I Like Because I Like [2b/?]
anonymous
June 16 2010, 21:25:35 UTC
For once in his life, Arthur was happy. Truly, genuinely happy. Even his diehard pessimistic nature was overshadowed by the happiness he felt. He was finally living out his sought-after adventure, together with Francis, Francis who made him feel like he were walking on air and who despite being what could possible be the most annoying being in the planet, made him feel loved.
They were two stupid teenagers in the heart of a country completely unknown to them and they were happier than they’d ever been in their lives before.
It was one year later that they had Matthew.
It was one year later when Arthur realized that maybe he’d never been in love with Francis after all.
He was seventeen and a parent and every time Francis came home and kissed him, rather then feel aroused or even loved, all Arthur wanted to do was rip Francis’ head off and kick it through a window.
It mostly had to due with how his life consisted of staying home, taking care of Matthew, and nothing else. Arthur had been expecting something a lot different. He’d been ready to work his butt off in a meager job and get paid the minimal wage, live off store-bought food and sleep in a run-down apartment; what he hadn’t been ready for was the first-class apartment and the five star restaurant food and the Barbie-dream atmosphere. Francis’ parents wired their son money every month, and so Arthur was reduced to the position of house-wife and nurturer.
Over time, Arthur exchanged his cigarettes for a cooking book and his beer for an apron. He learned to censor his language around Matthew and got rid of all his piercings. (Although he could do nothing for the tattoo on the small of his back.) The day he washed out the dye from his hair he took Francis’ wallet and bought himself a new wardrobe along with a couple helpful guides to good parenting. He stopped going to parties and picked up gardening, and along way, learned to embroider as a way to pass the time when he kept Matthew company before nap-time. And when Matthew began to bring homework from school Arthur made sure to sit down with him while inwardly promising he would kill his son if he dared drop out of school like he did.
Basically, Arthur grew up.
Francis, on the other hand, didn’t.
Francis was a frivolous being; he was designed to have many loves, not only one, and like a bird, he couldn’t be caged. He was still that handsome exchange-student Arthur had met all those years ago, and as such, he lived his life the way he wanted. Every night when he came back home, he kissed Arthur on the lips and Arthur would wrinkle his nose in disgust at the scent of perfume, alcohol and cheap lipstick that seemed to be permanently stuck to his skin. Francis would laugh at his expression, and Arthur would grit his teeth and kick him out of their bedroom. The next morning, Francis would be gone again, and the cycle would repeat itself all over again.
It was annoying. It was downright frustrating. And it was definitely no way to live.
Arthur hadn’t run away from home to become Francis’ trophy wife.
The day Arthur left Francis, penniless and lost in the Canadian wilderness, was the same day Arthur realized he’d never really been in the love with the bastard after all. He’d been in love with the idea of being in love, and Francis had just been convenient. He was handsome, and striking and a total breath of fresh air; the romantic in Arthur had thought him perfect for the role of his happy-ending. As ridiculously as it sounded, Arthur had been waiting for a dashing hero to whisk him away to a better life.
I Like Because I Like [2c/?]
anonymous
June 16 2010, 21:48:04 UTC
And so, Arthur once again found himself leaving behind his old life to start anew. He was twenty-three, with a kid, and had no working experience whatsoever. He’d also never finished high-school, but he wouldn’t let that drag him down.
America was called the Land of Opportunities, and Arthur would be damned if he didn’t exploit it till the very end. Or at least until he got himself a piece of that famed American Dream. Either way, Arthur was no longer only living for himself, he had Matthew to think about. He might have ruined his life, but there was no way in hell he was going to make his son pay for his stupid mistakes.
Arthur was going to be the best damn parent that ever fucking was if it killed him.
Which, if anybody asked him now, he was.
He’d raised Matthew into a fine young man he could be proud of. There was nothing his boy was in need of. Arthur had put a roof over his head, put bread on the table, paid for his school, and provided him with the love an attention every growing child needed. It also didn’t hurt that Francis paid child support. The bastard was loaded, it was the least he could do, so Arthur felt absolutely no guilt whenever he received that check in the mail. It also didn’t hurt that whenever Francis visited Matthew Arthur got to rub his success in his disgusting frog-face.
