Chapter 3

Francis slid his phone back into his bag with a smile still lingering on his lips. He would see Matthew again soon, and the excitement they both felt was obvious—their texting had become increasingly lewd. Francis's eyes trailed curiously over the empty arm chair next to him. International flights were so horribly long. He wondered idly who his seat mate would be in first class and hoped it would at least be someone with good conversational skills. He did not have to wait long in suspense. Some boring looking, stuffy business-types shuffled past with their expensive carry-ons before a girl appeared like some sort of tropical angel sent to relieve Francis from the tedium of a fourteen hour flight.

Despite having a boyfriend whom he dearly loved, Francis had an appreciation for beauty. This had gotten him into trouble with Matthew more times than he could count, but Francis just couldn't help it. He would never sleep with someone who wasn't his boyfriend (unless it was another threesome scenario), but he was also rather shameless about looking and occasionally flirting. It came as natural to him as breathing, and it was mere misfortune that he'd fallen in love with someone whose never-ending insecurities caused him to view Francis' harmless flirtation as the worst sort of betrayal. In their darkest hour, it had occurred to Francis that his relationship with Matthew too closely resembled the relationship that had once existed between his parents. The emotional roller coaster he'd been on since his parents announced the divorce was slowing down, but it had definitely impacted his relationship with Matthew. First it brought them closer, but then he had thought of disturbing parallels between his relationship with Matthew and the relationship his parents shared...but what could be done? He loved Matthew. For every wrong he saw in their relationship, there were just as many rights. It was up to him to make sure they didn't repeat his parents' mistakes, if such a thing were even possible. Francis tried not to dwell on it, preferring instead to live in the moment. He hoped seeing Matthew again would ease his worries—spending so much time apart over the summer had not been good for either of them. He flirted a little too much when Matthew wasn't nearby, and Matthew thought every missed phone call was proof that Francis no longer loved him. Separation brought out the worst in both of their personalities.

Thinking about Matthew distracted him only momentarily. When the girl was actually sitting across from him, situating her bag beneath the longest, tannest legs Francis had seen in a long time, all thoughts of Matthew fled Francis's mind like a handful of confetti being tossed up in front of a spinning fan.

"Salut la belle," Francis greeted with a pearly white grin. He was seventeen this year, though he could easily pass for twenty-one. The girl was like Francis—though she looked young, she also looked too beautiful to still be a child. She blushed at his greeting, though she raised a perfectly sculpted brow to indicate her mild annoyance. Francis had never seen such expressive, honey-colored eyes. They were so large and compelling, framed by such long, dark lashes, that Francis leaned towards her almost subconsciously. Her skin was flawless, her figure like that of a goddess, and from across the small space between their seats, Francis could smell a tropical aroma from her hair and skin.

"You're staring at me like a total creeper," she said, her blush darkening further at her own, bold words. Her accent was hard to place. She sounded like a native French speaker who'd been speaking British English for a long, long time. Hints of French vowels softened the crispness of her British consonants. Her accent was at odds with her exotic, island-girl beauty, and Francis was even more intrigued.

"A girl as beautiful as you must be accustomed to staring. However impolite it may be, I'm afraid I couldn't resist. My name is Francis Bonnefoy. And you are?" Francis asked with a roguish wink. The girl flashed him an unimpressed, mild glare of reproach before leaning over to fetch a magazine from her bag. The graceful action allowed Francis a peek down the V-cut of her designer top, at cleavage that would make a priest blush with desire.

"I'm uninterested. I have a boyfriend," she replied flatly. Francis grinned.

"So? I do, too." Francis enjoyed the startled look this statement earned him from the girl, who nearly dropped her magazine. Francis smoothly crossed his legs and watched her transform from confident and assertive to blushing and bashful.

"Oh! I-I'm sorry. I mean, I shouldn't have assumed you were flirting with me. I promise I'm not so arrogant that I think every man who looks at me is...I'm just sorry for assuming. My name's Michelle, but my friends just call me Shell."

"Do not be worried, belle. I take no offense. I am sure you do not appreciate being hit on and stared at all the time. Like I said, though, I could not help myself. You see, I have an appreciation for fashion. When I see you, I can't help but think what an exquisite model you would make," Francis schmoozed. The girl giggled—even her laugh was beautiful—and revealed that her magazine was a French fashion rag that Francis subscribed to. His interest in her skyrocketed. The stewardess came by and offered them both drinks without even thinking to check their identification. Francis had never questioned it, but his good looks always seemed to distract people from their common sense. This power was one he shared with Michelle, who accepted her glass of champagne with practiced ease.

