from you. I-if that's okay? I don't really have enough from the bookstore to buy some things from around town, and-"

"You 'kind of', or you do?"

"I do! It's for new clothes. I'll look for things on sale, and I won't break the card or lose it-"

Francis held up a hand, and Matthew's shoulder's slouched. A playful smile crept onto his' face. "I do not need to hear things I already know."

Matthew let out a soft sigh of relief. "Papa..."

"As long as you do not go over twenty."

Matthew tried to look happy, but could feel it on his face that he failed miserably. "Twenty...dollars?"

His father scoffed and chuckled. "What kind of man do you take your Papa as? Non, silly Matthieu. Twenty hundred."

"Hundred?! Papa-"

Francis swished a hand, turning to the tattered notebook on his desk. "You should buy yourself a nice dinner for two, if that friend of yours is tagging along." Matthew did not budge from his spot, so he gave him a confused look. "Do you think you are not allowed to indulge in life every now again when your brother can spend his allowance on candy and games?"

"I guess I never thought of it that way."

"Think like that no more," Francis told him with a wink. "I will give you my debit card after breakfast tomorrow. I will be making your favorite."

"Really?" Matthew gasped excitedly. He cleared his throat and nodded, acting cool, "Thanks, Papa. I mean it."

"Oh, and Matthieu?"

"Yeah?"

"It is getting rather late. I am sure your friend's family will be worried if he is out at this time."

Matthew smiled uneasily at his father's ignorance. "Of course, Papa. I'll tell him." He quietly closed the door, and a broad grin broke across his face before he sprinted down the carpeted hall on his toes. He swung his bedroom door open and shut it before turning on the light. A pair of purple eyes looked up in surprise from atop of his bed. "Hey! I'm back!"

"Hello again!"

"Yeah, but my dad says you should go home."

Ivan made a grunt of dissent as he slouched onto the mattress. "My home is so far from here. I would go back to Hell, just to return within a sleep when you wake up. Must you send me away?"

"Oh, you poor thing." Matthew grinned as he sat beside the beast on his bed. "Away with you, and don't let the snow bite you in the behind."

"Matthew! How cruel."

"I'm kidding. Kind of. Do you have anywhere to stay for the night?"

"Yes," Ivan rolled lazily to his other side, his face to the wall.

Matthew pushed off the bed to wander to his dresser. "Well, that's good. I think it'd be best to go before it gets too late. The morning comes way too quickly, trust me."

"I trust you," Ivan glanced over his shoulder, and a broad smile raised his cheeks, "but there is no need. I am already there."

The air spiked with Matthew's sharp intake of breath. "No, no, no. You can't stay here. What if my dad comes in-"

"What business does your father have in your private chambers? That is...weird."

"To you!" Matthew retorted. "And don't call my bedroom 'private chambers,' that is weird. Where would you expect to sleep?"

Ivan flipped over with a great heave and patted the mattress.

"That's my bed."

He patted the bed again with more force, and narrowed his eyes. "Yes, it is."

"I was planning on sleeping on it."

"Would you make me sleep on the floor, Matthew?"

"Hey," Matthew warned against the guilt trip. "I could get blankets and lay them out, so it's not uncomfortable."

Ivan easily countered, "We could be comfortable on your bed."

"It's too small for two people."

"What do you mean? It is not that small, if you do not spread out."

"One of us would be on top of the other!"

"Ah, you say that like it is a bad thing. When it is dark outside, it grows very cold, but we could both be warm..."

Oh God, no! A tiny voice called out in front of Matthew's conscious thoughts, ...Oh god, yes. His voice did a funny jump from the squeezey sensation in his chest, "How about we both sleep on the floor? Then we can both use whatever spare blankets we have, and the ones on my bed."

Ivan lifted his head from its slump against a pillow. "You know how to make a good compromise! Yes, let us leave your bed empty for tonight. Where are these...spares you have?"

"I'll go get them. Can you take everything off my bed and put it on the floor?"

Both went to work, and as Matthew dug out sheets and comforters from the linen closet in the upstairs bathroom, he realized he was having his first sleepover since...he could not remember, so it was too long!

When he snuck out of the bathroom, Ivan exclaimed, "You're back!"

"Hush! You're not supposed to be here."

"Ah, okay, I have to be very hush-hush."

Matthew snickered to himself as he plopped his collection next to the thick blanket spread across his bedroom floor, and began adding layers. Once most of the sheets went for a mattress, both settled into their assigned piles, and he started to giggle again.