Nobody would ever say Arthur was perfect, but they couldn’t deny that he was a good father. It was tough being a single parent, especially when he had to work and be there for Matthew at the same time. His little boy was his pride and joy; Arthur had never missed one of his games, just like he’d never missed one of his band recitals. If there was a parent in the whole school who’d never once missed a boring, stuffy old parents’ meet, then it was Arthur.
As a high-school dropout who’d become a parent before he’d even been legal, Arthur was proud of himself for doing such a good job raising Matthew. He may have made a thousand mistakes in his life, but he felt he’d done nothing wrong with his little Matty. Matthew was a good kid, an honest kid. He was the kind of son every mother wished she could have, and Arthur was damn proud of that.
So when he saw Matthew attack one of his fellow students with the viola he’d been playing not too long ago, Arthur crushed the cheap plastic cup in his hand to smithereens.
It was like seeing a new side to his son he’d never known about. A side that Arthur did not like one bit. Not one bit at all. It was a slap to the face made worse because now every damn parent in the school would think Arthur had raised a delinquent. And if there was one think Arthur hated, it was having people badmouthing his kid behind his back.
Matthew was lucky corporeal punishment was illegal in the States.
“What in the world do you think you are doing, Matthew?” Pushing his way through the throng of people surrounding the two boys, Arthur swore when he saw the second teenager was on his knees clutching his head. He was by his side in a heartbeat, moving the boy’s hands out of the way to see the damage.
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when he was saw it was nothing too serious. Cupping the boy’s face, Arthur tilted his chin up. There was a trickle of blood running down the teen’s temple, but it was nothing too bad. “I am so sorry. Are you okay?” he asked gently, his parental instincts taking over.
When the boy said nothing, just stared dazedly at him, Arthur whipped around and glared a hole trough Matthew’s head. “When we get home, you are dead. You hear me? Dead. You’ll wish I’d never met your stupid father and sired you.”
Rather than run for the hills, as he should have, Matthew gripped his viola tighter. He pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, his face distraught. “But-”
“No buts.” Brushing the boy’s flaxen hair from his eyes, Arthur pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. He pressed it against the boy’s temple, careful not to cause him any more discomfort. “Now help me bring this young man to the car.”
I Like Because I Like [2d/?]
anonymous
June 16 2010, 22:01:29 UTC
Matthew gaped at him, sputtering like a fish. It was the first time Arthur had seen his son emit such a reaction, and any other time, he would have been curious. But not now. He had a kid in the need of medical assistance. Fixing his son with a withering look, he pressed his lips together in a tight line. “Do not make me repeat myself, Matthew.”
Matthew did not nothing. He stared at Arthur as if seeing him for the first time, a mixture of disbelief and horror on his face. Arthur made a noise between disgust and irritation.
“I’m going to take you to the hospital,” he told the boy, pulling him up to his feet with some difficulty. The kid was big. Arthur wrapped an arm around his waist to better support his weight. “Where else does it hurt?”
Matthew gagged. Arthur leveled him with a look.
Finally, the boy spoke. “M’a head hurts,” he mumbled, wrapping his own arm around Arthur’s waist. Arthur thought nothing of it. “N’ dizzy too.” Blinking his baby-blues a couple of times, he buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck with a pained groan. “Mmm tired.”
Arthur nodded. “Don’t fall asleep. You might have a concussion.” Parting the sea of gossiping onlookers with a glare ferocious enough to put down a wild elephant, he eased the boy out of the gym and into the parking lot. Matthew followed after him, opening and closing his mouth, unable to string two words together.
“Sorry,” the boy muttered when he fell against Arthur’s chest, his legs not wanting to cooperate with him. His hand drifted south, fingers brushing the low of Arthur’s back. Arthur was too busy trying to get him into the car to notice. "'S my bad.”
