AN: And now the real story begins… er, sort of. I really hope some of you reading will stay with me for the long haul – there's a few twists and turns coming along! Thank you to my best friend Frances for keeping me relatively sane throughout my year of planning this.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia
Chapter One
This is the second time Alfred's copied my homework 'accidentally' in a week. How… just… what? Come on Al, you've really got to come up with better excuses then that. Seriously though, if he just got off his ass and did some work instead of spending all his time hanging out with all of them, he'd actually be able to do something with himself. He's smart - but he's wasting it…
Papa and Dad had another fight today. A 'discussion' about whose turn it was to take out the trash, or something ridiculous like that. I swear, they do nothing but make out and fight. If I didn't love them so much, I'd have to slap them… you can only handle so much of them in one day.
I am worried though, no matter how lightly I put things. This is getting way over the top.
"You, yes, you, are a self-centred jerk!"
"Ah, but chéri that's why you love me!"
It seemed like the hundredth time that Matthew had been woken up like this. Not by the alarm that rang dutifully every weekday, but by raised voices floating up into his room from the kitchen downstairs.
For a moment, he lay still, listening to an unusually light-hearted argument, at least compared to the spats he had heard recently. His parents seemed to be almost... joking? The sound of their words were, for once, almost comforting in their banter, as opposed to the spite filled verbal bullets that shot between his parents altogether too often.
After a few minutes, he dragged himself out from under his bed-covers, grabbed his glasses from his nightstand and shivered as a blast of cold air hit him.
Damn it. He swore he had closed that window last night.
Oh, right.
Alfred.
Matthew sighed as he closed the window, mumbling something about broken latches and breaking curfew. He dressed as quickly as possible, scowling at the cold autumn wind that had blown through and chilled the room. After pulling on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, he head towards the stairs.
"I cannot believe you're doing this again! And you're taking her with you!"
"It is my job, Arthur, and she has been my assistant for five years. I have to go, no matter how much I don't want to!"
"All I'm asking is for you to spend a little more time with us! Is that too much?"
"Do you think I like leaving you?"
"Bloody hell, I actually think you might!"
Matthew winced as his parents' voices became more vicious. He'd heard those tones more than enough times to tell that their 'little tiff' was escalating into familiar territory, a full blown argument that would result in screaming, and insults, and someone sleeping in the guest room (or leaving the house completely).
Those fights had happened too many times to count.
"I don't have time for this right now Arthur."
"Francis!"
"I have a plane to catch."
His papa's last sentence was punctuated with the sound of the front door slamming. It seemed that their argument had moved from the kitchen out into the hallway.
"Dude. What is up with them?"
Matthew turned from staring down the staircase and saw the face of his brother.
Alfred's eyes were slightly bloodshot and narrowed, and he was rubbing a temple with one hand. His glasses were on his face, for once, and his clothes were rumpled and creased, like he'd slept in them.
Matthew was 99% sure he had.
"Fuck. They just killed my brain I think."
"You look like shit."
"I feel like shit."
"Hey Al, next time you decide to go out with your 'friends', can you at least close the window after you sneak back into at some stupidly late hour?"
"Ugh. Shut up. Stop being so judgey."
"That's not even a word."
"Is now."
"Whatever."
"Seriously bro, Dad and Papa?"
"Argument."
"Again?"
"Yeah."
Alfred groaned and clutched his head.
"They could at least try being quiet... It's like, way too early, and my head hurts way too much."
"Your head wouldn't hurt so much if you hadn't decided to get wasted on a Sunday night."
"It was just a few drinks."
Matthew raised an eyebrow as Alfred shrugged nonchalantly.
"You've got to stop this Al."
"Lighten up Mattie. It's not hurting anyone." Alfred grinned, his perfect golden-boy smile that worked on practically everyone. "It's just a few parties, right?"
Unfortunately for Alfred, Matthew was one of the few that could brush off his disarming smile.
"You're hurting yourself Alfred. You know nothing good will come of this."
"Stop being such a old lady, Matt."
"ALFRED. MATTHEW."
Alfred cringed as the sound of their dad's voice hit his eardrums and Matthew felt the smallest twinge of sympathy for his hung-over brother.
"GET YOUR ARSES DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, THE BOTH OF YOU OR YOU'LL BE LATE."
"He's mad."
"He's always like this after he and Papa fight."
"Wouldn't hurt him to keep his voice down though."
"Oh shut it Al."
Arthur was fuming.
Too bad the reason for his foul mood was probably miles away by now, getting ready to catch a plane for yet another business trip. A business trip to France, which no one had told him about until 40 bloody minutes ago.
A business trip to Paris with that goddamn perfect secretary.
A great start to the morning, clearly.
"ALFRED. MATTHEW. GET YOUR ARSES DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW." Arthur yelled up the stairs, before storming back to the kitchen. He glared at the half-drunk mug of still-hot coffee that rested on the table, before picking it up and tipping the contents into the sink.
