[APH] The Six Degrees of Separation (1st° Part 2)
Title: The Six Degrees of Separation
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters: Greece, Egypt, Japan, Turkey, France, England, America, Canada, Finland, Sweden, Sealand, North and South Italy, Russia, Germany, Prussia, Spain, Belarus, Ukraine, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Poland, China, South Korea
Pairings: France/England, Spain/South Italy, Germany/North Italy, Lithuania/Poland, Turkey/Japan, Finland/Sweden
Genre/Rating/Warnings: friendship, romance, drama, family/PG/AU, human names, shifting POVs, language shifts (which I really hope people won’t get confused by)
Summary/Excerpt: The Six Degrees of Separation is the idea that everyone in this world is connected by at most six people. It’s an empowering, intimidating thought to know that the world can be shrunk within just one city and that lives begin to affect one another as people converge and intersect. Our story begins with a pair of brothers who manage a fruit shake stand in Dotombori, Osaka and bear witness to different fates being drawn together from all over the globe.
Prologue | 1st° Part 1 | 1st° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 1 | 2nd° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 3
3rd° | 4th° | 5th° | 6th° | Epilogue
In this installment: Francis reminisces the first time he met Arthur and the boys. Funny feelings rise in his chest. Arthur, in turn, feels conflicted too.
The Six Degrees of Separation
First Degree (Part 2)
♠ a herd of elephants in the room
Honda Kiku fixed the loosened strap on Hikaru’s backpack before waving her off to her waiting mother. It was 4:26 in the afternoon and the sun was golden in the sky, prepared to turn red as it sank lower on the horizon.
Most of his students had already gone home for the day. Their families lived more or less within the vicinity of the school or residential areas two to three stations away.
There were many times Kiku felt like he was in charge of a daycare than a preschool class. He had fellow teachers, of course, and a headmaster who did things from managing the school funds to checking lesson plans. One teacher was assigned to one class instead of the ideal two. They were severely underhanded but the pay and working conditions were okay. People not only enrolled their children in S-preschool because it was cheap but the lessons were well-rounded, age appropriate and wholesome.
Kiku prided himself in being a teacher. He loved his students like they were his own children, even if he himself had none. There wasn’t any particular reason for his self-imposed chastity other than he didn’t feel up to looking for another romantic relationship after the last one. His memories of them were sacred and he was happy enough with the way things were at present.
He suddenly remembered the pair of piercing eyes belonging to Arthur’s colleague. They look so much alike. A small thrill and a small fear wormed their way into his gut. Kiku shook his head to clear it.
After watching Hikaru and her mother drive off in their humble sedan, the teacher returned to the classroom. Only a pair of students was left waiting to be fetched.
Matthew was slowly and patiently reading aloud a Japanese children’s book to Alfred, who was half-listening to him while demolishing a Lego city he had been building for the past half hour.
“Hold up, Mattie. What’s the word for ‘left’ again?” the latter asked, leaving the colorful wreckage to plop down beside his brother.
“’Hidari’ is left and ‘migi’ is right,” Matthew replied tentatively, moving a unicorn plush to make space on the rubber mat.
Kiku smiled. Their accent was thick and the stress wasn’t right but the contentiousness of and willingness to learn the new language was clearly admirable. Arthur was blessed. He went over to the play mat and gently retrieved the book from Matthew’s hands.
“You are correct,” Kiku said. “But you pronounce 'migi' short, not 'meegee'. Try again?”
The boys obediently repeated the word and Kiku proceeded to teach them more opposites. Soon, it was almost half an hour past five.
“Dad’s late again,” Alfred said, more stating than complaining and Kiku remembered that one night he had to take the boys back to his apartment because their father stayed overnight in the office. He felt he’d seen the man bow apologies to last a lifetime.
Matthew hummed in agreement and squeezed his bear backpack thoughtfully. Kiku once more felt helplessness as to what he could do for them when the someone knocked on the classroom door. Alfred jumped up and ran ahead to open it. His brother followed.
“Francis!” the pair exclaimed with delight and launched themselves at the owner of Rose Bakery.
“I’m sorry I’m late, boys,” Francis said, gathering Matthew in his arms and giving Alfred a kiss on the head. “Your father told me to pick you up at four but something came up in the shop.”
“Dad isn’t coming?” Matthew asked.
Francis smiled. “He’s working overtime, cher. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes we do,” Alfred said with the smallest of pouts on his face. “It means he’s gonna come home really late.”
“Now, now, that’s not so bad,” Francis said. “He’s asked you to stay with me until he fetches you. I made your favorites.”
With that, Alfred brightened and rushed to collect his and Matthew’s things. Francis turned to Kiku and bowed. “Good afternoon,” he greeted in Japanese.
“Good afternoon,” Kiku replied, returning the gesture.
“How is work?”
“The same as always, Francis-san. And yours?”
Francis held a sleepy Matthew more securely and shouldered the bags Alfred gave him before taking the boy’s hand. “Doing very well, thank you. Things have gotten interesting lately.”
Kiku raised an eyebrow, sensing their conversation wasn’t quite about work anymore. “Weren’t they interesting before?”
“Not that they weren’t,” Francis answered in the same ease. “But it’s gotten livelier.”
Livelier, Kiku thought and decided it was true. He waved goodbye and the trio left.
