More Updates! C'est La Vie! [3/?]
Title: C'est La Vie!
Author: kaliona
Characters: Canada, France, England, America, mentions of Spain, many more characters to be introduced in future chapters
Rating: PG-13
Summary: College Student!Matthew has come across a wonderful scholarship, but his brother's roommate's family has already paid for all of his expenses. So what does Matthew do with the Money? According to Alfred, he blows it all and goes to Paris.
"You have: Three New Voice Messages."
Francis sighed, stepping away from the Canadian he had decided to drag about this city. "Mathieu, give me a moment."
Turning his head, Matthew watched him turn away from him so that he was looking at the Frenchman's back, and frowned. Francis had assured him that the best way to spot his brother was to trail around the place, certainly appreciating the city along the way.
"Voice Message: Number one," Sang his phone, and Francis massaged his temple, ready for the message. "Francis, you cheeky bastard! Where the hell are you? You told me you'd meet me for lunch. Forget already? I hate you so much, why does Antonio keep making me come find you? Just come back to us, for God's sake! Christ!"
Alright, he thought to himself. Certainly not the worst that Lovino could've given him. But, then again, he had two more.
"Voice Message: Number two: You fucking asshole! I sent you that voice message fifteen minutes ago! Are you ignoring me? You fuckface, you're ignoring me! I cannot wait to tell Antonio that you're too busy trying to find someone to screw to talk to me! Who's helped you through all this? Me! Who's been on the lookout for you? Me! Ugh, fucking Frenchies! I hate you, chigii! Fucking call me!"
Francis nodded absentmindedly, as if he was trying to brush that message off. Again, he had certainly heard worse. After the proper mental preparation, he headed onward to the third and final message from Lovino.
"Voice Message: Number three: Oh my God!"
Francis jumped, and Matthew jumped, the former covered his phone with his hand so the latter wouldn't look at him so oddly. "P-Pardon me, Mathieu."
Lovino's voice rang loud and clear. "--When I find you-- Wheeen I find you-- You don't even want to know what I'm going to do to you - you don't. I guess we're just not that important to you then, are we? You fucking two-faced blonde piece of shit, I can't fucking believe you! I am going to find you and dammit--"
Then Francis noticed that the last voice message went on for another two minutes and promptly shut the phone, stuffing it back into his pocket.
"Nothing to worry about," He assured the tourist. "Just an, um, acquaintance, you could see, with a fowl temper."
Matthew simply shook his head and followed the Frenchman who motioned him to cross the street. "You seem to have a lot of odd acquaintances, don't you?"
Falling into a nice little rhythm and walking side by side, the pair made their way through the bustling crowd of merchants and tourists, as Francis casually slipped an arm around the Canadian's shoulders, smiling.
"You don't even know," He said, almost wistfully. He pointed upwards, motioning the large tower that was impossible to miss. "We will head up there first. Who knows, perhaps your brother is looking for you at the same place. And if not, we will find someone who has seen them."
Matthew gathered that he really should've been more uncomfortable with how buddy-buddy the Frenchman was being, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. The way his arm slung around his shoulders was familiar, like all the times Alfred had done that to him. It was casual and friendly, and it made Matthew feel calmer.
From deep inside his mind, he being to conjure up ideas that Francis would be a good friend. He-- He could come visit him in Canada if he ever wanted to, and during their stay in Paris, maybe they could... get to know each other-- No, Matthew, stop, he told himself. There is absolutely no point in getting your hopes up. How old is he now? Certainly older than yourself.
You'll bore him in a heartbeat.
"Mathieu," Piped Francis, looking down at him with friendly eyes and curious expression. "Are you alright? Are you nervous? Need your space?"
"No, I-- That's not it at all! I was just... well, thinking."
"Hmm," hummed the older man, and he turned his head away from Matthew just long enough to pluck a daffodil out of a vase from that sat in one of the passing windows. Nonchalantly, he plucked it away from it's siblings and handed it to the tourist. "And what're you thinking about? What do you think about, Mathieu?"
That, Matthew concluded, was the most vague question he had ever been asked. "Well," he murmured, accepting the flower and looking it over. "I think about a lot of things, like everyone else..."
