SPOILER: He's not an only child [16.1/n]
anonymous
June 5 2009, 02:07:03 UTC
Francis woke up with the rays of the sun caressing his face and a morning breeze whispering its secrets in his ears. He smiled a lazy, sleepy smile. It was a great morning. Even greater since Alfred was back.
He climbed out of his bed and changed his clothes. He went out of his room and went into the kitchen to start breakfast. He was thinking of putting in Alfred's favorite amongst the meals he would be making.
It was when he'd gotten to the refrigerator that he noticed that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. He blinked and listened to the sizzling coming from the stove. He turned around to see who had woken up so early.
Possibly Feliciano, he thought. Off to be a dear and cook breakfast for them.
He didn't exactly expect to see his own son in front of a stove and looking like a professional with bacon flipping. Since when did Alfred learn how to cook something without burning it? Francis was amazed, no doubt. It seemed as if Alfred had picked up a lot of things in camp.
"Did they teach you how to cook there?" Francis asked.
Matthew jumped, obviously having been too drawn in by cooking to have noticed Francis come in. Matthew turned his head to look at Francis and said, "Ah, um, yes," before going back to his bacon strips.
"We never did get to talk that much last night." He sat on a chair. He propped his elbow on the table and placed his head on the hand that belonged on the same arm as that elbow. "What else did they teach you there?"
"They, er, they also taught us how to tie complicated knots and paper craft and-and a lot of sports."
"... Say, mon petit, were you bullied in camp?"
"Huh? Oh, oh good heavens no!"
"Good heavens, Alfred? That's a peculiar phrase for you."
Matthew was slightly quivering now. His shoulders were more tense, too.
Something was up, Francis knew. He wouldn't be a father if he didn't know at least that. Alfred was too wispy lately. Nothing at all like the overly energetic Alfred pre-summer-camp. It was like he went through some sort of personality changing machine. Francis stroked the stubble on his chin. Very suspicious, if he said so himself. He'd get to the bottom of this.
"Are you sure you weren't bullied?" Francis asked.
"I wasn't," Matthew said. Of course, in camp he wasn't bullied. Everywhere else was a different matter. That was, of course, if those bullying him could actually notice him for more than a few seconds.
As the hours passed by, he was getting more and more worried about this grand plan of Alfred and his. He was doing a terrible job at playing Alfred's role. Even with all the training they'd done, he kept reverting to his own personality. He clutched the handle of the pan tighter.
"I, um, still have to do the pancakes," Matthew said.
"Ah, I understand," Francis said, standing up. "I'll get the batter ready." At least cooking was now a passion they could share.
"Thank you."
"No need to be all formal, Alfred." Francis smiled and ruffled Matthew's hair. "We're family, after all."
"Hey, it smells good," Antonio said as he went inside the kitchen. There was a certain swagger in his walk that said that he'd just woken up and wasn't exactly ready to meet the world. He had a rather airheaded-looking smile on his face though. "I never knew Alfred could cook." He sat on the same chair Francis had been sitting on a while ago. He placed his arms on the table and used those to pillow his head.
"I told you to wake up, lazy bastard!" Lovino exclaimed as he barged inside.
"Don't cause a fuss in the morning, brother," Feliciano said.
"How many pancakes do you want to make, Alfred?" Francis asked as he reached for the cupboard near the oven.
"I, um, enough to feed everyone?" Matthew asked, unsure.
"We'll be needing a lot more flour and eggs for that." Francis chuckled.
"Ah, ah, I want to help, ve!" Feliciano said, flailing and smiling to prove his earnesty.
"Anyone can help, Feliciano."
Soon enough, Antonio was the only one who was on the table, sleeping away.
"When exactly did Antonio sleep last night? I'm sure he left after dinner," Francis said thoughtfully.
He climbed out of his bed and changed his clothes. He went out of his room and went into the kitchen to start breakfast. He was thinking of putting in Alfred's favorite amongst the meals he would be making.
It was when he'd gotten to the refrigerator that he noticed that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. He blinked and listened to the sizzling coming from the stove. He turned around to see who had woken up so early.
Possibly Feliciano, he thought. Off to be a dear and cook breakfast for them.
He didn't exactly expect to see his own son in front of a stove and looking like a professional with bacon flipping. Since when did Alfred learn how to cook something without burning it? Francis was amazed, no doubt. It seemed as if Alfred had picked up a lot of things in camp.
"Did they teach you how to cook there?" Francis asked.
Matthew jumped, obviously having been too drawn in by cooking to have noticed Francis come in. Matthew turned his head to look at Francis and said, "Ah, um, yes," before going back to his bacon strips.
"We never did get to talk that much last night." He sat on a chair. He propped his elbow on the table and placed his head on the hand that belonged on the same arm as that elbow. "What else did they teach you there?"
"They, er, they also taught us how to tie complicated knots and paper craft and-and a lot of sports."
"... Say, mon petit, were you bullied in camp?"
"Huh? Oh, oh good heavens no!"
"Good heavens, Alfred? That's a peculiar phrase for you."
Matthew was slightly quivering now. His shoulders were more tense, too.
Something was up, Francis knew. He wouldn't be a father if he didn't know at least that. Alfred was too wispy lately. Nothing at all like the overly energetic Alfred pre-summer-camp. It was like he went through some sort of personality changing machine. Francis stroked the stubble on his chin. Very suspicious, if he said so himself. He'd get to the bottom of this.
"Are you sure you weren't bullied?" Francis asked.
"I wasn't," Matthew said. Of course, in camp he wasn't bullied. Everywhere else was a different matter. That was, of course, if those bullying him could actually notice him for more than a few seconds.
As the hours passed by, he was getting more and more worried about this grand plan of Alfred and his. He was doing a terrible job at playing Alfred's role. Even with all the training they'd done, he kept reverting to his own personality. He clutched the handle of the pan tighter.
"I, um, still have to do the pancakes," Matthew said.
"Ah, I understand," Francis said, standing up. "I'll get the batter ready." At least cooking was now a passion they could share.
"Thank you."
"No need to be all formal, Alfred." Francis smiled and ruffled Matthew's hair. "We're family, after all."
"Hey, it smells good," Antonio said as he went inside the kitchen. There was a certain swagger in his walk that said that he'd just woken up and wasn't exactly ready to meet the world. He had a rather airheaded-looking smile on his face though. "I never knew Alfred could cook." He sat on the same chair Francis had been sitting on a while ago. He placed his arms on the table and used those to pillow his head.
"I told you to wake up, lazy bastard!" Lovino exclaimed as he barged inside.
"Don't cause a fuss in the morning, brother," Feliciano said.
"How many pancakes do you want to make, Alfred?" Francis asked as he reached for the cupboard near the oven.
"I, um, enough to feed everyone?" Matthew asked, unsure.
"We'll be needing a lot more flour and eggs for that." Francis chuckled.
"Ah, ah, I want to help, ve!" Feliciano said, flailing and smiling to prove his earnesty.
"Anyone can help, Feliciano."
Soon enough, Antonio was the only one who was on the table, sleeping away.
"When exactly did Antonio sleep last night? I'm sure he left after dinner," Francis said thoughtfully.
"His work can be really crazy," Feliciano said.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment