[APH Fic] A Brother Knows [US/UK]
Title: A Brother Knows
Genre: Er, fluff?
Characters: England, colonial!America, France, colonial!Canada, US--> UK, Can-->Fr
Rating: G
Warnings: Human names/Gratuitous French
Summary: A brother always knows his sibling's secrets, even if they don't tell him, or even if they've just met.
Notes: I know America and Canada met as little baby British colonies but I always liked the idea of them being introduced while Canada is still primarily a French territory. This is set sometime before the 7 Year's War :) This was written a super long time ago, not sure why I never posted it....
Original post
The very first time they met, they couldn’t really speak to one another. It was a cool day, seagulls perched on the edge of the harbor, and a little boy was sitting on the edge of the rickety dock, his legs swinging.
Of course, it didn’t matter that they couldn’t really speak to one another, because they were brothers. They knew what the other was feeling, and the little blonde Matthew knew the secret his brother was harboring.
“Ah, there they are,” Arthur said, standing at the end of the dock. He waved to two people in the distance. Alfred turned slightly, watching his caretaker as he waved two people over to them. Another tall, blonde man, leading a small child, probably the same age as himself, with blonde wavy hair and an expression of wonderment.
“Ah, Arthur, finally,” the other man said, and Alfred sidled over, ready to meet his twin brother. Alfred slid his hand into Arthur’s outstretched one, feeling his heart beat rapidly as the older man squeezed his fingers gently.
“Alfred? This is Francis Bonnefoy,” Arthur said, gesturing to the tall blonde man. He was wearing a navy blue waistcoat, with a frilly white undershirt and a black criss-crossing tie. His britches were tanned and his buckled shoes shined. His long blonde hair was pulled back with a white ribbon, and he nodded to the boy.
“It is nice to see you again, young Alfred,” he said, his accent heavy and strange. Alfred had, as far as he knew, never met this strange man before. How did he know him? But his attention was stolen when Arthur kept talking.
“And this, this is your brother,” Arthur said, waving to the small boy standing only a few feet from him. “His name is Matthew. He’s Canada.” The little boy looked expectantly at Francis, who muttered something in another language and then gestured to Alfred. Alfred waved meekly.
“Il est votre frère, Matthieu,” Francis said softly to the boy, loud enough that Alfred heard this time. French. They were French. How could his brother be French when he himself was English? Matthew smiled at Alfred.
“He does not know much English, I’m afraid,” Francis said, straightening up. “He is learning, but slowly. Say hello, Matthew,” Francis said gently and slowly. Matthew sent a worried glance up at Francis, his grip tightening, and then laid his eyes on his brother again.
“Hello,” he said softly, his voice clipped with a heavy French accent. Francis beamed at him.
Alfred let go of Arthur’s hand and reached out to his twin. Matthew looked at it, glanced up at Francis, who nodded, and grasped it, his fingers cool to the touch. A slight wind kicked up and blew their hair into their young faces.
“I’m glad you have finally met,” Arthur said. “Come, let us go back to the house.” Arthur lead the way, Francis walking beside him, the two talking fervently. Alfred and Matthew walked awkwardly behind them, although they were holding hands. Matthew seemed afraid to let go, but Alfred didn’t mind. He felt proud that he could lead his brother around and show him his country.
“Do you like this city?” Alfred asked, speaking fast. Matthew seemed to be concentrating on what Alfred said, but he did not understand.
“Pardonnez-moi?” he said. He then blushed and said “Um... what was it you say?” Alfred smiled and tried to speak slower.
“Do you like this city?” he asked again. Matthew nodded, his cheeks flushed.
“It is your, um, big city?” he asked. Alfred stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant.
“Oh, you mean the capital? No, that’s in Philadelphia,” Alfred answered. “It’s far away.”
“Ah, I see,” Matthew said, becoming more comfortable. His face lit up with a smile again. Afred found that, as much as his French brother was quiet, he had a certain comfort that came with his personality. Alfred felt calmer just talking to him.
“Is Francis your big brother?” Alfred asked as they hobbled along. They didn’t notice the group of young colonial girls swooning over the two adorable little blonde children wandering through the city.
“Oui - er, yes,” Matthew corrected himself. “And, the man...?”
“Arthur,” Alfred said. Matthew noted that his brother’s eyes lit up as the name rolled from his lips, and a slight flush came over his cheeks. “He’s mine.” The way he said it, with such a possessive, childishness, Matthew knew immediately. He had only known this boy for a few minutes, but they were brothers. He knew his twin’s secret as if Alfred had shouted it from the top of his lungs. But Matthew, always quiet and unassuming, said nothing of it, just making a mental note and storing it back in his little brain.