"D-do you really think so? I've been trying to get into modeling for ages," she confessed.

"It shocks me that you have not already been on the cover. Have you read the article on page twelve yet? I thought that one was particularly interesting," Francis said with put-upon casualty. He smiled inwardly as he proceeded to ignore the girl, pulling out his own reading material for the flight. This was a game he'd played many times before. Despite acting tough at first, Michelle was like all the others. By the time the flight was over, she'd be crazy about him.

"I'm actually flying to D.C. to meet a new agent...and then to start school in the states."

"Is that so?" Francis replied, pretending he was not really interested. The island girl watched him attentively now, eager to make a new friend—especially one who shared her passion for clothing and modeling.

"Will you be meeting your boyfriend there?" Francis asked casually, glancing up from his book. The girl blushed again.

"O-oh, I actually don't have one. I just say that because...well...it's easier that way."

"Then we have something else in common. I don't really have a boyfriend," Francis replied. The girl looked horribly confused for a moment and Francis chuckled. "I'm just joking. His name's Matthew. We've been together almost a year now—met in school."

The girl smiled (Francis's heart beat sped up at bit in response) and she seemed curious. Francis knew the look well. At first he thought having a boyfriend would ruin his chances with beautiful women, but he'd found quite the opposite to be true. If anything, thinking they couldn't have him made them even more desperate to get at him than before. When he factored in his royal lineage, his money, and his looks, the idea that he was sensitive and stylish to boot—it made him irresistible, except to those girls who preferred the big, brawny brutish types.

Michelle definitely did not seem to be into that. She eyed Francis with poorly concealed interest. Francis wondered what it was about being gay that made some girls almost frantic to get with him, but he merely dismissed it as good fortune and went along with it.

"That's so sweet. So you're gay then?"

"Bisexual, actually," Francis replied, tossing her another grin over the top of his book.

"Oh, lucky me then, huh?" Michelle said flirtatiously, perhaps without even realizing it. Francis's smirk widened. A hint of the earlier bashfulness returned to her expressive eyes and she confirmed, "You were flirting with me earlier, right?"

Francis winked.

"Oui, but let's keep that just between us, hmm? We will likely never see each other again after this plane lands—until you appear on a cover of Vogue, that is, so let us pretend it's just you and me, and that we were meant to meet right here, right now. I want to know all about you, so that I can say I knew you before you became famous," Francis said as he closed his book again and turned on the charm. Francis had long ago learned that the favorite subject of women is themselves, and the more beautiful the girl, the truer that statement tended to be.

In Francis's neglected bag, his phone buzzed away with messages from Matthew—all of them to go unread until the plane landed and Francis's most recent diversion hailed her taxi and disappeared off Francis's radar.

Alfred woke up from his nap to find that his room had grown dark and Arthur had not remained asleep in his arms. For a second, he panicked and wondered if it had all been a dream, but then the door to his bathroom opened and Arthur emerged in a neat set of new pajamas. They were too hot for the summer, and far too modest to be sexy. They practically buttoned up to the royal's throat.

Alfred smiled happily at him all the same. Arthur was the same old Arthur—prim and proper, even after they'd had such an explosive reunion.

"I missed you, Artie," Alfred said, feeling like a sap and not caring. Arthur, however, remained standing rigidly in the doorway, arms firmly crossed over his cotton clad chest.

"We need to talk," Arthur threatened. Alfred wilted rather dramatically against his pillow.

"It's been less than four hours. What could I have possibly done wrong so soon?" Alfred asked pathetically. He hoped the pouting would earn him a little slack. Maybe he'd been farting or snoring in his sleep again. Arthur always got embarrassed and fussy on him when Alfred was gassy (which was ridiculous, because he couldn't exactly help that sort of thing and if he didn't fart, his organs would explode.)

"You're acting differently, Alfred. Don't tell me I'm imagining it because—" Alfred cut the shorter boy off.

"Yeah, I am," he agreed easily. Arthur looked a little thrown-off by Alfred's reply and he uncrossed his arms warily.

