Life and Style

Chapter 3

Francis was not used to being so openly disliked.

He contemplated calling in to work Monday morning, blurry-eyed and hungover from a date with a bottle(s) of wine throughout the weekend; however, he decided against this, he needed to get more work done on his article (he wondered if last night's drinking could be considered a work expense...).

He arrived to work and put on his bravest face. Would Arthur be in already? Would he still be angry? Francis felt all together too exhausted to fight more today. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't hurt by Friday's events; but, perhaps he should apologize first to save himself from the possibility of a follow-up argument. Their normally petty bickering had progressively grown more personal – did Arthur actually feel that way about Francis? Or were his words merely a projection of the heat of the moment? Francis certainly didn't think Arthur was – mon dieu, what had he called Arthur?

Francis rounded the corner and entered his shared office and his train of thought was immediately lost.

"Les enfants!" he cried, half in shock and half in delight.

Arthur spun around and caught Francis' eye – there was a beat of awkwardness between them before it was broken by a loud, "who are you?" Francis redirected his gaze down to the two boys standing in the middle of the small office. He knelt to their level and smiled happily.

"Bonjour! I am Francis! Who are you?"

"I'm Alfred. You talk funny."

"Hello, Alfred."

The second boy slowly peeked from around his brother, holding a white bear close to his chest. His face was adorably flushed, his voice just barely over a whisper, "I-I'm Matthew."

"Hello, Matthieu!" Francis hazarded a look at Arthur who was standing nearby, arms crossed against his chest and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had certainly seen better days, Francis noticed. His eyes were glazed, shadowed by dark circles, his mouth frozen in a scowl. His shirt was mis-buttoned in more than once place, his tie not even done up, hanging loose around his neck.

"They're my nephews," Arthur sighed, Francis looked back down at the two boys.

"How is having stuffy, old Arthur for an uncle? Is he terribly mean?" Alfred nodded, crossing his arms like Arthur, mimicking his scowl (perhaps it was an inherited trait?). Behind him, Matthew shook his head wildly, hugging his bear tighter. Francis smiled.

"No, Mr. Francis, sir," Matthew said quietly, stepping out from behind his brother. "He is very nice. He let me and Kuma sleep with him last night after we had a bad dream," he held up his bear.

"Did he, now?" Arthur hardly seemed the type. Francis saved the Brit the embarrassment of shooting him a smirk, the room was already crackling with his discomfort.

"Why is your hair so long?" Alfred suddenly asked, "are you a girl?"

"Alfie!" Arthur swooped in and picked up the taller boy, Francis threw back his head and laughed. "That was very rude, Alfred Jones."

"Oh, non, mon petit lapin. I am a man!" Francis stood, dusting off his pants and smiling brightly at Alfred as Arthur sat him in his office chair.

"Oh," Alfred said looking sheepish, "I've only ever seen girls with hair like that. Like mummy!"

"I like it," Matthew said, softly tugging at Francis' pant leg. "I want hair like that too, Mr. Francis, sir." Arthur looked like was at his boiling point and for a moment Francis felt sorry for him.

"Boys, Francis and I have a lot of work we need to do. Do you remember what we talked about on the way here?"

"Yes, Uncle Art." the two boys chimed in unison.

"Right, there's good lads."

Matthew kept pulling on Francis' pant leg until he broke down and knelt again, eye level with the blonde-haired boy and his teddy bear. He shuffled right up to Francis and motioned him to come closer so he could whisper in his ear, "He told us we had to be very quiet and sit very still." Francis exaggerated his shock and Matthew continued, giggling, "I don't think Alfie will be able to be good, though!"

"Arthur..." Francis looked up at the Englishman, "perhaps I could take the boys to the Children's Lit Department?" Arthur's eyebrows knit together in thought. "If they are here all day, I think Lukas might have a thing or two to entertain them."

