Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2a/?)
anonymous
April 28 2011, 22:39:28 UTC
Thank you ever so much for your lovely comments! ♥ To those who think they know who I am - this is actually my first fill on the kink meme, so chances are I'm probably not who you think I am? But, gosh, that's flattering, to be compared to some of the authors on here. They're all so brilliant. Without further ado, here's the second part!
“How was school?” Francis asks as both boys climb into the leather seats of his car. Matthew answers with a quiet “Fine, Papa,” but Alfred barrels on without a second thought.
“It was great!” he chirps. Francis slowly backs out of his parking space, half-listening as Alfred goes on about everything that happened that day: how he lost a pencil, almost swallowed a bug, tripped on his untied shoelaces and skinned his knees. For a good fifteen minutes, Francis is content to drive with Alfred’s excited chatter echoing through the car.
As he slowly pulls into the driveway, Alfred turns to Matthew and whacks him, without warning, on the shoulder.
“Hey! Why haven’t you told him yet?”
Matthew flushes. “Later,” he mumbles.
“Naw! Tell him now! He’ll be super happy, right?” Alfred turns to Francis, who’s gotten out of his seat by this point and is in the process of helping the boys out of the car.
“Tell me what?” Francis unbuckles Matthew’s seatbelt, peering at him curiously.
Alfred nudges him. “Go on!”
Matthew, if possible, turns redder. “I, um. I got the highest grade on our spelling test. See, I got a -” He rummages through his backpack. “A lollipop.” He holds out a cherry-flavored Tootsie Pop.
Francis lights up immediately. “I’m so proud of you!” Matthew smiles back, a tentative and shy upturn of lips, and Francis drops a light kiss on his forehead.
“Hey, hey, Mattie’s papa!” Alfred waves frantically at him.
Francis chuckles lowly at the nickname. “Yes?”
“I got a gold star on my math homework! Are you proud of me, too?” Alfred grins, wide and unabashed, brimming with desire for his approval.
“Of course I am,” he reassures him, stepping back to let Alfred jump out of the car. He watches him race Matthew to the front door and finds himself surprised at how much he means it.
Arthur picks Alfred up from the Bonnefoy household at six-thirty sharp, standing uncomfortably in the foyer. The house, surprisingly, is modest-sized and charming, tastefully decorated with sleek furniture.
Francis smiles at him, all white teeth and charm. Arthur’s eyes flicker towards the stairs, waiting for Alfred to come leaping down.
“Long day at work?” Francis inquires.
“Thought it would never end.” Arthur starts tapping his foot impatiently. Where is that boy, he wonders, and what could he possibly be doing?
“Your writers not making their deadlines?” Francis inches closer, ever so subtly and naturally. Arthur flushes and moves away, sending him a baleful glare.
“Of course not; they’ll turn in their articles the night before the paper’s due to come out, as usual. And what the hell are you doing, get the fu -”
“I’m ready, Dad!” Alfred sprints down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Arthur practically bites his tongue off as he exerts every drop of self-control he possesses to stop the words from rushing out. Francis smirks and lets his hand slowly trail up from Arthur’s elbow to his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Arthur grits out, shoving Francis’ arm away. He grabs Alfred’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”
Francis steps forward and holds the door open for the two of them. “Have a good night.” As Arthur moves past, he reaches over and lightly brushes his fingers across his lower back. Arthur spins around, enraged, and opens his mouth, all sorts of profanity hovering on the tip of his tongue.
“Bye, Alfred,” Matthew says, appearing from seemingly nowhere. For the second time that night, Arthur literally has to bite his tongue to keep his mouth shut.
“Bye!” Alfred chirps, oblivious to the fury emanating from his father as he skips off towards the car.
Arthur makes sure Alfred’s properly buckled in, vicious thoughts swirling around his mind the whole time. The last thing he sees before driving off is Francis’ silhouette in the doorway, waving obnoxiously.
Git, he thinks, savagely, irritated during the entire drive home.
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2b/?)
anonymous
April 28 2011, 22:42:01 UTC
Francis tells himself that he is not pursuing Arthur romantically, no, not at all. There is a difference between being intrigued and being infatuated, and this is most certainly a case of the former.
No, this funny little cat-and-mouse game with Arthur Kirkland is just that - a game.
So when he catches sight of his slim figure walking unhurriedly down the street, dressed in gym clothes with white earphone cords hanging loosely around his neck, it’s only natural to veer into a sharp U-turn and come to a smooth, graceful halt next to him. He honks twice for good measure.
Arthur turns, and upon seeing the shiny black car, trips over a nasty crack in the sidewalk. Francis muffles a snort as he quickly rights himself and scowls nastily at the vehicle.
Francis rolls down the passenger window. “Would you like a ride home?”
Arthur ungraciously yanks out an ear bud. Francis can faintly hear a male voice singing through the static noise. “What?”
Francis gestures to the passenger seat. “I could give you a ride home, if you’d like.”
Arthur looks like he’d much rather face off against a school of piranha. “No, thank you,” he says brusquely, and makes to put his earphones back in place.
“What are you listening to?” Francis suddenly asks.
The slight widening of his eyes exposes his surprise at the question. He glances down at his iPod. “Er, right now? Frank Sinatra.”
Francis casts him a look of disbelief. “For jogging? No Freddie Mercury to get the blood pumping?”