Damn that stupid bloody Frenchman and his stupid bloody half-finished coffee and his stupid bloody job.
"Morning, Dad."
Arthur stopped scowling as his two sons filed into the kitchen, Matthew greeting him quietly, while Alfred trailed behind him, looking rather bedraggled.
"Good morning Matthew."
"Toast?"
The one-word question – more of a grunt, really - came from Alfred, who had seated himself down at the table and was holding his head in his hands. Arthur shot him a concerned look.
"Is everything alright?"
"He's just tired." Matthew slid into the chair next to Alfred, bringing a bowl of cereal with him. Arthur frowned.
"Alfred?"
"Yeah, tired." Alfred glanced upwards at his dad and smiled. "All the sports, you know?"
Arthur nodded, furrowing his eyebrows. He turned away and completely missed the grateful look that passed from one son to the other.
"If you say so."
There was something not quite right about the situation, but to be honest, Arthur was too angry to notice. He checked his watch absentmindedly and swore when he saw the time.
"Bollocks. I've got to go. Matthew, can you make your brother some toast?"
"Sure Dad."
He was halfway out of the kitchen when Alfred called for him.
"Dad? Where's Papa?"
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows and took a breath before answering.
"He's gone to France on a business trip."
"When will he be back?" asked Matthew carefully. He noticed his dad tense as he avoided the question.
"Goodbye boys." replied Arthur tersely, leaving quickly.
"Well that explains it." Alfred said. "Dad's mad that Papa's leaving. Again."
Matthew carefully placed a plate with two slices of toast in front of his brother, before sitting down again. Alfred mumbled his thanks.
"How's your head?" Matthew asked gently as his brother started on the toast.
"It feels like something's crawled in there and is banging at my brain."
"This would never had happened if you would ju-"
"Leave it Mattie. Just leave it." Alfred's voice was hard and he was glaring at his brother. Matthew dropped the topic.
The two brothers ate their breakfast in silence, neither wanting to breach the topic of their parents' constant arguing or Alfred's weekday hangover. Every so often Matthew would glance over at Alfred and open his mouth to say something, but every single time words deserted him.
He didn't want to disturb the fragile peace which they had managed to create with a confrontation.
Not this early in the morning.
A few months ago, if Jeanne Darkham was asked how her boss arrived at work every morning, she would have been quite confident in saying 'impeccably dressed, with a smile on his face".
Now though, it seemed that the answer was still 'impeccably dressed', but the smile had been wiped off Francis Bonnefoy's beautiful face. More often than not, the Frenchman would show up scowling, occasionally with his cell phone pressed to his ear.
Today looked like it would be one of those days.
Jeanne spotted the blond man making his way through the airport easily. The crowds of panicked rushing travellers seemed to part for him as he towed a suitcase behind him. She smiled at the sight of him. When he saw her, he smiled tensely back.
"Ah, Jeanne. You're here."
Jeanne could hear the undercurrent of stress and frustration that Francis hid behind his light-hearted tone. His words were just a fraction too cheery, a little too clipped.
"Of course, Francis. It's a very important day." Jeanne made her voice as soothing as possible. "We wouldn't want to miss our flight."
"I am very sorry I'm late." Francis apologised as the two walked towards the luggage counter. "I had a-"
Francis's phone rang out that moment, and Jeanne caught the briefest hint of a grimace as he answered.
"Hello? Yes. No. Airport. I will call you. Goodbye."
Francis hung up with a sigh, turning off his phone and stuffing it angrily into a pocket of his dark grey blazer.
"Was that your husband?" Jeanne asked carefully.
Francis nodded.
"Another stupid fight. All 'I am never home' and 'how can I be leaving again'. Honestly, it feels like all we ever do is argue. He is just so stubborn and suspicious! Why can't he understand, that this is what I do for a living? I hate leaving Arthur and Alfred and Matthieu at home, but I do not choose to go 'gallivanting across the ocean', as he calls it."
Jeanne nodded along silently as Francis gesticulated wildly with one arm. She was used to listening to the Frenchman's speeches about his home life. The longer he spoke, the stronger his accent would get. Occasionally, after a few minutes, Francis would switch from English to French, and Jeanne would thank her mother for drilling the French language into her head as a child.
"...and oh god, I hate going over on these trips, and I hate having to leave everything so open like this, and, pour l'amour de Dieu, I hate him sometimes."
Francis sighed, and Jeanne watched how his blue eyes darted downwards towards the floor.
"Non... no, I do not mean that. I love him and will love him until death. I guess I love him so much that I hate him."
Jeanne made the appropriate sympathetic noises, not really sure what to say. While, an incredibly competent (some would say overly so) secretary and personal assistant, who knew Francis' schedule, activities and demeanour inside and out, Jeanne was not one for relationship advice.
