Author's Note- Take a moment to imagine Ivan flipping his scarf over his shoulder like a irritated diva about to lay down some heavy fashion do's and don'ts. You may proceed.

Chapter 13

Matthew's eyes flew open, and he groaned in disgust at the bright light filtering into his bedroom. He pulled himself up, groping at his pillow in half-aware confusion; he did not remember dragging himself from watching television late into the previous night to upstairs, yet he was in bed. He wondered if his father carried him like he used to, but that was when he was much smaller, so he doubted it now. Besides, Francis most likely would not be able to make it a few steps with his occasional hip pains while lugging a much more dense man in his arms. The next possibility would be Alfred managing the climb, but he never came home by the time Matthew passed out, despite his 'All weekend, bro!'

Matthew took a small sniffle, then a shuddering breath before sneezing from the sweet, heavy scent permeating his bedroom. He grunted, annoyed by the many colors before his eyes he could not focus on, so he reached over his nightstand for his glasses. His fingers brushed by something soft and rubbery, certainly not what he wanted. He cringed from the alien feeling, and snatched his glasses from the other side of the mysterious object.

"What the Hell!" Matthew groaned. It was too early in his day to begin fathoming why his bedroom was enveloped in a jungle of tens of different collections of flowers. Reds, yellows, blues, whites; all colors possible littered his dresser, the bookshelf across the room, and even the small television set on its stand.

The rubbery object on the nightstand was the strangest plant of them all. It looked like no other; its stem was dark, almost black, running up to a toothed bulb and tightly clamped over itself. When Matthew lightly touched it, he swore it was warm to the touch. A tag attached to the bulb bottom had fine text printed across it:

Keep me warm.

Matthew sighed, and a tired smile barely lifted his cheeks. "Any normal human being would knock on the door or give a call to say, 'Hey, I'm back!'" He blinked at the carpet a few times, and murmured, "Then again, you're not normal and you're not human."

He pulled away from curiously pinching the strange flower's stem, to rise to his feet and stretch his legs until they cracked. He would have to get breakfast in his belly before worrying about the flowery mess in his bedroom. A door slammed closed as he crept downstairs, signaling someone was already in the kitchen. Matthew expected to see his father preparing breakfast, getting used to someone else making his meals again, but instead, it was Alfred jumping away from the counter and whipping his hand back and forth.

"Ow, ow! Those were my fingers!"

"Al," Matthew drawled.

His brother twitched in fright, and clumsily spun around. "Whoa, dude, you scared me!"

"I can tell."

"Why are you creeping around? Jeez," Alfred uneasily laughed, but with how his face looked from a lack of its usual color and life, it died off pretty quickly.

Matthew gawked at the bags behind Alfred's glasses, "What happened to you?!"

Alfred shrugged, "I guess I stayed up all night." He dug around the fridge again for a bottle of water.

"All night?!"

Not even fazed. Unless Alfred was too tired to react properly. "You sound like Dad." When Matthew waited with a mixture of agitation and worry on his face, he sighed, "I was with Arthur the whole time. Don't worry, we weren't sneaking away to do drugs or anything."

"What?"

Alfred flapped a hand as he pushed by Matthew, "I must have passed out, but it really wasn't for long, so I'm gonna go upstairs."

"So you two made up?"

"Yeah, but I gotta watch out in case he tosses alligators in the pool again."

"Nice." Matthew went to work with his breakfast; scrambled eggs. He glanced behind himself to see Alfred edging out of the room. "Wait! Don't you want anything to eat?"

Alfred surprised him, "Nah, I think I'm going to head to bed before Dad wakes up."

"You're not hungry?"

"More tired than hungry!"

Matthew rushed to the doorway as Alfred shambled up the steps. "W-wait!"

"Mattie, come on."

"We're still going to play video games later, right?"

"Dude," Alfred's shoulders slouched, already filling Matthew with dread before he could spew out any B.S., "We can play them anytime. It's not a big deal!"

"But-!" Alfred slunk upstairs with whatever remaining energy he had. "Well, maybe to you it's not!" Matthew marched back into the kitchen to shove some eggs down his throat.

After a quiet breakfast, a door bounced open, and heavy footsteps thudded above Matthew's head. Francis' voice shot from upstairs, "What in the world are you still doing in bed?!"

Matthew did not catch what his brother whined in reply, but he laughed anyway. He cleared his throat and hummed innocently when Francis thumped down the stairs in a huff. "Honestly, that boy is going to get bed sores!"

"Hi, Papa."

"Oh, a good week gone by, oui? Another week I come closer to leaving my poor boys again."

Matthew gasped, "So soon?"