Lukas Bondevik, a dead-pan and seemingly emotionless man, was hard to imagine as such a highly regarded author of children's books; however, he had an imagination that ran just as wild as Arthur's. He wrote fantastical fairy tales, dreaming up giant trolls, beautiful princesses, fierce dragons, and great child heroes who went on grand adventures. Between Lukas and some of the guys in the art department on the same floor, Francis knew two young boys like Alfred and Matthew would be well entertained. Arthur gave a short nod, looking relieved.

"Come, boys!" Francis stood, hand outstretched to Matthew, Alfred slid from Arthur's office chair and skipped to join Francis and his brother.

"Kuma, too?" Matthew asked.

"Absolutely! I wouldn't dream of leaving him behind with Uncle Art."

Francis took Matthew's hand, who held out his bear to Alfred and demanded he take the bear's other paw, and he led them out of the office and towards the elevators.

"Don't forget your manners, boys!" Arthur called after them.

.

Lukas did not look up when there was a tap at his office door, and simply raised a single, slender finger to indicate whomever was standing there to shush, wait. He was in the middle of a stroke of genius. He heard a soft, "shh, we have to wait quietly for a minute."

Yes. Be quiet.

Lukas returned to his work, swift tap-tapping of his fingers on the keyboard. After a few minutes he heard the distinct frustrations of a child, "when can I talk again?" followed by an exaggerated, "shh, Alfie!"

Lukas heaved an exasperated sigh, his writing would clearly have to wait. He rolled his chair away from his desk and glared in the direction of his doorway, removing a pair of slender glasses from his face and hooking them on to the collar of his shirt. "Ah, Bonnefoy," he said, recognizing the man standing there, two small children holding each of his hands, "What's all this about?"

"Lukas! These are Arthur's nephews, Alfred and Matthieu!" Lukas blinked, expression unchanging, "I thought that they might like to hang out down here with you for a bit, today,"

"No." Lukas was about to roll his chair back to his desk when both boys let go of Bonnefoy and ran forward, hanging on to his knees.

"Will you please tell us a story?" One of the boys asked softly, his hair was fair and he was clinging to a stuffed bear.

"One with trolls!" The brother said excitedly, his hair a dirty blonde, giant blue eyes shining with excitement, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"No!" The one with the bear cried, "I'm scared of trolls."

"Quiet, Mattie," his brother hissed behind a hand, "Mr. Francis said we had to ask for one with trolls or we won't get a story at all!"

The bear was raised to cover a whimpering face. His brother continued, softer, "it's okay, Mattie. I'll hold your hand if you get scared."

"O-Okay," Mattie said after a moment of consideration, the bear lowering to reveal a pair of soft blue eyes, staring wide-eyed at Lukas. "I'd like a story with trolls, please!" he cried out with sudden enthusiasm.

Lukas blinked. He could feel his cheeks heat up and he shot a withering look in Bonnefoy's direction. Damn that cursed Frenchman.

"Fine." He rolled his chair away from the boys and stood. "We have to go to the castle, though. This office is no good for stories."

The 'castle' was what everyone affectionately called an old boardroom that had been changed into a play area. The room started its transformation when the art department began painting a fantastical mural on one of the walls of rolling hills, a forest smudged in the distance, a castle on one side and a shining lake on the other. There were fluffy clouds dotting a great, blue sky that crawled its way on to the ceiling. There were little red and white mushrooms along the bottom, pretty wildflowers with fairies peeking out from behind petals and leaves. There was a smiling imp hanging from the branches of a tree next to the lake, and a mermaid sunning herself on the shore. There were colourful parrots flying in the sky, and a giant troll lumbering near the forest in the distance. The mural seemed to change every time Lukas saw it, the art department constantly adding to it, or painting over sections and redoing them on their lunch breaks. In the bottom right corner were the signatures of all the artists who had worked on the painting, the most prominent, a thick-scrawled 'MATHIAS'

Then, there was the giant cardboard castle. At some point, someone had obtained a new fridge and brought the giant box to work. The art department immediately took it upon themselves to cut and paint it into a tower, English ivy twisting up the painted stone bricks. More and more boxes had slowly been added to it over time until they had a complete castle, with doors and windows cut out so children could go inside and play. Any additions to the castle seemed to happen in the dead of night when everyone had left the office building. While there was no mark as to who created the palace, it was common knowledge that the whole thing was built by the stern-looking Berwald Oxenstierna, and all the delicate flowers, ivy, and bricks were painted by the cheery Tino Vainamoinen.