Arthur explains, “I’m already done exercising, and I like a bit of jazz to cool off to.” And then, as if realizing what he’s just said, his eyes narrow, and his defenses go back up. “Not that I need to defend my musical tastes to the likes of you.”
Francis raises both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Never said you had to. Are you sure you don’t want a ride back?”
“Positive.” Arthur swiftly puts his earphones back in and begins jogging away slowly. Francis watches his retreating form for longer than is strictly necessary before driving off, and wonders why he feels strangely disappointed.
Friday afternoon finds Arthur leaning against the wall of his own entryway, watching Matthew tie his shoelaces slowly. Francis smiles fondly down at his son, a softening of the eyes and a barely perceptible upturn of the lips, and Arthur is suddenly aware of an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I can tie my shoes faster,” Alfred brags.
“Alfred,” Arthur warns, glad for an excuse to discard his thoughts.
Matthew glances up with something of annoyance in his eyes. “Yeah, well, yours always comes untied.”
Alfred laughs, loud and echoing. “Hah, I guess that’s true.”
Francis shakes his head, amused. “If we are all done here, it’s time to go.” He holds out a hand, which Matthew obligingly takes. “You’re spending the weekend at Uncle Gilbert’s, remember?”
The look of utter horror that crosses Matthew’s face is not at all dissimilar to the expression that implants itself on Arthur’s visage whenever he catches a glimpse of Francis. Recognizing a fellow tortured soul, he quickly asks, “Uncle Gilbert?”
“Yes,” Francis says, turning to him, seemingly oblivious, “I’m away this weekend for business, so I’ve asked my friend Gilbert to look after him. You know him; he comes to the football matches sometimes.”
This vague description along with Matthew’s terrified features calls to mind an image of an obnoxiously loud, wild-haired, red-eyed man whose favorite hobby seems to be screaming at the top of his lungs at said football matches. Arthur feels nauseous at the thought of leaving poor Matthew in his responsibility.
“I’ll watch him.” The words tumble out of his mouth before checking with his brain. Matthew turns delightedly surprised eyes on him, and Alfred bounces up and down on the balls of his feet.
Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2c/?)
anonymous
April 28 2011, 22:45:58 UTC
“We won’t take no for an answer,” Arthur says, firmly. And, taking a leaf out of Francis’ own book, he kneels down next to Alfred and places both hands on his small shoulders. “Alfred’s never had a friend sleep over, have you, Al?”
“No, no, can Mattie sleep over, please, please?” Francis hesitates briefly, but the force of two six-year-olds’ pleading gazes proves to be his undoing.
“Oh, why not?” He ruffles Matthew’s hair gently, then, without even thinking about it, reaches forward and does the same to Alfred. Arthur is taken aback by the affection in his eyes; has he always treated Alfred so tenderly? “I’ll bring him by in the morning, if that’s all right.”
“Y - yes, that’ll be fine.” Arthur clears his throat. “See you in the morning, then.”
“There you go.” Francis hands Arthur a small duffel bag, filled with clothes and necessities for the weekend. “Thank you for watching him.”
“It’s really no problem.” Because it isn’t. Matthew is always completely well-behaved and is somewhat of a good influence on Alfred. If only his father weren’t so irritating. “Is there any special I need to know? Allergies and the like?”
“No, no allergies. Just an unhealthy love for pancakes and maple syrup.” Francis kneels down and envelopes Matthew in what is, in Arthur’s opinion, an unnecessarily dramatic hug. “Be good, okay?”
“Okay,” Matthew murmurs into his shoulder. “Bye, Papa.”
Alfred, of course, is already impatient with the proceedings. “Can we go play yet?”
Arthur sighs. “Manners, Alfred.”
Alfred stops to think. “May we go play?”
Arthur rolls his eyes and waves them off. He is left alone with Francis, uncomfortable, awkward, and just a bit annoyed.
“Well, I’m off.” Francis brushes off imaginary wrinkles on his blazer. Arthur reaches to open the door. As Francis strolls down the walkway, he’s struck with the sudden urge to say something, anything.
“Have a good trip,” he mumbles, and instantly regrets it. Damn. At least there’s no way Francis could have heard him from that distance-
But of course he would have unnaturally good hearing. Francis turns on the heels of his too-shiny shoes and gives him a smug grin. “Why, thank you, Arthur, I didn’t know you cared.”
Arthur scowls and slams the door shut.
“Does your dad ever bring any women home?”
The question throws Arthur off-guard, and he comes to an abrupt halt just outside Alfred’s room. He leans his head closer to the doorway, curious.
“Women? Nope!” Alfred pauses. “Why? Does your papa do that?”
“Oh. No, I - Never mind.”
For once, Arthur is glad for Alfred’s tenacity, and is unsurprised when he breaks out into a whine. “What? You can’t just ask me that and leave me hanging! What is it, Mattie? I’m not gonna leave you alone until you say. What is it, Mattie, what is it? What is it? Huh? What is it?”
Thud.
“You didn’t have to throw it that hard,” Alfred says, hurt.
Matthew makes a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat. “You didn’t have to be so annoying,” he counters.
Arthur barely suppresses a snort.