"Well...I'm not entirely comfortable with it," Arthur replied, crossing the bedroom and sitting primly on the edge. Alfred pushed his lean torso up on his elbows. He was still nude, but the Superman sheet covered his hips. He smiled reassuringly at Arthur, and he could practically see the other boy's determination to be upset melt away harmlessly.

"I thought you didn't like how I let my mom boss me around so much," Alfred said. Arthur's impressive eyebrows forked downwards in displeasure.

"I don't, but—"

"So maybe I have been a little bratty around her this summer. Maybe I'm just sick of being her doormat. Why do you care if I mouth off to my mom, anyway?" Alfred asked. Arthur felt stuck. On one hand, he loved how earnest and polite Alfred was by nature, but on the other hand, he agreed with his boyfriend—Helen really didn't deserve to get Alfred's best when she'd treated him so horribly for so long. If Alfred was finally wising up to that, who was Arthur to dictate how he redefined his relationship with Helen? It was really none of his business if Alfred wanted to go through a rebellious phase.

"Treat your mother how you please then—that's up to you—but how you treat me is a different matter," Arthur replied, some of his firmness returning. Alfred raised an innocent brow.

"Have I done something wrong?" Alfred asked. He knew Arthur's moods could be unpredictable at times, and experience had taught him it was best to admit his ignorance quickly rather than be punished for it later on.

"Earlier...when you..."

"Ravished you?" Alfred suggested with a big, shit-eating grin. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"That's not exactly how I'd put it, but yes, when we had sex—I didn't teach you any of that," Arthur said, finally making his point. Alfred dropped back onto his pillow, his worries easily dismissed. Was that all it was? Arthur was such a worry-wart.

"I didn't cheat on you, Artie," Alfred said, his sincerity obvious. "How could you even think that?"

"Well, what am I supposed to assume?" Arthur replied hotly. Alfred nodded towards the edge of his bed.

"Check under there," he said. Confused, but curious, Arthur cautiously lifted the bed skirt and peeked underneath the bed. A trove of glossy magazines caught his eye, and he pulled one out.

"Are you serious?" he asked. Alfred was on the cover, posing in an American flag themed swim-suit for the Independence Day issue, and along with his scantily clad boyfriend, were big, bold phrases like "50 Ways to Light his Fireworks!" and "How to Get a Summer Butt Without Working Yours Off!"

"I'm not all beauty and no brains, babe. I don't just look at myself in all those girly magazines. I read the articles, too," Alfred boasted, perfectly serious. Arthur struggled to keep a straight face and lost the battle pretty quickly.

"Are you telling me you learned all those moves from reading these ridiculous magazines?" Arthur confirmed, his smile threatening to turn into mocking laughter at any second. Alfred finally sensed the tone of insult and pouted playfully in retaliation. Arthur began to chuckle as he flipped to the dog-eared pages, his green eyes scanning the naughty suggestions for mixing it up in the bedroom. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I can't believe you—hmm...that's unique."

"What? Oh, yeah, they sometimes do articles on how to revamp your wardrobe by ripping clothes up or putting belts through stuff other than pants. The pictures make it look a lot easier than—hey! You can't read it if you were just about to tease me for doing the same thing!" Alfred protested, making a grab for his girly magazine. Arthur pushed him off easily, absorbed in the article fully now.

"I'd have never thought to use a scarf like that," Arthur mused, now completely distracted. Recognizing a losing battle when he saw one, Alfred flopped across his bed and nuzzled his nose against Arthur's thigh, simply happy that he was close by again. Distractedly, his boyfriend petted Alfred's mused hair and scratched between his shoulder blades, and Alfred knew that all had been forgiven.

"So you didn't like my new moves?" Alfred asked, a hint of a whine creeping into his otherwise confident tone. Arthur glanced down at him from the glossy pages of the magazine.

"I want you to do what's comfortable for you, love. If being a little more...assertive...is something you enjoy, then that's fine, but I'd like a bit more warning in the future. You were going about it totally different than what I was expecting—surely you can see how I was a little surprised," Arthur chastised, though it was a gentle rebuke.

"We've been together for, like, forever now. I don't want you to get bored with me," Alfred said, craning his face up to catch Arthur's fond, though exasperated, green-eyed gaze.