Especially when giving relationship advice to someone who she was completely, utterly, madly in love with.
Listening to Francis' rant gave Jeanne the tiniest hint of guilty joy. As much as she hated to see him so upset, there was a horrible part of herself that liked seeing his marriage so unstable. Jeanne knew it existed, and for the past few years had hid it well (or at least she thought she had), but as she watched Francis and Arthur's arguments become more frequent, the little part of herself that loved the beautiful Frenchman only grew louder.
"... and then there are the kids! I swear I never see Alfred these days, what with his American football and his swim team and all that. At least Matthieu is always around-"
"Francis?"
"Yes? Ah, ma cheri, I apologise. I don't mean to burden you with all of this drama."
"It's fine, really. I just wanted to point out that we should be heading towards the boarding gate now."
"Ah Jeanne, what would I do without you?" Francis smiled, a real smile this time. After talking about his family, he had seemed to relax. His eyes twinkled and Jeanne felt her spirits lift.
Not that his statement had really meant anything. She was just his secretary after all, and it was her job to know his life.
She had kept the secret of loving Francis Bonnefoy for years, and she could keep it for another two day trip to Paris.
Francis sometimes wondered why he put so much effort into his job, when all it did was take him away from his family.
When Francis had just been starting out in the family business, he had spent a lot of time with Arthur and the very young Alfred and Matthew. They had been living in Canada back then, and he had been a chef in one of his family's restaurants.
Those peaceful seven years (one with Arthur only, the other six with the twins) had been amazing, but after getting promoted to Marketing Director (a job which Francis was pretty sure his own papa had created specifically for him, seeing as he had had previous experience in neither marketing nor directing), he had shifted his entire family to a town in America that happened to house the American Headquarters of Bonnefoy Restaurants.
That had been eight years ago, and Francis had never missed those Canadian days more than he did now.
This last minute trip to was just the latest in a string of meetings and conferences over in Paris.
The reason for the sudden increase in workload? Only a multi-million dollar deal, which, if successfully negotiated, could lead to the Bonnefoy restaurant chain buying out their biggest rivals.
It was no wonder that Francis had been run off his feet lately. It didn't help that, in the past, Francis had been very briefly acquainted with the daughter of the man who he was now negotiating with. Suffice to say, Francis had made quite the bad impression on him.
In his opinion, his papa should never have made it his job to get this deal. Francis, charming and charismatic as he was, was a chef at heart, not a businessman. It would have been better to let his younger sister Monique handle this – but no. The company they were dealing with were terribly traditional, and for the takeover to be successful, a male Bonnefoy would have to do the job.
So of course old Monsieur Bonnefoy had assigned his only son to the deal.
Magnifique.
Francis scowled as he thought over this, stabbing the plane seat belt angrily towards the latch. When it didn't click, he swore. He felt hands gently remove the seat belt from his and click it properly into place.
He sighed.
"Thank you Jeanne. I'm sorry, I am so useless this morning."
Jeanne smiled.
"It's fine Francis. You're not having a good day."
"No. No I'm not."
"Maybe you just need some time away from each other."
"The time away is the problem..."
Jeanne was silent as the plane started to take off. Francis turned his head towards the window, watching as the tarmac went by faster and faster, before fading away as the plane left the runway.
With the plane up in the air, Francis couldn't help but feel a growing sense of distance.
Arthur stepped out of the car into a blistering gust of wind, which sent his scarf whacking into his face. Swearing as he wrestled with the garment, he locked the car and made his way into his workplace.
At this time in the morning, the Riverview University Library was peaceful. There were only a few students and professors lingering about, frantically writing probably overdue reports and enjoying steaming cups of takeaway coffee with light morning chatter. Arthur's rather grumpy arrival made no impact on the small crowd. The university students and faculty were used to Mr. Kirkland the librarian storming in, and now the sight barely made them blink an eye.
Arthur crossed the library, stomping towards the little office at the back. Entering, he slung his coat over the circular table in the middle of the room and slumped into a chair.
"Someone's in a good mood today." chirped a female voice as a mug of tea was placed in front of him and his coat was picked up and whisked to the set of hooks next to the door. Arthur mumbled quiet thanks, picking up the hot mug in both hands. He looked into the depths of his tea, before taking a sip. The liquid scalded his tongue, but he gulped it down anyway. His co-worker sat opposite him in silence, waiting patiently for an answer.
"Life is absolutely peachy." he replied, sarcasm evident in his tone of voice. The brunette across the table raised an eyebrow.
"Well that's certainly convincing."
"I try."
Arthur looked up to see the woman's eyebrows crinkled with concern. He sighed. There was no point trying to bury the topic, was there? He was much too easily read, and Liza was skilled in reading more than just books.
Elizaveta Héderváry had been working at library longer than he had. An alumna of the very university, she was known to love her job and work hard at it.