"I see," chirped Francis, tugging him along the streets. But he wasn't looking ahead or at Matthew. He was looking all around the streets, as if he was looking for someone. When Matthew noticed that and became suspicious, he told himself, of course he's looking for someone, we're looking for Alfred. "So, Mon Cher. What brings you to Paris?"
Rolling his eyes affectionately, Matthew let his hand and the flower tucked into it fall to his side as he looked up, inspecting the rooftops. "Alfred dragged me here," He said, smiling. "I got a... scholarship, first of all, but... I didn't need it. So I told myself I was going to invest and save up, not like I couldn't use the money. But Alfred talked me into going on vacation with him and our friend Arthur. So... here I am."
"It sounds like your brother talks you into lots of things," commented Francis, smiling at him with a twinge of something nice, something almost mischievous and something charming.
Matthew felt his cheeks heat up solely at the fact that someone so nice and so beautiful was genuinely interested in him. "Well-- Well, he does. He didn't really talk me into anything this time, though. He bought the plane tickets and... that was that." He sighed, looking down at his daffodil. "But he's nice. He's always been there for me, he's the best brother I could ask for--"
Francis smiled and listened, glancing back at Matthew's face every now and again, then returning to inspecting the streets. He maintained a look of serenity and calmness -- until he saw a large, tall, blonde man wearing a police uniform. He paled.
"--E-Er! M-Mathieu, w-why don't we take this route?" Quickly, Francis ducked his head so that the younger boy blocked him from the officers view, and tugged him away from the crowd. "M-Much less crowded, don't you think?"
"What?" Peeped Matthew, letting himself be dragged along. "B-But you said this was the best way to--"
"Best way to go sometimes! Not today! See, look at all the people."
Had Matthew had time to turn his head and inspect what Francis was so desperately trying to get away from, he would've seen a tall blonde man, a short brunette who seemed to be radiating cheerfulness, as well as Arthur and his brother. However, he had no such time.
Maybe, Antonio thought, he was just a masochist.
This thought hit him as he sat at his little desk in the little 'office' he had been given, his chin propped up on his knuckles, listening to Lovino Vargas parade around the room yelling obscenities, and Antonio was sure that if there was a lamp or anything near him, he would have knocked it over.
"Lovino," Antonio mused, his eyes closed calmly. "As adorable as you look when you're mad. You really should calm down. Besides, when has Francis every listend to anyone?"
In response, Lovino sent him a deathly glare over his shoulder, stopping mid rant, but Antonio just smiled at him, which made him want to break something (and by something, he meant the Spaniards neck).
"Oh, shut up," He hissed, spitefully. "Why don't you do anything about him never listening? You treat him like a stray cat, Antonio: you feed him when he comes and then let him go."
Antonio smiled at the pretty choice of words and leaned back on his chair. "That's essentially all he'll ever be, isn't it?" He asked, with that casual, sweet, friendly tone that infuriated the Italian. "It doesn't mean he'll never come around, though. You have to give him time, Lovinito."
Lovino rolled his eyes, pursing his lips together in a spiteful pout. "Well, Antonio, not all of us are blessed with such patience," he spat, turning a bright shade of red and looking away from the older man.
But Antonio just laughed as he always did. Which could become quite infuriating sometimes, Lovino noted: when everything you say is countered by laughter and someone telling you how cute you are. Antonio leaned across his desk, lightly wrapping his long fingers around the Italian's wrist to pull him closer. "Come here, Lovinito," he cooed, pulling him over gently.
"Don't call me that, you bastard," murmured Lovino, averting his eyes from Antonio but coming closer to him nonetheless. His face grew brighter the closer he got to the man, until he was sitting on his desk, his head turned away sharply.
"Listen to me," Antonio whispered, bringing the boy closer to him. "You, my little tomato, are too uptight. Relax, won't you? Please? Things will work out in the end. You just need to relax, and things will work out in the end. Trust me."
Lovino gradually looked up to face the Spaniard, who was smiling affectionately just like he always was. His scowl deepened, turning to tug lightly on the man's shirt, bringing him the slightest bit closer. "...Fine."
"Francis!" Called the blonde, being pulled forward hurriedly through another crowd. "Francis, where are you taking me?"
"Ah, well, you see," Francis yelled over the crowd, pulling the tourist closer as not to lose him. "I am going to get a friend of mine - another nice little acquaintance - and he," he gave a good tug on the boy, bringing him close, up against his chest, and smiled crookedly down at him. "is going to find your brother."