“We’re almost at our house,” Alfred chirped happily, pointing down the cobblestone path. A brownstone was looming out of the trees. “Arthur and I live there when we’re in Boston. That’s where we are now,” Alfred added. He was getting excited and talking too fast again.
“Um...” Matthew said softly. “Okay.” Alfred beamed at him.
“Maybe you can teach me French,” Alfred said, his British accent confusing Matthew, as they walked up to the house. “If you know French, that means your people know French, and if we’re brothers, that means that maybe I should learn French. I mean, you’re learning English, right? So it’s only fair.” Arthur and Francis were sitting on the front stoop, watching their brothers amusedly from a distance.
“They are so cute together aren’t they,” Francis sighed. “They look so similar.”
“They are twins,” Arthur said. Francis chuckled.
“Funny how these things happen, no?” The two boys launched themselves at their big brothers excitedly, and Matthew watched out of the corner of his eye as Alfred curled against Arthur’s chest, his hands around his neck, his cheeks red again, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
His twin was head-over-heels in love and he didn’t even realize. But Matthew knew. Because they were brothers, and brothers always knew.
Arthur ushered all four of them inside the beautiful brownstone, Alfred running towards a couch in the sitting room where the fireplace was located.
“Alfred, why don’t you show Matthew upstairs where he will be staying?” Arthur asked gently. Alfred’s eyes beamed as he grabbed Matthew by the hand and took the stairs two at a time, dragging the other little boy behind him. Francis glanced up the stairs reluctantly.
“There’s a room off to the side here, if you would,” Arthur said, motioning to a hall past the kitchen. Francis frowned at him.
“And where will you be staying?” he asked. Arthur pointed upstairs.
“In my room. It used to be a sitting room but then Alfred got too old for me to sleep with him, so now it’s mine. It’s only for a few days, surely you can manage, Francis,” Arthur said in a mocking tone, grinning at his old frenemy. Just then the little boys came bounding back down the stairs, Alfred talking a mile a minute as usual.
“-and this great big ol’ tree out back, it’s really fun to climb-“
“Don’t tire him out, you silly boy,” Arthur chided, but grabbed the child by his waist and hoisted him into the air, and Arthur laughed, loudly, clearly, and thanklessly, and as Matthew slid his hand into Francis’s, he was certain that his brother was in over his head.
A song came into Matthew’s head, and he found himself humming gently as they all went to eat.
--
Matthew wanted to somehow get his brother to realize the love he had in his heart. He wasn’t entirely sure if Alfred was aware of it, but it didn’t matter to him. Later that evening, as the sun died beyond the horizon, throwing paint-strokes of red, gold and pink over them, the twins were attempting to teach each other about, well... each other.
“My name is Matthieu,” Matthew said slowly, pronouncing his name the French way. Alfred shook his brilliantly blonde head.
“No, it’s Math-yew, not Math-ee-yoo,” he corrected the boy. Matthew frowned. He didn’t understand why it mattered how he said his name. “But that was really good.”
“You, now,” Matthew instructed. “You remember?”
“Yes, er...” Alfred struggled, then said “Je m’appelle Alfred. Right?” Matthew nodded happily.
“Je m’appelle Matthieu,” Matthew said, gesturing to himself, “et je suis la Canada.” He placed his small hand on Alfred’s. “Et vous êtes Americque.” Alfred blinked at him.
“I’m colonial America,” Alfred said. “Thirteen colonies.” Matthew stared at him, not fully comprehending the number.
“Thirteen...?”
“Ten and three,” Alfred said, holding up his hands.
“Treize!”
“Treize,” Alfred repeated, and he giggled. Matthew giggled as well. He leaned forward and placed his hand on Alfred’s chest, over his heart. Alfred glanced down at his hand, wondering what was happening.
“Vous aimez Arthur,” Matthew said simply, looking up into his twin’s eyes. Alfred blinked at him.
“I... I what?” he asked softly. Matthew put his hand against his own heart, and then placed it on Alfred’s. He wasn’t exactly sure how to express love in English, but he learned from his big brother that love was not bound by language, so maybe he could show him another way.
“I don’t understand,” Alfred said, although his face was turning pink. Matthew took his hands in his. “What about Arthur? Or, did you say something about me and Arthur? ‘Vous’ means you, correct?” Matthew nodded.