Arthur had never made friends easily, and she had been his first friend when he began. Approachable and perceptive, the only child of Hungarian immigrants hadn't been put off by his prickly demeanour, and knew what it was like to feel like an outsider in the tight-knit community that was suburban Riverview. Even though he had technically arrived to replace her boss, Liza had shown him the ropes, even after his protests of 'I'm not a bloody child'.
Liza had warned him which professors to avoid, advised him on which students to kick-out, and what parts of the library he should avoid if he didn't want to catch people in the midst of some indecent act.
The process to best friendship had been surprisingly quick. It helped that Liza was quite well acquainted with the few people in town that Arthur actually knew – one of his old university roommates turned architect turned lecturer who he had gotten the Senior Librarian job through was a friend of hers, and Francis' life-long pen-pal had happened to be her childhood best friend. Slowly, through Liza, Arthur's social circle had broadened, but he would always be grudgingly grateful to her.
So sitting opposite the 31 year old now, Arthur knew he was going to crack. The woman was just too damn perceptive.
"Francis went on another business trip this morning."
"Ah. I see. Let me guess: He didn't tell you about it?"
"Not until minutes before he had to go."
"That's been happening a lot lately, hasn't it?"
Arthur sighed, scowling at his mug of tea.
"All too bloody much."
"That's not everything, is it?"
Arthur looked back up to see that Liza was frowning. Great.
"He's going with Jeanne, again." he muttered. "To Paris."
"Oh!" Liza's eyebrows shot up as she placed her own mug on the table. "You don't think they're...?"
Arthur shrugged, gulping down a mouthful of tea to avoid answering the question.
Liza's face softened.
"He wouldn't do that to you. He may be a lecherous flirt sometimes, but it's pretty obvious how much he loves you. Everyone can see it. Besides, Jeanne is better than that. They're both better than that."
The woman reached over and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Have faith in him, Arthur. I know it must be difficult to have him gone so often. But you've got the twins at home with you, right?"
Arthur nodded slowly. Liza's words had a calming effect, and though a little part of himself was still angry, that part had cooled from a blazing inferno to a few simmering coals.
"How are Alfred and Matthew? I don't think I've seen them in a while."
"They're... teenage boys. They're always off with sports or homework or friends or... god, I don't know. It's been forever since I was a teenage boy."
Arthur smiled. Liza was right. Although Francis was constantly flying out of the country at the drop of a hat, he always had his kids. Even if those kids seemed to be at the stage where he had no clue what was going on in their lives anymore.
"So just the usual then?" replied Liza with small laugh. "I guess some things never change."
"You'll have to come over for dinner sometime. When Francis gets back, of course."
"That reminds me... When is Francis getting back?"
"He said he'd call. Shouldn't be too long."
The remains of his anger started to flare up again, but he took a breath. What was the point in staying angry?
"Do you think he'll be back by the 27th?"
"The 27th? That's... Saturday after next? He should be."
"Fantastic! Wouldn't want him to miss my engagement dinner!"
"I'm sure he'll mak- Wait. You're..."
Arthur looked across the table and spotted something glistening on the hand Liza had wrapped around her coffee mug. He looked back up in shock. Liza was grinning like a mad thing.
"What? Since when?"
"Yesterday."
"Congratulations!"
Arthur stood up to offer a hearty handshake, only to be swept into a hug by the Hungarian woman.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
For just over a year now, Liza had been dating the Head of ER at the local hospital (a man whose name Arthur could never remember – Eli or something?). Arthur hadn't met the man, but not for lack of trying. Every single time Liza had attempted to organise a "Meet My Amazing Boyfriend" gathering of some sort, said boyfriend had had to rush to the hospital to go do heart transplants, or give sponge baths, or other vital life saving operations.
Considering that Arthur had heard many stories about E-something in the last year, there was no way he could ask for the guy's name now. Though, even without the name, Arthur got an oddly familiar feeling whenever Liza told any stories about him, which was completely and utterly baffling for Arthur. He was never usually one to forget names.
Oh well. At least he'd meet the new fiancé soon enough.
There was a loud ringing noise, and the brunette let go of him. She fumbled for a second in the pocket of her skirt, before extracting a mobile phone. Apologising, she mouthed 'sorry' at Arthur, before picking up the phone.
"Hello?"
"..."
"Gilbert! But I thought you wouldn't be back till tomorrow?"
"..."
"I'm at work. Say hi to Arthur!"
"..."
"No, I'm not going to tell him that."
"..."
"You shut up! Anyway, actually there's something I want to tell you! I'm engaged!"
Liza drifted away from Arthur towards the back of the office, chatting to Gilbert on the phone. Arthur rolled his eyes. So Gilbert was finally back in Riverview.
