Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews, guys! I read every single one of them, and the support is unbelievable. Now, enjoy the chapter! :D

He'd never noticed how desolate their house could be from the outside.

The animated buzz of the twins chattering about something spectacular that happened at school never reached the lawn. He couldn't hear Arthur's scolding or the boom of the television that normally initiated his migraines.

The eerie silence made him an outsider, as though he'd been looking in on someone's sweet family like a nuisance. The cut grass, the paint-chipped fence, the sloped driveway—it'd all been claimed since before he'd arrived.

He assumed Arthur would join him any minute for a final smoke to end the day, but the quietude dragged on. He'd have to invite himself in.

He took his time unlocking the door, afraid to wake the boys because they had school in the morning. He combed his shoes over the mat, inched the heavy, wooden door open, and hung his coat on its rack.

Still no sign of Arthur.

A flash of fear made him think Arthur might've taken ill again, but the man seemed fine earlier that morning, and Francis would've noticed any change in his behavior. However, it occurred to him that something was wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it yet.

He deposited his shoes in the foyer and strode up the stairs, checking in on the sleeping twins first. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Matthew was suffocating his bear against his chest, and Alfred's lips were parted halfway in an "o" shape, like he'd been trying to speak, but slumber fetched him a moment too soon.

They were so full of what Francis could only call enamor, and he wondered when he'd stopped seeing the beauty in life that he often took for granted. When had he become too old to see the world with constant excitement for the future? When had he grown tired of the flowers in the garden, the strollers in the park, the trees, the birds, and the new life all around? When had he forgotten to notice them?

He worried he'd someday stand outside of the house and lose the enamor in his heart once and for all. When would he look at his house and his husband with a sense of brooding and stop understanding the love they polished on the shelf? When would he grow tired of him like the flowers, the birds, and the trees? What would happen then?

He returned to the opposite bedroom and found Arthur reading, just as always.

He turned a page in the novel with a flick of his thumb and kept his eyes planted to the words in front of him, barely acknowledging Francis's entrance.

Suddenly, it was very clear what was wrong. Arthur was upset, and Francis had been the cause of his grief.

"Arthur? Good evening to you too," Francis said after a minute, changing out of his uniform. "This cold front doesn't seem to be letting up."

Arthur knew he wasn't just talking about the weather. When the twins were younger, every remark they made was laced with a double meaning meant for adults only.

Francis slid onto his side of the bed and peeked at the book Arthur was reading. It was another assignment for his English class. "You know, it's common courtesy to let someone know why you're angry with them before giving them the silent treatment."

"You don't deserve an explanation," Arthur snapped, flipping to the next page and revealing the many notes he'd taken in the margins.

"I have a right to face my accuser, don't I? This family court honors due process."

"You've turned my own children against me."

Francis sat up and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "How so?"

Arthur shrugged out of the touch. "Why did my son tell me I love my cigarettes more than my children? I can't imagine who he might've been parroting. Perhaps it was the same man who taught him what an ultimatum is. A better word for it would be blackmail."

Oh, he was in for it.

Francis scratched his chin and frowned. "I was irritated. I said some things in front Alfred that I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry."

"Well, thank goodness you're sorry," Arthur spat and lunged himself out of the bed. "Sorry fixes everything, doesn't it? Sorry fixes the fact that Alfred thinks I love my addiction more than him."

"Maybe he has a point," Francis muttered, but then immediately regretted the retort. The look in Arthur's eyes was frightening even to him.

"Y-You… You damned bastard of a frog! My children are above everything else. I've treated them with all of the love I have to offer, and then you come along and accuse me of not caring?"

"It's hard to remember when you're always 'stepping out'."

Arthur threw his book on the floor. "Funny, coming from the person who doesn't come home from work until midnight."

"Don't hold that against me. I'm trying to provide for us so that we can live a comfortable life."

"And I'm not doing that?"

Francis curled his toes into the mattress and braced himself. "I'm not sure because half of your income goes toward buying those cigarettes."

Arthur opened his mouth to shout something profane at him, but a knock on the bedroom door shook both men out of their outrage.

"Matthew, love. What are you doing up at this time?"

The boy scampered across the threshold and let his eyes fall to the abandoned book on the carpet. "I heard shouting. Are you guys fighting?"

Both men exchanged a look, each placing the blame on the other.

"No, my boy. We were having a discussion. We didn't mean to wake you."

Matthew didn't seem convinced, so he clutched his bear tight and stared at Francis intently from across the room. "Papa? Is everything okay?"

