Author's Note: Well DAMNNN, I expected to get like, one or two comments on the last chapter. But I got like, 30. THANK YOU GUIES SOOOO THE FUCK MUCH, you seriously made my day! I am sooooo sorry for not posting sooner, my motherfucking computer decided to crash, so no internet access for me! It KILLED me, literally. I just got it back and I am like, typing like a freaking madman. So please guys, keep the comments up! Every comment just made me giggle like a freaking giddy school girl. So… will Mattie live, or will he die? Read to find out.
Thankies for reading~
Is life a savior or is it hell?
"Matthieu!" Francis shouted, slamming his car door shut and taking Matthew's front door steps by threes, finally arriving at the top. He threw the door open and ran inside, not taking the time to close it. Francis had a bed feeling that Matthew did something very, very bad. He ran around the first floor for a moment, not knowing where his little Canadian's room was. "Matthieu!" Francis shouted again, hoping that he would reply. No such luck. He ran up the stairs, flinging one door open, which turned out to be Alfred's room. It was plainly obvious too, Alfred was on top of Arthur. Francis would have admired the scene of the two naked men had he not been terrified for Matthews life.
"Dude, what the hell?!" Alfred said, pulling the sheets over him and Arthur, who was shrinking under the American in embarrassment. Francis was already halfway down the hallway. He froze when he found the end of the hall, the only thing that stood there was a whit door with a plain sign on it reading, "Pancakes are my life." Francis looked down at the white carpet. Or, what used to be a white carpet. Blood was seeping under the crack of the door and staining the floor.
Francis threw the door open, almost fainting at the sight of his Canadian, a knife lay scattered a few feet away from him, blood gleamed on its blade as if saying, "Look what I did." He whipped out of his phone, barely able to hold back tears as he dialed 911.
"B-bonjour, mon petit Matthieu, aide, il est mourant!" (Hello, my little Matthew, help, he's dying!) Francis always slipped into his native tongue when he was panicked, and it took him a minute to understand what the lady on the other end of the line was saying.
"Sir, sir? I can't understand you, English?"
"O-oh yes, sorry. My little Matthieu, he-he tried to kill himself. We need an ambulance." Francis dropped to his knees, holding two fingers up against the Canadians wrist, feeling a butterfly pulse. "Yes, yes. He had a pulse, barely, HURRY!" Francis half shouted into the phone, giving the lady the address.
Alfred burst into the room, just having thrown pants on. His eyes widened and let a small whimper escape his lips. "God… no…" He whispered, Arthur entered, his eyes widened as well and he quickly walked over to Alfred, laying a hand on his shoulder. Tears quickly streaked the Americans face, "MATTIE!" He shouted, running over and dropping to his knees, "Mattie, wake up!" He said, laying a hand on his unconscious brother's shoulder, shaking him lightly. Arthur rushed over and pulled him into a hug, trying to calm him. Francis sat there, refusing to cry. He cradled the Canadian, holding a hand up against his neck to try to stop the bleeding. How could he live without Matthew? How could he possibly survive?
*1 day later*
The funeral was the next day. It was a cloudy day, the dark puffs of fog hung thickly in the air and obscured everyone's vision. The light grey clouds danced around people, hugging them with their wispy arms. Francis was sitting in the small group that had gathered for Matthew's funeral. Alfred, Arthur, Francis, a few distant relatives, and surprisingly, Matthew's parents, had gathered. Tears streaked almost everyone's faces, the tears were the terrible type, the tears that were silent, there was so much pain that it hid everything else, no words could even be bothered to be said. The preacher stood behind the mahogany coffin, reading from his little book with a solemn expression.
Alfred still couldn't believe it, he kept staring at his motionless brother, who lay inside the velvet coffin, with a white suit on, a white rose was laced between his hand that lay on his chest. He was terribly pale, and unlike usual, there was no rise and fall of his chest. His eyelids didn't flutter, or show signs of dreams.
