[Axis Powers Hetalia] Transition (France/England, America, Canada)
Title: Transition
Author/Artist: halflight007/lenarix_klinde
Character(s) or Pairing(s): England/France, Canada, America
Rating: PG
Warnings: FrUK family, YMMV, flangst, first time writing something in a month
Summary: The day before Alfred and Matthew start their first day in Junior School, Francis comes home to an oddly quiet and tense household. Set in the What the Heart Forgets-verse.
Disclaimer: Himayura-sensei lets me play with them as long as I clean ‘em off before I give them back.
Author’s Notes: Written for madnesshp, since she won the help_haiti auction. She wanted a WtHF-verse story with Alfred and Matthew going through a “first birthday/day of school” rite of passage. I obliged. :3 Hope you enjoy!
___
When Francis comes home that night, bones weary from working overtime, it’s to find Alfred alone in the living room with Boston tucked under one arm and his brand-new backpack beside him. He’s sprawled out and coloring a picture of an elephant with a purple crayon. Francis thinks it’s sweet, but then he realizes the living room seems too empty; it takes a second to figure out why.
“Alfred?”
Alfred looks up, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Papa!” he cries, and abandons his crayon, dragging Boston along so he can share in Francis’s offered hug. “Papa, didja see my new backpack? An’ my pencils an’ crayons an’ ruler, too?”
“Oui, mon lapin, and they are quite lovely.” He ruffles Alfred’s hair and holds his son close for a few moments, turning his head to kiss Alfred’s temple. “Did you pick them out yourself?”
“Mm-hm!” Alfred pulls back, but not out of Francis’s arms as he beams up at him. “D’you think the kids at school will like ‘em? I can’t wait to show them next week!”
“I have no doubt,” Francis says to both those statements, and thinks to himself that Alfred’s classmates will have no choice, because the boy who owns them is so bright-eyed and wide-grinned.
But his eyes flicker up to the backpack for a second, and he’s reminded of how lonely it seems down here. “Alfred, where are your father and brother?”
Alfred’s smile seems to snag and trip right off his face. “…Daddy made Matt go to bed early,” he murmurs, dropping his eyes and scuffing the carpet. “They was -”
“Were, my dear.”
“- were shoutin’ and screamin’ an’ stuff. Matt threw his backpack ‘cross the room an’ Daddy spanked him.”
Ah. Francis has to fight to keep his own smile from faltering, settling instead for chewing the inside of his mouth just below his lips. “Well then,” Francis says, grinning and ruffling Alfred’s hair, “I’ll just have to go talk to them, won’t I? And as for you, it’s about time for your bath.”
Alfred bites his lip, looking back at his elephant and the purple zigzags he’s colored onto it and outside the thick black lines. Francis smiles and squeezes Alfred’s shoulder. “You can finish your picture, but you come and get me right after that, understand?”
“You’re the best, Papa!” Alfred cheers, and Francis feels his heart swell as Alfred hugs him, cutting off his breath, before running back to his coloring book and starting to scribble again. Francis stands, just watching him for a moment more, before retreating upstairs. His smile fades as he grows closer to quiet, muffled sobs with each step.
He stops at Matthieu’s room first, thinking his little one is crying. He’s a little surprised to see Matthieu sprawled on his bed, fast asleep, Kumajirou missing from his tiny grasp. When Francis steps closer, he sees the dried tear-tracks on his face and cheeks. So he was crying at some point, anyway. Francis kneels down beside Matthieu’s bed and runs his hand through soft hair.
“You don’t strike me as the type to throw a tantrum,” Francis murmurs with a quiet chuckle and a little smile, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Matthieu’s forehead. He reaches down on the bed and pulls the comforter up and over Matthieu’s body, smoothing a hand over tiny shoulder blades before standing and making his way out of the room. He still hears the sounds of quiet, muffled crying that grows louder with each step he takes towards his and Arthur’s bedroom.
When Francis looks through doorway to their room, he has to stop and pause at what he sees.
Arthur’s head is bowed, his back curled, his elbows braced on his knees, and Kumajirou clutched in his hands. His shoulders hitch, and Francis feels his heart ache. “Arthur?”
Arthur’s head whips up; his eyes are red, the trails of his tears still moist on his face. “I…I didn’t mean to make him cry,” he says.