"Of course, mon lapin. Go back to bed. You have a busy day tomorrow."

"Come," Arthur whispered, leading the boy away. He forced a gentle smile. "Let's get you back to your room."

Matthew agreed and let himself be ushered across the hall. When he was under the covers once more, he blinked at Arthur as though he'd never had the chance to really look at him. "I know you love us, Dad."

The man straightened himself and nodded, shoulders tensed. "Close your eyes, now."

Francis slept on the couch.

After a night spent in purgatory, he woke up with the sun and went about making breakfast. He had the day off, and it'd be nice to spend some time with the boys, even if Arthur still had a grudge against him. They'd cool off, plaster a smile on for the twins, and wait until someone cracked. More often than not, Francis gave up the fight first.

"Papa?"

"Good morning, Mathieu. How did you sleep?"

Matthew followed him into the kitchen and pulled up his sagging pajama bottoms as he walked. "Okay. Can I help make pancakes?"

It'd been a while since they'd cooked together, so Francis didn't even think of refusing. "Be my guest. Let's try not to get flour all over the table again."

"I'll be careful."

Francis prepared the eggs, milk, and oil in a bowl, content with falling back into what had once been a daily routine for the two of them. "Are you excited for school?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"Papa, nobody likes school. We just go 'cause we have to. Teachers are always telling you what to do, you have to take tests almost every day, and there's a lot of drama," Matthew lamented, mixing the ingredients together until they achieved a decent consistency for the batter.

Francis preheated the skillet and hummed in the half-hearted manner of understanding that all parents mastered at some point. "You're looking at it from the wrong perspective, mon chou. All of your teachers are people too, and sometimes even they don't like school."

"Like Dad?"

The man sighed and poured some of the batter onto the skillet. "Oui, like your father. Do you think they enjoy giving you all of those ridiculous tests? District tests, state tests, national tests… They can't stand it either. It's the system that's at fault. We live in uninspiring times, at least where education is concerned."

If Matthew didn't catch on to everything Francis was saying, he didn't let himself show it.

"But do you know what keeps us going?"

Matthew gave it some thought and shook his head. "What?"

"Children like yourself," Francis murmured with a soft smile before flipping a pancake over. "We want to share knowledge with you so that you can make the world a better place to live in. We need you to solve the problems of the future. We believe that when you grow up, you'll inherit this world from us and change it."

Matthew frowned as a pancake landed on his plate. "Doing that is too hard."

"Nothing is easy," Francis said as he drizzled maple syrup over the boy's breakfast. They had enough pancakes to feed the entire block. "Where are our two sleeping beauties? Their breakfast is waiting."

The pair ate without the other half of the family for five minutes until a banging noise came from the stairs, accompanied by shouts of protest.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "That's them."

Francis put down his fork and went to investigate, carefully edging his way into the war-zone.

"Let me go! I don't want your help!" Alfred howled, fighting off the hands around his waist. He kicked his feet and twisted his torso to free himself. "I can do it!"

Setting his dislike of Francis off to the side for a moment, Arthur shot the man a helpless look from the top of the stairs. "He took a little stumble on the steps."

"Mon dieu… Are you all right, Alfred?"

"I'm fine!"

Arthur squeezed the boy's upper arm and tried to guide him down to safe ground once more. "Come, let's get you sitting down. We have to check you over for scrapes."

"No, I already told you! I don't want your help!"

"Why not?"

"Because you never let me help you!" Alfred exclaimed, using up all of his breath and strength. He lifted his eyes to Arthur's green ones, amazed by the words that had come out of his own mouth. He hadn't even known he'd been hoarding them.

It shut Arthur up for a while, and he backed away, watching as Alfred straggled down the last steps. When he reached the hardwood floor, Francis embraced him by the shoulders and told him to head into the kitchen, where Matthew would serve him his portion of fluffy pancakes topped with whipped cream and syrup. No matter how emotionally distraught the child was, he couldn't turn down food.

"You need to fix this," Francis whispered once Alfred was gone.

Arthur scowled and said, "No, we need to fix this. There's plenty you can talk about with him. Perhaps you can start by apologizing for planting ridiculous thoughts in his mind."

"You have to talk to him first. Then, we'll have a family meeting, so all of us can get everything off of our chests."

The man hated taking advice from Francis, but he knew he was partially right. Whenever something important was on the line, Arthur always talked to Alfred in private. He lived for their mid-day conversations, and even when Alfred complained that he was too strict or mean or uptight, Arthur could always feel the affection between them, and it was an affection that they saved only for each other. They enjoyed the company. Arthur would never understand how anyone in their right mind could look at him with such unconditional adoration the way Alfred did.