Kiku had known Rose Bakery and its owner since he returned to Japan and began working in S-preschool. He used to buy snacks there and the cream breads were divine. Francis Bonnefoy was a French expatriate who, after having schooled in a simple culinary institute and exhausted himself in a 5-star hotel-restaurant in Dubai, set shop in Osaka and stayed for good.
Rose Bakery was only a few streets away from Kiku’s school and a lot of the residents bought their bread from him. If he wasn’t mistaken, Francis had already been living nearly a decade in Osaka, longer than Kiku for that matter. He wondered if Arthur’s coming sparked a sense of homesickness in the baker. Well, of course they were of different nationalities but still. Even if Francis seemed very suave and confident, Kiku felt there was this air of mystery and loneliness around him. A loneliness that only a life partner could dissipate.
And as soon as Kiku thought of that, he grimaced. Was he still thinking about Francis or himself?
♠ a strange warmth on my dinner plate
At 6:03pm, the welcome bell of Rose Bakery jingled merrily.
The cashier called out her usual welcome and brightened when she saw Francis usher Alfred and Matthew in. “We have special guests!”
“Oh my, they’ll be staying with us again today?” Aline, Francis’ second in command, said as she emerged from the kitchen with freshly baked loaves of walnut bread.
Alfred and Matthew bowed timidly. She looked Caucasian but spoke Japanese. She must have been working with Francis since forever, they thought.
“Arthur’s favor,” the baker replied and Aline nodded knowingly. “They’ll stay inside the office till closing. I don’t know if I’d have to take them home, though.”
She looked surprised. “Why? Didn’t the man tell you what time he was getting out of work?”
Francis shook his head. “He never does.”
Aline tutted very much like a school lunch lady who’s been told by an impertinent student that the food was bad. “Who does he think you are? Their mother?” And muttering to herself, she resumed work.
The comment struck something in Francis’ gut he wasn’t sure he’d like to entertain as he led Alfred and Matthew into his office. He reasoned with himself that even if, so suddenly, these children of a man he never really knew very well had become so dear to him, he didn’t quite want to end such a relationship.
“You boys wait here,” he told them kindly. “I’ll get your snacks. Do you have any homework to do? Because if you don’t, I’m afraid I’ve only got travel magazines for you to read.”
“Are they in English?” Alfred asked bluntly he and as Matthew settled down on their usual spot, which was a squashy couch fronting Francis’ desk.
“They are,” he replied. “Some of them are in French though. Do you read French?”
“I do!” Matthew said excitedly, raising his hand as if they were in class. “But not much. C-can we read them? The m-magazines…”
Francis smiled and patted his head. “Of course, cher. But do your homework first.” But the brothers had already grabbed a bunch of magazines and were absorbed by the pictures of various countries.
He left his office to retrieve a plate of apple pancakes smothered with butter and maple syrup for Matthew and cinnamon rolls with hot chocolate for Alfred. He set down their snacks on the floor, lest they topple if placed on the couch. Not looking up from their reading, both boys reached for the plates like blind men groping in the dark and grabbed the bun or fork that met their fingers and began eating.
Francis sighed and sat on his desk. Two months and three weeks ago, he would get irritated at the presence of two messy kids eating inside his office. Two months and three weeks ago, he’d rage at being disturbed from doing accounting for maintenance expenses they had for the past year. Two months and three weeks ago, new recipes and marketing strategies were the only thought occupying his head. Two months and three weeks ago, he was a very focused, uptight individual. Today, he simply couldn’t concentrate. When did this start?
Barely two months and three weeks ago, Francis found Matthew Williams and Alfred Jones Kirkland outside his bakery on a deep April night, lost, cold and crying for their father.
In all of Francis’ almost ten years of stay in Osaka did he rarely encounter foreign children as young as the two wandering about the streets at night, or simply wandering for that matter. They looked so small, precious and pitiful that something tugged at his heartstrings. Without wasting time, Francis undid the locks of his shop and brought them inside for warmth.
When they were seated, he asked, “Are you lost?”, on impulse, in Japanese.
“We don’t understand you!” Alfred had cried out in English with so much frustration that Francis all but hugged him in apology.
“I’m sorry, cher,” he said, switching language and stroking his hair. Matthew edged closer to them, sniffling and concerned about his brother. “Where are your parents?”
“D-daddy’s still at work,” said Matthew. “We…we were going to fetch him.”
“Fetch him?” Francis asked, surprised.
“Yes, fetch him!” Alfred whined. “He’s always late. He forgets to bring us food. He never has time for us anymore-“
“Al, stop!” Matthew looked right about ready to cry.
“-and we don’t know what anyone’s saying around here! I wanna go home!” And with that, Alfred burst into another fit of tears.
Francis hugged them both very tightly, still confused about how they got lost, who their parents were and how to get them back. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he felt compelled to help these kids. They sparked a homely familiarity in him that his traveling and work had made him lose. That night, he knew his life would change.
“Where did you come from?” he asked gently.
“F-from S-preschool d-down the street,” Alfred hiccupped and pointed to a general direction.
S-preschool? Francis knew the teacher there, a kindly Honda Kiku who loved children but never really spoke much. How on earth would these children get lost under his watch? Or were they even in his class?
“T-teacher said it was time to go, s-so he went out to close th-the school,” the boy continued. “A-and Mattie and I wanted to see dad real bad. So…so we went ahead…”
And gotten lost. Francis shook his head. “Come, you must be hungry. Have you eaten?”