Then, in a low whisper, Matthew tentatively speaks. “Sometimes, Papa brings women home. Most of the time they’re nice and they smile at me a lot… but sometimes, they give me mean looks and - and I know I’m boring and quiet and people forget I’m not there, but I still - I’m still there.”
It goes quiet for a long time after that, and Arthur almost gives into the impulse to dash into the room and tell him that of course he’s there and of course he’s special and all sorts of wonderful but Alfred beats him to it.
“Mattie,” he says, with all the gravity he can possibly muster, “you are awesome.”
“Eh?” Matthew flushes.
“If I say you’re awesome, you are! And those weird women your papa brings home? Unawesome. So don’t feel sad, okay?”
There’s a lull in the conversation and Arthur stops and thinks maybe he hasn’t completely screwed up as a father, that maybe he’s done at least one thing right in his life.
“But,” Alfred presses on, “why don’tcha ask your papa about it?”
Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2d/?)
anonymous
April 28 2011, 22:48:41 UTC
“He’s your papa, Mattie. You’re supposed to bug him with stuff. That’s what they’re there for.”
“But -” Matthew cuts himself off, thinking. “Al, where’s your mom?”
Arthur freezes.
“Daddy says she went to a better place,” Alfred replies promptly. “And she watches over me from the skies and I shouldn’t be sad about it.”
“Don’t you miss her?”
“I - well, yeah.” Alfred pauses for a good while, picks up a toy car and rolls it back and forth on the carpet. “I never met her, but. But Daddy’s awesome all on his own, so it’s okay. We’re okay,” he says, firmly.
The room goes silent. Arthur is all too aware of the sound of his heartbeat ramming against his ribcage.
“Mine left,” Matthew says, finally. “Papa doesn’t talk about her, but sometimes I hear things from Uncle Gilbert or Uncle Antonio. I’m good at that - hearing things I’m not supposed to. It’s ‘cause people always forget I’m there.”
“Why’d she leave?” Alfred asks, ever inquisitive.
“I don’t know. I never met her.” Matthew sounds wistful. “But I - I don’t want Papa to leave me too, so - so I have to be good, I have to.”
“That’s silly, Mattie,” Alfred says at once. “Your papa’s great! He’s not gonna leave you. He loves you.”
“But -”
“Nooooo,” Alfred cuts him off. “No buts! You gotta stop worrying! Geez, you act like you’re forty.”
“I guess you’re right,” Matthew concedes, although he still sounds unsure.
“Of course I’m right,” Alfred declares. “Now, come on, wanna play Mario Kart?”
Arthur tiptoes past the half-open door and down the stairs. He sits down at the dining table and rests his head in his hands, suddenly overcome with a strange, permeating ache in his head and his heart.
After they’ve brushed their teeth and washed their faces, Arthur helps the two boys into their pajamas. Alfred’s is a light blue color, well-worn and made of soft cotton. Matthew’s is a satin affair, frilly and delicate; Arthur actually laughs when he pulls it out of the overnight bag.
“This is what you wear to sleep?” he asks, shaking his head amusedly.
Matthew gets flustered. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“No, of course not,” Arthur reassures him, helping the little boy into the sleeves. “We’re just not used to pretty things around here, that’s all.”
“I’m pretty,” Alfred protests.
“Of course you are,” Arthur soothes him. He turns in his direction, only to see that he’s managed to misalign every single one of his buttons. “Oh, Al.”
“What?” The little boy asks, clueless as he tugs his pants on.
Far too used to this sort of thing, Arthur quickly fixes his buttons and ushers him off to bed. He sits at the foot of the bed, watching as both boys clamber in, Alfred on the right and Matthew on the left. The sight of both boys in the large bed seems so right, somehow, and he remembers earlier days when he used to dream of filling this large, empty house with the sound of children’s laughter.
He pushes those thoughts away, drawing the sheets over both boys. “Goodnight, Al,” he whispers, leaning over to leave a kiss on his forehead.
“G’night, Daddy,” Alfred says, snuggling into his pillow, already half-asleep.
It seems perfectly natural for Arthur to cross to the other side of the bed and smooth Matthew’s longer locks away from his face, the way he’s seen Francis do so many times before.
Arthur is struck by how fragile he looks, and he moves closer to say the words that have been on his mind all evening. “You are special,” he tells him, fiercely, “and you’re not invisible, and if anybody ever tells you otherwise, you come and find me, and I’ll set them straight.”
Matthew goes still, and for a moment Arthur worries he’s overstepped his bounds. But then he reaches up and wraps small, shaking arms around Arthur’s neck. Without any hesitation, Arthur hugs him back.
Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 28 2011, 22:51:27 UTC
Francis literally has one foot out the door of a gift shop at Heathrow when the display to his left catches his eye.
He moves towards the shelf and takes a plastic London bus in his hands, running his fingers over the windows and tires. A small smile comes unbidden to his lips as he thinks of a grumpy Englishman with ridiculously thick eyebrows who listens to jazz after jogging.
He’s not sure how long he stands there, absentmindedly turning the bus over and over in his hands.
He hums to himself, picturing a detailed scenario in which he comes home to Arthur and presents him with his gift only to receive an embarrassed scowl in return; he imagines Matthew and Alfred running down to greet him, Matthew with his shy, unobtrusive smile and Alfred with his boundless cheer. He imagines -
Wait.
Coming home to Arthur?