"Alfred Jones, don't you know boredom is an impossible state to attain with you anywhere in the vicinity?" Arthur teased lovingly. His boyfriend puffed out his lips, asking for a kiss. Arthur leaned down to oblige him, even though the angle was a little awkward, and was glad that things weren't as bad as they had seemed upon his arrival. In fact, he was beginning to feel like the whole thing had been blown out of proportion—he blamed Helen's flair for the dramatics. The kiss turned from playful to passionate as Arthur shifted for easier access to Alfred's mouth. When they parted, Arthur was lightly panting, and his skin felt hot under his stuffy pajamas.

"So...what else did you learn in your magazines?" Arthur prompted. His only reply was a mischievous, confident new grin, that looked so at home on Alfred's face that Arthur marveled at the fact he'd never seen an expression like it before. Alfred had definitely found new confidence over the summer—a confidence which made him take less crap from his mother and preen a bit more when a camera flash went off—but Arthur decided if Alfred was happy with his new-found fame, improved looks and popularity, then Arthur was happy about his successes, too. He'd learned with that whole Kiku fiasco the year before that Alfred was loyal to a fault. It was his own jealous and prideful tendencies that he needed to keep in check if their relationship was going to survive in the harsh glare of the media.

"Well, I read about this one trick that involves pouring something sweet all over your junk before I give you a blow-job, but I figured I'd have to ask before I poured a McDonald's shake all over King Arthur."

Arthur growled playfully and tackled his boyfriend, nipping harshly at Alfred's plump lips in punishment.

"What have I told you about calling my knob King Arthur? I love that story, and you're tainting it. And you aren't pouring ice cream all over my arousal either. Use your head, love. I won't have an arousal for very long after that."

"Oh, I dunno. I think the mix of all that cold and hot could feel pretty awesome," Alfred protested, rolling his hips up against Arthur's as he did so.

"I think you've done quite enough experimenting on me for one night. If anyone's getting doused in a favorite dessert, it's your turn. You'd look quite tasty covered in bread pudding," Arthur purred suggestively. Alfred, however, just laughed.

"Dude...there is nothing sexy about your weird British food. Plus, I've eaten your cooking before, remember? Cock tastes weird enough without you adding fish and chips into the mix."

"I don't even know what we're talking about at this point," Arthur growled a little breathlessly, as he began to pump his hips against Alfred's with hastily growing urgency.

"Doesn't matter. Just get outta your grandpa pajamas and fuck me," Alfred begged. A choked moan was his only answer from Arthur as the other boy all but tore off his pajamas and knickers and began rutting against Alfred's nude hip in earnest. His worries put to rest, Arthur allowed himself to completely enjoy being with his boyfriend once more, and kissed him breathless to show Alfred just how desperately he'd been missed.

Ivan thought he'd known the definition of pain and suffering. Growing up in a rough neighborhood with a blood-splattered lineage and crime as his prospective career path, Ivan liked to think of himself as hardened to life's challenges.

He was wrong. So very, very wrong.

"Hey, can't you get that kid to quiet down? I didn't pay so damn much for my ticket to hear a baby crying for six hours!" a passenger finally complained. Directly in his ear (resistant to both Sofia and Yao's attempts to calm him) Raivis alternated between bawling and throwing temper tantrums. Despite the fact that Ivan was thinking less than kind thoughts about his "son" that mirrored the complaints from the other passengers, he wasn't about to let some asshole yell at his family. Ivan stood up slowly, his expression blank, everything about his aura screaming intimidation...except for the dried cereal stuck to his shirt, the drool stains on his clothing, and the diaper bag held in his arms.

"Sit down! You're causing a scene!" Yao hissed in displeasure at his side. Sofia fretted over the cries of the baby, berating herself for not knowing how to calm him.

"It's just been so long since I cared for a baby—I really don't know what's upsetting him. Maybe he's sick?" she suggested weakly. She was already an emotional girl, and the strain of the plane ride finally made her crack. Big fat tears began sliding down her cheeks to match those of the miserable toddler in her arms. Bad as Ivan looked, Sofia took the brunt of Raivis's unhappiness. Her hair was in disarray and there were thick bags under her eyes. Raivis was old enough to know he'd been taken from familiar surroundings and was not happy about it.