Needless to say, the entire boardroom was taken over by props and toys adding to the charm of the cardboard castle. It was no longer used for stuffy meetings, but for readings when authors (like Lukas) needed to test story concepts on actual kids. The long meeting table had been replaced with low, brightly coloured tables with an array of mismatched, colourful chairs and giant beanbags to sit in. There were rolls of paper and boxes of crayons for artistic children, a chest of stuffed toys and puppets, and another with costumes and silly hats.

Alfred and Matthew squealed in delight as soon as they saw the castle through the glass doors leading to the boardroom.

"Can we?" Matthew asked looking up at Bonnefoy, who nodded, Alfred was already hauling open the heavy doors and skipping inside. Matthew was hot on his heels, teddy bear flailing along behind him.

"...So cute." Lukas finally sighed. He loved cute things.

"Right?!" Bonnefoy practically squealed. "You'd hardly know they were related to Arthur." He chuckled and clapped Lukas on the shoulder, "I owe you a coffee, Lukas. I appreciate you looking after them." Lukas nodded in reply before allowing his face to relax into a bright smile, rolling up his sleeves he followed the boys into the castle room.

"Alright! Now we can have our story."

.

Francis returned to the office and shut the door, which normally stood wide open, with a quiet click behind him. Arthur, who had been standing uneasily by the window, turned to face him when the door closed.

"Francis," his voice was pleading. Francis wandered slowly towards him until they were standing toe-to-toe. "What on earth am I going to do? Lizzie e-mailed me this morning." Francis began to absentmindedly undo the buttons down Arthur's shirt and properly button it up again. He gave the appropriate sounds to confirm that he was listening as Arthur prattled off about his nephews. "Remember that fan who wrote in a couple weeks ago? That was Lizzie. EK. Elizabeth Kirkland. Dear God, Francis, I don't know what to do with two young boys."

"What did she say in her e-mail?" Francis asked as he brushed his hands down the front Arthur's shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"That she wanted to talk to me before she left but couldn't find the courage and that she is sorry." Arthur heaved a sigh and shut his eyes, falling silent while Francis began to work on Arthur's tie. His hands froze for a moment near Arthur's neck, suddenly acutely aware of how close it felt between them. He slowly, painstakingly, continued tying the tie. Arthur either hadn't noticed or didn't mind, Francis wasn't sure which he preferred to be the case. "She doesn't know when she will be coming back," Arthur opened his eyes again just as Francis slid the knot of the tie up to Arthur's throat. He left his hands resting on Arthur's shoulders and looked the Brit in the eye. Francis was not used to helping people get dressed feeling so intimate, normally he was doing just the opposite. "What am I going to do?" Arthur asked again, Francis' heart fluttered in his chest.

"I don't know," he swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Did you just... dress me?" Francis took this as his queue to back off and quickly retreated, clearing his throat, stepping away from Arthur and sliding in to his office chair by the window. He wiggled the mouse of his computer, the screen slowly awakening. He could feel Arthur's eyes boring into his back.

"You just looked like you needed some help." He hoped that would suffice and Arthur would leave him be. He did not want to answer any difficult or delicate questions about anything to do with Arthur right now - he was still working it out for himself.

"I'm too tired to question your motives, Frenchy." Arthur moved around their desks and sat down in his own chair, "so thank you."

They worked in silence for the rest of the afternoon.

.

Arthur needed routine in his life like a fish needed water to breathe. Without it, he felt like he was drowning. However, considering the direction his life had suddenly taken, he couldn't help but wonder if drowning wouldn't be such a bad fate after all.

He could hear his nephews arguing loudly in the guest room next door.