“Arthur…” Francis murmurs, stepping into the room.
“H-he was always such a good boy,” Arthur murmurs, watching Francis as he walks around and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, just in front of Arthur. “Never once complained, you know. He was so good, I -”
“Arthur.” Francis lifts his hands to Arthur’s face, thumb stroking away the tears as he looks into his husband’s eyes. There’s distance there, a sadness that makes Arthur curve forward under its weight, bearing his burden alone. Francis tries to will Arthur back to him with just his hands and his eyes.
It works. Arthur shudders and relaxes, his eyes clearing as he slides into Francis’s outstretched arms. They lie back on the bed, Francis holding Arthur to his chest and toying with thick, golden hair. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he murmurs.
Arthur swallows and nods, rubbing his cheek against Francis’s chest and his beating heart. “We went shopping for more school supplies today,” Arthur says. “Alfred was excited, and Matthieu....”
“He was nervous,” Francis murmurs, the pieces falling into place even more now. “Right?”
Another nod. “He…he wanted to take Kumajirou with him to school tomorrow, instead of the crayons and backpack and other things. I tried to explain to him that he couldn’t do that, that Junior School isn’t the same as Nursery or Infant School, but…he got mad. He ended up stomping on his new bookbag and tossed it against the wall, and then he broke a few of his crayons, and then I - I spanked him,” Arthur says, and Francis feels relief that he can at least say the word without breaking down. “And I took Kumajirou away as punishment…I just - how can I face him after I -”
“Arthur, you spanked him because he was misbehaving,” Francis murmurs, petting Arthur down his back. “You didn’t beat him for something minor or silly. Matthieu loves you, Arthur, and punishing him isn’t going to change that.”
Arthur doesn’t look convinced; Francis sighs, holds Arthur closer, and kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home sooner,” Francis murmurs, thinking how he’s usually the one to take care of discipline in the household - because Arthur always wants to be gentle and reasonable, to try to work through things rather than try to punish.
“It’s not your fault.” Arthur nuzzles his neck and presses his nose into the dip below Francis’s Adam’s apple. “It’s just…you know how shy Matthieu can be. I think Nursery and Infant School helped with that a little, but…he’s so quiet. He’s not as outgoing as Alfred. I - I worry about him sometimes.”
Pause. “I should know how to deal with this,” he whispers, his eyes a little bit sad. “I know it’s not abnormal for children to be attached to objects for comfort or security, but - what if it gets in the way of his studies, or - maybe it's just so hard to believe that they're growing up so fast.”
Francis catches Arthur’s lips and kisses him, stops up the anxiety building with every word that drops from his lips. “Arthur,” Francis murmurs. “Matthieu is still just a child, you know.” Hands curl in blond hair. “Please don't worry yourself sick over this. I’m sure we’ll find a way to help Matthieu with -”
They both jump at the sound of a distressed, high wail. Arthur is on his feet before Francis can even swing his legs over the side of the mattress, out the door in three wide strides. Francis is quick to follow, but Arthur is already in the room and sitting on Matthieu’s bed by the time Francis bursts in.
Arthur holds their son in his lap, arms wrapped tight around that tiny body as he rocks it back and forth. Matthieu’s arms are wrapped around Arthur’s neck, his sobs muted as he tucks his face into a broad, strong shoulder.
“Daddy….”
“It’s all right, poppet,” Arthur says, sounding a little breathless with relief and adrenaline as he strokes Matthieu’s hair, kisses him. “Shh. It was just a nightmare, you’re safe with me.”
“M-make the people with guns go away, Daddy, they’re scaring me!”
“I know, dear, it’s all right, it was just a horrible dream.” But there’s a twitch in Arthur’s eye that Francis knows too well - the look Arthur seems to get when he’s not telling the entire truth.
“Papa!” Francis jumps, turning to see Alfred pound up the stairs with a piece of paper in hand. “Papa, lookit what I drew, I -” Alfred’s smile fades when he sees Arthur and Matthieu curled up together on the bed. “Papa, what’s wrong with Matt?” he asks.
Francis shakes his head, kneeling down and taking Alfred’s hand. “Go ahead of me and start your bath, mon petit,” Francis says. “We should leave those two alone.”
Alfred nods and walks toward the bathroom, quieter now, more subdued. Francis grants his husband and son privacy, says nothing and does not look up as he gathers Alfred’s towel, pajamas, and toys.