Matthew's face flushed a bright red, his eyes widening. He didn't quite know what to say, far too shocked to say anything, and so he just stayed there, pressed up against the Frenchman, who's hand crawled down his waist to hold him, then pulled him out of the crowd, into another alleyway.
Francis sighed, letting go of the Canadian's wrist and walking down the deserted alleyway, faintly listening to the heavy murmur of the crowd. "Busy city. Busy, busy city. You should've come... well, not in the summer. It's terrible in the summer you see."
Looking up, Matthew watched as Francis climbed up a flight of stairs, which seemed to lead up to some sort of apartment. The iron steps were covered with rust, but the Frenchman flitted over them, only to hang over the railing, high above the street.
Matthew smiled lightly, watching his guide lean on the railing and drape his arm over it, and watched Francis's hand swing gently in front of him. "So... this is it?"
"This is what, chér?" Answered the Frenchman peacefully, his eyes closed and his position relaxed. "You were expecting something?"
"But you said..." Matthew trailed off, looking around the alleyway, frowning gently. "Then... where are we?"
Francis shrugged, smiling almost sleepily. "Who knows? Listen, Mathieu, if there's one thing I want you to learn in Paris, it's this."
Light as a feather, Francis jumped from the railing, landing gracefully in front of the Canadian, who in turn jumped and blushed a nice shade of pink. Gently, Francis took his hand and pressed his lips to it, smiling to himself all the while. "Go with the flow."
"Matthew! T--That's him!"
Sharply, Matthew turned his head to look across the crowd, and vaguely made out the shape of Arthur. His heart jumped, and he smiled widely. "Ar--"
Francis, however, was only looking at the large blonde policemen standing behind him. Without a word, he yanked Matthew on, sprinting away again with the Canadian toe.
"Francis! No, Francis, wait--!"
"Just keeping running," breathed Francis, stopping suddenly to brace his hands on Matthew's shoulders. "Please trust me, Mathieu."
Matthew stopped, listened to the screams of... of whoever it was Francis was running from.
He followed without a second thought.
Author: kaliona
Characters: Canada, France, England, America, mentions of Spain, many more characters to be introduced in future chapters
Rating: PG-13
Summary: College Student!Matthew has come across a wonderful scholarship, but his brother's roommate's family has already paid for all of his expenses. So what does Matthew do with the Money? According to Alfred, he blows it all and goes to Paris.
"You have: Three New Voice Messages."
Francis sighed, stepping away from the Canadian he had decided to drag about this city. "Mathieu, give me a moment."
Turning his head, Matthew watched him turn away from him so that he was looking at the Frenchman's back, and frowned. Francis had assured him that the best way to spot his brother was to trail around the place, certainly appreciating the city along the way.
"Voice Message: Number one," Sang his phone, and Francis massaged his temple, ready for the message. "Francis, you cheeky bastard! Where the hell are you? You told me you'd meet me for lunch. Forget already? I hate you so much, why does Antonio keep making me come find you? Just come back to us, for God's sake! Christ!"
Alright, he thought to himself. Certainly not the worst that Lovino could've given him. But, then again, he had two more.
"Voice Message: Number two: You fucking asshole! I sent you that voice message fifteen minutes ago! Are you ignoring me? You fuckface, you're ignoring me! I cannot wait to tell Antonio that you're too busy trying to find someone to screw to talk to me! Who's helped you through all this? Me! Who's been on the lookout for you? Me! Ugh, fucking Frenchies! I hate you, chigii! Fucking call me!"
Francis nodded absentmindedly, as if he was trying to brush that message off. Again, he had certainly heard worse. After the proper mental preparation, he headed onward to the third and final message from Lovino.
"Voice Message: Number three: Oh my God!"
Francis jumped, and Matthew jumped, the former covered his phone with his hand so the latter wouldn't look at him so oddly. "P-Pardon me, Mathieu."
Lovino's voice rang loud and clear. "--When I find you-- Wheeen I find you-- You don't even want to know what I'm going to do to you - you don't. I guess we're just not that important to you then, are we? You fucking two-faced blonde piece of shit, I can't fucking believe you! I am going to find you and dammit--"
Then Francis noticed that the last voice message went on for another two minutes and promptly shut the phone, stuffing it back into his pocket.