Ivan picked up his head and drawled, "That is not being very hush-hush, Matthew."

"Argh, I know, I know." Of course, whenever Matthew should not laugh, he did anyway. "This reminds me what Alfred and I used to do. Whenever Dad was working overseas, and our caretaker was sleeping downstairs, we used to either sleep in his bed, or go into one another's rooms and make piles of blankets and pillows on the floor."

"Are you two that close now?"

"Uh, yeah! Alfred gets on my damn nerves all the time, but...he's my brother. I love him."

Ivan gazed at Matthew's face through the darkness for a moment before putting in, "When I was small, and there was...when I could not sleep, I used to go to my sister's room to sleep in her bed with her as well."

"Oh! You have a sister? Is she like you?"

"I have two, and yes, they are demons, if that is what you are asking."

"Two sisters? Wow, I can hardly handle a single brother at times!"

"Hu-hu, yes, it is as bad as you imagine."

The hush-policy snuck away from the pile of whispering blankets as they excitedly blabbered about anything they could think of and laugh into the late night. From recollecting what they remembered about the day they met (which was not much on both their parts) to the cold weather, Matthew wound up closing his eyes during Ivan's musing of the 'pretty sunset' and never opened them again that night.

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

Matthew woke up on his bedroom floor, which was an unpleasant surprise for a split second or two as he registered his surroundings. He patted the carpet around his pillow for his glasses, but gave up the half-hearted search to turn to his other side. Through the blurriness, he could make out another person laying beside him, head propped up by his elbow.

He rubbed his face, and grumbled, "Too early," before succumbing to the blankets again.

"You are going back to sleep?"

"Five minutes."

"Okie dokie, Matthew. Sleep for five minutes."

After what seemed like a moment of silence, the blankets were torn from his body.

"Gah!" Matthew snapped up, grabbed his pillow, and threw it at his attacker's face. "Seriously, Al, what did I tell you about waking me up like that?"

"Your brother is on the lower floor." Ivan turned the offending pillow over experimentally as Matthew resumed his hunt for his glasses.

"Right," Matthew croaked, and things started to look up after his glasses were in front of his face. Ivan set the pillow on the floor, revealing that he cradled a now empty bottle of alcohol against his chest the whole time. "Ivan, where did you get that?"

"I found a whole stock of vodka and wine in the cabinet above the cold box! This one was almost empty when I took it, so maybe no one will notice it disappeared!"

"Cold box?" Matthew slouched onto the makeshift bed again, weak against the pull of sleep that still clutched onto him. "You took from my dad's stash?"

"This was your father's drink? It was not for the whole family?" When Matthew did not reply, Ivan set the empty bottle behind himself, and tugged on his shirt sleeve. "Put that aside and smile! I am going to own new clothes today! Ones that fit! Yay!"

"Hm, yes, really exciting."

"Matthew?"

"Stop shaking me," Matthew feebly protested, and pushed Ivan away with the arm he was not latched onto. "I hate waking up."

"You need to wake up to do things."

Matthew sighed, and crawled a little ways away, loathing the morning light beaming through the curtains. "Five minutes."

"Again? You just had five minutes. You are awake now, so why do you need more minutes?" A loud gurgle sounded from behind him. Ivan put a hand to his stomach, and announced, "All that sleep made me hungry."

When his calls were not answered, a sudden and heavy weight flopped on top of Matthew's back. He gasped, as much as he could get an intake of air as he was pressed into the floor, and demanded, "What are you doing?!"

"Peacefully protesting. Are we going to eat?"

"But it's the weekend...I wanted to sleep in," Matthew's face grew hot against his pillow when Ivan stirred on his back and made himself more comfortable. "I can't get you food if you're going to do that!"

"A tempting offer, but I may need five minutes all of a sudden, too..."

"Hey! Are you literally going to fall asleep on me?!"

Of course, at that wonderfully timed moment, Alfred threw his brother's door open and bellowed, "Mattie! Dad made pancakes!" He cut off, gaping at the pile of blankets and people on the floor. "Oh, you...uh, I didn't know...uh, pancakes, dude!"

With that out, Alfred swung the door shut, and it shook against the hinges, leaving behind a strong silence. Until Ivan echoed, "Pancakes?"

"Yeah, you'll see...as soon as you let me get up."

"You are truly going to get up now?"