___
Arthur doesn’t come back to their room until Alfred’s fast asleep, one tiny arm slung over Francis’s side as he sleeps.
“Is Matthieu asleep now?” Francis asks, keeping his voice low and soft as he strokes Alfred’s hair.
“He fell asleep some time ago,” Arthur answers. “I’ve just been thinking, is all.”
Francis supposes that’s the most answer he’s going to get, so he scoops Alfred up into his arms, careful, shushing his son when he stirs and groans. Alfred slumps against his shoulder again, murmuring before falling back into silence just before Francis opens the door to their shared room.
Matthieu is still curled beneath the sheets, sniffling, but asleep - looking so alone without little Kumajirou. Francis pauses as he sits down on Alfred’s bed. After a moment of thought, he stands again, Alfred still cradled in his arms, and places them next to one another with gentle arms, with fingers in still-soft hair. He bends down, kissing them both on the temple.
“You forgot this.”
Francis jolts upright, whirls around. But it’s only Arthur, arm extended, Kumajirou clutched in his hand. Francis waits a moment for his husband to join him; almost a minute passes before he realizes Arthur is worried, sheepish, and admitting to some black, ugly thing he didn’t know lay within him.
Francis indulges him this time, walking over to take the bear from Arthur. This will pass with time, he thinks, tucking Kumajirou and Boston between the two boys. Francis lingers only a moment this time, fingertips barely touching his two boys, before turning to join his husband and walk with him to bed.
Arthur slides from the circle of Francis’s arms when they reach the room, instead going back to his closet and rooting around inside.
“Arthur?” Francis sits up on the bed, watching his husband. “Arthur, come to bed.”
Arthur shakes his head, standing, making his way over to his desk. “I’ll join you when I can, Francis.”
“Arthur….”
“Francis, please. I….” Arthur runs his hand over a tin with the Union Jack colors glinting in the lamplight - his sewing kit, Francis realizes. “I have an idea. There’s something I need to do, before I forget. Please.”
Francis wants to tell Arthur he’s not being fair, using those words and that tone of voice. But overtime has wearied him to his very marrow, and Arthur’s words are a bit like a spell, weaving around him, shutting his eyes, caging him into a comfortable darkness.
And this is the pattern they follow for the rest of the week: Francis half-sleeps, the sound of pencils on paper, cloth being snipped and Arthur’s murmurs lulling him and keeping him from opening his eyes. It’s only when his husband finally turns off the light and joins him under the covers that Francis can drop down into complete, deep sleep.
___
The ride to St. Mary’s on the first day of school is a very quiet one.
Francis risks a glance at Arthur as he checks his rearview mirrors. Arthur’s eyes look a bit more tired than usual, and though he’s not smiling, there’s something about him that gives off an air of satisfaction.
Matthieu is looking at his feet, out the window - anywhere but the bookbag tucked underneath his seat, as though it’s some cancerous tumor that will consume him if he touches it. Alfred’s face looks completely different, his eyes bright and his grin wide as he plays with his coloring book.
“Turn left up here,” Arthur says. “The school should be right there.”
The school itself isn’t really noteworthy, isn’t any different from other schools he’s seen. Still, Francis can’t help but smile as parents hug their kids, waving them off to their first day of classes. Groups of children are forming, chatting to one another as they walk into their first day of classes.
Alfred all but scrambles over Matthew as soon as they park, opening the door and running onto the grass before he realizes he’s forgotten his brother. Francis has to bite back a laugh as he watches Alfred bounce on the balls of his feet, waiting. “Mattie!” he calls. “C’mon! Everyone’s gonna get better seats ‘n us!”
“Matthew, go with your Papa,” Arthur says as he makes his way to the back of the car. “I’ll join you two in a minute.”
Francis turns his eyes down on Matthew, who peeks up for a split-second before looking away again. Francis can only smile, reaching down to take Matthew’s little hand. “Come now, mon petit, we wouldn’t want you to be late for your first day of classes.”
So Matthew pulls his backpack out from beneath the seat as slowly as he can, and then follows along behind Francis to where Alfred stands waiting for them, and Francis bends down to hug both of them. He allows himself one last fuss, smoothing his hands through hair and fixing collars. “You haven’t forgotten anything?”