"Nothing to worry about," He assured the tourist. "Just an, um, acquaintance, you could see, with a fowl temper."
Matthew simply shook his head and followed the Frenchman who motioned him to cross the street. "You seem to have a lot of odd acquaintances, don't you?"
Falling into a nice little rhythm and walking side by side, the pair made their way through the bustling crowd of merchants and tourists, as Francis casually slipped an arm around the Canadian's shoulders, smiling.
"You don't even know," He said, almost wistfully. He pointed upwards, motioning the large tower that was impossible to miss. "We will head up there first. Who knows, perhaps your brother is looking for you at the same place. And if not, we will find someone who has seen them."
Matthew gathered that he really should've been more uncomfortable with how buddy-buddy the Frenchman was being, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. The way his arm slung around his shoulders was familiar, like all the times Alfred had done that to him. It was casual and friendly, and it made Matthew feel calmer.
From deep inside his mind, he being to conjure up ideas that Francis would be a good friend. He-- He could come visit him in Canada if he ever wanted to, and during their stay in Paris, maybe they could... get to know each other-- No, Matthew, stop, he told himself. There is absolutely no point in getting your hopes up. How old is he now? Certainly older than yourself.
You'll bore him in a heartbeat.
"Mathieu," Piped Francis, looking down at him with friendly eyes and curious expression. "Are you alright? Are you nervous? Need your space?"
"No, I-- That's not it at all! I was just... well, thinking."
"Hmm," hummed the older man, and he turned his head away from Matthew just long enough to pluck a daffodil out of a vase from that sat in one of the passing windows. Nonchalantly, he plucked it away from it's siblings and handed it to the tourist. "And what're you thinking about? What do you think about, Mathieu?"
That, Matthew concluded, was the most vague question he had ever been asked. "Well," he murmured, accepting the flower and looking it over. "I think about a lot of things, like everyone else..."
"I see," chirped Francis, tugging him along the streets. But he wasn't looking ahead or at Matthew. He was looking all around the streets, as if he was looking for someone. When Matthew noticed that and became suspicious, he told himself, of course he's looking for someone, we're looking for Alfred. "So, Mon Cher. What brings you to Paris?"
Rolling his eyes affectionately, Matthew let his hand and the flower tucked into it fall to his side as he looked up, inspecting the rooftops. "Alfred dragged me here," He said, smiling. "I got a... scholarship, first of all, but... I didn't need it. So I told myself I was going to invest and save up, not like I couldn't use the money. But Alfred talked me into going on vacation with him and our friend Arthur. So... here I am."
"It sounds like your brother talks you into lots of things," commented Francis, smiling at him with a twinge of something nice, something almost mischievous and something charming.
Matthew felt his cheeks heat up solely at the fact that someone so nice and so beautiful was genuinely interested in him. "Well-- Well, he does. He didn't really talk me into anything this time, though. He bought the plane tickets and... that was that." He sighed, looking down at his daffodil. "But he's nice. He's always been there for me, he's the best brother I could ask for--"
Francis smiled and listened, glancing back at Matthew's face every now and again, then returning to inspecting the streets. He maintained a look of serenity and calmness -- until he saw a large, tall, blonde man wearing a police uniform. He paled.
"--E-Er! M-Mathieu, w-why don't we take this route?" Quickly, Francis ducked his head so that the younger boy blocked him from the officers view, and tugged him away from the crowd. "M-Much less crowded, don't you think?"
"What?" Peeped Matthew, letting himself be dragged along. "B-But you said this was the best way to--"
"Best way to go sometimes! Not today! See, look at all the people."
Had Matthew had time to turn his head and inspect what Francis was so desperately trying to get away from, he would've seen a tall blonde man, a short brunette who seemed to be radiating cheerfulness, as well as Arthur and his brother. However, he had no such time.
- ***********************
Maybe, Antonio thought, he was just a masochist.
This thought hit him as he sat at his little desk in the little 'office' he had been given, his chin propped up on his knuckles, listening to Lovino Vargas parade around the room yelling obscenities, and Antonio was sure that if there was a lamp or anything near him, he would have knocked it over.