From diapers, to riding bikes, and all the way to parent-teacher conferences, Arthur and Alfred always learned best from one another. They were overdue for an infamous heart-to-heart.

As soon as he came home from teaching his classes, Arthur kidnapped Alfred from his bedroom, seized the plastic sled from the storage closet, and told Francis not to expect their return for at least two hours.

"But Dad, I don't feel like going to the park."

"We both know that's a lie. If your father and I weren't around, you'd be living outdoors."

"I'm still mad at you."

Arthur dragged the sled behind them as they walked, awfully weary. "I know, and you have every right to ignore me. I've been a terrible father as of late."

Upon hearing the self-deprecation in Arthur's tone, Alfred's walls crumbled. He was always quick to forgive and forget. "Don't say stuff like that. You're a good dad."

"No, a good father would've acknowledged his faults. He wouldn't have lost his temper the way I did, and he would have taken your concerns seriously," Arthur continued, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm sorry, Alfred. You're old enough now for us to discuss sensitive topics such as this, so I won't skirt around the issue anymore. Addiction is very serious, and it plays tricks on the mind. It makes you do things you wouldn't normally do, and it makes you say things without thinking first."

"What kinds of things?"

Arthur sighed and watched his breath warm the winter air. "Things like 'stepping outside' every thirty minutes, or losing interest in your health. I do those things, but it's not really me that's doing them. Do you understand?"

Alfred nibbled his lip and shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. "Yeah, kinda."

"That doesn't mean, however, that I don't care about you. You, your brother, and Papa are always my top priority. The cigarettes—they're just a disgusting habit I picked up before I knew what it was like to love someone. They don't mean anything, and I've tried to stop many times, Alfred, but it isn't easy."

They entered the park wordlessly, eyes roving around the glistening snow coating the grass and trees.

"Hey, remember what you always tell me?"

Arthur cocked a brow and waited for an explanation. His brain was screaming at him for a smoke, but he refused the cravings.

"You say it's okay if I fail, as long as I try. You have to try, Dad."

He had to be more careful with the words he said. Somehow, he always ended up on the receiving side of his own advice.

"You're absolutely right, love. I'll try."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Arthur assured, crossing his fingers behind his back. "Zip up your coat all the way. It's freezing out."

"I'll be fine! I'm not a baby."

"I didn't say you were."

Alfred bounded his way over toward the nearest hill and began the arduous climb. "Why didn't Papa and Mattie come sledding with us?"

"I thought we should talk one-to-one," Arthur replied, yanking the sled up the mini-mountain of snow. "There's actually something else I wanted to discuss with you."

"Huh? Am I in trouble?"

Arthur couldn't hide the smirk on his face. Alfred's reaction showed he had gotten himself into mischief far too many times. Lectures were nothing out of the ordinary for him. "No, lad. You're not in any trouble for now. I've just been brainstorming ways for you to exercise, and there are opening spots on a football team in the spring. Toris suggested it."

"Football? You hate football. You said I wasn't allowed to play it because I'd get a concussion and die."

"Not that football," Arthur said, curling up his lip in disgust. "I meant soccer."

"Oh," Alfred glowered as they reached the top of the hill. "I don't even know how to play soccer that well."

"A little practice, and you'll be a well-seasoned player. Try-outs are during the first week of March."

"That's less than a month from now. I can't do it."

Arthur plopped the sled down and suffered through the words that he was about to say. "Remember what Papa said about that ultimatum? Well, if you try-out for the team, then I'll stop smoking."

It wasn't a fair deal, and Alfred knew it, but he couldn't resist the idea of Arthur abandoning his cigarettes for good.

"All right… I'll do it."

"I have your word?"

"Yeah, but you havta do what you say too," Alfred reminded before plunking into the sled. "Come on, Dad. The snow will melt if you stand there forever."

Arthur made a move to push Alfred down the snowy decline, but the boy threw up his hands in complaint.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

Arthur looked at the boy and then the hill. "I think I'm a tad too old for that kind of winter fun, Alfred. I'd probably end up with a few fractures."

Alfred aimed a teasing smile at him and tossed his head back to meet his eyes. "You're not old. You're a chicken."

He would not let himself be provoked by a child. He was above that, surely.

"Bawk, bawk, bawk. I bet Papa would sled with me."

God damn it!