Matthew clutched his bear backpack, suddenly aware that they were taken in and being fed by a total stranger. Alfred however, jumped up and declared, “Dad forgot our snacks today!”
Francis blinked. What sort of crazy loon was their father? He went into the kitchen and brought out a maple croissant and a Danish tart.
“Wow! Can we really eat this mister?” Alfred said, smiling like a 50-watt light bulb. Francis laughed.
“Of course you can. You must be starving.”
Alfred dug in. Matthew however stared thoughtfully at his croissant.
“Is there something wrong, cher?” Francis asked. Fearful lavender eyes met his gaze and he sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you to your father…well, somehow. For now, you eat. That’s perfectly safe. I’m a baker, see?”
Matthew took a tentative bite of the pastry and glowed. “I…I really like maple,” he said softly.
Francis talked to the boys at they ate. He found out their names and how they had been transferred from London to Osaka due to their daddy’s job. They didn’t have a mommy because she went away, taking a lot of money with her. It was only their second week in their new home and their first week in school. All of them were struggling because of the language barrier. Their dad was already clumsy to begin with but now, it seemed worse because his work was more difficult. They were only six years old. Alfred loved hamburgers and reading comic books. Matthew loved pancakes and watching sports. They shared a passion for history and traveling, which Francis was impressed by. One liked blue, the other liked red. They both loved their father dearly.
Alfred’s dream was to grow up fast so he could take care of his father. Francis couldn’t help but think the man was quite a lucky one.
“Do you know where your father’s office is?” Francis asked when they finished eating and gathered their school things, ready to go outside.
“Daddy said it’s really near the school,” Matthew said.
As soon as they stepped outside, Honda Kiku came running. Francis had never seen him looking so flustered in his entire life.
“Bonnefoy-san!” The teacher called out and saw who Francis held in each hand. Without warning, he collapsed on the pavement from exhaustion. “They were with you?”
“It’s teacher!” Alfred screeched and ran to him. Kiku caught the boy and held him tightly. His expression changed from winded to relieved.
“You were looking for them?” Francis asked, suddenly feeling foolish.
Kiku nodded and stood. He turned as if looking for someone and Francis peeked past his shoulder. A short, tired looking man with huge eyebrows stood with his back against the street lights. He was panting, exhausted like Kiku, as if they had been running around all night.
“Kirkland-san!” the teacher called in English. “They have been found!”
“Th-thank God!”
At the sound of this accent-heavy, nasal voice, Alfred and Matthew leapt from where they were and ran to their father yelling, “Daaaaad!” at the top of their tiny lungs. The man hugged both boys tightly and cried into their yellow preschool uniforms.
“I was so worried…oh God, I’m so glad you’re safe.” He showered each of them with kisses, held them at arm’s length to look at them before hugging them once more. “Who…who found you?”
“Francis did,” Alfred said brightly and pointed.
Francis straightened up, feeling self conscious as the man looked up. For a moment, it felt they weren’t in Osaka, but somewhere nostalgic like a lonely, snowy pavement on Christmas Eve in Paris or London. There was a struggle in that face. First, gratitude, then…
“You bloody frog! Why didn’t you call the police?! Who feeds lost kids first before bringing them to the authorities?! Are you some kind of maniac?!”
The outburst left Kiku looking pale and Francis taken aback. It was the first time someone he just met yelled at him with such fire.
“Daddy, don’t say that! He gave us food!” Alfred admonished. The man blinked.
“…food?” There was a pause before a ‘hmph!’ as the man gathered his children. “Might as well give you diarrhea later. Didn’t I tell you not to go with strangers?”
“Daddy, Francis is nice!” Alfred insisted as they walked away. Matthew looked back and waved goodbye.
“…what the hell was that,” Francis said, unsure now whether to laugh off the whole thing or care to be offended.
“I…I haven’t seen Kirkland-san flare up like that,” Kiku said evenly. “He’s usually nice.”
“What’s his name?”
“Arthur Kirkland.”
Arthur Kirkland. The name rolled off his tongue like royalty. Francis was very much intrigued. “Does he always pick up his kids late?” he asked.
“…what are you thinking, Bonnefoy-san?” asked Kiku with a small smile.
He didn’t reply. In the light of a passing car, he could have sworn Arthur’s ears were red as the family turned a corner and disappeared. And no, it wasn’t from the cold.
♠ the difference between what we say and what we mean
Seconds steadily ticked past 8:37pm. Arthur Kirkland pushed himself to walk faster. These new shoes were killing him.
Rose Bakery was already closed for the day, but the dim light coming from within the shop told him its owner was still inside, diligently watching over his two boys as he promised. Arthur didn’t want to think how much he owed this man. Francis was awfully kind, but something about his smug look and stubble kept his pride from wanting to get too attached to him. The last time he wholeheartedly trusted someone, it led to disaster.
“Francis?” Arthur called, knocking on the shop door. There was shuffling coming from within along with giggles and squeals.
“Ssh,” Arthur overheard. “Not till he comes. Now, I’ll go open the door.”
Footsteps crossed the bread shop and he met Francis in a kitchen apron with bits of flour, cream, glue and paste stuck to it. Arthur blinked and found himself cracking a grin in half-bemusement, half-curiosity.
“What are you doing?”
“They got bored waiting for you, so we baked a cake.”
Arthur was genuinely surprised. “…a cake?”