"Lovino," Antonio mused, his eyes closed calmly. "As adorable as you look when you're mad. You really should calm down. Besides, when has Francis every listend to anyone?"
In response, Lovino sent him a deathly glare over his shoulder, stopping mid rant, but Antonio just smiled at him, which made him want to break something (and by something, he meant the Spaniards neck).
"Oh, shut up," He hissed, spitefully. "Why don't you do anything about him never listening? You treat him like a stray cat, Antonio: you feed him when he comes and then let him go."
Antonio smiled at the pretty choice of words and leaned back on his chair. "That's essentially all he'll ever be, isn't it?" He asked, with that casual, sweet, friendly tone that infuriated the Italian. "It doesn't mean he'll never come around, though. You have to give him time, Lovinito."
Lovino rolled his eyes, pursing his lips together in a spiteful pout. "Well, Antonio, not all of us are blessed with such patience," he spat, turning a bright shade of red and looking away from the older man.
But Antonio just laughed as he always did. Which could become quite infuriating sometimes, Lovino noted: when everything you say is countered by laughter and someone telling you how cute you are. Antonio leaned across his desk, lightly wrapping his long fingers around the Italian's wrist to pull him closer. "Come here, Lovinito," he cooed, pulling him over gently.
"Don't call me that, you bastard," murmured Lovino, averting his eyes from Antonio but coming closer to him nonetheless. His face grew brighter the closer he got to the man, until he was sitting on his desk, his head turned away sharply.
"Listen to me," Antonio whispered, bringing the boy closer to him. "You, my little tomato, are too uptight. Relax, won't you? Please? Things will work out in the end. You just need to relax, and things will work out in the end. Trust me."
Lovino gradually looked up to face the Spaniard, who was smiling affectionately just like he always was. His scowl deepened, turning to tug lightly on the man's shirt, bringing him the slightest bit closer. "...Fine."
- ***********************
"Francis!" Called the blonde, being pulled forward hurriedly through another crowd. "Francis, where are you taking me?"
"Ah, well, you see," Francis yelled over the crowd, pulling the tourist closer as not to lose him. "I am going to get a friend of mine - another nice little acquaintance - and he," he gave a good tug on the boy, bringing him close, up against his chest, and smiled crookedly down at him. "is going to find your brother."
Matthew's face flushed a bright red, his eyes widening. He didn't quite know what to say, far too shocked to say anything, and so he just stayed there, pressed up against the Frenchman, who's hand crawled down his waist to hold him, then pulled him out of the crowd, into another alleyway.
Francis sighed, letting go of the Canadian's wrist and walking down the deserted alleyway, faintly listening to the heavy murmur of the crowd. "Busy city. Busy, busy city. You should've come... well, not in the summer. It's terrible in the summer you see."
Looking up, Matthew watched as Francis climbed up a flight of stairs, which seemed to lead up to some sort of apartment. The iron steps were covered with rust, but the Frenchman flitted over them, only to hang over the railing, high above the street.
Matthew smiled lightly, watching his guide lean on the railing and drape his arm over it, and watched Francis's hand swing gently in front of him. "So... this is it?"
"This is what, chér?" Answered the Frenchman peacefully, his eyes closed and his position relaxed. "You were expecting something?"
"But you said..." Matthew trailed off, looking around the alleyway, frowning gently. "Then... where are we?"
Francis shrugged, smiling almost sleepily. "Who knows? Listen, Mathieu, if there's one thing I want you to learn in Paris, it's this."
Light as a feather, Francis jumped from the railing, landing gracefully in front of the Canadian, who in turn jumped and blushed a nice shade of pink. Gently, Francis took his hand and pressed his lips to it, smiling to himself all the while. "Go with the flow."
"Matthew! T--That's him!"
Sharply, Matthew turned his head to look across the crowd, and vaguely made out the shape of Arthur. His heart jumped, and he smiled widely. "Ar--"
Francis, however, was only looking at the large blonde policemen standing behind him. Without a word, he yanked Matthew on, sprinting away again with the Canadian toe.
"Francis! No, Francis, wait--!"
"Just keeping running," breathed Francis, stopping suddenly to brace his hands on Matthew's shoulders. "Please trust me, Mathieu."
Matthew stopped, listened to the screams of... of whoever it was Francis was running from.
He followed without a second thought.