Trust him to forget his own plane arrival time. The 34 year old man could, quite honestly, sometimes be the dumbest person Arthur had ever met – and yet, he was easily one of the best barristers in all of Riverview, if not the state. It helped that the Beilschmidt family ran a very well-known and established law firm, which was currently presided over by Gilbert's father. Gilbert had gone to Harvard Law, and graduated top of his class, despite having had what he described as 'a super awesome party-hard' time at the prestigious university. Arthur guessed that lawyering was just in Gilbert's blood – and his predisposed contrariness certainly didn't hinder him either.
It had been eight months since he'd seen Gilbert. The man had been staying with family in Germany, sent there by his father to take a special course being run by some elite ex-lawyer. It had been oddly quiet without him around. Liza had agreed with that sentiment, commenting that not having her best friend of 24 years around was both a blessing, and a curse.
Francis had certainly missed him, and often lamented the absence of one third of his little drinking trio. Arthur considered calling his husband to inform him that Gilbert was back, but stopped himself. He'd still be on the plane, wouldn't he?
"Hey, Arthur?"
Liza had returned, phone call finished. She was frowning at her phone. Clearly, the call had ended badly.
"Something happen? Gilbert still being a total wanker?"
Though Gilbert had been in Germany for the majority of Liza's relationship, Arthur had heard many stories from Liza about Gilbert's disapproval of her boyfriend. Though the two had never met, according to Liza, the moment she had mentioned E-something's family background and job, Gilbert had deemed the man absolutely un-dateable.
Not that anyone else could see anything wrong about a highly paid doctor from aristocratic roots. Though, to be fair, Gilbert had, since Arthur had known him, at least, always had an irrational hatred of doctors.
"As usual." Liza sighed, pocketing her phone. "But he'll get over it. Anyway – 7pm on the 27th. Make sure you're free!"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, love."
Matthew hated PE.
Not because he was unfit, or bad at sport, or lazy – Matthew (centre forward of the Riverview High Icicles) was none of those things.
Matthew hated PE because of Alfred.
Well... that was a little harsh. Too be fair, Alfred wasn't the problem. It was his friends.
For the majority of their subjects, Alfred and Matthew were in completely different classes. This hadn't always been the case, but with Alfred's lagging grades this year, and Matthew's above average ones, the two were separated. For that Matthew was – rather guiltily – grateful.
PE was one of the two subjects they shared now. Matthew had used to enjoy being in Alfred's class. The two brothers were close, or at least, they had been before. Now though...
"Yo Al!" Matthew felt a sudden pain in his arm as one of Alfred's friends passed him. "Party Fri – oh dude, you're not Alfred."
Matthew shook his head, and pointed towards the other side of the gym where his brother was slumped on a bleacher, surrounded by his friends.
The boy reeked of cigarette smoke. Matthew was glad to watch him go, and take the smell with him.
"Matthew!"
Matthew felt himself accosted by a pair of arms.
"Mei?"
The Asian girl's attack on Matthew was met with cat calls and whistles from Alfred's group across the gym. Matthew glanced over at them, to see that Alfred wasn't involved. In fact, Alfred seemed to be blatantly ignoring him. Matthew noticed that Alfred's glasses were gone – again. His brother must have switched back to contact lenses sometime after they'd arrived at school.
Mei let go of Matthew and glared at the leering crowd, who made a few lewd suggestions. She seemed all set to storm over there, but a comment from Alfred turned the group's attention on to him.
"Let it go, sis."
Matthew turned to see Mei's brother trailing along towards him, hands in his pockets.
"They're just so rude." Mei complained, shooting the group another angry look, before grabbing her brother's sleeve in one hand and Matthew's in the other, and dragging them both even further away.
"You mean Alfre-"
"Leon! Shush!" interrupted Mei, before her brother could finish his sentence. Leon shrugged, the uninterested expression on his face remaining unchanged.
"Whatever." Leon gave Matthew a small wave. "Hey Matt."
Wang Xiao Mei and Wang Xiao Long (Leon – the Chinese boy had always preferred his Western nickname) were Matthew's fellow seniors at Riverview High School. The twins had lived in Riverview their whole lives, and had been quite excited (well, Mei had been quite excited) when Alfred and Matthew moved to Riverview in seventh grade. Until the beginning of this year, the two sets of twins had been the heart of the small group of friends that they'd amassed over their high school years. Now though…
Matthew glanced over at Alfred once again while Mei and Leon argued over something he didn't quite catch. Alfred and his friends appeared to be harassing the substitute teacher that was filling in for the regular gym coach. The poor woman looked completely flustered, seemingly unable to exert any sort of control over the group of rowdy teens.
It didn't look like there was going to be a lot to do in PE today.
The rest of the period went by surprisingly fast – a fact that Matthew was grateful for. Between Mei and Leon's discussions of their plans for their elder brother's surprise birthday party, and Alfred's group chucking basketballs at them every couple of minutes, Matthew hadn't exactly had the best PE lesson of his life.