“It is like a song,” Matthew said, and the words were so delightfully tender, Alfred wondered if maybe he was speaking in poetry like Arthur sometimes did. A small breeze blew at the boys underneath the large tree in the backyard. Alfred was about to ask him to explain when Matthew interrupted him, a sweet melody falling from his lips, words curling around words in the dusk air.
“Amant me délaisse, o gai! Vive la rose! Je ne sais pas pourquoi, vive la rose et le lilas...” Alfred had no idea what the boy was saying, but he enjoyed the song nonetheless. It seemed to be a jaunty tune, maybe a folksong of sorts. Matthew stopped his singing short and blushed.
“It is about, how you say, hearting someone?” Matthew asked awkwardly. Alfred stared at him.
“Hurting someone? Hearting... oh! Do you mean love?” Alfred asked. Matthew chastised himself inwardly.
“Yes, yes that the word,” he exclaimed. “Love. You love Arthur?” and at that, Alfred froze, his cheeks blazing, his eyes darting towards the brownstone and then back at his brother.
“You-I - what?” Alfred asked, stuttering.
“Love,” Matthew repeated. “You love Arthur.” Alfred’s breathing picked up and he bit his lower lip, tearing his hands away from Matthew. He looked distressed.
“I don’t think you-“
“A brother-“ Matthew gestured to himself, “-he can tell always, Alfred.” Alfred lowered his arms and looked straight into Matthew’s violet eyes. A seriousness had come across his face.
“You don’t think... you don’t think he knows, do you?” Alfred asked softly, leaning close to his brother. “I mean, if you can tell...” Matthew shook his head.
“He is un... unaware,” Matthew said slowly, trying out the words. “The song-The song I sing,” he started, and Alfred watched him struggling to form sentences, “the song I sing, it is about a man who loves but has no love to him.”
“No love to him? He loves someone who doesn’t love him?” Alfred asked slowly, and his hands began to shake. He knew the feeling all too well. Matthew held his brother’s hands again, and gave him a warm smile. “I... I think...” Alfred trailed off, trying to will the tears away. He loved his big brother so much, not just in a brotherly way but in a romantic way, a way that tore his heart into pieces, even if he had been told many a time that he was too young to truly understand what he was feeling. He would do anything for his big brother, just to see him smile just a little bit, and he knew, he knew he would never feel the same way about him-
Matthew pulled his brother forwards and wrapped his arms around him, their heads bumping gently. Alfred blinked in surprise, two fat, salty tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I do not believe,” Matthew began, “that it is something you worry about now.” Alfred smiled into his brother’s shoulder. “It is something that you let be now, and one day you will have love. Amour.”
“Amour,” Alfred repeated in a whisper.
“Vous aurez l'amour un jour, mon frère,” Matthew said softly, and even though Alfred didn’t know the words, the feeling was there. Matthew looked up into the streaked sky, and glanced over at the house, where he could see Francis and Arthur talking through the kitchen window, the sunlight hitting their faces.
“Nous tous les deux aurons leur amour, un jour...”
--
Notes:
1. Vive la Rose is a French folk song. Apparently it was popular in the 18th century, I was just unable to find a specific date so I took some liberties. It's a song my grandmother hummed a lot. You can listen to it conveniently on YouTube. This is the closest to the version that I'm familiar with, so imagine Matthew is singing it like this.
2. Gratuitous French: I'm a first-semester French student so I did my best. I have the translations below. I debated over Matthew using "vous" or "tu" when referring to Alfred, because even though they just met, they're related? But I felt like Matthew would feel a little uncomfortable using "tu" with Alfred, and I also feel like Francis would have taught him not to. Or something. YEAH FRENCH.
*Il est votre frère, Matthieu,: He is your brother, Matthieu.
*Je m'appelle Matthieu... et je suis la Canada.... et vous êtes Amerique.: My name is Matthieu... and I am Canada... and you are America.
*Treize = thirteen
*Vous aurez l'amour un jour, mon frère: You will have love one day, my brother.
*Nous tous les deux aurons leur amour, un jour: We both will have their love, one day.
3. The way Matthew speaks English: this is how my grandmother spoke to me growing up. She was raised in Quebec and didn't learn English until she moved here. (My grandfather, on the other hand, was also fully from Quebec yet had the most American sounding name and spoke English perfectly....) so I just mimicked what I could remember. She got better at English when I hit about late elementary school/early middle school.