The thought strikes him with dread and he clumsily places the toy back on the shelf, hastily exiting the shop. He collapses heavily on the plastic chairs at the terminal, exhausted and terribly, terribly confused.
Thirty minutes later he’s sitting in first class, staring blankly out the window at gray, overcast skies. The thing is, it’s not so much that the very thought of it is bizarre and impossible; no, what frightens him is that the idea is natural and warm, wonderful and somehow very, very possible.
Francis arrives at Arthur’s house late Sunday evening, looking weary. His clothes are faintly wrinkled from the long plane ride, but somehow he still manages to look classy and sophisticated. Arthur is automatically annoyed.
“Matthew’s already asleep,” he says, letting him in. “I can bring him down for you.”
“No, don’t bother. I’ll get him myself.” Francis climbs the stairs, Arthur not far behind him. He lingers in the doorway of Alfred’s room, watching as Francis lifts Matthew into his arms with practiced ease. The little boy stirs, but doesn’t seem to wake.
“Thanks again for watching him,” Francis whispers, sliding the straps of Matthew’s overnight bag on his shoulders.
“You’re welcome,” Arthur says stiffly, and halts just before he opens the door. He takes a deep breath. “Look, this - this is probably none of my business, but I overheard Matthew and Alfred talking, and…”
“And?” Francis prompts, adjusting his grip on his sleeping son.
“Matthew mentioned some of the women you’ve brought home in the past,” Arthur says in a rush, as if saying the words quickly will make the conversation less awkward. “And, well, I think some of them make him uncomfortable, so -” He cuts himself off at the sight of Matthew’s small hands suddenly grabbing fistfuls of Francis’ shirt.
A look of pain and guilt flashes across Francis’ face, so unlike any of the expressions Arthur’s ever seen on him. Francis rubs soothing circles on Matthew’s back, murmuring quiet, gentle things in French. Matthew whispers back, hiding his face in Francis’ shoulder. Arthur can’t help but feel as though he’s intruding on a highly personal moment.
Francis looks up and Arthur catches a glimpse of one of the saddest expressions he’s ever seen. With nothing to say, he numbly opens the door for them.
As father and son walk slowly down the sidewalk, Matthew raises a tiny hand and waves goodbye. Arthur waves back, somehow feeling lonely as their car disappears into the distance.
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 28 2011, 23:32:43 UTC
oh my gosh. A!anon, this broke my heart. now you are obligated to put it back together... this is all sorts of amazing. oh wow... so looking forward to the next installment!
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 29 2011, 01:39:27 UTC
*Squeals* So I know this is a FrUk fill, but omg, Alfred and Matthew have absolutely steolen this story for me. I love them being all brotherly together as much as I ship the two sometimes both at the same time. Alfred reassuring Matthew as being awesome just made me melt. Yes Arthur, you definitely raised him right. <3
Also this exchange: “We’re just not used to pretty things around here, that’s all.”
“I’m pretty,” Alfred protests.
Oh Alfred dear, you are pretty, the prettiest even. XD
PS: Just a side note, if Francis didn't mention that the Alfred and Matthew were six, I would have thought they were older (closer to 8 even). Maybe it's just all the 6 years old I've been around with, or they're just really mature for their age. lol.
Or maybe I've been around TO many mature kids? The ones I have been near are like this too. So, was I. Than again some were complete idiots even FOR six year olds so...ya.
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 29 2011, 02:11:35 UTC
PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT UNCLE GILBERT. Poor Matt. xD I see he's got some bad, bad memories...
Ahaha, damn, they're just so ADORABLE. Bonding through the kids. <3<3 The best way to bond. And Francis realizing he's proud of Alfred too d'awwwwww. And how he clearly adores Matt. I always feel depressed when in fics Francis is ignoring Matt. ;;_;; Especially in those where he's his son. (Even though it might be kind of accurate... orz But then again in real life France has a lot of kids so it's probably hard to keep up with them...)
aklsgjhfkjlghdgjkgjh ALFRED. ;;;_____;;;<3<3<3 Oh my god he's so awesome for telling Mattie he's important. Omg, my heart just broke, was resurrected, and started dancing. And then broke again when Matt said he has to be good so papa doesn't leave him too. BAWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
Damn I love this fic. I LOVE it. I'm seriously crying and smiling at the same time like a total dork here.
And just as I think I'm done with the praise, oh Francis' thoughts... the confusion and especially this: "The thing is, it’s not so much that the very thought of it is bizarre and impossible; no, what frightens him is that the idea is natural and warm, wonderful and somehow very, very possible." Just. Perfect. Damn.
A-and Francis' depressed expression when Arthur mentions the conversation the boys had and Mattie tensing up and kjhkdfgjhklkjh oh my heart.....
*goes get a paper towel to wipe her face and blow her nose*
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 29 2011, 03:49:10 UTC
Oh wow. ♥
I'm in love with this. Little Matthew and Alfred have completely stolen my heart. They are so. Freaking. Cute. Matthew. I want to snuggle him and spoil him and give him whatever he wants. And Alfred. When he buttoned his shirt wrong. <333333 They totally make this story for me.
(Although they seem rather...mature...for six. ^.^; But no worries.)
I like how the relationship between Francis and Arthur is building. I love Artie and his tsundere ways. And Francis and his theatrics. This may be one of my favorites already and we're just two chapters in. Please keep up the wonderful writing, anon.