Slowly and without anybody noticing, rain slowly began to fall from the clouds, soaking everyone thoroughly. Francis hardly noticed, he himself was dressed in a black suit, with a grey vest on under it, his usually perfect hair was loose and tumbled down in front of his sea blue eyes. His normal smile was not there, he hadn't bothered to apply one. His mouth was hanging open the slightest bit and his sapphire eyes were dimmed to a dull grey look. Tears were the only glint in his eyes; they filled them and fell over, staining his cheeks.
The preacher finished his words and took a step back, giving a everyone to say their final goodbyes. Francis stayed behind most of the sobbing relatives, wanting to kill them all, they didn't really care, and they never had.
Finally he made his way to the front of the line. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips up against the Canadian's cold forehead.
"I'm so sorry Matthieu, I don't even have anything to say to express how sorry I am…" Francis whispered against his skin, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment and then stood back up, with a final "Je t'aime, Matthieu." he took a step back, allowing the next person their chance.
Alfred was up last, he walked up and looked down at his ghost of a brother. Somehow, a smile formed on his lips.
"Hey Mattie, I-I know you wouldn't want everyone sad; even at your funeral. S-so I'm gonna try to smile, even though you hurt me Mattie, you hurt me a lot. B-But it's all good, because I must have more than hurt you for never realizing how much pain you were in, how broken you were. S-so… so… I wouldn't have wanted anyone else for a brother. Thank you for helping me find Artie. Goodnight Mattie, sleep well."
Alfred walked to the comforting arms of Arthur, and they walked away together. Everyone else left, rushing to their cars to avoid the rain, which was now coming down by the buckets. Francis stood rooted where he was; his cloths already clung to his frame. He watched as the huge machine closed the coffin lid and lowered Matthew into the ground. They threw the dirt on top of the coffin and slowly everyone left.
Francis was left there, standing emptily in front of the tombstone, he held a bouquet of roses in one hand, though he no longer had the will to hold them up and they went falling to the muddy round, their perfect peddles were ruined with the murky mud. Francis looked down at the grave, no tears fell from his eyes, there were none left to cry. Slowly, he turned to walk home, regretting everything since the moment he saw Matthew for the first time the entire way home.
"Francis, yo Francis!" Francis was shaken awake by a nervous sounding American. He bolted up from his original slouched position in the chair. "You're crying." Alfred observed. Francis raised a hand to his face, slowly wiping the tears away.
"So it was a dream…" Francis mused, looking around the hospital waiting room. They had been there for hours, after the ambulance had arrived at Matthew's house, everything had been a huge blur. And somehow Francis was now sitting in the exceedingly uncomfortable chairs of the hospitals waiting room, waiting for a doctor to come out and tell them if his Matthieu was alive.
"What?" Alfred asked, Francis simply shook his head, propping his chin up on the palm of his head, locking his eyes on the door and waiting for someone to come out and tell them something.
It was a terrible feeling. First of all, the seats were hurting EVERYBODIES ass, second; they had no idea if Matthew was alive, third, their hospital food SUCKED. A lady walked out of the door and Francis nearly had a heart attack, she however walked right passed them and to another worried family. Francis watched as their hopeful expressions morphed to worried, sad, and then like their lives were over. The little boy, maybe 5 or 6, grabbed his older sisters hand and looked up at her with his puppy dog eyes, asking where his daddy was.
Francis looked away, that had been terrible to see. Alfred was watching as well, only he had the guts to continue watching until the broken family wandered off.
"Alfred…" Francis said, looking over, he needed to know something, "Matthieu is broken… Do you… do you think we can fix him?" Alfred ran his hand through his hair, Francis noted he looked ten years older than he usually did.
"I… Don't know, Francis, he's so… so hurt, so broken and shattered. It's partially my fault, I never noticed." Alfred continued to speak, ignoring Arthur who protested to his statement, "However, I think it can be done…" he concluded slowly, closing his eyes and resorting to lean up against Arthur.
No one spoke after that, they all waited for news.