“Nope,” Arthur says, walking up with two brown bag lunches and -
Oh.
His own mouth falls open a bit, but it’s nothing compared to Matthew’s wide eyes and stock-still body as Arthur kneels down and holds out a very small teddy bear with a small ribbon sewn into its back - just big enough to slide over Matthieu’s head and hide under his shirt. “I’m afraid it’s not as good as Kumajirou,” Arthur says, “but if you’re scared or lonely, hold him close to your heart.”
“Daddy….” Matthew breathes, eyes wide as he takes Kumajirou in both hands.
“Keep in mind that if I hear anything about you playing with him during class or if you’re not paying attention, we’re going to have words, and you might not be allowed to bring him to school anymore.” Arthur pauses, and his face relaxes into a soft smile. “But just remember that we’re thinking of you. Let it help you be brave, Matthew.”
Matthew stands there for a moment more; and then it’s as if he’s soaked up a bit of the sunshine, too, because he’s thrown his arms over Arthur’s shoulders and he’s holding him close, hard, and pressing his face into Arthur’s shoulder. “I love you, Daddy,” he says into a sweater vest-clad shoulder.
Arthur reaches up with his own arms - and oh, they’re trembling a bit as they clutch Matthew tight. “My boy,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Matthew’s temple. “Oh, my dear, how I love you.”
And then Francis thinks that he and Alfred are getting a little jealous, because Alfred has to worm his way into Arthur’s grip from underneath, and Francis can’t help but bend down from above, hugging them all close. My dear family, he thinks, and words fail him as his heart expands with every beat.
They all exchange soft kisses and whispered goodbyes. And Francis hugs Arthur from behind, both of them watching as Alfred takes Matthew’s hand and all but drags him across the lawn.
“You know what,” Arthur says, as other children come up to Matthew and Alfred with smiles and wide waves, “I think they’re going to be all right.”
And Francis just chuckles, kissing the skin below Arthur’s ear. “I’m glad you think so, too.”
___
Endnotes: Just wanted to let you guys know that I’m trying to create an archival post for all the fanworks that people have done for this ‘verse - if you want to be noted, comment here with your name and a link to the post where the work is featured, so that everyone else can see your work.
Comments/concrit appreciated. Thank you for reading
Author/Artist: halflight007/lenarix_klinde
Character(s) or Pairing(s): England/France, Canada, America
Rating: PG
Warnings: FrUK family, YMMV, flangst, first time writing something in a month
Summary: The day before Alfred and Matthew start their first day in Junior School, Francis comes home to an oddly quiet and tense household. Set in the What the Heart Forgets-verse.
Disclaimer: Himayura-sensei lets me play with them as long as I clean ‘em off before I give them back.
Author’s Notes: Written for madnesshp, since she won the help_haiti auction. She wanted a WtHF-verse story with Alfred and Matthew going through a “first birthday/day of school” rite of passage. I obliged. :3 Hope you enjoy!
___
When Francis comes home that night, bones weary from working overtime, it’s to find Alfred alone in the living room with Boston tucked under one arm and his brand-new backpack beside him. He’s sprawled out and coloring a picture of an elephant with a purple crayon. Francis thinks it’s sweet, but then he realizes the living room seems too empty; it takes a second to figure out why.
“Alfred?”
Alfred looks up, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Papa!” he cries, and abandons his crayon, dragging Boston along so he can share in Francis’s offered hug. “Papa, didja see my new backpack? An’ my pencils an’ crayons an’ ruler, too?”
“Oui, mon lapin, and they are quite lovely.” He ruffles Alfred’s hair and holds his son close for a few moments, turning his head to kiss Alfred’s temple. “Did you pick them out yourself?”
“Mm-hm!” Alfred pulls back, but not out of Francis’s arms as he beams up at him. “D’you think the kids at school will like ‘em? I can’t wait to show them next week!”
“I have no doubt,” Francis says to both those statements, and thinks to himself that Alfred’s classmates will have no choice, because the boy who owns them is so bright-eyed and wide-grinned.
But his eyes flicker up to the backpack for a second, and he’s reminded of how lonely it seems down here. “Alfred, where are your father and brother?”
Alfred’s smile seems to snag and trip right off his face. “…Daddy made Matt go to bed early,” he murmurs, dropping his eyes and scuffing the carpet. “They was -”
“Were, my dear.”