Francis shrugged, but there was a smile in his eyes. “The boys didn’t want to eat without you, although, Alfred’s already complaining. They tell me they haven’t eaten since afternoon snack time.”
The businessman blushed and grumbled. “I…I’ll go get something from the convenience store then. You can’t have sweets before dinner.”
Francis grabbed Arthur’s arm before he can return outside and dragged him to the kitchen. “Too late,” he sang. “You don’t want the kids to wait any longer, do you?”
Before Arthur could protest, the door opened and a ridiculously colorful cake met his face. It had ‘wE LoVe yoU dAdDy’ sprawled all over the top in white icing.
“Welcome back!” Alfred and Matthew greeted in unison.
Francis fondly watched as the man fought back tears. He took the cake plate with shaking hands, handed it to the baker and gathered his sons in a tight embrace.
“Daddy,” Alfred said. “You’re crying again. Francis is here. It’s embarrassing.”
“Be quiet,” came Arthur’s muffled, wavering reply. “I love you too,” he said and kissed them both.
Matthew wiggled out of his grip and pulled a sheet of colored construction paper from behind him. “Look! We also made a card!”
Arthur read ‘family’ in crude hiragana (most likely written by Matthew) and below the label was an impressive paper rendering of him, Alfred, Matthew and…Francis. He blinked. Apparently, his kids knew nothing of the implications such juxtapositioning entailed, holding hands with the kids in the middle. Of course, he couldn’t blame them, but Francis could have told them off.
The man himself approached Arthur, rubbing his nape in some apologetic manner (he wasn’t, he really wasn’t). “Sorry it kind of turned out that way,” he said looking at the card. “Alfred insisted I be included. He said my breads were delicious.” The two boys ran around singing ‘cake cake’ and Arthur’s cheeks burned.
“Turned out what way, exactly?”
Francis held up his hands in surrender as Arthur started weakly hitting his shoulder. At the sound of his grumbling stomach, the baker laughed and called a truce.
“Come, let’s have dinner.”
And the four of them shared the cake.
♠ this could be danger, i'm falling on love with a stranger
10:53pm
An hour after Francis had accompanied him and the kids to the train station and some thirty minutes after the small family had reached their humble apartment.
The boys were already asleep. Arthur sat in the living room nursing a beer. He was getting used to sitting on the floor. Unlike usual, the lights were all on, in the hopes the brightness would clear his head. On the low table was the card Alfred and Matthew made in the bakery. The smiling faces of himself, this sons and Francis looked up at him.
Arthur glared at it and before he could give it a drunken reprimand for whatever offense it made, his cellphone rang.
“Hello?”
“Arthur? It’s me.”
“Sadiq? Ah…ah! Sorry I ran out on y-you a while ago. Are th-the documents finished?”
“Yep, y’don’t need to worry. Didn’ have to do much after y’left. How’re the kids? Did Francis pick ‘em up?”
Arthur belched. “He did! He did. He even made cake and w-we had dinner. Boys ‘r in bed…” A hiccup.
“…uhuh. Then why d’ya sound like you’ve been dumped? Don’t drink! It’s not Friday yet, y’know? We’ve got early roll call tomorrow!”
Arthur wasn’t listening. No, he didn’t want to tell Sadiq or admit to himself that family on the card didn’t look bad at all. Maybe Francis thought the same too.
♠ tonight is incredibly clear
“Excuse me, are you closing?”
Herakles blinked. He glanced at the clock. 11:15pm. He looked at Hassan to see if they were up for one last customer. His brother nodded.
“Not yet sir,” Herakles answered with a smile. “What can we get you?”
Francis placed a finger on his chin as he looked at the menu. “Strawberries and melon. With pearls and cream, please.”
Hassan promptly whipped up the order and an awkward pause swelled between Herakles and his customer. It was funny, he thought, they were all supposedly foreigners here yet they were all in Japan, like the world contracted. Then again, this man could have been living here for a while. It wasn’t any of his business.
“Thank you and come again,” Herakles said as the drink and pay exchanged hands.
The brothers watched Francis walk away, a seemingly lonely figure amongst closing shops, old boxes and the day’s trash.
“I wonder if he’s been dumped.” Hassan mused.
Herakles snorted as he helped him close the up the shop. “He might have. Did you see how tired he was?”
“Tired?” His brother’s eyebrow rose. “Maybe he’s had a long day.”
“Naw, you’d go straight home after that. He looks like he’s been taking a walk.”
Hassan hummed in thought. “To think? I wonder if it’s always love, though.”
Herakles hung up his apron and watched as the other pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket in preparation for another sleepless night. “Well, what else would compel you to walk a long way to buy a fruit shake?”
Hassan lit his smoke and took a drag. “He’s foreign. He could have spent the last of his money.”
“He was dressed well. And he smelled like bread.”
Hassan grinned. “We could map out his life tonight. Up for it?” he said and held out a cigarette.
Herakles took it. “A baker for starters,” he said. “Hey, did you notice we’re seeing an increase in foreigners lately?”
“Osaka feels like the world now,” was Hassan’s cryptic reply. “A French baker, is my guess. He knows Japanese well. Maybe he hasn’t been back for a long time now.”