If Arthur had paid attention, he would have seen the smirk on the boy’s face. Matthew did, and he bristled, silently and furiously and with vindictiveness coursing through his veins.
“Matthew, get in the back,” Arthur ordered, buckling the blonde youth in the passenger seat. He furrowed his brow when he saw the sad state of his brand new handkerchief. Clucking his tongue, he pursued his lips. No matter. He could always make another one; besides, this was an emergency. Returning the personally embroidered handkerchief to the boy’s temple, Arthur put the car in drive.
“What’s your name, boy?” he asked, going ten miles over the speed limit. “And do you have anyone you can call?”
Looking a lot clearheaded then he’d been before, the boy furrowed his brow in concentration. Arthur winced at the sight of the blood smeared on the right side of his face. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sued or anything. “My mum is out of the country, so’s my pa. I’m staying with my uncle.”
Well, if he could remember that much he couldn’t be that badly hurt. “Does this uncle have a phone I can call?”
“M’not remember.”
Great.
It was even better when they got to the hospital.
“How are you related again?” the nurse asked, squinting at Arthur suspiciously. She was checking the boy’s vitals, tapping her pen against her clipboard rather annoyingly. He had a minor concussion, but otherwise he was fine. Which was good, because if it had been anything worse, Matthew would already be lying dead in a ditch somewhere.
Arthur fought down the urge to rip out his hair. “He’s my son,” he said dryly.
She raised a speculative eyebrow, taking him in, and with a haughty sniff, decided that she didn’t really care. It wasn’t her job to snoop into patient business. With a last smile to the blonde teen on the bed, she was gone.
Arthur watched her go, his hands itching to squeeze her pretty little throat. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Sitting down, he sighed. “It’s lucky a friend of mine works here, otherwise I would have never gotten you in. You best call your uncle or else they’ll take me in for kidnapping you.”
“Where’s Matty?” he asked, gingerly poking his recently-stitched head. Without the blood on his face, he was actually quite the handsome kid. Whoever his mother was must be proud.
I Like Because I Like [2e/?]
anonymous
June 16 2010, 22:10:55 UTC
Arthur cringed. The shame, oh dead God the shame that boy had brought upon him. He would never live it down; he could already hear the gossip. “I am terribly sorry about what my son did,” he began, the words like broken glass on his mouth. He’d never been a big fan of apologizing. But Matthew was his son, so he would just have to suck it up and swallow his pride. “Rest assured that I will trash him within an inch of his life, and if I can get away with it, dump him in a ditch somewhere.”
The boy laughed; he had a throaty, warm laughter. “Nah, it’s cool. My head’s fine, see?” He tapped his head with his knuckles to further prove his point. He winced. Arthur gave him a dry look.
“Your head is most certainly not fine, ah…” It was Arthur’s turn to laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. I never asked for your name.”
Grinning, the boy sat up and swung his long legs over the bed. “Alfred. Alfred F. Jones, at your service, sir.”
What a gentleman. Arthur wished Matthew were this polite. “Well, regardless of the circumstances, it’s very nice to meet you, Alfred.”
Alfred smiled, and it was the brightest smile Arthur had ever seen. He had a feeling Alfred was the kind of boy girls just flocked after. He had so much charisma. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Mr. Bonnefoy.”
Arthur made a face, disgust overriding his features. “Dear God, please don’t call me that.” Alfred furrowed his brow, confused, and Arthur felt the need to further elaborate. “Bonnefoy is Matthew’s bastard father’s name, not mine. Call me Mr. Kirkland.”
“So you’re not married no more?” the boy asked, his face breaking out into another celebrity smile. “Sweet.”
“Pardon me?” Even after living in America for more than ten years, some of the terminology still threw Arthur for a loop.
Alfred coughed, his cheeks a light pink. “I mean, I’m sorry. It sucks when you get divorced.”
Arthur smiled, folding his hands on his lap. “Not at all. I was more than happy to leave him. It’s not like we were ever wed.”
