"Train C will be leaving in five minutes, I repeat, Train C will be leaving in five minutes." Matthew smiled to himself. Finally, after two years, he was going to visit his beloved boyfriend…
His fantasies ended when a woman bumped into him, making his drop his luggage. "Oh, maple…" He muttered, bending down to pick up his things. The woman casually glanced back at him.
"Sorry, didn't see you." She said before rushing off. Matthew's smile faded.
"No one ever does," He whispered, hugging a bag with his things to his chest. He boarded his train, sitting as far away from others as possible. Several times, a passenger would attempt to sit in his seat, only to find that Matthew was sitting there already. He sighed inwardly when a short young man with messy blonde hair and thick eyebrows approached him.
"Is this seat taken?" He asked in a thick English accent, pointing to the seat next to Matthew.
"Oh…no." said Matthew, watching the man as he sat next to him. He smiled calmly at Matthew.
"How're you today?" He said. Was it normal to be so forward in Britain, or was he just being polite?
"Fine, thank you. You?"
"Brilliant." A long silence filled the air.
"If…you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here in France?" Matthew asked meekly. The Brit's face immediately flushed red.
"I'm, er, seeing a friend." He said, clearing his throat awkwardly. Matthew smiled.
"Me too," The man looked up, shocked.
"Really?" Matthew nodded. "Hm. Small world. So what's your name?"
"Matthew. Matthew Williams," The man smiled kindly, holding a hand out for Matthew to shake.
"Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure." Matthew shook hands with Arthur, slightly pleased with himself for making a new friend. However, this short conversation ended just moments later when they both had to get off ("Funny, how we're the same stop!") and head in opposite directions. Matthew wondered if he would ever see Arthur again.
On his way to the hotel room he had booked just days previous, he had also wondered whether his boyfriend, Francis, would remember him. His heart sank when he thought of what would happen if he didn't; he would be stuck in France for two weeks with nothing to do. Maybe he could tour the place! No, he knew it like the back of his hand. Maybe he could sit in the hotel room all day and just eat pancakes and ice cream. Perhaps he could visit some old friends, though he doubted they'd remember him.
After all, no one else seemed to.
Matthew unlocked to hotel room, settling down into a chair to rest his tired feet after flinging his luggage to a corner. He looked around the large room. Black curtains hung across the floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark-wood desk in the corner, a television on the dresser, and two nightstands on either side of the king-sized bed in the center of the room. A vase with a single iris in it was placed on each nightstand. Matthew smiled. He had always admired French design techniques.
But the thing that really caught his attention was a single leaf of the desk at the other end of the room. He slowly rose to his feet, making his way to the desk. If this was what he thought it was…
He picked up he leaf, gasping with pleasure. "A maple leaf…!" He said to himself aloud.
"Oui, indeed it is." A voice floated from the other side of the room, causing Matthew to jump slightly and drop the leaf. He watched it float to the floor. The owner of the voice was leaning on the doorway to the bathroom, the darkness shading his face. "Bonjour, Mathieu. Long time, no see." He stepped from the doorway, grinning. Matthew whipped around to face him, immediately bounding forward to hug Francis.
"Oh, Francis…! I've missed you…How'd you get in here?" Matthew asked, looking up at Francis.
"I have my ways." He said, quickly pulling Matthew into a heated kiss. Oh, how wonderful this felt! Kissing Francis like this after two years…words couldn't even describe how amazing it was. When they pulled away, Matthew was crying.
"Y-you remembered me…" He said, rubbing his tears away on the sleeve of his red sweatshirt."
"Of course, mon cher!" Francis exclaimed, taking both of Matthew's hands in his. "Je t'aime!"
Matthew melted at his words. "Je t'aime aussi, Francis…" He once again kissed Francis gently on the lips, smiling more than he ever had in two years.
"Now I must ask," Francis said when they broke apart, sounding unnaturally serious. "Why are you here?" Matthew's smile faded.
"T-to see you, Francis…" He whispered. Francis took Matthew's chin between his pointer finger and thumb, forcing him to look up at him.
"Mathieu," He said in a lowered voice, "we agreed to stay away from each other for a while." Matthew blinked hard. His vision was starting to blur…
"I couldn't stand being apart for so long," He said, swallowing his tears. Francis removed his hands from Matthew's waist, sighing to himself. He turned on his heels to the door, leaving without a word.