Another hour later the same kind nurse that helped Francis re-appeared. She pushed through one of the doors that led out of the O.R and looked around slowly, spotting Francis and the others. She walked over slowly, cradling a chart in her arms. All of the people stood up immediately, searching her face for emotion.
"Please follow me." She said calmly, turning around and walking away. They all followed after her with quick steps, pelting her with questions. Every time she answered with, "we're almost there, one more minute.". Everyone was dying to know if their Matthew was alright, the woman's face was utterly unreadable. Finally they arrived to the end of a long hall, everyone turned as she opened a door. Inside lay Matthew, a pale, half dead looking Matthew, but none the less, he was alive. Alfred took a huge bound forward, sinking to his knees so he was about eyelevel with his unconscious brother. "My name is Elizeveta, so please ask any questions that may arise." The kind nurse said, bringing everyone's attention back to her.
"He… He's alright, right?" Francis asked shakily, fearing her answer. Any number of things could still be wrong, cancer, coma, the possibilities were endless and they made the Frenchman's head spin.
"He lost an incredible amount of blood while we were operating, he coded three times, but yes… If all goes well he should be alright, given a few therapeutic lessons."
"Why is there a tube down his throat?" Alfred asked suddenly, cutting off Elizeveta's next sentence.
"That was my next topic… When he slit his throat, he tore his vocal chords to shreds. We have no way of knowing if the tissue will heal correctly or not-"
"Will he be able to talk?!" Arthur asked suddenly, not having spoke up in forever.
"I… It is a possibility. Or his tissue could heal wrong and he would… he would no longer have the capability to speak." Elizeveta said slowly, biting her lip and looking away from them all. "Anyways, he should be waking up within the next 24 hours, if one of the doctors isn't in the room, make sure he doesn't try to speak, or take the tube out. It would be catastrophic." She said, slowly walking out with one last sad glimpse at the three.
Francis wanted to shove Alfred and Arthur out of the room so he could curl up next to the Canadian and hold him, but that would be rude… Still, Francis seriously considered it.
The world seemed completely and utterly silent, you could practically hear the crickets. Alfred was still of one knee, absentmindedly holding Matthew's hand. Arthur stood behind the American, rubbing his shoulder. Francis was still standing at the door, looking at the three. I should leave, I keep forgetting that Matthieu doesn't know anything. He still thinks I hate him… but I could never bring myself to leave… The Frenchman sighed, closing his thoughts and focusing his attention back on Alfred, who was talking.
"Hey Mattie… I… I'm gonna go, you don't need me here… Y-you need Francis… So I just… I love you, okay?" Alfred said silently, standing up and looking back at Francis, letting the Canadians hand slip out of his, "Can you stay here until he wakes up?" Alfred asked softly, Francis could see it hurt him to leave, but he knew that Francis had to help. Alfred couldn't be the one to fix Matthew, it had to be Francis. So with a final goodbye both Alfred and Arthur left the little white room and closed the door behind them, leaving Francis all alone with the Canadian. He sighed and took a seat next to the frail figure, pausing to brush a piece of hair out of Matthew's eyes.
Francis glanced over at an old clock hanging on the wall, noticing it was near six in the morning and he'd been up all night. The Frenchman simply sighed, he had no obligation to fall asleep, when Matthew woke up, he'd probably be frightened and maybe even mad, and Francis refused to fall asleep. However despite his attempts to stay awake, he finally slumped up against the side of Matthew's bed, his hand never leaving the Canadians.
*The next morning*
Francis woke up with a terrible back ache, his eyes slowly slid open and he sat up, groaning and listening to his back crack in protest. He looked around, remembering the current days events. His eyes immediately snapped to Matthew, who was still sleeping peacefully. Francis noticed his hand was no longer holding Matthew's; he quickly moved his hand forward and grabbed the Canadians again. He ran his thumb over his knuckles, squeezing his hand lightly. Unfortunately there was no reaction from Matthew; the only indication of him being alive was his faint breathing and the steady beeping of the dozens of monitors behind and surrounding the bed.