“- were shoutin’ and screamin’ an’ stuff. Matt threw his backpack ‘cross the room an’ Daddy spanked him.”
Ah. Francis has to fight to keep his own smile from faltering, settling instead for chewing the inside of his mouth just below his lips. “Well then,” Francis says, grinning and ruffling Alfred’s hair, “I’ll just have to go talk to them, won’t I? And as for you, it’s about time for your bath.”
Alfred bites his lip, looking back at his elephant and the purple zigzags he’s colored onto it and outside the thick black lines. Francis smiles and squeezes Alfred’s shoulder. “You can finish your picture, but you come and get me right after that, understand?”
“You’re the best, Papa!” Alfred cheers, and Francis feels his heart swell as Alfred hugs him, cutting off his breath, before running back to his coloring book and starting to scribble again. Francis stands, just watching him for a moment more, before retreating upstairs. His smile fades as he grows closer to quiet, muffled sobs with each step.
He stops at Matthieu’s room first, thinking his little one is crying. He’s a little surprised to see Matthieu sprawled on his bed, fast asleep, Kumajirou missing from his tiny grasp. When Francis steps closer, he sees the dried tear-tracks on his face and cheeks. So he was crying at some point, anyway. Francis kneels down beside Matthieu’s bed and runs his hand through soft hair.
“You don’t strike me as the type to throw a tantrum,” Francis murmurs with a quiet chuckle and a little smile, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Matthieu’s forehead. He reaches down on the bed and pulls the comforter up and over Matthieu’s body, smoothing a hand over tiny shoulder blades before standing and making his way out of the room. He still hears the sounds of quiet, muffled crying that grows louder with each step he takes towards his and Arthur’s bedroom.
When Francis looks through doorway to their room, he has to stop and pause at what he sees.
Arthur’s head is bowed, his back curled, his elbows braced on his knees, and Kumajirou clutched in his hands. His shoulders hitch, and Francis feels his heart ache. “Arthur?”
Arthur’s head whips up; his eyes are red, the trails of his tears still moist on his face. “I…I didn’t mean to make him cry,” he says.
“Arthur…” Francis murmurs, stepping into the room.
“H-he was always such a good boy,” Arthur murmurs, watching Francis as he walks around and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, just in front of Arthur. “Never once complained, you know. He was so good, I -”
“Arthur.” Francis lifts his hands to Arthur’s face, thumb stroking away the tears as he looks into his husband’s eyes. There’s distance there, a sadness that makes Arthur curve forward under its weight, bearing his burden alone. Francis tries to will Arthur back to him with just his hands and his eyes.
It works. Arthur shudders and relaxes, his eyes clearing as he slides into Francis’s outstretched arms. They lie back on the bed, Francis holding Arthur to his chest and toying with thick, golden hair. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he murmurs.
Arthur swallows and nods, rubbing his cheek against Francis’s chest and his beating heart. “We went shopping for more school supplies today,” Arthur says. “Alfred was excited, and Matthieu....”
“He was nervous,” Francis murmurs, the pieces falling into place even more now. “Right?”
Another nod. “He…he wanted to take Kumajirou with him to school tomorrow, instead of the crayons and backpack and other things. I tried to explain to him that he couldn’t do that, that Junior School isn’t the same as Nursery or Infant School, but…he got mad. He ended up stomping on his new bookbag and tossed it against the wall, and then he broke a few of his crayons, and then I - I spanked him,” Arthur says, and Francis feels relief that he can at least say the word without breaking down. “And I took Kumajirou away as punishment…I just - how can I face him after I -”
“Arthur, you spanked him because he was misbehaving,” Francis murmurs, petting Arthur down his back. “You didn’t beat him for something minor or silly. Matthieu loves you, Arthur, and punishing him isn’t going to change that.”
Arthur doesn’t look convinced; Francis sighs, holds Arthur closer, and kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home sooner,” Francis murmurs, thinking how he’s usually the one to take care of discipline in the household - because Arthur always wants to be gentle and reasonable, to try to work through things rather than try to punish.
“It’s not your fault.” Arthur nuzzles his neck and presses his nose into the dip below Francis’s Adam’s apple. “It’s just…you know how shy Matthieu can be. I think Nursery and Infant School helped with that a little, but…he’s so quiet. He’s not as outgoing as Alfred. I - I worry about him sometimes.”