He lay in his bed and stared at the darkened ceiling, counting back from 20. When he reached zero, he took a deep, calming breath, then banged his fist on the wall, shouting for the two boys to "knock it off, already!"

His mornings, which used to be so peaceful, were now filled with two boys he couldn't keep up with. One kept misplacing his pants and underwear, and while Arthur chased him with clothes for the day, the other was climbing on the kitchen counters looking for breakfast. When Arthur rescued the small boy from certain death, the other was peeling off all of the clothes Arthur just put on him and streaking through the house, yodeling. No more pleasant showers, taking his time dressing himself, carefully shaving. No more simple, quiet breakfast, reading the newspaper and admiring the songbirds out of the kitchen windows, hungry cats his only concern. Now he had a bathroom painted in urine, skinned knees, spilled milk, and screaming.

He was quite certain he would not have survived the first week with the boys if it had not been for Lukas Bondevik, children's author, entertainer, and kid chef extraordinaire. He was a wizard with Matthew and Alfred, who had affectionately began to call him Uncle Lukas. After their first visit to his office in the children's lit department, he brought the boys back to Arthur's office and offered to help him out with dinner. After he witnessed the mess that Arthur's house had become in just a few short days, he had come by after work every day for the entire week. He made macaroni, he got them to bathe in the evenings, and for him they put on their pajamas and marched to bed without a single peep of protest.

If only Lukas were here in the mornings. Arthur banged on the wall again. When silence did not shortly follow, he groaned and forced himself up and out of bed.

He threw open the guest bedroom door and was immediately assaulted by a pillow thrown at his head. Alfred, completely nude, was jumping on the bed holding Matthew's bear over his head in victory. Matthew was sitting on the floor, wailing, cheeks wet from tears and wearing only a pair of Pull-Ups.

"What in the name of Queen Victoria is going on here?!"

Matthew spoke first, "U-uncle Arthur, he stole Kuma from me and won't give him back. Kuma doesn't like heights! He's scared!"

"Matthew called me a mean name, first!" Alfred interjected, still jumping on the bed.

"I did not!" Matthew wailed, sobbing. "I-it was Kuma!" Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not know how to deal with this.

He wasn't quite sure how he managed the situation, but he got both boys to settle and into clothes for the day. He would have to do laundry again, soon. He never understood why mothers complained of never-ending laundry until now. Laundry had always been one of his favourite chores; now, he felt like he was washing clothes every day. He wasn't even sure what half the stains he scrubbed out were even from. How did they get so dirty so fast? It was a mystery.

Both boys ate cereal for breakfast, Arthur didn't have time to eat himself, and then he packed them both into a taxi for the drive to work. Alfred kept pulling on Mattie's hair, Mattie kept hitting Alfred in the face with his teddy bear. Arthur kept thinking that this was too much excitement before he had a cup of tea.

He still needed to get his damn car fixed.

Once at work, Lukas met Arthur at the door and took both boys by the hand and lead them towards the art department without a word. Arthur found his way to his editor's office and knocked softly on the door.

It was a nice office, albeit a touch gloomy. His over-sized desk sat at the far end of the room across from the door, and Roderich sat there, back to a giant window dressed in heavy, plush curtains drawn back by braided, golden cords. The walls on either side of the desk were lined with solid bookshelves, stuffed full with volumes ranging in age from falling apart to brand new. The top of his desk was quite plain: his hands were clasped in front of him atop whatever manuscript he was reading, a red pen at the ready beside him. There was a green glass lamp on one side, and two simple golden picture frames on the other. The first frame, the larger of the two, held a picture of a smiling woman with long brown hair decorated with flowers. The smaller frame was sitting face down. Arthur had never seen the picture it held, but had witnessed Roderich looking at it before replacing it to its current position.