"Good morning Matthieu." Francis whispered softly, standing up and leaning over to kiss his forehead lightly, "Please wake up soon, I have so much I need to say." He pulled back and sat back down, looking at the clock and noticing it was only 8am. He sighed and closed his eyes again, slumping in the chair.
Nurses were in and out of the room all day, changing IV's and offering to bring in a cot for Francis, who politely declined. Many doctors came in and did their best to determine when the boy would wake up, Francis averaged them all, and got somewhere around tonight or tomorrow morning. The day inched by, and it practically killed Francis. Alfred came halfway through the day and sat with his brother, smiling softly and talking to him even though Francis was convinced Matthew couldn't have heard a word.
Around six in the evening Francis returned home for an hour to change, and he ran by Matthew's house to grab the Canadians hoodie, carefully folding it and placing it inside of the small bag he'd brought from his house. Finally an hour later he drove back to the hospital, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, eager to see Matthew again.
Francis had to park at the back of the parking lot, and he sighed when it started pouring, managing to thoroughly soak him in the fifth teen seconds it took him to run to the front door. He walked in and smiled kindly at the blond girl sitting at the front desk. Earlier that day Francis had learned her name was Lily. She smiled and waved back, returning her concentration to the monitor in front of her. Francis arrived back to Matthew's room to find he hadn't waken, he sighed sadly. Francis knew it may take a while for the Canadian to wake up, but he wanted to see Matthew so badly, he wanted to gaze into his lilac eyes and see him smile again.
Francis dropped his bag under the chair and sat down, watching his chest rise and fall. Francis pulled out a book and cracked it open, trying to read. He finally managed to become indulged in the trilogy. He snapped his head up from his book when he heard something, rather, the absence of something. The little beep beep that usually filled the air, was now replaced with various other sounds.
Francis's heart almost stopped as well.
Doctors rushed in the room, "He's coding!" Francis heard one shout, but all the Frenchman could do was stare down in shock at the pale Canadian. He watched as doctors pulled the top of Matthew's gown down, "Charge to 200!" One of the doctors called, using the shocking paddles. To no avail. The monitor now showed a single strait line, no slopes to show a heart beat.
"Matthieu!" Francis cried out, snapping back into his senses, trying to rush forward. He was stopped by a large doctor who wrapped his large and muscled arms around the panicking Frenchman's waist.
"Sir, you need to leave now." He said, trying to push the Frenchman out of the room. Francis simply ducked under his arms and continued to try to get to his Canadian. "Charge to 250!" The doctor called out in a panic, shocking Matthew again.
By this time Francis had tears brimming in his eyes, the big doctor had succeeded in holding him back. He no longer had any power to resist, and he stood there watching, utterly mortified, as the Canadian's heart refused to start. Francis absolutely refused to cry, and he tried his hardest to. He barely managed not to.
"Charge to 300!" The doctors dried out in one last desperate attempt. The jolt ran through the Canadians body and finally, the monitor started beeping again, and the slow rise and fall of Matthew's chest returned to normal. The doctor slowly released Francis, who took a wobbly step forward and raised his hand slowly, taking hold of Matthew's again. I'll never let go of you again Matthieu, I promise. Francis thought, ignoring the doctors murmuring behind him and focusing on Matthew. "Alright, that was a possible outcome of the surgery, but he's in the clear now. He should be fine." The doctor explained, running a hand through his dark brown hair that was streaked with gray. Francis nodded and sat back down.
The doctors left and Francis broke down. He lay his head on the edge of Matthew's bed and held his hand tightly, his shoulders shook violently with each ragged breath he took. "M-Matthieu, I'm so s-s-sorry." He sobbed, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his teeth. He held Matthew's hand for dear life, trying to choke down his sobs.