Elbows on his knees, Alfred scooted closer to him. “So you and Matty live by yourself? That’s gotta be tough.” He tapped his head again, amusement dancing in his cornflower-blue eyes.
Arthur was quick to defend his son, still sore about the whole incident. Alfred seemed like such a good kid. Arthur didn’t want him to have a bad image of Matthew. “Matthew is usually such a good boy, I don’t know what happened today,” he groused, eyebrows drawn together in parental confusion. Again, he apologized. “I’m so sorry about the whole thing, Alfred. How is your head?”
Alfred pouted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Wish I had a mirror, to tell you the truth. Not that it’d do any good since I have no idea where my glasses went.”
Now that he thought about it, Arthur vaguely remembered stepping on something fragile when he helped Alfred to his car. Biting his lower lip guiltily, he beckoned the boy to get closer. “Come here. I’ll take a look for you, love.”
I Like Because I Like [2f/?]
anonymous
June 16 2010, 22:17:40 UTC
Before Arthur could even blink, Alfred was kneeling in front of him, his arms crossed over Arthur’s lap. Arthur blinked down at him, Alfred’s smile nearly blinding in its innocence.
Cupping the boy’s face with one hand, he brushed back Alfred’s fringe with the other. The stitches didn’t look too bad, he thought. “I’m not an expert but I say you’ll make a full rec--”
“Dad!” The door flew open, hitting the wall with so much force it bounced back and almost caught Matthew on the face. He looked like he’d just watched his favorite hockey team lose the Stanley Cup. “Dad, what are you doing?”
Matthew’s face was pale, and his voice was two octaves too high. As if frozen, he stared straight at Alfred with a look of pure horror.
Alfred waved at him, mega-watt smile in place. “Yo, Matty! Come in, but don’t bring your violin with you.”
Matthew’s face looked like it would be forever stuck looking like that. “It’s a viola,” he said, not quite sounding like himself. And then, in that same dead-like voice, asked, “What are you doing with my Dad?”
Alfred shrugged his shoulders, still kneeling before Arthur. “Same thing, they both look the same to me.”
“What are you doing with my Dad?” Matthew repeated, and this time, his voice was a lot less squeaky. The shock of walking into his father and his nemesis getting comfortable with each other was starting to wear off.
Laughing, Alfred waved off his hostility like it was nothing. “Just getting to know your dad, Matty. Hey, did you know he was divorced? Sweet, m’right?”
This time, Matthew hit him with the IV.
---
Alfred, I admire your skillz. I don’t know how you do it, but keep at it and you might just get lucky ;D Matty, don’t do a Green and let Al score in England’s net \o/ Be a Howard and cockblock him!
/Author!Anon be a futbol loser, she knows. She also hates not being able to fix grammar errors here after posting Dx
Re: I Like Because I Like [2f/?]
anonymous
June 17 2010, 00:59:37 UTC
Be a Howard and cockblock him!
ppppfffffttt hahahahaha Brilliant.
I love this story, and it looks like its going to evolve into something not only comedic but romantic and cute. And Matt smashing Alfred with things constantly is great haha. I cant wait for you to update again!
Re: I Like Because I Like [2f/?]
anonymous
June 18 2010, 00:45:29 UTC
winnar football comparisonsXD
lol, Arthur's story is a mix of surprising depth and constant lols. Francis is really good here! I hope we see him in the flesh in future chapters, he sounds absolutely hilariousXD
Poor Matt! I'm actually rooting for him, because I try to put myself in his position and URGH. I hope Arthur lets Matt explain himself, because he's gonna flip when he hears what the good looking kid that attracts all the ladies thinks about himXD but at the same time, anon is ashamed to say she's enjoying Alfred's bold advances and groping toward oblivious!Arthur far too much *blush*
Re: I Like Because I Like [2f/?]