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 29 2011, 05:48:14 UTC
You...I'm a pathetic little pile of goo right now, and it's all your fault, you wonderful writer you!
This is funny and perfectly well-written, with delightful characterisation and sweet details, but over everything else, it's emotional and soft and dear and everything I could for in a family story.
I won't lie, I was on the verge of tears when little Matthew hugged Arthur as he tucked him in, and I mean the good tears, the awww, this is so beautiful I hope this author never stops - kind of tears.
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 29 2011, 06:09:29 UTC
Oh I love this story!!! I just smiled through the whole thing ^.^ Your Francis and Arthur are so perfectly bumbling around each other. It's wonderful to watch them move slowly towards one another. And oh god your sweet little Mattie and Alfred! Seriously too adorable. I wanted to run in and hug Matthew and Alfred's words were just fantastic. So, so loving this!
Re: Anatomy of an Anomalous Relationship (2e/?)
anonymous
April 29 2011, 07:26:46 UTC
oh anon *_*
The scene where Arthur says those words to Mattie and the hug... aslkdjls and this from the guy who tried his best to hate Mattie in the first chapter.
“How was school?” Francis asks as both boys climb into the leather seats of his car. Matthew answers with a quiet “Fine, Papa,” but Alfred barrels on without a second thought.
“It was great!” he chirps. Francis slowly backs out of his parking space, half-listening as Alfred goes on about everything that happened that day: how he lost a pencil, almost swallowed a bug, tripped on his untied shoelaces and skinned his knees. For a good fifteen minutes, Francis is content to drive with Alfred’s excited chatter echoing through the car.
As he slowly pulls into the driveway, Alfred turns to Matthew and whacks him, without warning, on the shoulder.
“Hey! Why haven’t you told him yet?”
Matthew flushes. “Later,” he mumbles.
“Naw! Tell him now! He’ll be super happy, right?” Alfred turns to Francis, who’s gotten out of his seat by this point and is in the process of helping the boys out of the car.
“Tell me what?” Francis unbuckles Matthew’s seatbelt, peering at him curiously.
Alfred nudges him. “Go on!”
Matthew, if possible, turns redder. “I, um. I got the highest grade on our spelling test. See, I got a -” He rummages through his backpack. “A lollipop.” He holds out a cherry-flavored Tootsie Pop.
Francis lights up immediately. “I’m so proud of you!” Matthew smiles back, a tentative and shy upturn of lips, and Francis drops a light kiss on his forehead.
“Hey, hey, Mattie’s papa!” Alfred waves frantically at him.
Francis chuckles lowly at the nickname. “Yes?”
“I got a gold star on my math homework! Are you proud of me, too?” Alfred grins, wide and unabashed, brimming with desire for his approval.
“Of course I am,” he reassures him, stepping back to let Alfred jump out of the car. He watches him race Matthew to the front door and finds himself surprised at how much he means it.
Arthur picks Alfred up from the Bonnefoy household at six-thirty sharp, standing uncomfortably in the foyer. The house, surprisingly, is modest-sized and charming, tastefully decorated with sleek furniture.
Francis smiles at him, all white teeth and charm. Arthur’s eyes flicker towards the stairs, waiting for Alfred to come leaping down.
“Long day at work?” Francis inquires.
“Thought it would never end.” Arthur starts tapping his foot impatiently. Where is that boy, he wonders, and what could he possibly be doing?
“Your writers not making their deadlines?” Francis inches closer, ever so subtly and naturally. Arthur flushes and moves away, sending him a baleful glare.
“Of course not; they’ll turn in their articles the night before the paper’s due to come out, as usual. And what the hell are you doing, get the fu -”
“I’m ready, Dad!” Alfred sprints down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Arthur practically bites his tongue off as he exerts every drop of self-control he possesses to stop the words from rushing out. Francis smirks and lets his hand slowly trail up from Arthur’s elbow to his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Arthur grits out, shoving Francis’ arm away. He grabs Alfred’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”
Francis steps forward and holds the door open for the two of them. “Have a good night.” As Arthur moves past, he reaches over and lightly brushes his fingers across his lower back. Arthur spins around, enraged, and opens his mouth, all sorts of profanity hovering on the tip of his tongue.
“Bye, Alfred,” Matthew says, appearing from seemingly nowhere. For the second time that night, Arthur literally has to bite his tongue to keep his mouth shut.
“Bye!” Alfred chirps, oblivious to the fury emanating from his father as he skips off towards the car.
Arthur makes sure Alfred’s properly buckled in, vicious thoughts swirling around his mind the whole time. The last thing he sees before driving off is Francis’ silhouette in the doorway, waving obnoxiously.
Git, he thinks, savagely, irritated during the entire drive home.
Reply
No, this funny little cat-and-mouse game with Arthur Kirkland is just that - a game.
So when he catches sight of his slim figure walking unhurriedly down the street, dressed in gym clothes with white earphone cords hanging loosely around his neck, it’s only natural to veer into a sharp U-turn and come to a smooth, graceful halt next to him. He honks twice for good measure.
Arthur turns, and upon seeing the shiny black car, trips over a nasty crack in the sidewalk. Francis muffles a snort as he quickly rights himself and scowls nastily at the vehicle.
Francis rolls down the passenger window. “Would you like a ride home?”