"That depends. Are you going to let me?"

"I would not any other time, but," Ivan rolled back to his side of the mess of blankets, "I would like something to eat now."

Matthew picked up his head and glanced around at his sudden freedom, despite the admittedly comfort of heat against his back. He clumsily shambled to his feet, and hurried to the door. "All right, your highness. Stay here."

The scent of breakfast coaxed him closer as he thumped down the stairs. Alfred sat at the island counter, fork and knife in hand, gazing at the second batch of pancakes their father was in the middle of flipping. He even bounced and chanted, "Pan. Cakes. Pan. Cakes." When his brother walked up to the counter, his singing grew into "Mattie! Mattie! Mattie!"

Matthew said, "It's too early and you're being too loud."

Francis looked over his shoulder and smiled at his other son. "I could have not said it better myself." When he set a new plate of fresh pancakes on the counter, Alfred leaped from his stool, but their dad swatted his spatula at him. "For Matthew. You had your first batch already."

Alfred grumbled to himself, "Aw, come on," and flopped back into his seat with his arms drooped over the counter. Matthew had to bite his tongue so he would not snicker, and made his way out of the kitchen. Just as he passed the doorway, his brother's voice called out, "Hey, where are you taking those?"

"Upstairs? I'm doing stuff later, so I'm not spending all morning downstairs over breakfast."

"Oh? What about that guy-"

"I'm going now!"

Matthew darted up the stairs with his larger-than-usual stack of pancakes, and the normal amount was impressive in itself. He closed his bedroom door loudly, telling his family to not disturb him before nudging the lump on the floor. "Hey. You want some food?"

Ivan immediately sat up. "Yes! I would love food!"

"Of course you would." Demonic appetite. Matthew set the plate on his dresser and started to cut a piece for himself.

Ivan inhaled deeply, and asked, "What are these things?" He snatched one from the pile and shoved it into his mouth without waiting for an answer.

"Hey!" Matthew stepped away from the syrup dripping onto the floor. "They're pancakes. My favorite!"

"Mmph! I think it is mine, too!"

"Ugh!" Matthew waved a fork at Ivan grabbing another pancake before he even swallowed his first one. "I guess you don't need a fork then, eh?"

"These are the best! What did you call them?"

"Pancakes."

"Pancakes!" Ivan held one up, smiling at it in wonder.

"You're getting syrup on my carpet! That stuff stains!" Matthew went to snatch the messy thing away, but Ivan growled, jerked back, and crammed the whole damned thing in his mouth. He took another pancake, like anguish did not show in Matthew's eyes. "I haven't even gotten one yet. How many did you just eat? Three?"

"Four," Ivan grimaced. "I am hungry! The only thing I have in my stomachs is stew and hot cocoa!"

Matthew skewered a piece of pancake, but stopped to do a double take. "Did you say stomachs? As in, more than one?"

"That seems odd to you," Ivan noted, and pilfered a piece of pancake. Matthew considered jabbing his hand with a fork. "Do humans not have two stomachs?"

"No, that's weird!"

"Humans are weird!"

"What's next?" Matthew quickly pierced a chunk of pancake before Ivan could take it. "Two hearts? Five kidneys? Eleven toes?"

"Matthew, that is not very nice. You have already seen my feet."

"Speaking of which, are they okay?"

"Yes! Human socks are so thick and soft!" Ivan perked up when Matthew turned away from the now empty plate. "Are you finished? Are we going to do the shopping now?!"

"Hush, hush! After I get dressed and get the money from my dad we will leave. Or, I will leave, and we will meet up somewhere."

"Why can we not leave together?"

"What would I say to my family if they saw you come downstairs with me, when they didn't even see you come inside?" Matthew dug in his dresser for a bit, pulling out clothes and something extra. He slapped the candy bar to Ivan's chest. "Here, if you are still hungry, but you should leave now. The longer you stay, there's a greater chance of my dad or Alfred finding you out. I'll see you later."

"C-c-choh...?"

"Chocolate."

"Chalk-oh-lat," Ivan murmured with a itty bitty smile. He cradled the bar in his hands as if it were a precious gift. "Matthew gave me chalk-oh-lat, so it must be good."

"Goodbye, Ivan," Matthew called out urgently before closing the bedroom door. He hovered, listening to the window creak open. A distant thump followed by an "Ow," drifted through the walls. He considered buying a helmet, though not necessarily for his own safety.