Very slowly, Matthew's eyes slid open. He could vaguely feel someone holding his hand, and he could hear sobs, though he could not see whom they were coming from. He looked around the room, wh-what happened? D-did it work, wait, stupid question. Of course it didn't… I can't even end my own life, how pathetic. Matthew thought, very slowly turning his head to see a head of blond hair, it took the Canadian a moment to realize it was none other than Francis. He opened his mouth to say something, or to ask why he was here, but nothing came out. Matthew's eyes widened and he began to panic, Why can't I… why can't I talk?! The terrified Canadian thought, tears pooled in his eyes.
He quickly squeezed Francis's hand for an explanation. The Frenchman shot up from his slumped over position and looked over at Matthew with red and puffy eyes. He immediately used the back of his free hand to wipe away his tears, "M-Matthieu…" He whispered, scooting closer. On instinct, Matthew scooted back and away from him.
Matthew tried to speak again, only earning a searing pain in his throat, he slapped a hand over his throat and found the tube. His eyes widened even more and the tears of panic slid down his cheeks. He tugged weakly at the tube and Francis had to raise his hand quickly and pull the others hand away, even when it made him flinch.
"Shh, Matthieu, let me talk and explain." Francis said, holding his hand down his side so the Canadian couldn't mess with the tube. Francis explained it all to the Canadian, what the doctor said and how long he'd been asleep. He explained in great detail about why Gilbert and Antonio had been at the house, and Francis apologized dozens of times every second, keeping his hand on Matthew's. When he was done he took a deep breath and removed his hand from Matthew's looking deeply into the lilac eyes, practically begging for forgiveness.
Slowly, Matthew held his hand out, trying to reach for the Frenchman weakly. Francis obligated immediately, standing up and sitting on the edge of the bed near him. Matthew looked up at him, tears still gleamed in his eyes. Francis leaned down and kissed away a spare tear, wiping away the rest gently. "Don't cry, mon cher." He purred, changing positions so Matthew could lay on his chest. The frail boy crawled closer to Francis, balling his hands up in his shirt and closing his eyes, whimpering lightly. Not my voice too, not the one thing I thought I couldn't lose… Matthew thought weakly, biting his lower lip.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Francis said, reaching over for his bag. Matthew watched with curious eyes, wondering what he needed. The Frenchman pulled out Matthew's hoodie and handed it to him, watching as the Canadian grabbed it and pulled it close to him, burying his face in the soft material. Francis lay on his side next to him, running a hand down his side comfortingly and pulling the sheets up to Matthew's shoulders. They were both silent for a while, Matthew had slowly slid closer over the course of an hour and was now being cradled in Francis's arms. His eyes were closed and he was completely drained of all energy, he wanted to sleep so badly, but was afraid that this was all a dream, and he'd wake up in a hospital bed all alone, he was worried Francis was too good to be true.
"Matthieu, go to sleep alright? You need it." Francis whispered softly, rocking him back and forth gently. Matthew looked up at him and buried his hands in Francis's shirt, pulling him closer to him. Francis brushed a kiss across his forehead, running a hand up and down Matthew's arm until the smaller boy fell asleep. Francis however stayed awake, cradling him the entire time, occasionally brushing a lock of hair out of Matthew's face.
Around midnight Elizeveta came in, looking down at a chart. She briefly looked up then returned her attention to her charts until it registered in her brain what she'd seen. She snapped her eyes back up and looked at the two in awe. Francis raised a finger to his lips, signaling for the nurse to be quiet. She nodded and walked over.
"So he woke up." She whispered softly, looking down at the sleeping Canadian happily. Francis merely nodded and continued to look down at him. "If you want to wake him up, I can take the tube out now." She said, "Or we can wait until he wakes up." Francis nodded at the second one, knowing that Matthew needed the sleep. Elizeveta nodded and walked out of the room, promising to come back in a few hours.
Francis reached down and repositioned the jacket so it was covering the Canadian better and sighed, this was going to be a long night.