Arthur ungraciously yanks out an ear bud. Francis can faintly hear a male voice singing through the static noise. “What?”
Francis gestures to the passenger seat. “I could give you a ride home, if you’d like.”
Arthur looks like he’d much rather face off against a school of piranha. “No, thank you,” he says brusquely, and makes to put his earphones back in place.
“What are you listening to?” Francis suddenly asks.
The slight widening of his eyes exposes his surprise at the question. He glances down at his iPod. “Er, right now? Frank Sinatra.”
Francis casts him a look of disbelief. “For jogging? No Freddie Mercury to get the blood pumping?”
Arthur explains, “I’m already done exercising, and I like a bit of jazz to cool off to.” And then, as if realizing what he’s just said, his eyes narrow, and his defenses go back up. “Not that I need to defend my musical tastes to the likes of you.”
Francis raises both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Never said you had to. Are you sure you don’t want a ride back?”
“Positive.” Arthur swiftly puts his earphones back in and begins jogging away slowly. Francis watches his retreating form for longer than is strictly necessary before driving off, and wonders why he feels strangely disappointed.
Friday afternoon finds Arthur leaning against the wall of his own entryway, watching Matthew tie his shoelaces slowly. Francis smiles fondly down at his son, a softening of the eyes and a barely perceptible upturn of the lips, and Arthur is suddenly aware of an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I can tie my shoes faster,” Alfred brags.
“Alfred,” Arthur warns, glad for an excuse to discard his thoughts.
Matthew glances up with something of annoyance in his eyes. “Yeah, well, yours always comes untied.”
Alfred laughs, loud and echoing. “Hah, I guess that’s true.”
Francis shakes his head, amused. “If we are all done here, it’s time to go.” He holds out a hand, which Matthew obligingly takes. “You’re spending the weekend at Uncle Gilbert’s, remember?”
The look of utter horror that crosses Matthew’s face is not at all dissimilar to the expression that implants itself on Arthur’s visage whenever he catches a glimpse of Francis. Recognizing a fellow tortured soul, he quickly asks, “Uncle Gilbert?”
“Yes,” Francis says, turning to him, seemingly oblivious, “I’m away this weekend for business, so I’ve asked my friend Gilbert to look after him. You know him; he comes to the football matches sometimes.”
This vague description along with Matthew’s terrified features calls to mind an image of an obnoxiously loud, wild-haired, red-eyed man whose favorite hobby seems to be screaming at the top of his lungs at said football matches. Arthur feels nauseous at the thought of leaving poor Matthew in his responsibility.
“I’ll watch him.” The words tumble out of his mouth before checking with his brain. Matthew turns delightedly surprised eyes on him, and Alfred bounces up and down on the balls of his feet.
“Sleepover!” he shouts.
Francis looks unsure. “I appreciate it, but -”
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“No, no, can Mattie sleep over, please, please?” Francis hesitates briefly, but the force of two six-year-olds’ pleading gazes proves to be his undoing.
“Oh, why not?” He ruffles Matthew’s hair gently, then, without even thinking about it, reaches forward and does the same to Alfred. Arthur is taken aback by the affection in his eyes; has he always treated Alfred so tenderly? “I’ll bring him by in the morning, if that’s all right.”
“Y - yes, that’ll be fine.” Arthur clears his throat. “See you in the morning, then.”
“There you go.” Francis hands Arthur a small duffel bag, filled with clothes and necessities for the weekend. “Thank you for watching him.”
“It’s really no problem.” Because it isn’t. Matthew is always completely well-behaved and is somewhat of a good influence on Alfred. If only his father weren’t so irritating. “Is there any special I need to know? Allergies and the like?”
“No, no allergies. Just an unhealthy love for pancakes and maple syrup.” Francis kneels down and envelopes Matthew in what is, in Arthur’s opinion, an unnecessarily dramatic hug. “Be good, okay?”
“Okay,” Matthew murmurs into his shoulder. “Bye, Papa.”
Alfred, of course, is already impatient with the proceedings. “Can we go play yet?”
Arthur sighs. “Manners, Alfred.”
Alfred stops to think. “May we go play?”
Arthur rolls his eyes and waves them off. He is left alone with Francis, uncomfortable, awkward, and just a bit annoyed.
“Well, I’m off.” Francis brushes off imaginary wrinkles on his blazer. Arthur reaches to open the door. As Francis strolls down the walkway, he’s struck with the sudden urge to say something, anything.
“Have a good trip,” he mumbles, and instantly regrets it. Damn. At least there’s no way Francis could have heard him from that distance-
But of course he would have unnaturally good hearing. Francis turns on the heels of his too-shiny shoes and gives him a smug grin. “Why, thank you, Arthur, I didn’t know you cared.”
Arthur scowls and slams the door shut.
“Does your dad ever bring any women home?”
The question throws Arthur off-guard, and he comes to an abrupt halt just outside Alfred’s room. He leans his head closer to the doorway, curious.
“Women? Nope!” Alfred pauses. “Why? Does your papa do that?”
“Oh. No, I - Never mind.”
For once, Arthur is glad for Alfred’s tenacity, and is unsurprised when he breaks out into a whine. “What? You can’t just ask me that and leave me hanging! What is it, Mattie? I’m not gonna leave you alone until you say. What is it, Mattie, what is it? What is it? Huh? What is it?”