The next class was Art, and while Matthew wasn't a particularly talented artist, Art with Mr. Braginsky was always calming. Though Art was the other class he shared with Al, Mr. Braginsky's take-no-shit attitude was a bit of a relief for Matthew, as most teachers were so very easily swayed by Alfred.
After saying goodbye to Leon, he and Mei walked from the gym to the art block. Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew could see Alfred headed in the same direction, accompanied by a few cheerleaders.
"Did you do the assignment?" Mei asked him. Switching his attention from Alfred to her, Matthew nodded.
"Yeah."
"Me too! Mr. B will probably kill anyone who doesn't!" Mei chirped, much too cheerfully. "I mean, I finished it so quickly, even though I had Yao's party to plan!"
"I thought Leon was helping you with that?"
"Leon? As if. All of his ideas involved fireworks. We can't have Yao blowing himself up – not when he's only been back for a few months, anyway! Besides, Yao's much too old to be playing around with fireworks."
"Isn't your brother 24?"
"Turning 25 on Wednesday - old, isn't he?"
"But that's way too young to be a psychologist."
"Yao's always been crazy smart."
Matthew smiled, content to listen to Mei's chatter as they walked to art.
Arriving at their classroom, Mei and Matthew split off and headed towards their assigned seats. Matthew tried to sit down quickly, but failed to notice the bag that was placed next to his chair. He tripped, accidentally launching himself sideways and elbowing his neighbour in the face.
A few giggles arose from the doorway, along with a few unintelligible comments.
"Oh sh- I'm sorry Jóse!"
The tall Cuban waved one hand at his dismissively, cradling his nose in the other.
"All good, Mattie. Shouldn't have left my bag there." replied Jóse, voice muffled through his fingers.
"Oh my god, did I break it?"
Jóse moved his hand from his face. Mattie winced in sympathy at the sight of the now bleeding nose.
"I'm so sorry!"
"Matt! Bro are you okay?"
In a flash, Alfred appeared in front of him, blue eyes wide in concern.
"I'm fine. I just tripped. Jóse migh-"
"He probably put that there on purpose, you know!" Alfred exclaimed, scowling at Jóse. The Cuban boy scowled back at him.
"Go away Alfred! It was my fault." Matthew sighed. It wasn't often, but every once in a while, if Alfred witnessed any event that looked like it hurt Matthew, his twin would take a break from playing popular and rush over.
Playing the hero, Matthew called it.
He could hear a few of Alfred's 'fangirls' cooing over his brother now. How heroic of Alfred to save his brother from the scary foreigner! Wasn't that just adorable?
"Alfred. In your seat."
All heads turned towards the doorway which framed a tall man in a heavy coat. His mere presence was enough to silence a class full of rowdy seniors
"Dude, sorry Mr. B."
It took barely a second for Alfred's concern to disappear, to be replaced with a cocky smile and challenging tone. Alfred turned slowly, practically sauntering to his seat on the other side of the classroom.
Mr. Braginsky walked into the classroom, watching carefully as Alfred sat down, before stopping in front of Matthew and Jóse. He cocked an eyebrow.
"What happened?"
"I tripped on a bag and hit Jóse in the face."
"He didn't do it on purpose."
"Is that all?"
"Yeah."
The teacher's eyes flicked back towards Alfred, as Matthew nodded vigorously in agreement.
"Very well. Jóse, I will take you to the nurse's office. Everyone else, please prepare your assignments."
Jóse stood up and made his way towards Mr. Braginsky. He turned back briefly and flashed Matthew a thumbs-up with his free hand, before following the teacher out the door.
As soon as the two had left, Alfred stood up and practically ran towards the Cuban boy's empty seat. Kicking Jóse's bag over, he sat down.
"Real mature." Matthew frowned, leaning down and moving the bag away from Alfred.
"Accident."
Matthew rolled his eyes as Alfred shrugged.
"Yeah, sure."
"Dude, I swear."
"What do you want Al?"
Aside from potential injuries, there weren't very many reasons why Alfred would speak to Matthew during the two classes they shared. There was "cover for me while I go to this party tonight", as well as "lend me some money", and of course, the ever popular -
"I need to copy your assignment."
"No."
"I won't copy it word for word! I'll like, change the sentences around. He'll never know!"
"You had a month to do it, Al."
"I was going to start last night, but then Dylan texted and said Brandon was having a party so I jumped out the window and -"
"No."
"Please, bro!"
"No."
"Matt!"
"No!"
"Mattie. Please."
"Mr. Bonnefoy-Kirkland. That is not your seat."
Matthew and Alfred looked up to see Mr. Braginsky's student teacher looking down at them.