Until 3:26am, they were up exchanging hypotheses of what Francis’ life could be. Suffice to say, they weren’t far off the mark. Of course, they didn’t know about Arthur. He was substituted, rather crudely, for a promiscuous lady from the Red Light District of another city.
to the Second Degree Part 1
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters: Greece, Egypt, Japan, Turkey, France, England, America, Canada, Finland, Sweden, Sealand, North and South Italy, Russia, Germany, Prussia, Spain, Belarus, Ukraine, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Poland, China, South Korea
Pairings: France/England, Spain/South Italy, Germany/North Italy, Lithuania/Poland, Turkey/Japan, Finland/Sweden
Genre/Rating/Warnings: friendship, romance, drama, family/PG/AU, human names, shifting POVs, language shifts (which I really hope people won’t get confused by)
Summary/Excerpt: The Six Degrees of Separation is the idea that everyone in this world is connected by at most six people. It’s an empowering, intimidating thought to know that the world can be shrunk within just one city and that lives begin to affect one another as people converge and intersect. Our story begins with a pair of brothers who manage a fruit shake stand in Dotombori, Osaka and bear witness to different fates being drawn together from all over the globe.
Prologue | 1st° Part 1 | 1st° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 1 | 2nd° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 3
3rd° | 4th° | 5th° | 6th° | Epilogue
In this installment: Francis reminisces the first time he met Arthur and the boys. Funny feelings rise in his chest. Arthur, in turn, feels conflicted too.
The Six Degrees of Separation
First Degree (Part 2)
♠ a herd of elephants in the room
Honda Kiku fixed the loosened strap on Hikaru’s backpack before waving her off to her waiting mother. It was 4:26 in the afternoon and the sun was golden in the sky, prepared to turn red as it sank lower on the horizon.
Most of his students had already gone home for the day. Their families lived more or less within the vicinity of the school or residential areas two to three stations away.
There were many times Kiku felt like he was in charge of a daycare than a preschool class. He had fellow teachers, of course, and a headmaster who did things from managing the school funds to checking lesson plans. One teacher was assigned to one class instead of the ideal two. They were severely underhanded but the pay and working conditions were okay. People not only enrolled their children in S-preschool because it was cheap but the lessons were well-rounded, age appropriate and wholesome.
Kiku prided himself in being a teacher. He loved his students like they were his own children, even if he himself had none. There wasn’t any particular reason for his self-imposed chastity other than he didn’t feel up to looking for another romantic relationship after the last one. His memories of them were sacred and he was happy enough with the way things were at present.
He suddenly remembered the pair of piercing eyes belonging to Arthur’s colleague. They look so much alike. A small thrill and a small fear wormed their way into his gut. Kiku shook his head to clear it.
After watching Hikaru and her mother drive off in their humble sedan, the teacher returned to the classroom. Only a pair of students was left waiting to be fetched.
Matthew was slowly and patiently reading aloud a Japanese children’s book to Alfred, who was half-listening to him while demolishing a Lego city he had been building for the past half hour.
“Hold up, Mattie. What’s the word for ‘left’ again?” the latter asked, leaving the colorful wreckage to plop down beside his brother.
“’Hidari’ is left and ‘migi’ is right,” Matthew replied tentatively, moving a unicorn plush to make space on the rubber mat.
Kiku smiled. Their accent was thick and the stress wasn’t right but the contentiousness of and willingness to learn the new language was clearly admirable. Arthur was blessed. He went over to the play mat and gently retrieved the book from Matthew’s hands.
“You are correct,” Kiku said. “But you pronounce 'migi' short, not 'meegee'. Try again?”
The boys obediently repeated the word and Kiku proceeded to teach them more opposites. Soon, it was almost half an hour past five.
“Dad’s late again,” Alfred said, more stating than complaining and Kiku remembered that one night he had to take the boys back to his apartment because their father stayed overnight in the office. He felt he’d seen the man bow apologies to last a lifetime.
Matthew hummed in agreement and squeezed his bear backpack thoughtfully. Kiku once more felt helplessness as to what he could do for them when the someone knocked on the classroom door. Alfred jumped up and ran ahead to open it. His brother followed.
“Francis!” the pair exclaimed with delight and launched themselves at the owner of Rose Bakery.
“I’m sorry I’m late, boys,” Francis said, gathering Matthew in his arms and giving Alfred a kiss on the head. “Your father told me to pick you up at four but something came up in the shop.”
“Dad isn’t coming?” Matthew asked.
Francis smiled. “He’s working overtime, cher. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes we do,” Alfred said with the smallest of pouts on his face. “It means he’s gonna come home really late.”
“Now, now, that’s not so bad,” Francis said. “He’s asked you to stay with me until he fetches you. I made your favorites.”
With that, Alfred brightened and rushed to collect his and Matthew’s things. Francis turned to Kiku and bowed. “Good afternoon,” he greeted in Japanese.
“Good afternoon,” Kiku replied, returning the gesture.
“How is work?”
“The same as always, Francis-san. And yours?”
Francis held a sleepy Matthew more securely and shouldered the bags Alfred gave him before taking the boy’s hand. “Doing very well, thank you. Things have gotten interesting lately.”
Kiku raised an eyebrow, sensing their conversation wasn’t quite about work anymore. “Weren’t they interesting before?”
“Not that they weren’t,” Francis answered in the same ease. “But it’s gotten livelier.”
Livelier, Kiku thought and decided it was true. He waved goodbye and the trio left.