*Three hours later, A.K.A 1:00ish in the morning*
Matthew slowly found consciousness after a few extra hours of rest. He found himself still resting against Francis, who was holding a book open with one hand, reading it intently. So it wasn't a dream… Matthew thought happily, opening his eyes a bit wider and squirming around slightly, he had slept on his arm wrong and now it was asleep. Francis looked up from his book and smiled, setting his book down and turning his full attention to the Canadian.
"Bonjour Matthieu, did you sleep well?" He asked cheerfully, Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but yet again nothing came out. He frowned and bit his lip, to no avail, not one sound. He finally nodded in response, frustrated at his lack of speech. Francis noted his distress and spoke up again, "Elizeveta, a very kind nurse here, said she could take the tube out when you woke up. So hopefully you'll be able to take again soon." Francis said, and as if on cue, the Hungarian nurse walked in, smiling happily and cradling a chart under her arm.
"Hello Matthew, I'm Elizeveta, I can take that annoying tube out now." She said, taking a step forward and leaning over, slowly and carefully taking the tube out. Matthew closed his eyes and held onto Francis's shirt tightly, not at all liking the uncomfortable feeling of having something sliding out of his throat. Soon the nurse recoiled, finishing and walking out, taking the annoying tube out with her. She paused at the door, "Matthew, don't strain yourself. If you can't talk right away, just take a breath, alright?" She said, walking out of the room and leaving the two.
Matthew opened his mouth and tried to speak, this time only a small sound emitted from his lips that sounded similar to a groan. Francis patted his shoulder sympathetically, silently motioning for him to stop.
"Let's not strain your throat alright mon cher? It will all return soon enough." Francis cooed, Matthew just huffed in response. "Oh yes, I almost forgot…" Francis mused, reaching over and ruffling through his bag. He pulled out his cell phone, searching through his contacts for a moment before calling.
"Bonjour Alfred." Francis said cheerfully into the phone.
"Francis, what's wrong? Did something happen?" The American voice asked warily into the phone. Francis just realized it was a few hours after midnight and Alfred had probably been sleeping.
"Non non, everything is great. Matthieu woke up!~" Francis said happily, Matthew simply closed his eyes and lay up against his boyfriend, savoring the warmth and protection he'd never felt before.
"Seriously?! Dude, I'll be right there!" Alfred said over the line. Francis could hear a tired sounding Brit on the other end of the phone, asking what he was doing and telling him to get his ass back to bed.
"Alfred, it is two in the morning-…"
Francis looked down at his phone and sighed, he was pretty sure it wasn't even visiting hours. When they'd asked Francis to leave he just hissed at them and told them to fuck off. He looked down at the Canadian who was looking up at him questioningly as if saying, 'hug me?'.
The Frenchman smiled softly and wrapped his arms around him, one around his lower back and one resting on his shoulder blades and rubbing small circles on his back. Matthew sighed happily and leaned into Francis, becoming lost in his own world.
Two short weeks later Matthew was finally allowed to leave the hospital. Originally Matthew was going to go back home, but when they tried to pry him away from Francis, he started shaking and refusing. So long story short, Matthew was now sitting in the passenger's seat of the Frenchman's car, looking around lazily from window to window, not having been outside of the hospital in what seemed like forever. Francis had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road with such an adorable little Canadian sitting in the seat next to him. His hand had already roamed over to the Canadians, and now their fingers were interlaced loosely, each finger fit perfectly as if it were meant to be.
"Francis…" Matthew said quietly, his voice was even wispier than before, if it was possible. He was still struggling to re-gain his speech, some days were better than others. Sometimes his throat felt raw, and Matthew could practically taste the blood in his throat. Thankfully, usually his days were good.
"Yes, mon cher?" Francis asked, glancing over then having to force his eyes back on the road so he didn't crash. Matthew looked away, his hands messing with a string on his hoodie. He was silent for a minute as he looked out over the cliff they were driving near, he could see the ocean colliding with the shore, and the few people lazily walking along the pearly sand.