Pause. “I should know how to deal with this,” he whispers, his eyes a little bit sad. “I know it’s not abnormal for children to be attached to objects for comfort or security, but - what if it gets in the way of his studies, or - maybe it's just so hard to believe that they're growing up so fast.”
Francis catches Arthur’s lips and kisses him, stops up the anxiety building with every word that drops from his lips. “Arthur,” Francis murmurs. “Matthieu is still just a child, you know.” Hands curl in blond hair. “Please don't worry yourself sick over this. I’m sure we’ll find a way to help Matthieu with -”
They both jump at the sound of a distressed, high wail. Arthur is on his feet before Francis can even swing his legs over the side of the mattress, out the door in three wide strides. Francis is quick to follow, but Arthur is already in the room and sitting on Matthieu’s bed by the time Francis bursts in.
Arthur holds their son in his lap, arms wrapped tight around that tiny body as he rocks it back and forth. Matthieu’s arms are wrapped around Arthur’s neck, his sobs muted as he tucks his face into a broad, strong shoulder.
“Daddy….”
“It’s all right, poppet,” Arthur says, sounding a little breathless with relief and adrenaline as he strokes Matthieu’s hair, kisses him. “Shh. It was just a nightmare, you’re safe with me.”
“M-make the people with guns go away, Daddy, they’re scaring me!”
“I know, dear, it’s all right, it was just a horrible dream.” But there’s a twitch in Arthur’s eye that Francis knows too well - the look Arthur seems to get when he’s not telling the entire truth.
“Papa!” Francis jumps, turning to see Alfred pound up the stairs with a piece of paper in hand. “Papa, lookit what I drew, I -” Alfred’s smile fades when he sees Arthur and Matthieu curled up together on the bed. “Papa, what’s wrong with Matt?” he asks.
Francis shakes his head, kneeling down and taking Alfred’s hand. “Go ahead of me and start your bath, mon petit,” Francis says. “We should leave those two alone.”
Alfred nods and walks toward the bathroom, quieter now, more subdued. Francis grants his husband and son privacy, says nothing and does not look up as he gathers Alfred’s towel, pajamas, and toys.
___
Arthur doesn’t come back to their room until Alfred’s fast asleep, one tiny arm slung over Francis’s side as he sleeps.
“Is Matthieu asleep now?” Francis asks, keeping his voice low and soft as he strokes Alfred’s hair.
“He fell asleep some time ago,” Arthur answers. “I’ve just been thinking, is all.”
Francis supposes that’s the most answer he’s going to get, so he scoops Alfred up into his arms, careful, shushing his son when he stirs and groans. Alfred slumps against his shoulder again, murmuring before falling back into silence just before Francis opens the door to their shared room.
Matthieu is still curled beneath the sheets, sniffling, but asleep - looking so alone without little Kumajirou. Francis pauses as he sits down on Alfred’s bed. After a moment of thought, he stands again, Alfred still cradled in his arms, and places them next to one another with gentle arms, with fingers in still-soft hair. He bends down, kissing them both on the temple.
“You forgot this.”
Francis jolts upright, whirls around. But it’s only Arthur, arm extended, Kumajirou clutched in his hand. Francis waits a moment for his husband to join him; almost a minute passes before he realizes Arthur is worried, sheepish, and admitting to some black, ugly thing he didn’t know lay within him.
Francis indulges him this time, walking over to take the bear from Arthur. This will pass with time, he thinks, tucking Kumajirou and Boston between the two boys. Francis lingers only a moment this time, fingertips barely touching his two boys, before turning to join his husband and walk with him to bed.
Arthur slides from the circle of Francis’s arms when they reach the room, instead going back to his closet and rooting around inside.
“Arthur?” Francis sits up on the bed, watching his husband. “Arthur, come to bed.”
Arthur shakes his head, standing, making his way over to his desk. “I’ll join you when I can, Francis.”
“Arthur….”
“Francis, please. I….” Arthur runs his hand over a tin with the Union Jack colors glinting in the lamplight - his sewing kit, Francis realizes. “I have an idea. There’s something I need to do, before I forget. Please.”
Francis wants to tell Arthur he’s not being fair, using those words and that tone of voice. But overtime has wearied him to his very marrow, and Arthur’s words are a bit like a spell, weaving around him, shutting his eyes, caging him into a comfortable darkness.