Across from the desk and beside the door was a very large oil painting; you could not see it unless you turned to face the door; it was always the last thing you'd see before you left Roderich's office. It was a scene of a large grand piano, a dark haired man in a long coat perched on the cushioned bench with his back to the viewer and playing with hands clad in dark gloves. There was a silver-haired man with a pale complexion leaning casually on the top, his head turned away, but visible enough to see the large grin spread across his face; despite his hair colour, he looked quite young. He was wearing a dark suit, the tie loosened from around his neck and the first few buttons of his undershirt open, revealing a heavy cross necklace. The whole scene looked as is if it were captured in secret, hiding behind the curtains of the stage, stumbling upon something natural and un-posed. The bottom right corner of the painting had the signature of the artist, which Arthur could not make out, followed by the title, 'Symphonies'. Arthur couldn't help but feel he had the painting hung there so he would see it all day long, the colours changing in whatever light was streaming through the window.

"Mr. Kirkland, I was expecting you." Roderich broke the silence as Arthur shut the door behind him and made his way to the empty plush chair opposite his editor.

"You were?" He asked as he sank into the seat. Roderich simply raised an eyebrow. "Ah, well, I've had some trouble come up." He wasn't sure what exactly to say or how to explain his situation to his boss; he didn't really want to be having this conversation.

"So I've heard," Roderich sighed and unfolded his hands, running one of them through his hair and leaning back. His relaxed demeanor made Arthur feel a lot more at ease, but did not make him feel better about the next words he had to say.

"I can't... I have to take some time off, I'm afraid," Roderich hummed, "I'm not certain how much time, to be honest. My nephews-"

"Alfred and Matthew, yes?" Roderich leaned forward again, lacing his fingers together over the manuscript, "I have heard."

Arthur nodded, "that being the case, I think it would be best if I handed in my resignation." Roderich arched a brow at him again.

"I think not, Mr. Kirkland."

"Pardon?"

"You are a fantastic writer and nobody has opinions quite like you. I will allow you to go on leave, I have already found a replacement that will work well enough. You may write from home as a freelance writer and turn in what you can. But, and hear me loud and clear Arthur Kirkland, you will return to this office once you have handle on your... personal business." Arthur felt his jaw drop open. He had not expected this conversation to go quite like that – he was thrilled! He hadn't wanted to quit, anyway; he simply did not see an alternative in order to take care of his two young nephews.

"Yes, sir!" He rose to his feet and Roderich extended a hand for a shake, he smiled.

"I assume you desire this leave to be in effect immediately?"

"That would be helpful."

"I figured that might be the case. I've already arranged for your replacement to start work as early as tomorrow." Arthur wasn't sure how Roderich had been so perceptive and couldn't decide if he felt worried that he'd sensed his near-resignation and arranged for a replacement writer, or relieved that he didn't have to worry about what would become of his career after a brief hiatus. He made his way to the door and paused, his hand on the knob.

"Sir?" He looked over his shoulder; Roderich was picking up his red pen, uncapping it and flipping to a marked spot in the manuscript in front of him, he looked at Arthur over the rims of his glasses and blinked, "is that you? In this painting?" He had wanted to ask as long as he'd been working there, but never found the courage until now.

Roderich was silent for a long moment and Arthur wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut. "Yes," was the short reply that eventually came, Roderich's expression drawn, as if lost in thought, "and one of my very dearest friends."

"What's his name?" Arthur couldn't help himself.

"Is that all, Mr. Kirkland?" Arthur pursed his lips and nodded, excusing himself from the office.

To be continued...

AN: I really liked the idea of Roderich as the boss, rather than Ludwig. Besides, I have plans for Mr. Germany.

The idea of the oil painting came to me while I was at work. It made me quite sad to think about, and I struggled with a title for it. I wanted it to convey something along the lines that Roderich would/has composed symphonies for Gilbert. But, he does not play anymore (that we know of - he's an editor and head of a publishing company, not a musician). The picture that is face-up on his desk is of Hungary.

This chapter was terribly hard to write. My head is engrossed in my mediverse stories, so I'm sorry if it reads as a bit scattered. This is that in-between chapter before things start happening. At least, that's how it feels to me! hahaha

The original scene with Lukas was written from Francis' POV in my first draft, but I changed it last minute. I love being inside Lukas' head.

Please be kind, drop a review! :)