"Thank you… for helping me…" He whispered, looking back sheepishly, the smallest trace of a smile was hanging on his lips. His lips. Francis could just stare at them all day, they were beautiful and helped make Matthew, Matthew. The Frenchman looked at his adorable little Matthew, at his vivid lilac eyes that peered over his glasses. At his divine jaw line and kissable neck. He could stare at him; just a picture of him was enough to kill Francis.
"Of course…" Was all Francis could mumble, he was so mesmerized by him. This time it took all his man power to break his stare from Matthews, he gently squeezed the Canadian's hand. Matthew smiled over at him and squeezed back.
A few minutes later they arrived a Francis's house; Francis slowly halted the car and pocketed the keys, getting out and walking to the other side of the car, holding the door open for Matthew.
They walked in the house, Francis was pleased to find it was vacant, mainly the fact it was vacant of his father. Francis's father was by no means a bad man, he was a doctor, and he saved lives every day. But he was strict, and usually unfair, and he despised gay people. Yep, Francis hadn't told his father yet. All this time that he'd been at the hospital, his father thought he was staying at a friend's house and studying for his killer ACT's that were just around the corner.
Francis walked up the stairs, keeping Matthew's hand in his. They walked into Francis's room a minute later, the tired Canadian sat on the huge and fluffy duvet; Francis sat next to him and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy. Francis leaned forward, causing the Canadian to fall back onto the bed, Francis landing on top of him.
Matthew looked up and blushed, smiling sheepishly and hesitantly snaking his arms around Francis's neck. Francis chuckled, leaning down to finally close the space between them. Matthew let his eyes flutter shut as he melted into the kiss. Our lips fit perfectly… they both thought at the exact time as Francis leaned down, tilting his head slightly so their noses didn't smash together. The Frenchman placed one hand on Matthew's hip, and the other ran through his hair. His legs were straddling Matthew's hips and held him above him so his weight would not crush the smaller boy. Francis felt Matthew's tongue brush across his lip gently, and for a moment he thought that he'd imagined it. Until he felt it again, slightly harder this time. Francis un-hesitantly opened his mouth and snaked his tongue through the Canadians lips, searching his mouth thoroughly and earning a small moan.
Matthew had to pull back, gasping slightly. He looked up at his boyfriend and giggled nervously. (( A/N: because boys giggling….. completely sexy XD))
"Hungry mon cher?" Francis cooed in a voice that would make a strait man go gay. The clock next to the bed read 8:00pm, and the sky was slowly morphing into a deep indigo color, and the little white stars began to shine. As if on cue, Matthew's stomach growled and he slowly nodded. "Let me cook for you?" Francis asked, earning another nod.
"I've been… eager to try your cooking." Matthew admitted, Francis chuckled and pecked his lips quickly before sitting up, sliding to his feet and offering a hand for him.
"Then let's not make you wait any longer." Francis said; ready to make a hell of a meal.
Francis prepared a divine meal, and Matthew truly had to lick his plate off it was so good. After that, Matthew silently asked if they could watch a movie, which Francis happily obliged to. He grabbed a blanket for them and led the Canadian into the living room, sitting him on the couch and handing him a book of CD's to choose from. Matthew decided on a movie called Avatar, Francis slipped it in the player and the movie began.
Francis sat next to Matthew and wrapped the blanket around the smaller boys shoulders. Halfway through Matthew yawned and lay down, resting his head in Francis's lap. Francis; who was not paying an ounce of attention to the movie, ran a hand through the boys hair, brushing locks of the blond hair out of his eyes. Matthew cuddled into Francis and looked up at him.
"Je t'aime Matthieu." Francis whispered, leaning down and gently kissing Matthew's forehead.
"Je t'aime aussi." He whispered back, falling asleep in the Frenchman's arms. His Frenchman. Matthew had never slept as well as he did that night.
Author's Note: Taa-daa!~ I was actually going to kill Mattie, butttt all you guies said no so oh well, I can save the character death for another day. Anyways thank you all so much for the comments and I hope you can comment on this chapter as well and just say what you thought of it.
THANKSIES FOR READING, PEACE OUT MAN!