Um, I love childish crushes.
Genre: Er, fluff?
Characters: England, colonial!America, France, colonial!Canada, US--> UK, Can-->Fr
Rating: G
Warnings: Human names/Gratuitous French
Summary: A brother always knows his sibling's secrets, even if they don't tell him, or even if they've just met.
Notes: I know America and Canada met as little baby British colonies but I always liked the idea of them being introduced while Canada is still primarily a French territory. This is set sometime before the 7 Year's War :) This was written a super long time ago, not sure why I never posted it....
Original post
The very first time they met, they couldn’t really speak to one another. It was a cool day, seagulls perched on the edge of the harbor, and a little boy was sitting on the edge of the rickety dock, his legs swinging.
Of course, it didn’t matter that they couldn’t really speak to one another, because they were brothers. They knew what the other was feeling, and the little blonde Matthew knew the secret his brother was harboring.
“Ah, there they are,” Arthur said, standing at the end of the dock. He waved to two people in the distance. Alfred turned slightly, watching his caretaker as he waved two people over to them. Another tall, blonde man, leading a small child, probably the same age as himself, with blonde wavy hair and an expression of wonderment.
“Ah, Arthur, finally,” the other man said, and Alfred sidled over, ready to meet his twin brother. Alfred slid his hand into Arthur’s outstretched one, feeling his heart beat rapidly as the older man squeezed his fingers gently.
“Alfred? This is Francis Bonnefoy,” Arthur said, gesturing to the tall blonde man. He was wearing a navy blue waistcoat, with a frilly white undershirt and a black criss-crossing tie. His britches were tanned and his buckled shoes shined. His long blonde hair was pulled back with a white ribbon, and he nodded to the boy.
“It is nice to see you again, young Alfred,” he said, his accent heavy and strange. Alfred had, as far as he knew, never met this strange man before. How did he know him? But his attention was stolen when Arthur kept talking.
“And this, this is your brother,” Arthur said, waving to the small boy standing only a few feet from him. “His name is Matthew. He’s Canada.” The little boy looked expectantly at Francis, who muttered something in another language and then gestured to Alfred. Alfred waved meekly.
“Il est votre frère, Matthieu,” Francis said softly to the boy, loud enough that Alfred heard this time. French. They were French. How could his brother be French when he himself was English? Matthew smiled at Alfred.
“He does not know much English, I’m afraid,” Francis said, straightening up. “He is learning, but slowly. Say hello, Matthew,” Francis said gently and slowly. Matthew sent a worried glance up at Francis, his grip tightening, and then laid his eyes on his brother again.
“Hello,” he said softly, his voice clipped with a heavy French accent. Francis beamed at him.
Alfred let go of Arthur’s hand and reached out to his twin. Matthew looked at it, glanced up at Francis, who nodded, and grasped it, his fingers cool to the touch. A slight wind kicked up and blew their hair into their young faces.
“I’m glad you have finally met,” Arthur said. “Come, let us go back to the house.” Arthur lead the way, Francis walking beside him, the two talking fervently. Alfred and Matthew walked awkwardly behind them, although they were holding hands. Matthew seemed afraid to let go, but Alfred didn’t mind. He felt proud that he could lead his brother around and show him his country.
“Do you like this city?” Alfred asked, speaking fast. Matthew seemed to be concentrating on what Alfred said, but he did not understand.
“Pardonnez-moi?” he said. He then blushed and said “Um... what was it you say?” Alfred smiled and tried to speak slower.
“Do you like this city?” he asked again. Matthew nodded, his cheeks flushed.
“It is your, um, big city?” he asked. Alfred stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant.
“Oh, you mean the capital? No, that’s in Philadelphia,” Alfred answered. “It’s far away.”
“Ah, I see,” Matthew said, becoming more comfortable. His face lit up with a smile again. Afred found that, as much as his French brother was quiet, he had a certain comfort that came with his personality. Alfred felt calmer just talking to him.
“Is Francis your big brother?” Alfred asked as they hobbled along. They didn’t notice the group of young colonial girls swooning over the two adorable little blonde children wandering through the city.
“Oui - er, yes,” Matthew corrected himself. “And, the man...?”
“Arthur,” Alfred said. Matthew noted that his brother’s eyes lit up as the name rolled from his lips, and a slight flush came over his cheeks. “He’s mine.” The way he said it, with such a possessive, childishness, Matthew knew immediately. He had only known this boy for a few minutes, but they were brothers. He knew his twin’s secret as if Alfred had shouted it from the top of his lungs. But Matthew, always quiet and unassuming, said nothing of it, just making a mental note and storing it back in his little brain.