Kiku had known Rose Bakery and its owner since he returned to Japan and began working in S-preschool. He used to buy snacks there and the cream breads were divine. Francis Bonnefoy was a French expatriate who, after having schooled in a simple culinary institute and exhausted himself in a 5-star hotel-restaurant in Dubai, set shop in Osaka and stayed for good.
Rose Bakery was only a few streets away from Kiku’s school and a lot of the residents bought their bread from him. If he wasn’t mistaken, Francis had already been living nearly a decade in Osaka, longer than Kiku for that matter. He wondered if Arthur’s coming sparked a sense of homesickness in the baker. Well, of course they were of different nationalities but still. Even if Francis seemed very suave and confident, Kiku felt there was this air of mystery and loneliness around him. A loneliness that only a life partner could dissipate.
And as soon as Kiku thought of that, he grimaced. Was he still thinking about Francis or himself?
♠ a strange warmth on my dinner plate
At 6:03pm, the welcome bell of Rose Bakery jingled merrily.
The cashier called out her usual welcome and brightened when she saw Francis usher Alfred and Matthew in. “We have special guests!”
“Oh my, they’ll be staying with us again today?” Aline, Francis’ second in command, said as she emerged from the kitchen with freshly baked loaves of walnut bread.
Alfred and Matthew bowed timidly. She looked Caucasian but spoke Japanese. She must have been working with Francis since forever, they thought.
“Arthur’s favor,” the baker replied and Aline nodded knowingly. “They’ll stay inside the office till closing. I don’t know if I’d have to take them home, though.”
She looked surprised. “Why? Didn’t the man tell you what time he was getting out of work?”
Francis shook his head. “He never does.”
Aline tutted very much like a school lunch lady who’s been told by an impertinent student that the food was bad. “Who does he think you are? Their mother?” And muttering to herself, she resumed work.
The comment struck something in Francis’ gut he wasn’t sure he’d like to entertain as he led Alfred and Matthew into his office. He reasoned with himself that even if, so suddenly, these children of a man he never really knew very well had become so dear to him, he didn’t quite want to end such a relationship.
“You boys wait here,” he told them kindly. “I’ll get your snacks. Do you have any homework to do? Because if you don’t, I’m afraid I’ve only got travel magazines for you to read.”
“Are they in English?” Alfred asked bluntly he and as Matthew settled down on their usual spot, which was a squashy couch fronting Francis’ desk.
“They are,” he replied. “Some of them are in French though. Do you read French?”
“I do!” Matthew said excitedly, raising his hand as if they were in class. “But not much. C-can we read them? The m-magazines…”
Francis smiled and patted his head. “Of course, cher. But do your homework first.” But the brothers had already grabbed a bunch of magazines and were absorbed by the pictures of various countries.
He left his office to retrieve a plate of apple pancakes smothered with butter and maple syrup for Matthew and cinnamon rolls with hot chocolate for Alfred. He set down their snacks on the floor, lest they topple if placed on the couch. Not looking up from their reading, both boys reached for the plates like blind men groping in the dark and grabbed the bun or fork that met their fingers and began eating.
Francis sighed and sat on his desk. Two months and three weeks ago, he would get irritated at the presence of two messy kids eating inside his office. Two months and three weeks ago, he’d rage at being disturbed from doing accounting for maintenance expenses they had for the past year. Two months and three weeks ago, new recipes and marketing strategies were the only thought occupying his head. Two months and three weeks ago, he was a very focused, uptight individual. Today, he simply couldn’t concentrate. When did this start?
Barely two months and three weeks ago, Francis found Matthew Williams and Alfred Jones Kirkland outside his bakery on a deep April night, lost, cold and crying for their father.
In all of Francis’ almost ten years of stay in Osaka did he rarely encounter foreign children as young as the two wandering about the streets at night, or simply wandering for that matter. They looked so small, precious and pitiful that something tugged at his heartstrings. Without wasting time, Francis undid the locks of his shop and brought them inside for warmth.
When they were seated, he asked, “Are you lost?”, on impulse, in Japanese.
“We don’t understand you!” Alfred had cried out in English with so much frustration that Francis all but hugged him in apology.
“I’m sorry, cher,” he said, switching language and stroking his hair. Matthew edged closer to them, sniffling and concerned about his brother. “Where are your parents?”
“D-daddy’s still at work,” said Matthew. “We…we were going to fetch him.”
“Fetch him?” Francis asked, surprised.
“Yes, fetch him!” Alfred whined. “He’s always late. He forgets to bring us food. He never has time for us anymore-“
“Al, stop!” Matthew looked right about ready to cry.
“-and we don’t know what anyone’s saying around here! I wanna go home!” And with that, Alfred burst into another fit of tears.
Francis hugged them both very tightly, still confused about how they got lost, who their parents were and how to get them back. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he felt compelled to help these kids. They sparked a homely familiarity in him that his traveling and work had made him lose. That night, he knew his life would change.
“Where did you come from?” he asked gently.
“F-from S-preschool d-down the street,” Alfred hiccupped and pointed to a general direction.
S-preschool? Francis knew the teacher there, a kindly Honda Kiku who loved children but never really spoke much. How on earth would these children get lost under his watch? Or were they even in his class?
“T-teacher said it was time to go, s-so he went out to close th-the school,” the boy continued. “A-and Mattie and I wanted to see dad real bad. So…so we went ahead…”
And gotten lost. Francis shook his head. “Come, you must be hungry. Have you eaten?”