Ms. Natalya Arlovskaya was barely older than them. Mr. Braginsky's younger half-sister, she (like her brother) had gone to Riverview High herself, and in fact, had been in her final year when Matthew and Alfred began. The former Queen Bee was now in her third year of her Education degree, and it was pure coincidence that she'd been assigned as her own brother's student teacher - though that fact hadn't stopped rumours from swirling that Ms. Arlovskaya had somehow gotten herself assigned as Mr. Braginsky's student teacher on purpose, out of a convoluted love for her brother. Those who believed these rumours raised more suspicion with the fact that Natalya had notoriously disappeared in what should have been her junior year, only to return again as a junior a year later, after some scandal at Riverview High that no one would ever talk about.
Matthew wasn't one to listen to gossip, and from what he had seen in art class, Ms. Arlovskaya seemed pretty cold towards everyone, including Mr. Braginsky. Where the rumours were coming from now, he didn't know.
Alfred smiled up at Ms. Arlovskaya.
"I was just keeping Mattie here company."
"Return to your seat immediately."
"Aww, but Natalya, I'd be leaving my brother here all by himself."
The woman arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Matthew could practically feel the daggers directed at Alfred.
"You are to refer to me as Ms. Arlovskaya."
"But Natalya's such an-"
"Alfred. You are not very good at following instructions, are you?"
Alfred was interrupted by the return of Mr. Braginsky. In the back of his mind, Matthew noted that for such a big guy, he was surprisingly good at sneaking up on people.
Alfred pouted, and rolled his eyes at Matthew, before he once again made his way back to where he should have been, Mr. Braginsky watching his every movement.
As soon as Matthew saw Alfred's butt touch his chair, he sunk downwards into his own seat.
The walk home was oddly quiet.
At least, on Alfred's end it was. Normally, the conversation between the brothers varied from around fifty percent input from both of them, to Alfred not being able to shut up.
But Alfred was in a sulk. That much, Matthew could plainly see.
"Al-"
"Shut up I hate you you suck I'm ignoring you."
There was still lingering tensions from their morning argument – but then again, he'd been having those arguments with Alfred a lot lately, so he hadn't expected the repercussions to last this long. Though really, Matthew reasoned, art class hadn't exactly been a major bonding experience for the two of them. He guessed Alfred hadn't quite bounced back to his usual perky self.
The silence continued until they rounded a corner about two blocks from school.
"Yo, Alfred! Dude!"
Alfred turned quickly, stopping dead in his tracks. It took Matthew a second to decide whether or not to stop with him.
"Tyler!" Alfred yelled back, mouth stretching into what Matthew called his 'douchebag smirk'. "Bro, I thought you were away with like, tonsillitis or something?"
"Nah, just ditched today." replied Tyler (who Matthew swore was actually 20 and had just been held back a few years), sauntering over to the two of them. He pointed his thumb at Matthew. "Who's that?"
"My bro. Like, my real bro." Alfred said hesitantly.
"We've been in the same home room class for two years." muttered Matthew under his breath, before mustering up a polite smile and extending his hand for a hand shake.
"Dude. Sup." Tyler nodded once, before bumping Matthew's open palm and turning his attention back to Alfred. "Wanna go smash the window on Mr. Brabitchsky's car?"
With that, Alfred and Tyler started walking off. Alfred turned back quickly to shout something at Matthew.
"Tell Dad I'm at swim team practice!"
Matthew didn't respond, and Alfred didn't look back.
There was a strange smell when he arrived home. Hanging his coat up in the hallway, Arthur sniffed.
The whole place smelt like roast beef.
Arthur frowned. Francis almost never got home before him and even then he would never make roast beef because he said it was dreadful and oh, wait, Francis wasn't even in the country at the moment, was he?
"Hey dad."
Matthew sat at the dining table alone, iPod headphone in one ear, and the other ear free to here the 'ding' of the oven timer. He dangled a pencil in his right hand, eyes narrowed at the worksheet in front of him.
"Matthew. You made dinner?"
"I had time."
Matthew shrugged, bringing the pencil up to chew on the end of it.
"Where's A-"
"Swim team practice." said Matthew quickly. "Probably won't be back until later."
"Ah, okay."
Arthur had never been able to keep up with Alfred's sport practice days. He swore, every week the practice times would change – or perhaps he was just getting old.
At least with Matthew it was easy. Guitar lessons on Tuesdays. Hockey practice on Thursdays.
The kitchen timer rung and Arthur went to get it. In a flash, Matthew jumped out of his chair and snatched the oven gloves from his hands.
"I should probably do it, Dad."
"Hmmph." Arthur scowled. "Matthew I'm not going to-"
"Better safe than sorry." Matthew smiled apologetically at his father, before taking the roast out. "You know what Papa always says."
"He doesn't say that. I say that."
"Dad."
"You're a good lad, Matthew."
"Thanks dad."
They ate dinner quietly. Without the presence of Francis or Alfred, neither felt the need to talk. Arthur and Matthew just weren't the type that needed words, but instead enjoyed each other's presence.