"How much longer is this flight? Big brother, don't you have anything fun for me to do? I'm bored!" Natalia complained. Ivan found her whining to be almost as jarring as Raivis's constant crying. When he'd left for school the year before, she'd been an intense and mostly silent twelve-year-old. Now, away from their father's intimidating presence, she was fast becoming the most annoying, spoiled thirteen-year-old brat that Ivan had ever had the displeasure of tending.

"Natalia—" Ivan growled in warning, his focus shifting from the outspoken man to his obnoxious sister.

"Ivan! For the last time, sit down! And stop growling at your sister. I told you to let her get her carry-on down a half hour ago so she'd have something to do," Yao reminded, his dark eyes filled with annoyance. Ivan mimicked his nagging tone as he sat down like a deflated balloon.

"Those bags are packed too damn tightly and hers is in the very back. What the hell do you expect me to—" Ivan's rebuttal was immediately interrupted when he felt something slimy dribble over his hand. Yao and Natalia frowned in distaste and leaned back from the puking two-year-old. Sofia winced to see her suspicion confirmed, just as a flight attendant stopped to offer some towels and a puke bag—as if the wild, squirming toddler was considerate enough to actually use it.

Ivan was silent for a long moment and then took a deep, bracing breath. Six more hours to go before they landed in D.C. Just six more hours.

Matthew marked another day off his calendar and smiled to see that his flight for D.C. left in just a few short hours. Very soon he'd be reunited with his friends again, and best of all, with Francis. He'd missed his boyfriend almost as much as he'd felt neglected by him. Francis had spoken of being unable to stay away for long and coming to visit him long before summer ended, but that had proved to be all talk. Francis had been distracted by his parents' divorce and his travels to England, and now the French boy would be the very last one from their group to arrive stateside. He'd just barely make it in time for Alfred's birthday party. Even Ivan and Yao, who hadn't planned to come so early at all, were going to beat him there.

But it would be nice, Matthew thought, to see everyone in person again. The summer had felt like a small eternity.

There had been one unexpected joy in the midst of his tedious days, and that was his budding friendship with Alex, his new pen pal from Cuba. He flipped open his phone to see (unsurprisingly) that Francis hadn't replied to any of the six messages he'd sent that morning. Alex, however, had already sent him three. Matthew read them happily and began to text back, but was interrupted mid-text by an incoming call from his new friend. He smiled at Alex's eagerness to talk and glanced about the lobby to make sure nobody was waiting or passing through.

"Hi Alex," Matthew greeted warmly.

"Morning! What are you up to, socio?" Alex asked.

"Not much. Just working my last morning. I leave at noon and then I'm packing up for my flight tonight. I'll get in pretty late, but I can't wait to see my best friend."

"And your girl, huh? Don't be acting cool! You know you miss her!" Alex teased. Matthew felt a little guilty as he always did when Alex mentioned his "girlfriend." To be fair, Matthew had never claimed Francis was a girl...he'd just never mentioned that he was a boy. Alex had assumed incorrectly and Matthew had just gone with it. He wasn't sure why he was so keen on hiding his homosexuality from Alex (he'd never been ashamed of it before) but for reasons that were a mystery even to himself, Matthew liked the idea that Alex thought of him as just another one of the guys.

"I guess we have missed each other. I don't know though. We haven't talked much this summer, and not because I haven't tried. Plus, you know how girls are...always moody and talking about other guys."

"She's just trying to make you jealous, socio. Women, huh? You should come to Miami, bro. The girls here are hot!" Alex replied. Matthew had quickly learned that Alex had few interests—baseball, ice cream, girls, and an occasional book just about covered the spectrum for the friendly Cuban. Matthew imagined Alex to be a typical guy's guy, and he was exactly right in his assessment. Matthew also was of the opinion that if they'd met in person first, rather than through e-mail, they would have never become friends. Guys like Alex didn't really give guys like Matthew a chance. Friendly as Alex was, Matthew worried once they met in person, Alex would lose interest in talking to him.

The thought saddened him. Alex's company had been the highlight of his summer.

"So are you jealous of me? My friend's birthday party is going to be huge—I think famous people are going!" Matthew boasted slightly. Alex just chuckled.

