After sitting Francis down at his desk, Arthur had explained to him why he couldn't do his work the way he had been. He told him he had been doing it right but his new teacher couldn't read it like they could so he had to write in French instead. Francis had nodded and asked if he would help him with his homework so he could be sure he was doing it the right way. He agreed and it was finished quickly.

Now Arthur was looking at the many drawings Francis had made and tacked up around the room while the boy made even more at his desk. There seemed to be a common theme in the pictures.

Turning to him, Arthur asked, "Francis, do you want a dress?"

The boy jumped and looked at him. He started to fidget, hands twisting nervously.

"Th-They just look so pretty on the girls," he tried to explain. "And I know boy aren't supposed to wear them but I just keep dreaming about them." He put his head in his hands, his shoulders starting to shake. "I-I'm s-sorry," he forced out between tears. "I'll th-throw them a-away. I-It was just th-the only way t-to get it out of m-my head."

Arthur knelt beside him and gently held him.

"Francis, if you want a dress, I will get you a dress. I didn't realize you wanted one. You should have told me."

The boy's head snapped up to look at him, tears still running down his face.

"You d-don't think it's w-weird?"

He shook his head.

"I have seen your father in a dress too many times to think that." He stood up and held his hand out. "Come on. Let's go get your dress."

Francis stared at his hand for a few moments, not believing him, before reaching out and taking it.

It was decided that Arthur was going to making Francis any dress he wanted. They had browsed through a store but not decided on any of the dresses on offer. He told Francis that he hadn't liked the selection at the store but he honestly wasn't a fan of the way the other parents were watching them as they looked. He didn't care that they were small minded or confused but when one large, heavy set man started stalking in their direction he knew it was time to go. Putting himself between Francis and the man, he subtly led them out while bemoaning the humble choices. He made sure to keep both of them and the man in view of every camera they passed.

When they were in the car, Arthur instructed Jeffrey to drive them to a fabric store. Francis asked why they weren't going to another clothing store so Arthur explained that this was his first dress. It had to be special and a dress from the store wouldn't be as special as one Francis had designed himself.

The boy lit up and he started imagining what his dress would look like. He continued to do so as they reached the store and walked around it. It took a couple hours to finally decide on the fabrics, buttons, and other necessary notions but Arthur was patient and encouraging which calmed him. Not once did he rush him, roll his eyes when he put a bolt of fabric back only to pick it up again later, or even check his watch. He just let the boy explore and experiment, carrying anything he chose.

They ended up buying some lavender fabric, a matching zipper, and some other small notions. They didn't buy a pattern though because Arthur was going to make what Francis designed.

He continued to think while Jeffrey drove them home and while Arthur made them dinner. Using his colored pencils and paper, he made some sketches but none of them looked quite right. It had to be perfect!

Sitting back in his chair, he tried to think. He tapped a colored pencil against his chin. Suddenly the perfect idea popped into his head and he hurried to draw it before he lost it. Arthur called him down for dinner as soon as he finished.

He put his pencil down and smiled at his drawing. Grabbing it, he ran downstairs.

Arthur was waiting for him in the dining room. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he held up the paper. His whole body was buzzing, he hoped Arthur liked it and would make it.

"Is this what you want?" He nodded quickly. "All right then. I think it looks good."

Francis could hardly believe his ears.

Arthur was hunched over his stubborn old sewing machine when his phone rang. He answered it quickly, not wanting to possibly wake Francis.

"Hello?" he whispered.

"Dad!" a panicked voice reached his ears.

"Matthew? What's wrong?"

He was instantly on guard when he heard the frantic tone in the younger's voice.

"I think something has happened to Papa! He won't answer my messages or my calls! And when I went to his house, it was deserted! But there was still food and dishes everywhere!" He paused to suck in a gasping breath. "You know Papa would never leave his house like that! I'm worried someone hurt him or took him away!"

The British man didn't have to be able to see the other's face to know that there were tears pouring down his face.

"Matthew, have you talked to your brother about this?"

"I'm starting to believe that he has a point," another voice said.

"Ah, good to hear from you, Alfred."

"Heya, Pops," the American replied in a dejected voice.

That was a huge red flag. Alfred never referred to him as a father figure unless he was truly worried or in need of emotional support. He would have to give them a little bit of information or they would both break down completely, and he couldn't let them both fall for they were each other's rocks. If they sank they wouldn't resurface until Francis was back which did not seem likely to happen anytime soon.

"Boys," he began, stern but not unkind. "Francis is fine. I talked to him a few hours ago, face to face. He is safe, I promise. Now, it is late here and I can't say anything else but just know that he is fine."

He did not reveal any more than that but he did manage to soothe them and convince them to clean Francis' house.