"Move over," Arthur grumbled, scooting behind Alfred in the plastic deathtrap. "Just this once."

"Yay!"

When they were snugly pressed up against one another and not in any danger of tipping over, Alfred readied them for the launch.

"Five! Four! Three!"

Arthur twined his arms around Alfred's waist and lowered his head. He couldn't watch.

"Two! One! Lift-off!"

The man's stomach did a somersault, and they glided down the hill with a horrifying speed. While he feared for his life, Alfred laughed against the icy breeze, giving a new definition to the word 'joyful'.

A tree broke their descent near the bottom, and the two stumbled to their feet, brushing the snow off of their bodies.

"Never again," Arthur rasped, leaning on the tree to rest his pounding heart.

"That was AWESOME. We have to go again," Alfred shrilled, scoping out the next hill, which was twice the size of the first.

"I'll pass. You go on."

"Aww, okay… Thanks, Dad. You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did."

Alfred coiled his hands around Arthur's arm and grinned, happy to have this time alone with his father. "I don't care about the stuff you said before. You're a good dad."

"Mathieu, why are you holding that textbook three feet away from your eyes?"

The boy hastily tucked the book against his chest and furrowed. "What?"

"You know you can't hide things from me, mon chou."

"I'm not hiding anything!" Matthew insisted a second too quickly.

"Hmm…"

"Don't do that."

Francis frowned. "Don't do what?"

"Whenever you make that noise, it always means that you think I did something wrong," Matthew griped, folding his legs underneath him as he sat on Papa and Daddy's bed. He'd temporarily moved in while Arthur and Alfred were away.

"I do?"

"Oui."

Francis pried the book out of Matthew's hands and gave him a look that made the boy squirm. "Are you having trouble seeing, Mathieu?"

"Uhmm, no."

"We'll take you for an eye exam to make sure. It's been a while since you and Alfred had your eyesight checked."

Matthew let out a groan. "Papa, please. I don't want glasses."

"Why not? Do you want to keep squinting?"

"I wouldn't be me anymore… I'd just be made fun of even more."

Francis clicked his tongue and brushed the twin's fringe away from his forehead. "Listen to me, Mathieu. Don't listen to what other people say. You are a wonderful boy, and putting on a pair of glasses won't change that. I'm sure half of the children in your school wear glasses. It'll be fine. Now, don't tell your father I said this, but he wears glasses for reading sometimes as well."

"Really? I've never seen—"

"That's because he thinks his pride is more important than the health of his eyes. He doesn't need them often, but I've seen him fill out tax returns, and when serious paperwork is on the line, he wears the frames that he keeps hidden in the bottom of his sock drawer," Francis revealed with a chuckle, and, to prove his point, he opened his husband's sock drawer and flaunted the small leather case concealed within for a moment before sneaking them back into their place. "So, don't worry."

But the transition wasn't as smooth as they would've wanted it to be. When Matthew was declared farsighted a week later, he put on his new glasses and stared at himself in the mirror for a long time, wondering if he'd ever feel like himself again. He had a new identity now, and even though the frames were only necessary for reading, Matthew still struggled to wear them. They didn't feel right. It was as though someone had slapped a new body part onto his face without his consent.

Surprisingly enough, Alfred dealt with the news with far more enthusiasm than his brother. On the other end of the ocular spectrum, the boy was nearsighted and everything beyond five feet of him became a fuzzy outline. He wore his glasses like they were a godsend. He felt sophisticated. He felt less like a child and more like a man.

And Matthew didn't get it. How could Alfred so easily accept his identity being changed? His twin wore his glasses twenty-four/seven, and yet, he never complained about their constant presence. He'd taken to them like a fish does to water.

Papa and Daddy expected Matthew to do the same. They didn't understand why it was such a problem, but Matthew had learned that his parents didn't always know everything. They couldn't help him because they didn't understand the fussing. They didn't know what it was like to change something that should always stay the same.

They didn't know how to hold on to the things you care about.

"The roads are a huge hodgepodge today, Midnight Dolphin. We've got our work cut out for us."

"I wish you'd stop with the nicknames—and to think I was just starting to get used to having you around."

Raivis chugged the coffee they'd bought to warm themselves up and hissed when he burnt his tongue. "Firstly, they aren't 'nicknames'. This isn't some game, Francis. They're codenames. It's a big difference."

"Forgive me when I say we'd be fine without them."

"If you don't like your codename, it's subject to change," Raivis appeased, scratching at the Styrofoam on his cup. "You can be Swagmeister instead. Whatever works for you, but the list has to be approved by both parties at stake here… Hey, I never told you how my date went."