"So what? I already know the coolest guy there. Hey, you ever gonna send me a picture?" Alex requested. Matthew frowned and surfed to his personal page, where a series of photos of himself with his friends from the year before decorated the available space. Matthew didn't like any of them. He didn't really like photos period, and he always thought he looked like a girl in them. The ones where he posed with Alfred were especially bad—the other boy looked muscular and tan while he just looked soft-spoken and effeminate.

"I already told you I don't have any decent ones. I really hate photos of myself," Matthew said quietly. Where Alfred would have whined until he gave the other boy what he wanted, and Francis would have berated him for his low self-confidence, Alex tried to see it from Matthew's perspective.

"I hear ya. I didn't really like photos of myself either till I decided to stop worrying so much about being a fatass and just live my life. Beautiful people aren't the only ones allowed to have fun!" Alex replied. Alex made such comments often, and it led Matthew to believe the other boy didn't have super high self-confidence either, though he was clearly working on it. Still, after being surrounded by good looking friends that were all special in tons of different ways, Matthew enjoyed talking to someone who wasn't so perfect and didn't think of themselves as such.

"Yeah, I was supposed to work out some this summer, but I've just been inside all the time. My friend got to go to this really cool football camp with pro players, though," Matthew said.

"Sounds like your best friend is rich," Alex replied.

"I guess. He's not spoiled or anything," Matthew defended.

"So tell me more about your friends. You don't really talk about them much," Alex said. Matthew shook his head, a bit at a loss as to how to describe his crazy friends.

"They're really...something. I don't know. I guess they're all just larger than life, you know? I'm just the boring one," Matthew said softly.

"Hey, don't talk about my coolest friend like that! I don't care if your friends are all rich and famous—I already know I like you best," Alex reassured. "These friends of yours take good care of you, right? They're not jerks, are they?"

"No way! They might not be great at keeping in touch, but my friends are the only people who really see me. Before them, I was kind of just...invisible."

"Then I can't wait to meet them," Alex replied jovially. Inwardly, Matthew winced. He didn't know how a meeting between his new friend and his old friends would go. Of course, he hoped Alex would fit right in, but Alex wasn't really like any of his old crowd. He wasn't good looking, or famous, or rich—in fact, he seemed to have disdain for people of that sort in a general sense. As normal as his friends seemed to him, there was no denying that they were all wealthy, two were royals, one was a famous model, and two of them were tied up in the Russian mafia.

It made his head spin when he thought about it in such a way, so Matthew tried to think of them only as he knew them—crazy, wonderful, unpredictable teenage boys.

"So you nervous about this party?" Alex asked. Matthew wanted to reply that he was, most definitely, but then a client came in and Matthew had to hastily hang up the phone. He didn't know what to expect from Alfred after his friend had become an even bigger star over the summer, but he hoped things hadn't changed too much.

Matthew arrived in the American capital after a fairly short plane ride. He'd texted Alfred to see if his friend could pick him up from the airport, but like so many of his messages, he received no response. He complained in an uncharacteristic bout of irritation to Alex about it over the phone, but then decided Alfred was likely busy and might not even have his phone on him. He felt guilty for getting upset in the first place, but Alex assured him that if he'd been arriving in Miami, Alex would have personally been there to make sure he got to his hotel safely. Matthew's irritation with Alfred had disappeared almost as quickly as it came, but Alex was less than impressed by his behavior and didn't hesitate to say so.

"Some best friend. Just because you can get a taxi for yourself doesn't mean it's okay for him to bail on you. What? Is he too important to do a favor for a friend? I know you've avoided saying who your friend is, so I get the feeling he's somebody big, but to me he just sounds like an asshole," Alex argued. As Matthew struggled to escape the crowd of travelers at the airport with all his luggage, desperately wishing Alfred was there to help him, he was inclined to agree. Maybe for security reasons Alfred couldn't come to an airport, but he could have sent someone, right?

Matthew spotted an information kiosk and hung up with Alex to seek out a number for a taxi service. He managed that and was feeling a little proud of himself until the taxi driver took him to the wrong part of town (different street, same name) and Matthew was too ignorant about the area to correct him. He was way overcharged for the taxi service by the time the confusion was sorted out and he reached his hotel, and his annoyance with Alfred had only increased.

Finally, finally, he got a text from Alfred asking him if he'd stay at his hotel that night seeing as Alfred was busy reuniting with Arthur. Had Alfred been better about helping him arrive, he probably wouldn't have had any issues with Alfred wishing to spend his first few days all over Arthur, but his total dismissal at the airport already had Matthew annoyed. As was fast becoming habit, it was Alex he called.