“We’re almost at our house,” Alfred chirped happily, pointing down the cobblestone path. A brownstone was looming out of the trees. “Arthur and I live there when we’re in Boston. That’s where we are now,” Alfred added. He was getting excited and talking too fast again.
“Um...” Matthew said softly. “Okay.” Alfred beamed at him.
“Maybe you can teach me French,” Alfred said, his British accent confusing Matthew, as they walked up to the house. “If you know French, that means your people know French, and if we’re brothers, that means that maybe I should learn French. I mean, you’re learning English, right? So it’s only fair.” Arthur and Francis were sitting on the front stoop, watching their brothers amusedly from a distance.
“They are so cute together aren’t they,” Francis sighed. “They look so similar.”
“They are twins,” Arthur said. Francis chuckled.
“Funny how these things happen, no?” The two boys launched themselves at their big brothers excitedly, and Matthew watched out of the corner of his eye as Alfred curled against Arthur’s chest, his hands around his neck, his cheeks red again, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
His twin was head-over-heels in love and he didn’t even realize. But Matthew knew. Because they were brothers, and brothers always knew.
Arthur ushered all four of them inside the beautiful brownstone, Alfred running towards a couch in the sitting room where the fireplace was located.
“Alfred, why don’t you show Matthew upstairs where he will be staying?” Arthur asked gently. Alfred’s eyes beamed as he grabbed Matthew by the hand and took the stairs two at a time, dragging the other little boy behind him. Francis glanced up the stairs reluctantly.
“There’s a room off to the side here, if you would,” Arthur said, motioning to a hall past the kitchen. Francis frowned at him.
“And where will you be staying?” he asked. Arthur pointed upstairs.
“In my room. It used to be a sitting room but then Alfred got too old for me to sleep with him, so now it’s mine. It’s only for a few days, surely you can manage, Francis,” Arthur said in a mocking tone, grinning at his old frenemy. Just then the little boys came bounding back down the stairs, Alfred talking a mile a minute as usual.
“-and this great big ol’ tree out back, it’s really fun to climb-“
“Don’t tire him out, you silly boy,” Arthur chided, but grabbed the child by his waist and hoisted him into the air, and Arthur laughed, loudly, clearly, and thanklessly, and as Matthew slid his hand into Francis’s, he was certain that his brother was in over his head.
A song came into Matthew’s head, and he found himself humming gently as they all went to eat.
--
Matthew wanted to somehow get his brother to realize the love he had in his heart. He wasn’t entirely sure if Alfred was aware of it, but it didn’t matter to him. Later that evening, as the sun died beyond the horizon, throwing paint-strokes of red, gold and pink over them, the twins were attempting to teach each other about, well... each other.
“My name is Matthieu,” Matthew said slowly, pronouncing his name the French way. Alfred shook his brilliantly blonde head.
“No, it’s Math-yew, not Math-ee-yoo,” he corrected the boy. Matthew frowned. He didn’t understand why it mattered how he said his name. “But that was really good.”
“You, now,” Matthew instructed. “You remember?”
“Yes, er...” Alfred struggled, then said “Je m’appelle Alfred. Right?” Matthew nodded happily.
“Je m’appelle Matthieu,” Matthew said, gesturing to himself, “et je suis la Canada.” He placed his small hand on Alfred’s. “Et vous êtes Americque.” Alfred blinked at him.
“I’m colonial America,” Alfred said. “Thirteen colonies.” Matthew stared at him, not fully comprehending the number.
“Thirteen...?”
“Ten and three,” Alfred said, holding up his hands.
“Treize!”
“Treize,” Alfred repeated, and he giggled. Matthew giggled as well. He leaned forward and placed his hand on Alfred’s chest, over his heart. Alfred glanced down at his hand, wondering what was happening.
“Vous aimez Arthur,” Matthew said simply, looking up into his twin’s eyes. Alfred blinked at him.
“I... I what?” he asked softly. Matthew put his hand against his own heart, and then placed it on Alfred’s. He wasn’t exactly sure how to express love in English, but he learned from his big brother that love was not bound by language, so maybe he could show him another way.
“I don’t understand,” Alfred said, although his face was turning pink. Matthew took his hands in his. “What about Arthur? Or, did you say something about me and Arthur? ‘Vous’ means you, correct?” Matthew nodded.