And this is the pattern they follow for the rest of the week: Francis half-sleeps, the sound of pencils on paper, cloth being snipped and Arthur’s murmurs lulling him and keeping him from opening his eyes. It’s only when his husband finally turns off the light and joins him under the covers that Francis can drop down into complete, deep sleep.
___
The ride to St. Mary’s on the first day of school is a very quiet one.
Francis risks a glance at Arthur as he checks his rearview mirrors. Arthur’s eyes look a bit more tired than usual, and though he’s not smiling, there’s something about him that gives off an air of satisfaction.
Matthieu is looking at his feet, out the window - anywhere but the bookbag tucked underneath his seat, as though it’s some cancerous tumor that will consume him if he touches it. Alfred’s face looks completely different, his eyes bright and his grin wide as he plays with his coloring book.
“Turn left up here,” Arthur says. “The school should be right there.”
The school itself isn’t really noteworthy, isn’t any different from other schools he’s seen. Still, Francis can’t help but smile as parents hug their kids, waving them off to their first day of classes. Groups of children are forming, chatting to one another as they walk into their first day of classes.
Alfred all but scrambles over Matthew as soon as they park, opening the door and running onto the grass before he realizes he’s forgotten his brother. Francis has to bite back a laugh as he watches Alfred bounce on the balls of his feet, waiting. “Mattie!” he calls. “C’mon! Everyone’s gonna get better seats ‘n us!”
“Matthew, go with your Papa,” Arthur says as he makes his way to the back of the car. “I’ll join you two in a minute.”
Francis turns his eyes down on Matthew, who peeks up for a split-second before looking away again. Francis can only smile, reaching down to take Matthew’s little hand. “Come now, mon petit, we wouldn’t want you to be late for your first day of classes.”
So Matthew pulls his backpack out from beneath the seat as slowly as he can, and then follows along behind Francis to where Alfred stands waiting for them, and Francis bends down to hug both of them. He allows himself one last fuss, smoothing his hands through hair and fixing collars. “You haven’t forgotten anything?”
“Nope,” Arthur says, walking up with two brown bag lunches and -
Oh.
His own mouth falls open a bit, but it’s nothing compared to Matthew’s wide eyes and stock-still body as Arthur kneels down and holds out a very small teddy bear with a small ribbon sewn into its back - just big enough to slide over Matthieu’s head and hide under his shirt. “I’m afraid it’s not as good as Kumajirou,” Arthur says, “but if you’re scared or lonely, hold him close to your heart.”
“Daddy….” Matthew breathes, eyes wide as he takes Kumajirou in both hands.
“Keep in mind that if I hear anything about you playing with him during class or if you’re not paying attention, we’re going to have words, and you might not be allowed to bring him to school anymore.” Arthur pauses, and his face relaxes into a soft smile. “But just remember that we’re thinking of you. Let it help you be brave, Matthew.”
Matthew stands there for a moment more; and then it’s as if he’s soaked up a bit of the sunshine, too, because he’s thrown his arms over Arthur’s shoulders and he’s holding him close, hard, and pressing his face into Arthur’s shoulder. “I love you, Daddy,” he says into a sweater vest-clad shoulder.
Arthur reaches up with his own arms - and oh, they’re trembling a bit as they clutch Matthew tight. “My boy,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Matthew’s temple. “Oh, my dear, how I love you.”
And then Francis thinks that he and Alfred are getting a little jealous, because Alfred has to worm his way into Arthur’s grip from underneath, and Francis can’t help but bend down from above, hugging them all close. My dear family, he thinks, and words fail him as his heart expands with every beat.
They all exchange soft kisses and whispered goodbyes. And Francis hugs Arthur from behind, both of them watching as Alfred takes Matthew’s hand and all but drags him across the lawn.
“You know what,” Arthur says, as other children come up to Matthew and Alfred with smiles and wide waves, “I think they’re going to be all right.”
And Francis just chuckles, kissing the skin below Arthur’s ear. “I’m glad you think so, too.”
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Endnotes: Just wanted to let you guys know that I’m trying to create an archival post for all the fanworks that people have done for this ‘verse - if you want to be noted, comment here with your name and a link to the post where the work is featured, so that everyone else can see your work.
Comments/concrit appreciated. Thank you for reading