Matthew clutched his bear backpack, suddenly aware that they were taken in and being fed by a total stranger. Alfred however, jumped up and declared, “Dad forgot our snacks today!”
Francis blinked. What sort of crazy loon was their father? He went into the kitchen and brought out a maple croissant and a Danish tart.
“Wow! Can we really eat this mister?” Alfred said, smiling like a 50-watt light bulb. Francis laughed.
“Of course you can. You must be starving.”
Alfred dug in. Matthew however stared thoughtfully at his croissant.
“Is there something wrong, cher?” Francis asked. Fearful lavender eyes met his gaze and he sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you to your father…well, somehow. For now, you eat. That’s perfectly safe. I’m a baker, see?”
Matthew took a tentative bite of the pastry and glowed. “I…I really like maple,” he said softly.
Francis talked to the boys at they ate. He found out their names and how they had been transferred from London to Osaka due to their daddy’s job. They didn’t have a mommy because she went away, taking a lot of money with her. It was only their second week in their new home and their first week in school. All of them were struggling because of the language barrier. Their dad was already clumsy to begin with but now, it seemed worse because his work was more difficult. They were only six years old. Alfred loved hamburgers and reading comic books. Matthew loved pancakes and watching sports. They shared a passion for history and traveling, which Francis was impressed by. One liked blue, the other liked red. They both loved their father dearly.
Alfred’s dream was to grow up fast so he could take care of his father. Francis couldn’t help but think the man was quite a lucky one.
“Do you know where your father’s office is?” Francis asked when they finished eating and gathered their school things, ready to go outside.
“Daddy said it’s really near the school,” Matthew said.
As soon as they stepped outside, Honda Kiku came running. Francis had never seen him looking so flustered in his entire life.
“Bonnefoy-san!” The teacher called out and saw who Francis held in each hand. Without warning, he collapsed on the pavement from exhaustion. “They were with you?”
“It’s teacher!” Alfred screeched and ran to him. Kiku caught the boy and held him tightly. His expression changed from winded to relieved.
“You were looking for them?” Francis asked, suddenly feeling foolish.
Kiku nodded and stood. He turned as if looking for someone and Francis peeked past his shoulder. A short, tired looking man with huge eyebrows stood with his back against the street lights. He was panting, exhausted like Kiku, as if they had been running around all night.
“Kirkland-san!” the teacher called in English. “They have been found!”
“Th-thank God!”
At the sound of this accent-heavy, nasal voice, Alfred and Matthew leapt from where they were and ran to their father yelling, “Daaaaad!” at the top of their tiny lungs. The man hugged both boys tightly and cried into their yellow preschool uniforms.
“I was so worried…oh God, I’m so glad you’re safe.” He showered each of them with kisses, held them at arm’s length to look at them before hugging them once more. “Who…who found you?”
“Francis did,” Alfred said brightly and pointed.
Francis straightened up, feeling self conscious as the man looked up. For a moment, it felt they weren’t in Osaka, but somewhere nostalgic like a lonely, snowy pavement on Christmas Eve in Paris or London. There was a struggle in that face. First, gratitude, then…
“You bloody frog! Why didn’t you call the police?! Who feeds lost kids first before bringing them to the authorities?! Are you some kind of maniac?!”
The outburst left Kiku looking pale and Francis taken aback. It was the first time someone he just met yelled at him with such fire.
“Daddy, don’t say that! He gave us food!” Alfred admonished. The man blinked.
“…food?” There was a pause before a ‘hmph!’ as the man gathered his children. “Might as well give you diarrhea later. Didn’t I tell you not to go with strangers?”
“Daddy, Francis is nice!” Alfred insisted as they walked away. Matthew looked back and waved goodbye.
“…what the hell was that,” Francis said, unsure now whether to laugh off the whole thing or care to be offended.
“I…I haven’t seen Kirkland-san flare up like that,” Kiku said evenly. “He’s usually nice.”
“What’s his name?”
“Arthur Kirkland.”
Arthur Kirkland. The name rolled off his tongue like royalty. Francis was very much intrigued. “Does he always pick up his kids late?” he asked.
“…what are you thinking, Bonnefoy-san?” asked Kiku with a small smile.
He didn’t reply. In the light of a passing car, he could have sworn Arthur’s ears were red as the family turned a corner and disappeared. And no, it wasn’t from the cold.
♠ the difference between what we say and what we mean
Seconds steadily ticked past 8:37pm. Arthur Kirkland pushed himself to walk faster. These new shoes were killing him.
Rose Bakery was already closed for the day, but the dim light coming from within the shop told him its owner was still inside, diligently watching over his two boys as he promised. Arthur didn’t want to think how much he owed this man. Francis was awfully kind, but something about his smug look and stubble kept his pride from wanting to get too attached to him. The last time he wholeheartedly trusted someone, it led to disaster.
“Francis?” Arthur called, knocking on the shop door. There was shuffling coming from within along with giggles and squeals.
“Ssh,” Arthur overheard. “Not till he comes. Now, I’ll go open the door.”
Footsteps crossed the bread shop and he met Francis in a kitchen apron with bits of flour, cream, glue and paste stuck to it. Arthur blinked and found himself cracking a grin in half-bemusement, half-curiosity.
“What are you doing?”
“They got bored waiting for you, so we baked a cake.”
Arthur was genuinely surprised. “…a cake?”