Matthew's head was spinning. What just happened? Did Francis remember why they decided to keep apart?
~Two Years Previous~
"I'll be back, Alfred. I just have to use to bathroom real quick." Matthew whispered to his brother during a meeting. He dismissed himself, quickly rushing down the hallway in search of the bathroom. He turned down a hallway, not really sure of where he was going. That's when he heard the voices.
"Fra- Oh, stop…!" A woman giggled, and Matthew froze in his tracks at what he heard next.
"Shh, mon cher, someone will hear!" Matthew turned a corner, only to see his boyfriend and another woman pressed against the wall, their lips locked together and Francis's hand slowly sliding up his shirt.
Francis Bonnefoy, his Francis, was cheating on him with a woman.
"Francis," Matthew said finally. Francis pulled away from the woman quickly, looking at Matthew in alarm.
"Non, it's not what you think…!"
"Who is this?" The woman asked, her hands on her hips.
"I'm his boyfriend." Matthew said clearly. The woman's mouth gaped open.
"Francis, I don't remember you mentioning a boyfriend." She said, staring intently at the French man beside her.
"That's okay. No one ever does." Matthew muttered, rushing off.
"Mathieu-!" Francis shouted, but the Canadian was already down the hall and out of earshot.
Matthew laid face-down on the bed in his hotel room. He couldn't believe he had come all the way out to France, only for Francis to reject him!
No. This wasn't going to be accepted. Matthew picked up a sheet of paper with Francis's address on it, shoved his wallet in his back pocket, then rented a bike and rode down the streets of Paris to Francis's apartment building. He slowly made his way to room 206, raising his fist to the door. When he knocked, he was greeted by not Francis, but the green-eyed Brit from the train.
"Arthur," Matthew breathed. Arthur blinked in confusion.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" He said. An arm snaked around his waist and Francis joined them at the door. He froze with shock.
"Mathieu, I told you…" He started, removing his arm from Arthur's waist.
"Not again, Francis." Matthew scowled, attempting to keep his anger from bubbling to the surface.
"Matthew, hear me out, s'il vous plait-"
"No." He said forcefully. "Every time I leave you alone, you go and flirt up someone else. Two years, and you still haven't changed. I've had enough, Francis! I'm done! We're done! Okay?" He took a step towards Francis, who had backed away, bumping into the coffee table. Arthur slipped away to the kitchen, not willing to be a part of this argument.
"Please, use some common sense!" Francis begged as Matthew stalked into the kitchen to meet Arthur, a murderous glint in his violet eyes.
"Oh, Mr. Kirkland. How I've waited for this moment." He growled, causing Arthur to stumble back into the counter.
"What the bloody hell do you want? I don't even know you! Have we met before?!" He said, rising panic in his voice.
"Maybe we have. Maybe we haven't." Matthew said darkly, reaching for a kitchen knife. He backed the British man into a corner, holding the silver knife dangerously close to the place above his heart. "But I'll help you remember."
"Now wait just a tic, what do yo-" Matthew never heard the rest of Arthur's question, for he allowed the knife to pierce through the skin of Arthur's chest, digging deeply into his body to his heart. Arthur quickly paled, his grip on Matthew's sweatshirt loosened, and he dropped to the tiled floor like a weight.
"ARTHUR!" Francis's scream was not mistaken as he rushed for his dead lover, immediately dropping to his knees and glaring at Matthew. "What the hell did you just do?!"
Matthew smiled sickly. "Getting rid of a distraction."
"You killed him!"
"And?" Matthew's expression went blank. "I suppose you would love to join him in hell, wouldn't you?" Francis looked horrified.
"Mathieu…" He paused, gasping for air when he realized Matthew had driven the knife straight through his stomach. He doubled over in pain, lying next to the already-dead Arthur, tears streaming down his cheeks. "W-who are you?"
"I'm Matthew Williams." He said, glaring.
"…I don't…remember this side of you…" Francis sucked in his last breath, closing his eyes as his body went limp.
"That's okay," Matthew said for what seemed like the twentieth time that day. "No one ever does."