Francis talked through the sleepiness settled in his bones. "Did the poor girl make it through?"

"I told you girls can't resist law enforcement," Raivis bragged, looking far too proud of himself. "I'm seeing her again next week. We'll have a movie night, and she'll pick a chick flick. Should be cool… Look to the right. There's a guy stumbling around."

Alert once more, Francis feasted his eyes on the spectacle across the street. He seemed to be trespassing on someone's property. "He's drunk."

"Let's go."

Raivis hopped out of the car first and moseyed over to the impaired man, trying not to startle him. "Sir? Can we chat for a sec? Do you live here?"

The man in question considered the house he was standing in front of and grunted in response.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Leave me alone! I-I'm not doing anything!"

The outburst took them all by surprise, but Raivis maintained his steady smile. "Come on, sir. Let's not disturb anyone, okay? Where do you live?"

"Raivis, don't get too close. He's not—"

"I've got this, Bad Cop. Don't worry. Sir, we just want to—"

"Raivis, he's got a knife!"

Before the young man could react, a sharp pain twisted in his gut, and he let out a strangled gasp. Within seconds, hot blood stained his shirt, and he fell backward into a fire hydrant, unable to balance his own weight.

Francis pinned the drunken man to the cement and took his knife. Then, he clicked a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, sweating from the scuffle. He was on his walkie-talkie in seconds, calling for help.

"Francis…" Raivis managed to mumble, now collapsed in a heap on the ground.

"What do you mean there's a wait for an ambulance? They can't all be stuck in the snow!" Francis shouted to whoever he had contacted. "I can't wait that long! Merde."

Just as the world was flickering to black, two arms heaved Raivis up and situated him into the patrol car.

"Keep your hand pressed on the wound," Francis instructed, reclining the passenger's seat for the rookie to rest. The drunken man was now sprawled against the backseats with nowhere to go, and he muttered nonsensical phrases to himself over and over.

Raivis winced at the pain, but otherwise stayed eerily calm. "Tell Iryna that I'm sorry I won't make it for our next date."

"You'll be just fine by then," Francis reasoned with him before sliding into the driver's seat. "Keep talking to me, Raivis. Stay awake."

"W-When's the ambulance coming?"

"Only God knows. The hospital is about twelve blocks from here. I can drive you myself as long as we stick to the main road."

"D-Drive? You're driving?"

Francis clenched his teeth and started the engine, ignoring the horror rising in his heart. "Yes, I'm driving. Everything's okay. You'll have a great story to tell Iryna."

The drunken man moaned.

"If you need to vomit, open the window," Francis warned, switching on the car's siren before speeding down the asphalt. "How are you doing, Raivis?"

The young man gawked at him and suppressed the urge to double over in pain. "I'm great… It's not like I've been stabbed or anything!"

"We're almost there."

"I'm glad it took me potentially getting killed for you to drive. I did something productive."

"Oh, shut up," Francis growled, ignoring any and all traffic regulations. He tried to stay in control of the situation with patience and gentle reassurances, but Raivis was beginning to grow hysterical.

"I'm clammy… I'm going into shock!"

"Calm down!"

The drunken man moaned again.

"Could you shut up back there? You're not the one bleeding all over the car!" Raivis cried out, his breathing erratic.

Francis finally stopped the car and circled around to help Raivis onto his feet. "We're right in front of the Emergency Room. Just a few steps, okay?"

"Make sure my killer doesn't get away."

"I locked the doors. He's too disoriented to run anyway."

"Yeah, but not disoriented enough to s-stab me."

"Shhh," Francis soothed, guiding him through the double doors and bright lights. A team of doctors and nurses had already been waiting for them, and it occurred to Raivis that his partner had the foresight to inform the medical staff beforehand.

Raivis was immediately ushered onto a stretcher, and he leered at Francis with glazed eyes. "Don't you dare leave me here alone!"

"I won't. I just need to make sure someone picks up our friend and transports him to the station."

"Stay. Please, stay!"

Francis squeezed the rookie's shoulder and nodded. "I'm here. I won't leave."

"Oh, God, Francis… I don't want it to end like this."

He felt bad for laughing, but he couldn't stop himself. "You're going to live. It's no worse than a paper-cut. I've seen much worse. A bandage or two, and it'll be better in the morning."

Raivis mimicked the older man's cheeky grin and rubbed a hand across his eyes.

It was nice to have a friend.