Thud.
“You didn’t have to throw it that hard,” Alfred says, hurt.
Matthew makes a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat. “You didn’t have to be so annoying,” he counters.
Arthur barely suppresses a snort.
Then, in a low whisper, Matthew tentatively speaks. “Sometimes, Papa brings women home. Most of the time they’re nice and they smile at me a lot… but sometimes, they give me mean looks and - and I know I’m boring and quiet and people forget I’m not there, but I still - I’m still there.”
It goes quiet for a long time after that, and Arthur almost gives into the impulse to dash into the room and tell him that of course he’s there and of course he’s special and all sorts of wonderful but Alfred beats him to it.
“Mattie,” he says, with all the gravity he can possibly muster, “you are awesome.”
“Eh?” Matthew flushes.
“If I say you’re awesome, you are! And those weird women your papa brings home? Unawesome. So don’t feel sad, okay?”
There’s a lull in the conversation and Arthur stops and thinks maybe he hasn’t completely screwed up as a father, that maybe he’s done at least one thing right in his life.
“But,” Alfred presses on, “why don’tcha ask your papa about it?”
“No, I - I don’t want to bug him with this.”
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“But -” Matthew cuts himself off, thinking. “Al, where’s your mom?”
Arthur freezes.
“Daddy says she went to a better place,” Alfred replies promptly. “And she watches over me from the skies and I shouldn’t be sad about it.”
“Don’t you miss her?”
“I - well, yeah.” Alfred pauses for a good while, picks up a toy car and rolls it back and forth on the carpet. “I never met her, but. But Daddy’s awesome all on his own, so it’s okay. We’re okay,” he says, firmly.
The room goes silent. Arthur is all too aware of the sound of his heartbeat ramming against his ribcage.
“Mine left,” Matthew says, finally. “Papa doesn’t talk about her, but sometimes I hear things from Uncle Gilbert or Uncle Antonio. I’m good at that - hearing things I’m not supposed to. It’s ‘cause people always forget I’m there.”
“Why’d she leave?” Alfred asks, ever inquisitive.
“I don’t know. I never met her.” Matthew sounds wistful. “But I - I don’t want Papa to leave me too, so - so I have to be good, I have to.”
“That’s silly, Mattie,” Alfred says at once. “Your papa’s great! He’s not gonna leave you. He loves you.”
“But -”
“Nooooo,” Alfred cuts him off. “No buts! You gotta stop worrying! Geez, you act like you’re forty.”
“I guess you’re right,” Matthew concedes, although he still sounds unsure.
“Of course I’m right,” Alfred declares. “Now, come on, wanna play Mario Kart?”
Arthur tiptoes past the half-open door and down the stairs. He sits down at the dining table and rests his head in his hands, suddenly overcome with a strange, permeating ache in his head and his heart.
After they’ve brushed their teeth and washed their faces, Arthur helps the two boys into their pajamas. Alfred’s is a light blue color, well-worn and made of soft cotton. Matthew’s is a satin affair, frilly and delicate; Arthur actually laughs when he pulls it out of the overnight bag.
“This is what you wear to sleep?” he asks, shaking his head amusedly.
Matthew gets flustered. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“No, of course not,” Arthur reassures him, helping the little boy into the sleeves. “We’re just not used to pretty things around here, that’s all.”
“I’m pretty,” Alfred protests.
“Of course you are,” Arthur soothes him. He turns in his direction, only to see that he’s managed to misalign every single one of his buttons. “Oh, Al.”
“What?” The little boy asks, clueless as he tugs his pants on.
Far too used to this sort of thing, Arthur quickly fixes his buttons and ushers him off to bed. He sits at the foot of the bed, watching as both boys clamber in, Alfred on the right and Matthew on the left. The sight of both boys in the large bed seems so right, somehow, and he remembers earlier days when he used to dream of filling this large, empty house with the sound of children’s laughter.
He pushes those thoughts away, drawing the sheets over both boys. “Goodnight, Al,” he whispers, leaning over to leave a kiss on his forehead.
“G’night, Daddy,” Alfred says, snuggling into his pillow, already half-asleep.
It seems perfectly natural for Arthur to cross to the other side of the bed and smooth Matthew’s longer locks away from his face, the way he’s seen Francis do so many times before.
Arthur is struck by how fragile he looks, and he moves closer to say the words that have been on his mind all evening. “You are special,” he tells him, fiercely, “and you’re not invisible, and if anybody ever tells you otherwise, you come and find me, and I’ll set them straight.”
Matthew goes still, and for a moment Arthur worries he’s overstepped his bounds. But then he reaches up and wraps small, shaking arms around Arthur’s neck. Without any hesitation, Arthur hugs him back.
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He moves towards the shelf and takes a plastic London bus in his hands, running his fingers over the windows and tires. A small smile comes unbidden to his lips as he thinks of a grumpy Englishman with ridiculously thick eyebrows who listens to jazz after jogging.
He’s not sure how long he stands there, absentmindedly turning the bus over and over in his hands.
He hums to himself, picturing a detailed scenario in which he comes home to Arthur and presents him with his gift only to receive an embarrassed scowl in return; he imagines Matthew and Alfred running down to greet him, Matthew with his shy, unobtrusive smile and Alfred with his boundless cheer. He imagines -
Wait.