"I'm at my hotel finally—"

"You sure you're safe?" Alex demanded. Matthew was a little distracted from his irritation by the protectiveness in Alex's voice. It made him feel just a little bit better to know at least someone cared.

"I'm fine, Alex. Alfred just asked me not to come over tonight. I guess he's busy with Arthur," Matthew said. There was a long pause and Matthew finally realized his slip of the tongue.

"I kind of suspected, but it's hard to believe, socio. Alfred Jones is your best friend?"

"Err...yeah. Does that make things weird?" Matthew asked nervously, pacing the floor of his tidy little hotel room. His Cuban friend, however, was already starting in on a rather hot-blooded rant. Alex definitely had a temper, something Matthew had learned quickly in their friendship. It didn't take much to get Alex stirred up, though Alex's anger was never directed at Matthew. Strangely enough, Matthew didn't worry that it every would be. Somehow, even though they'd never met in person, Alex made Matthew feel the way Alfred had in the first week of school, when the bullies had terrified him and Alfred had been just another misfit determined to protect him.

"So what? Pretty boy's too good to get his friend at the airport? Too high and mighty to hang out with you after blowing you off all summer?" Alex rapidly switched to Spanish and Matthew just sighed softly. There was no stopping him now. After a good ten minutes, he finally began to wind down.

"I was right. You don't like Alfred," Matthew said.

"Generally speaking, I think guys like him are...what's the word?"

"Tools?" Matthew offered helpfully.

"Yeah! Just because some stupid ass eleven year old girls freak out over his haircut and his lame tweets—"

"He's not like that. I mean, it looks like that, but he wasn't always a model. He went through a really bad awkward phase, so he's not—"

"He's a shitty friend, socio. Fame gets to people like that. Look, I just don't want you to get hurt when you see him at school and he's different. Because he will be different. Whatever kid you knew last year is gone—I've seen that guy all over the tabloids. He's nothing but a spoiled, whiny, brainless idiot. All he's missing is the reality television show."

"Alex, you don't even know him," Matthew said tiredly. Alex, however, just mumbled something uncharitable sounding in Spanish. He switched to English for Matthew's convenience.

"I was willing to give him a chance until he treated you like crap and knows you'll take it because for whatever reason, you think you're lucky to have him as a friend. Truth is, socio, it's the other way around. He's lucky to have you. He's stupid if he doesn't realize it," Alex declared. Matthew sat weakly on the end of his bed, finding it impossible to remain annoyed with Alex when he said such supportive things.

"I don't know what will happen with Alfred this year, but I promise I won't stick around if he's a total jerk now. I know I can make new friends, thanks to you," Matthew said gently. Alex, however, wasn't appeased yet.

"That goes for that girl of yours, too. If she treats you like crap, you don't need her either."

Matthew ignored the little voice that reminded him Francis hadn't contacted him for nearly three days.

"Okay," Matthew said timidly. Just the idea of confronting Francis and Alfred about their neglectful behavior made him want to hide under his bed covers, but in his heart, Matthew knew that Alex was right. He couldn't expect his best friend and boyfriend to value him if he didn't value himself.

"It's been a long night, Alex. I'm going to go to bed," Matthew said with a tired yawn. Alex echoed his yawn just a second later.

"Night, socio. Remember—they're the lucky ones. I'm pretty damn lucky, too," Alex said with unwavering certainty. It almost made Matthew tear up. Blaming his stressful flight and arrival, Matthew quietly said his goodbyes and put himself to bed early. He'd face the Alfred situation (if there even was a situation) in the morning, with a clear head.

A/N: Ugh. I dragged myself through this chapter, and I really hope it doesn't show. It's not that I've lost interest in the story, but I'm working two jobs again and I had a new relationship going for a few weeks (didn't work out) so I'm totally burned out and not really in the mood to write love stories. They're all going to break up and eat too much ice cream and cry in the next chapter. You've been warned.

On the bright side, I've got some vacation time coming up and it usually only takes a day or so of relaxation before I feel compelled to start writing. Thanks for sticking with me, and for giving such wonderful feedback on the last chapter! Again, if this one is full of errors and totally sucks...well...I tried my best. Sorry guys.