"Ah, do not sound so sad, Matthieu! I will not be able to go if I see your crying eyes!" Francis pressed an endearing kiss to the side of Matthew's face, who curled his nose but grinned from the attention. "Believe it or not, this is an international interview for one of my older works!"

"That's great! Right?"

"Oui, there is just one problem, though."

Matthew's smile fell. "Uh oh, what would that be?"

"I am going to be interviewed in England!"

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

Keep me warm. Keep me warm. Keep me warm. Matthew reread the slip of paper tied onto the foreign plant. It was warm. Surely all flowers were once living, slowly choking once plucked, but this oddball emitted small ebbs of heat, and the scent of smoke, almost like Ivan.

The upstairs bathroom was the warmest place in the house due to the radiator easily heating the small sized room, so Matthew set the plant in a clear cup of water on a shelf surrounding the rails. After listening to his father panic about getting the Black Plague from the English all morning, the floral scents and silence of his bedroom proved to be a safe haven. He hovered around, lightly brushing his hands against the different flowers and inhaling the various scents. The bouquet of thirteen (he counted) roses of all colors as the centerpiece of his dresser was his favorite, but he swished the petals in slight worry.

These must have been expensive.

Unless...Ivan decided to 'borrow' someone's plants, just like he 'borrowed' their clothes.

Matthew buried his nose in the only blood red bulb in the middle of the rosy collection, letting his eyes slowly close as a wistful smile bloomed amongst the flowers. Petty theft smelled lovely. There was a cry of surprise, and his eyes snapped open as he spun around.

Francis gawked at all the flowers, "Qu'est-ce c'est?! Where did all these come from?"

"Uh, um," Matthew wound up smiling like an idiot. "Surprise?"

His father blinked a few times, still shocked, but his eyebrows soon raised as a grin slowly stretched across his face. "Ah, so my little Matthieu has a secret admirer, or does he know where exactly these beauties came from?"

"Oh, I have a good idea," Matthew ducked his head from the All Knowing Gaze. Anytime someone, by some mysterious chance, expressed, hinted, or even looked at him in a positive light, Francis made sure he had his fair share of teasing about the whole ordeal.

Matthew asked, breaking the distant look in Francis' eyes, "Did you need something?

"What did I tell you about l'amour? Do you still have your doubts?"

"Papa, they're plants, not a love confession."

Francis walked over to the television stand to cradle a rosy bulb in his palm and took a generous inhale. "Ah, that is where you are wrong, Matthieu. The language of flowers is for when words fail to come out!"

"These are friendship flowers. They're from a friend."

"Red roses do not mean friendship, my boy."

As if Ivan knows that. Speaking with flowers could be as crazy as bathing in lava for him. Matthew playfully rolled his eyes, wanting to chase his father out of his room before he could say more weird things, but Francis gave himself a little shake before he could say anything. "Oh, that is not what I wanted to tell you. I will be leaving Sunday morning."

Suddenly, things were serious. "Huh?! That's tomorrow!"

"Do not fret, Matthieu. I have plans for the time remaining."

"As you should."

Francis chuckled, guilty. "Tonight, wear your nicest clothes. I want both of you boys downstairs by five."

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

Alfred pelted down the porch stairs. "I call shotgun!"

Matthew streaked across the yard with near-homicidal intent. "Oh, I don't think so!" Both brothers touched the passenger's door at the same time, squinting menacingly at one another as they waited for their father to unlock the vehicle. "I'm the oldest, so that means I get first pick."

"Nuh-uh! You always use that excuse! Besides, you were a preemie baby! It doesn't count!"

"Yes, it does! Just sit in the back and deal with it!"

Alfred gave his brother a shove on the shoulder. "You deal with it!"

"Hey!" Matthew spat, not retaliating physically. "You always get to be Player 1 in video games, so I should at least get the front seat!"

"That's stupid."

"You're stupid!"

"Ça suffit!" Francis barked as he trailed down the sidewalk. "You will crumple your collars if this carries on!"

Alfred turned to him. "But Dad-"

Francis held up a hand. "I do not want to hear anymore squabbling tonight! Both of you sit in the back!"

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

"I want chicken fingers."

Francis pointed out, "Alfred, this is a formal establishment."

"Can I still get chicken fingers?" Matthew clenched onto his menu tighter, growing restless with his stomach grumbling for food. When neither replied, Alfred huffed, "Oh, fine. I'll get something fancy-shmancy."

Their table went quiet. The waitress taking their orders was a temporary relief, only for it to plunge into silence again once she left. Alfred snuck his phone beneath the table, smiling at whatever was on the screen while Matthew rolled and unrolled his napkin over and over.