Coming home to Arthur?
The thought strikes him with dread and he clumsily places the toy back on the shelf, hastily exiting the shop. He collapses heavily on the plastic chairs at the terminal, exhausted and terribly, terribly confused.
Thirty minutes later he’s sitting in first class, staring blankly out the window at gray, overcast skies. The thing is, it’s not so much that the very thought of it is bizarre and impossible; no, what frightens him is that the idea is natural and warm, wonderful and somehow very, very possible.
Francis arrives at Arthur’s house late Sunday evening, looking weary. His clothes are faintly wrinkled from the long plane ride, but somehow he still manages to look classy and sophisticated. Arthur is automatically annoyed.
“Matthew’s already asleep,” he says, letting him in. “I can bring him down for you.”
“No, don’t bother. I’ll get him myself.” Francis climbs the stairs, Arthur not far behind him. He lingers in the doorway of Alfred’s room, watching as Francis lifts Matthew into his arms with practiced ease. The little boy stirs, but doesn’t seem to wake.
“Thanks again for watching him,” Francis whispers, sliding the straps of Matthew’s overnight bag on his shoulders.
“You’re welcome,” Arthur says stiffly, and halts just before he opens the door. He takes a deep breath. “Look, this - this is probably none of my business, but I overheard Matthew and Alfred talking, and…”
“And?” Francis prompts, adjusting his grip on his sleeping son.
“Matthew mentioned some of the women you’ve brought home in the past,” Arthur says in a rush, as if saying the words quickly will make the conversation less awkward. “And, well, I think some of them make him uncomfortable, so -” He cuts himself off at the sight of Matthew’s small hands suddenly grabbing fistfuls of Francis’ shirt.
A look of pain and guilt flashes across Francis’ face, so unlike any of the expressions Arthur’s ever seen on him. Francis rubs soothing circles on Matthew’s back, murmuring quiet, gentle things in French. Matthew whispers back, hiding his face in Francis’ shoulder. Arthur can’t help but feel as though he’s intruding on a highly personal moment.
Francis looks up and Arthur catches a glimpse of one of the saddest expressions he’s ever seen. With nothing to say, he numbly opens the door for them.
As father and son walk slowly down the sidewalk, Matthew raises a tiny hand and waves goodbye. Arthur waves back, somehow feeling lonely as their car disappears into the distance.
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A!anon, this broke my heart. now you are obligated to put it back together...
this is all sorts of amazing. oh wow...
so looking forward to the next installment!
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Also this exchange:
“We’re just not used to pretty things around here, that’s all.”
“I’m pretty,” Alfred protests.
Oh Alfred dear, you are pretty, the prettiest even. XD
PS: Just a side note, if Francis didn't mention that the Alfred and Matthew were six, I would have thought they were older (closer to 8 even). Maybe it's just all the 6 years old I've been around with, or they're just really mature for their age. lol.
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Ahaha, damn, they're just so ADORABLE. Bonding through the kids. <3<3 The best way to bond. And Francis realizing he's proud of Alfred too d'awwwwww. And how he clearly adores Matt. I always feel depressed when in fics Francis is ignoring Matt. ;;_;; Especially in those where he's his son. (Even though it might be kind of accurate... orz But then again in real life France has a lot of kids so it's probably hard to keep up with them...)
aklsgjhfkjlghdgjkgjh ALFRED. ;;;_____;;;<3<3<3 Oh my god he's so awesome for telling Mattie he's important. Omg, my heart just broke, was resurrected, and started dancing. And then broke again when Matt said he has to be good so papa doesn't leave him too. BAWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
Damn I love this fic. I LOVE it. I'm seriously crying and smiling at the same time like a total dork here.
And just as I think I'm done with the praise, oh Francis' thoughts... the confusion and especially this: "The thing is, it’s not so much that the very thought of it is bizarre and impossible; no, what frightens him is that the idea is natural and warm, wonderful and somehow very, very possible." Just. Perfect. Damn.
A-and Francis' depressed expression when Arthur mentions the conversation the boys had and Mattie tensing up and kjhkdfgjhklkjh oh my heart.....
*goes get a paper towel to wipe her face and blow her nose*
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i shall be waiting for the next update excitedly!
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I'm in love with this. Little Matthew and Alfred have completely stolen my heart. They are so. Freaking. Cute. Matthew. I want to snuggle him and spoil him and give him whatever he wants. And Alfred. When he buttoned his shirt wrong. <333333 They totally make this story for me.
(Although they seem rather...mature...for six. ^.^; But no worries.)
I like how the relationship between Francis and Arthur is building. I love Artie and his tsundere ways. And Francis and his theatrics. This may be one of my favorites already and we're just two chapters in. Please keep up the wonderful writing, anon.
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This is funny and perfectly well-written, with delightful characterisation and sweet details, but over everything else, it's emotional and soft and dear and everything I could for in a family story.
I won't lie, I was on the verge of tears when little Matthew hugged Arthur as he tucked him in, and I mean the good tears, the awww, this is so beautiful I hope this author never stops - kind of tears.
You make me so happy with this, a!a.
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The scene where Arthur says those words to Mattie and the hug... aslkdjls and this from the guy who tried his best to hate Mattie in the first chapter.
Aaah they are becoming a family <333333
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