The only interruption of their comfortable hush was the ringing of the phone halfway through dinner. Arthur excused himself to the hallway to pick it up. It was probably Alfred needing a ride home, or Elizaveta calling about the 27th.
"Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland speaking."
"Arthur, it's me."
"Francis."
There was an uncomfortable silence as neither knew what to say next. Arthur waited – having thought back on it, he was sorry about their argument but there was no way in hell he was going to say it. Francis probably felt the same.
It was how they worked.
"How was the plane?"
"It was… you know how planes are."
"And the hotel?"
"Overly luxurious and horribly impersonal – like everything that my papa books."
Arthur half-smiled. It sounded like his father-in-law hadn't changed a bit since the last time they'd visited.
"Where's Jeanne?"
"Three floors above me in a room I do not know the number of. Are you happy, Arthur?"
"I…I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too."
"When will you be back?"
"I have a flight booked for tomorrow, arriving around 8 o'clock.
"Tomorrow… That's the 9th?"
"Yes, the 9th."
"So this trip won't be long at all, will it?"
"Then good luck, Francis."
"I'll try, chéri. Are Matthieu and Alfred home?"
"You called in the middle of dinner, but Alfred's at some sports thing."
Francis chuckled, and Arthur smiled properly at the sound.
"How very like him. Could you put Matthieu on?"
Arthur picked up the wireless handset and wandered back into the kitchen. He handed the phone to Matthew.
"It's your father."
Matthew nodded and took the phone. Arthur stayed standing, and started to clear his half eaten plate away, listening to Matthew as he spoke in French down the phone. The two spoke for a few minutes.
"… Tu me manques aussi. Au revoir Papa."
Matthew handed the phone back to Arthur, who thanked him quietly.
"Matthieu is such a good child."
"Sometimes I think you taught him French just to annoy me."
"Non, the Canadians taught him French."
"You called Canadian-French an abomination."
"It was. I had to fix that semblance of a language that they taught him at middle school. Besides, you speak French, Arthur."
"You know I'm not fluent. Alfred and I-"
"Don't you remember? I tried to teach Alfred but he told me- "
"That he wouldn't learn any language other than 'American'."
"You got so mad and made him read an entire book on English grammar!"
"They were so young then."
Arthur glanced back towards the kitchen door, through which he could see Matthew tidying the table.
"They grow up so fast."
"That was corny, even for you."
"I only speak the truth, chéri. Soon they will be grown up with families of their own."
"And we'll be old."
He heard Francis gasp over-dramatically.
"Me? Old? Never! Perhaps you, Arthur, will have grey hairs and wrinkles but I will still be young and beautiful."
"You're already old Francis. Older than me anyway. If I've got grey hair and wrinkles than you'll have no hair and liver spots."
"Hush, Arthur. That is a lie! Take it back!"
"Never!"
"Hmph, you only speak out of fear that I will not love you when you are 85 years old and in a wheelchair."
"And will you?"
"You already know the answer to that."
Arthur felt a vibration in his let pocket and pulled out his phone.
At swim team. Pck me up plz.
"I've got to go. Alfred wants me to pick him up."
"Alas, then this is farewell till Wednesday."
"Goodbye Francis. I love you."
"I love you too."
Arthur hung up, putting the phone back in its cradle. He called out to Matthew that he was leaving, grabbed the car keys out of his coat pocket and left the house, feeling much better than he had the last time he'd passed through that doorway.
"I've got to go. Alfred wants me to pick him up."
"Alas, then this is goodbye till Wednesday."
"Goodbye Francis. I love you."
"I love you too."
Francis heard the familiar click of a phone hanging up and he sighed. He was glad that he and Arthur were no longer angry at each other – but that only made him want to be home even more.
Though, if he was being technical, he was home. France was his place of birth, his place of schooling and where all his family were from. He'd even gone to culinary school here in Paris – he'd had a little apartment near the Seine, and there was his family's townhouse here, too.
Francis fiddled with the cellphone in his hand, and for a millisecond, contemplated dropping it off the balcony he was standing on, jumping on a flight back to Riverview and quitting his job. He decided against it. It was a very expensive cellphone, and having to switch numbers would be rather frustrating. Besides, last minute plane tickets were so hard to get, and if he were to quit, he'd never hear the end of it from Arthur, or his papa.
The Paris nightline was always very pretty at 1:30am. When he was younger, he'd gotten drunk with his friends all the time, and they'd used to wax lyrical about bright lights and the Eiffel tower while staring into the horizon.
Now though, Francis turned his back on the city and went into his dark hotel room, alone.
It feels good to finally get this thing uploaded, when the whole plotline has been planned for so long. This chapter is just setting the scene, the proper plotline doesn't start for a while... This story is likely to be long, and there is in fact a spin off planned. Quick note – a lot of the names I mentioned (Tyler, Brandon, etc) are just completely random OCs who will most likely never be mentioned again because they are not important.
Do leave me your thoughts and predications – I love feedback :)