Their father tried to bring life to the table, "How is school going?"

Both glanced to him, then to one another before shrugging. Matthew opened his mouth, but Alfred got to it first, "Same thing different day, Dad!"

Francis shook with laughter. "Of course. What was I thinking when I asked that?"

The waitress returned with their salads, and the family immediately set off to eat. Matthew put in quietly, "I...I don't like school that much."

"You are almost done with it, Matthieu." It fell quiet once more, except the crunching of greens, or the sounds of grunting from Alfred as he inhaled his food.

Slightly persisting for conversation, Matthew asked, "So, um, when do you think you're going to come back, Papa?"

"I have yet to know for certain, but I want to come home again around Spring."

"A month?" Alfred groaned, "Dude!"

"I am your father, Alfred. I rather you refer to me as such. I also do not want to hear about this...boxed dinner atrocity again! Eugh!" Francis turned to Matthew. "Take control, Matthieu!"

Alfred let out a pitiful laugh, and Matthew ducked his head. The waitress returned, and the family piped down once more as she took their salad plates. He produced his phone again to tack away on the screen.

Matthew sourly suggested, "Could you put that on silent?"

"How will I know if messages came through?"

Francis said, "You should not be sending e-mails at the table, anyway."

"Dad, they're text messages, not e-mails."

"How am I to know there is a difference?"

Alfred did not respond. Francis eyed the device in disdain, but did not say anything else about it. He lightly sighed, putting a hand to his cheek, and flickered his eyes between his two sons. Since Alfred was in another world, he decided to land his focus on Matthew. "Cher Matthieu, you have all those flowers in your room, and you do know who bestowed them onto you, oui? Care to enlighten me?"

"What's there to say, Dad? I have a bunch of flowers in my room. Woo."

Alfred peeked up, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. "Somebody got you flowers? Ooh!"

Francis asked, "Could you be more vague?"

Matthew fidgeted in his seat, and the cushion squawked beneath him. Alfred giggled at the stupid noises. "What do you need to know?"

"Do you know who gave them to you?"

Matthew lightly whined, "You already asked me that." Francis tipped his head and smiled. "Ugh, if it was who I think it is, then yes, but I still have to talk to him...I mean, them about it."

"Are you going to get them something, too? If you are lost on what to get, I have plenty of ideas."

Matthew's hands balled into fists against his slacks. "I don't think that's necessary, Dad."

Before he could chew it over, Alfred clamped a hand on the table, sapping both of their attentions. "Huh?! Wait, what?" Matthew and Francis stared, waiting for him to elaborate, but he only said, "Um, I...uh..."

"What?" Matthew did not keep the sarcasm from his voice, "Did you come across another scary picture because of your lurking?"

Alfred twitched as if he was going to lunge over his brother, and grew terrified when he did not move. "Mattie! I got to go!"

"What?" Francis scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous, Alfred. We have yet to eat dinner!"

"I-I know, Dad, but..." Alfred shook his head, and made a rough sweeping motion with his hand. "Move, Mattie, jeez!"

Matthew did not have a choice but to slide out of the booth, but he was too slow, as Alfred scrambled across him, sticking his rear end in his face during the process. He looked to his father, confused and disturbed. Francis shot out his seat and snagged Alfred's suit jacket. "Aïe! Not so fast, young man! Where do you think you are running off to?"

Alfred tried to pull away, but could not do much if he did not want to throw Francis to the floor. "Dad, it's important!"

"More important than spending one night with your family? I am going to be gone for over a month!"

Alfred unbuttoned and twisted out of his jacket, away from his father's clutches. "I know, I know! We'll talk on the phone or something! I have to go!"

"Alfred!" Francis shouted, gaping at him jog down the walkway and quickly making his way to the exit. He whipped around and grabbed his own coat.

"Leave him, Papa."

Francis stared at Matthew in shock. "Quoi?!"

"I think Arthur called him. I saw his name on his phone screen when he was crawling away." Matthew limply shrugged. "If Al wants to hang with him over us, so be it. We have a delicious dinner that is going to come out at any moment, so please, let's enjoy it, yeah?"

Francis' mouth clamped shut to a deep frown, and he gave his head a little shake in disbelief. "Alfred acted like it was a life or death situation!"

"To him, it probably was." Matthew could not help but be curious about what happened, but knew that he was going to host an interrogation over his brother later. There would be no twisting out of jackets that time.

Francis still seemed to consider chasing after Alfred, but the waitress had arrived with their dinners. He flopped into his booth with a furious scowl on his stubbly face, glaring at the third plate, untouched, for the rest of the night.