Francis shrugged, but there was a smile in his eyes. “The boys didn’t want to eat without you, although, Alfred’s already complaining. They tell me they haven’t eaten since afternoon snack time.”
The businessman blushed and grumbled. “I…I’ll go get something from the convenience store then. You can’t have sweets before dinner.”
Francis grabbed Arthur’s arm before he can return outside and dragged him to the kitchen. “Too late,” he sang. “You don’t want the kids to wait any longer, do you?”
Before Arthur could protest, the door opened and a ridiculously colorful cake met his face. It had ‘wE LoVe yoU dAdDy’ sprawled all over the top in white icing.
“Welcome back!” Alfred and Matthew greeted in unison.
Francis fondly watched as the man fought back tears. He took the cake plate with shaking hands, handed it to the baker and gathered his sons in a tight embrace.
“Daddy,” Alfred said. “You’re crying again. Francis is here. It’s embarrassing.”
“Be quiet,” came Arthur’s muffled, wavering reply. “I love you too,” he said and kissed them both.
Matthew wiggled out of his grip and pulled a sheet of colored construction paper from behind him. “Look! We also made a card!”
Arthur read ‘family’ in crude hiragana (most likely written by Matthew) and below the label was an impressive paper rendering of him, Alfred, Matthew and…Francis. He blinked. Apparently, his kids knew nothing of the implications such juxtapositioning entailed, holding hands with the kids in the middle. Of course, he couldn’t blame them, but Francis could have told them off.
The man himself approached Arthur, rubbing his nape in some apologetic manner (he wasn’t, he really wasn’t). “Sorry it kind of turned out that way,” he said looking at the card. “Alfred insisted I be included. He said my breads were delicious.” The two boys ran around singing ‘cake cake’ and Arthur’s cheeks burned.
“Turned out what way, exactly?”
Francis held up his hands in surrender as Arthur started weakly hitting his shoulder. At the sound of his grumbling stomach, the baker laughed and called a truce.
“Come, let’s have dinner.”
And the four of them shared the cake.
♠ this could be danger, i'm falling on love with a stranger
10:53pm
An hour after Francis had accompanied him and the kids to the train station and some thirty minutes after the small family had reached their humble apartment.
The boys were already asleep. Arthur sat in the living room nursing a beer. He was getting used to sitting on the floor. Unlike usual, the lights were all on, in the hopes the brightness would clear his head. On the low table was the card Alfred and Matthew made in the bakery. The smiling faces of himself, this sons and Francis looked up at him.
Arthur glared at it and before he could give it a drunken reprimand for whatever offense it made, his cellphone rang.
“Hello?”
“Arthur? It’s me.”
“Sadiq? Ah…ah! Sorry I ran out on y-you a while ago. Are th-the documents finished?”
“Yep, y’don’t need to worry. Didn’ have to do much after y’left. How’re the kids? Did Francis pick ‘em up?”
Arthur belched. “He did! He did. He even made cake and w-we had dinner. Boys ‘r in bed…” A hiccup.
“…uhuh. Then why d’ya sound like you’ve been dumped? Don’t drink! It’s not Friday yet, y’know? We’ve got early roll call tomorrow!”
Arthur wasn’t listening. No, he didn’t want to tell Sadiq or admit to himself that family on the card didn’t look bad at all. Maybe Francis thought the same too.
♠ tonight is incredibly clear
“Excuse me, are you closing?”
Herakles blinked. He glanced at the clock. 11:15pm. He looked at Hassan to see if they were up for one last customer. His brother nodded.
“Not yet sir,” Herakles answered with a smile. “What can we get you?”
Francis placed a finger on his chin as he looked at the menu. “Strawberries and melon. With pearls and cream, please.”
Hassan promptly whipped up the order and an awkward pause swelled between Herakles and his customer. It was funny, he thought, they were all supposedly foreigners here yet they were all in Japan, like the world contracted. Then again, this man could have been living here for a while. It wasn’t any of his business.
“Thank you and come again,” Herakles said as the drink and pay exchanged hands.
The brothers watched Francis walk away, a seemingly lonely figure amongst closing shops, old boxes and the day’s trash.
“I wonder if he’s been dumped.” Hassan mused.
Herakles snorted as he helped him close the up the shop. “He might have. Did you see how tired he was?”
“Tired?” His brother’s eyebrow rose. “Maybe he’s had a long day.”
“Naw, you’d go straight home after that. He looks like he’s been taking a walk.”
Hassan hummed in thought. “To think? I wonder if it’s always love, though.”
Herakles hung up his apron and watched as the other pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket in preparation for another sleepless night. “Well, what else would compel you to walk a long way to buy a fruit shake?”
Hassan lit his smoke and took a drag. “He’s foreign. He could have spent the last of his money.”
“He was dressed well. And he smelled like bread.”
Hassan grinned. “We could map out his life tonight. Up for it?” he said and held out a cigarette.
Herakles took it. “A baker for starters,” he said. “Hey, did you notice we’re seeing an increase in foreigners lately?”
“Osaka feels like the world now,” was Hassan’s cryptic reply. “A French baker, is my guess. He knows Japanese well. Maybe he hasn’t been back for a long time now.”
Until 3:26am, they were up exchanging hypotheses of what Francis’ life could be. Suffice to say, they weren’t far off the mark. Of course, they didn’t know about Arthur. He was substituted, rather crudely, for a promiscuous lady from the Red Light District of another city.
to the Second Degree Part 1