anonymous
June 19 2010, 18:53:54 UTC
anon read the update as soon as it was posted but now I feel really terrible about not having commented yet xD Anyway, it was amazing. I love past FrUK and here it is delivered beautifuly. That line about Arthur needing a hero and how Francis could never be one... oh god. SO GOOD. Please, please, update soon, I can't take the waiting! ToT
reCaptcha: titans scheduled . Damn...just WHAT is captcha plotting Oo
For once in his life, Arthur was happy. Truly, genuinely happy. Even his diehard pessimistic nature was overshadowed by the happiness he felt. He was finally living out his sought-after adventure, together with Francis, Francis who made him feel like he were walking on air and who despite being what could possible be the most annoying being in the planet, made him feel loved.
They were two stupid teenagers in the heart of a country completely unknown to them and they were happier than they’d ever been in their lives before.
It was one year later that they had Matthew.
It was one year later when Arthur realized that maybe he’d never been in love with Francis after all.
He was seventeen and a parent and every time Francis came home and kissed him, rather then feel aroused or even loved, all Arthur wanted to do was rip Francis’ head off and kick it through a window.
It mostly had to due with how his life consisted of staying home, taking care of Matthew, and nothing else. Arthur had been expecting something a lot different. He’d been ready to work his butt off in a meager job and get paid the minimal wage, live off store-bought food and sleep in a run-down apartment; what he hadn’t been ready for was the first-class apartment and the five star restaurant food and the Barbie-dream atmosphere. Francis’ parents wired their son money every month, and so Arthur was reduced to the position of house-wife and nurturer.
Over time, Arthur exchanged his cigarettes for a cooking book and his beer for an apron. He learned to censor his language around Matthew and got rid of all his piercings. (Although he could do nothing for the tattoo on the small of his back.) The day he washed out the dye from his hair he took Francis’ wallet and bought himself a new wardrobe along with a couple helpful guides to good parenting. He stopped going to parties and picked up gardening, and along way, learned to embroider as a way to pass the time when he kept Matthew company before nap-time. And when Matthew began to bring homework from school Arthur made sure to sit down with him while inwardly promising he would kill his son if he dared drop out of school like he did.
Basically, Arthur grew up.
Francis, on the other hand, didn’t.
Francis was a frivolous being; he was designed to have many loves, not only one, and like a bird, he couldn’t be caged. He was still that handsome exchange-student Arthur had met all those years ago, and as such, he lived his life the way he wanted. Every night when he came back home, he kissed Arthur on the lips and Arthur would wrinkle his nose in disgust at the scent of perfume, alcohol and cheap lipstick that seemed to be permanently stuck to his skin. Francis would laugh at his expression, and Arthur would grit his teeth and kick him out of their bedroom. The next morning, Francis would be gone again, and the cycle would repeat itself all over again.
It was annoying. It was downright frustrating. And it was definitely no way to live.
Arthur hadn’t run away from home to become Francis’ trophy wife.
The day Arthur left Francis, penniless and lost in the Canadian wilderness, was the same day Arthur realized he’d never really been in the love with the bastard after all. He’d been in love with the idea of being in love, and Francis had just been convenient. He was handsome, and striking and a total breath of fresh air; the romantic in Arthur had thought him perfect for the role of his happy-ending. As ridiculously as it sounded, Arthur had been waiting for a dashing hero to whisk him away to a better life.
Francis had definitely failed at that.
Reply
And so, Arthur once again found himself leaving behind his old life to start anew. He was twenty-three, with a kid, and had no working experience whatsoever. He’d also never finished high-school, but he wouldn’t let that drag him down.
America was called the Land of Opportunities, and Arthur would be damned if he didn’t exploit it till the very end. Or at least until he got himself a piece of that famed American Dream. Either way, Arthur was no longer only living for himself, he had Matthew to think about. He might have ruined his life, but there was no way in hell he was going to make his son pay for his stupid mistakes.
Arthur was going to be the best damn parent that ever fucking was if it killed him.
Which, if anybody asked him now, he was.