“It is like a song,” Matthew said, and the words were so delightfully tender, Alfred wondered if maybe he was speaking in poetry like Arthur sometimes did. A small breeze blew at the boys underneath the large tree in the backyard. Alfred was about to ask him to explain when Matthew interrupted him, a sweet melody falling from his lips, words curling around words in the dusk air.
“Amant me délaisse, o gai! Vive la rose! Je ne sais pas pourquoi, vive la rose et le lilas...” Alfred had no idea what the boy was saying, but he enjoyed the song nonetheless. It seemed to be a jaunty tune, maybe a folksong of sorts. Matthew stopped his singing short and blushed.
“It is about, how you say, hearting someone?” Matthew asked awkwardly. Alfred stared at him.
“Hurting someone? Hearting... oh! Do you mean love?” Alfred asked. Matthew chastised himself inwardly.
“Yes, yes that the word,” he exclaimed. “Love. You love Arthur?” and at that, Alfred froze, his cheeks blazing, his eyes darting towards the brownstone and then back at his brother.
“You-I - what?” Alfred asked, stuttering.
“Love,” Matthew repeated. “You love Arthur.” Alfred’s breathing picked up and he bit his lower lip, tearing his hands away from Matthew. He looked distressed.
“I don’t think you-“
“A brother-“ Matthew gestured to himself, “-he can tell always, Alfred.” Alfred lowered his arms and looked straight into Matthew’s violet eyes. A seriousness had come across his face.
“You don’t think... you don’t think he knows, do you?” Alfred asked softly, leaning close to his brother. “I mean, if you can tell...” Matthew shook his head.
“He is un... unaware,” Matthew said slowly, trying out the words. “The song-The song I sing,” he started, and Alfred watched him struggling to form sentences, “the song I sing, it is about a man who loves but has no love to him.”
“No love to him? He loves someone who doesn’t love him?” Alfred asked slowly, and his hands began to shake. He knew the feeling all too well. Matthew held his brother’s hands again, and gave him a warm smile. “I... I think...” Alfred trailed off, trying to will the tears away. He loved his big brother so much, not just in a brotherly way but in a romantic way, a way that tore his heart into pieces, even if he had been told many a time that he was too young to truly understand what he was feeling. He would do anything for his big brother, just to see him smile just a little bit, and he knew, he knew he would never feel the same way about him-
Matthew pulled his brother forwards and wrapped his arms around him, their heads bumping gently. Alfred blinked in surprise, two fat, salty tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I do not believe,” Matthew began, “that it is something you worry about now.” Alfred smiled into his brother’s shoulder. “It is something that you let be now, and one day you will have love. Amour.”
“Amour,” Alfred repeated in a whisper.
“Vous aurez l'amour un jour, mon frère,” Matthew said softly, and even though Alfred didn’t know the words, the feeling was there. Matthew looked up into the streaked sky, and glanced over at the house, where he could see Francis and Arthur talking through the kitchen window, the sunlight hitting their faces.
“Nous tous les deux aurons leur amour, un jour...”
--
Notes:
1. Vive la Rose is a French folk song. Apparently it was popular in the 18th century, I was just unable to find a specific date so I took some liberties. It's a song my grandmother hummed a lot. You can listen to it conveniently on YouTube. This is the closest to the version that I'm familiar with, so imagine Matthew is singing it like this.
2. Gratuitous French: I'm a first-semester French student so I did my best. I have the translations below. I debated over Matthew using "vous" or "tu" when referring to Alfred, because even though they just met, they're related? But I felt like Matthew would feel a little uncomfortable using "tu" with Alfred, and I also feel like Francis would have taught him not to. Or something. YEAH FRENCH.
*Il est votre frère, Matthieu,: He is your brother, Matthieu.
*Je m'appelle Matthieu... et je suis la Canada.... et vous êtes Amerique.: My name is Matthieu... and I am Canada... and you are America.
*Treize = thirteen
*Vous aurez l'amour un jour, mon frère: You will have love one day, my brother.
*Nous tous les deux aurons leur amour, un jour: We both will have their love, one day.
3. The way Matthew speaks English: this is how my grandmother spoke to me growing up. She was raised in Quebec and didn't learn English until she moved here. (My grandfather, on the other hand, was also fully from Quebec yet had the most American sounding name and spoke English perfectly....) so I just mimicked what I could remember. She got better at English when I hit about late elementary school/early middle school.
Um, I love childish crushes.