He’d raised Matthew into a fine young man he could be proud of. There was nothing his boy was in need of. Arthur had put a roof over his head, put bread on the table, paid for his school, and provided him with the love an attention every growing child needed. It also didn’t hurt that Francis paid child support. The bastard was loaded, it was the least he could do, so Arthur felt absolutely no guilt whenever he received that check in the mail. It also didn’t hurt that whenever Francis visited Matthew Arthur got to rub his success in his disgusting frog-face.
Nobody would ever say Arthur was perfect, but they couldn’t deny that he was a good father. It was tough being a single parent, especially when he had to work and be there for Matthew at the same time. His little boy was his pride and joy; Arthur had never missed one of his games, just like he’d never missed one of his band recitals. If there was a parent in the whole school who’d never once missed a boring, stuffy old parents’ meet, then it was Arthur.
As a high-school dropout who’d become a parent before he’d even been legal, Arthur was proud of himself for doing such a good job raising Matthew. He may have made a thousand mistakes in his life, but he felt he’d done nothing wrong with his little Matty. Matthew was a good kid, an honest kid. He was the kind of son every mother wished she could have, and Arthur was damn proud of that.
So when he saw Matthew attack one of his fellow students with the viola he’d been playing not too long ago, Arthur crushed the cheap plastic cup in his hand to smithereens.
It was like seeing a new side to his son he’d never known about. A side that Arthur did not like one bit. Not one bit at all. It was a slap to the face made worse because now every damn parent in the school would think Arthur had raised a delinquent. And if there was one think Arthur hated, it was having people badmouthing his kid behind his back.
Matthew was lucky corporeal punishment was illegal in the States.
“What in the world do you think you are doing, Matthew?” Pushing his way through the throng of people surrounding the two boys, Arthur swore when he saw the second teenager was on his knees clutching his head. He was by his side in a heartbeat, moving the boy’s hands out of the way to see the damage.
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when he was saw it was nothing too serious. Cupping the boy’s face, Arthur tilted his chin up. There was a trickle of blood running down the teen’s temple, but it was nothing too bad. “I am so sorry. Are you okay?” he asked gently, his parental instincts taking over.
When the boy said nothing, just stared dazedly at him, Arthur whipped around and glared a hole trough Matthew’s head. “When we get home, you are dead. You hear me? Dead. You’ll wish I’d never met your stupid father and sired you.”
Rather than run for the hills, as he should have, Matthew gripped his viola tighter. He pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, his face distraught. “But-”
“No buts.” Brushing the boy’s flaxen hair from his eyes, Arthur pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. He pressed it against the boy’s temple, careful not to cause him any more discomfort. “Now help me bring this young man to the car.”
Reply
Matthew gaped at him, sputtering like a fish. It was the first time Arthur had seen his son emit such a reaction, and any other time, he would have been curious. But not now. He had a kid in the need of medical assistance. Fixing his son with a withering look, he pressed his lips together in a tight line. “Do not make me repeat myself, Matthew.”
Matthew did not nothing. He stared at Arthur as if seeing him for the first time, a mixture of disbelief and horror on his face. Arthur made a noise between disgust and irritation.
“I’m going to take you to the hospital,” he told the boy, pulling him up to his feet with some difficulty. The kid was big. Arthur wrapped an arm around his waist to better support his weight. “Where else does it hurt?”
Matthew gagged. Arthur leveled him with a look.
Finally, the boy spoke. “M’a head hurts,” he mumbled, wrapping his own arm around Arthur’s waist. Arthur thought nothing of it. “N’ dizzy too.” Blinking his baby-blues a couple of times, he buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck with a pained groan. “Mmm tired.”
Arthur nodded. “Don’t fall asleep. You might have a concussion.” Parting the sea of gossiping onlookers with a glare ferocious enough to put down a wild elephant, he eased the boy out of the gym and into the parking lot. Matthew followed after him, opening and closing his mouth, unable to string two words together.
“Sorry,” the boy muttered when he fell against Arthur’s chest, his legs not wanting to cooperate with him. His hand drifted south, fingers brushing the low of Arthur’s back. Arthur was too busy trying to get him into the car to notice. "'S my bad.”
If Arthur had paid attention, he would have seen the smirk on the boy’s face. Matthew did, and he bristled, silently and furiously and with vindictiveness coursing through his veins.
“Matthew, get in the back,” Arthur ordered, buckling the blonde youth in the passenger seat. He furrowed his brow when he saw the sad state of his brand new handkerchief. Clucking his tongue, he pursued his lips. No matter. He could always make another one; besides, this was an emergency. Returning the personally embroidered handkerchief to the boy’s temple, Arthur put the car in drive.
“What’s your name, boy?” he asked, going ten miles over the speed limit. “And do you have anyone you can call?”
Looking a lot clearheaded then he’d been before, the boy furrowed his brow in concentration. Arthur winced at the sight of the blood smeared on the right side of his face. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sued or anything. “My mum is out of the country, so’s my pa. I’m staying with my uncle.”
Well, if he could remember that much he couldn’t be that badly hurt. “Does this uncle have a phone I can call?”
“M’not remember.”
Great.
It was even better when they got to the hospital.
“How are you related again?” the nurse asked, squinting at Arthur suspiciously. She was checking the boy’s vitals, tapping her pen against her clipboard rather annoyingly. He had a minor concussion, but otherwise he was fine. Which was good, because if it had been anything worse, Matthew would already be lying dead in a ditch somewhere.
Arthur fought down the urge to rip out his hair. “He’s my son,” he said dryly.
She raised a speculative eyebrow, taking him in, and with a haughty sniff, decided that she didn’t really care. It wasn’t her job to snoop into patient business. With a last smile to the blonde teen on the bed, she was gone.
Arthur watched her go, his hands itching to squeeze her pretty little throat. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Sitting down, he sighed. “It’s lucky a friend of mine works here, otherwise I would have never gotten you in. You best call your uncle or else they’ll take me in for kidnapping you.”
“Where’s Matty?” he asked, gingerly poking his recently-stitched head. Without the blood on his face, he was actually quite the handsome kid. Whoever his mother was must be proud.
Reply
Arthur cringed. The shame, oh dead God the shame that boy had brought upon him. He would never live it down; he could already hear the gossip. “I am terribly sorry about what my son did,” he began, the words like broken glass on his mouth. He’d never been a big fan of apologizing. But Matthew was his son, so he would just have to suck it up and swallow his pride. “Rest assured that I will trash him within an inch of his life, and if I can get away with it, dump him in a ditch somewhere.”
The boy laughed; he had a throaty, warm laughter. “Nah, it’s cool. My head’s fine, see?” He tapped his head with his knuckles to further prove his point. He winced. Arthur gave him a dry look.
“Your head is most certainly not fine, ah…” It was Arthur’s turn to laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. I never asked for your name.”
Grinning, the boy sat up and swung his long legs over the bed. “Alfred. Alfred F. Jones, at your service, sir.”
What a gentleman. Arthur wished Matthew were this polite. “Well, regardless of the circumstances, it’s very nice to meet you, Alfred.”
Alfred smiled, and it was the brightest smile Arthur had ever seen. He had a feeling Alfred was the kind of boy girls just flocked after. He had so much charisma. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Mr. Bonnefoy.”
Arthur made a face, disgust overriding his features. “Dear God, please don’t call me that.” Alfred furrowed his brow, confused, and Arthur felt the need to further elaborate. “Bonnefoy is Matthew’s bastard father’s name, not mine. Call me Mr. Kirkland.”
“So you’re not married no more?” the boy asked, his face breaking out into another celebrity smile. “Sweet.”
“Pardon me?” Even after living in America for more than ten years, some of the terminology still threw Arthur for a loop.
Alfred coughed, his cheeks a light pink. “I mean, I’m sorry. It sucks when you get divorced.”
Arthur smiled, folding his hands on his lap. “Not at all. I was more than happy to leave him. It’s not like we were ever wed.”
Elbows on his knees, Alfred scooted closer to him. “So you and Matty live by yourself? That’s gotta be tough.” He tapped his head again, amusement dancing in his cornflower-blue eyes.
Arthur was quick to defend his son, still sore about the whole incident. Alfred seemed like such a good kid. Arthur didn’t want him to have a bad image of Matthew. “Matthew is usually such a good boy, I don’t know what happened today,” he groused, eyebrows drawn together in parental confusion. Again, he apologized. “I’m so sorry about the whole thing, Alfred. How is your head?”
Alfred pouted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Wish I had a mirror, to tell you the truth. Not that it’d do any good since I have no idea where my glasses went.”
Now that he thought about it, Arthur vaguely remembered stepping on something fragile when he helped Alfred to his car. Biting his lower lip guiltily, he beckoned the boy to get closer. “Come here. I’ll take a look for you, love.”
Reply
Before Arthur could even blink, Alfred was kneeling in front of him, his arms crossed over Arthur’s lap. Arthur blinked down at him, Alfred’s smile nearly blinding in its innocence.
Cupping the boy’s face with one hand, he brushed back Alfred’s fringe with the other. The stitches didn’t look too bad, he thought. “I’m not an expert but I say you’ll make a full rec--”
“Dad!” The door flew open, hitting the wall with so much force it bounced back and almost caught Matthew on the face. He looked like he’d just watched his favorite hockey team lose the Stanley Cup. “Dad, what are you doing?”
Matthew’s face was pale, and his voice was two octaves too high. As if frozen, he stared straight at Alfred with a look of pure horror.
Alfred waved at him, mega-watt smile in place. “Yo, Matty! Come in, but don’t bring your violin with you.”
Matthew’s face looked like it would be forever stuck looking like that. “It’s a viola,” he said, not quite sounding like himself. And then, in that same dead-like voice, asked, “What are you doing with my Dad?”
Alfred shrugged his shoulders, still kneeling before Arthur. “Same thing, they both look the same to me.”
“What are you doing with my Dad?” Matthew repeated, and this time, his voice was a lot less squeaky. The shock of walking into his father and his nemesis getting comfortable with each other was starting to wear off.
Laughing, Alfred waved off his hostility like it was nothing. “Just getting to know your dad, Matty. Hey, did you know he was divorced? Sweet, m’right?”
This time, Matthew hit him with the IV.
---
Alfred, I admire your skillz. I don’t know how you do it, but keep at it and you might just get lucky ;D Matty, don’t do a Green and let Al score in England’s net \o/ Be a Howard and cockblock him!
/Author!Anon be a futbol loser, she knows. She also hates not being able to fix grammar errors here after posting Dx
Reply
Arthur, why so oblivious?
And Alfred, stop inflicting violence on yourself.
Reply
Reply
ppppfffffttt hahahahaha
Brilliant.
I love this story, and it looks like its going to evolve into something not only comedic but romantic and cute. And Matt smashing Alfred with things constantly is great haha. I cant wait for you to update again!
Reply
i love this plot. sick'm, alfred! I guess unless he gets groped arthur doesnt realize the attempt.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Other possible answer: surrogate mother?
Reply
LOVE
LOVE
EEEE &hearts
Matthew, faito!
Reply
Reply
lol, Arthur's story is a mix of surprising depth and constant lols. Francis is really good here! I hope we see him in the flesh in future chapters, he sounds absolutely hilariousXD
Poor Matt! I'm actually rooting for him, because I try to put myself in his position and URGH. I hope Arthur lets Matt explain himself, because he's gonna flip when he hears what the good looking kid that attracts all the ladies thinks about himXD
but at the same time, anon is ashamed to say she's enjoying Alfred's bold advances and groping toward oblivious!Arthur far too much *blush*
Reply
Please, please, update soon, I can't take the waiting! ToT
reCaptcha: titans scheduled . Damn...just WHAT is captcha plotting Oo
Reply
Leave a comment