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It was kind of funny, really. How this whole thing started, and no one truly remembered just why it started.
…
Ok, so it really wasn’t all that funny. Or uncommon. No, their family, despite their best efforts, was dysfunctional at best. Perhaps on the surface, they looked much better than what they truly were if someone would have attempted to dive a little deeper. Imagine, two fathers who loved each other unconditionally and had stable, well-paying jobs while housing their lovely, yet all too different, twin sons. For some, they supposed they looked like some sort of model family.
That was anything but the case, however.
While Francis and Arthur, the fathers of the family, were quite loving with each other and devout husbands, their parenting skills left little to be desired.
Matthew, the eldest of the twin boys was scholarly, moving up the ranks of his class with a staggering 4.0 GPA. At this rate, he was well on his way to becoming valedictorian of his grade. He was practically a model student, also having hobbies such as being the star player of his high school’s hockey team.
Despite all of his accomplishments, his parents had the tendency to be slightly forgetful about him. Matthew liked to chalk it up to the fact that he was rather quiet in nature, so his presence was easy to miss, but even so, he couldn’t help the slight tug he felt at his heart whenever his parents forgot to include him with familial activities or mistook him for his younger brother. When he was younger, he was rather resentful of his brother for seeming to take up the spotlight that was their parents’ attention. But as he grew older, he realized the limelight that Alfred received was anything but just sweet sweet symphonies. Even so, their parents had gotten better at remembering Matthew’s presence, especially Francis, but even still, they weren’t perfect, and Matthew didn’t ever expect them to be. Perfection is unachievable, no matter how hard one might strive for it.
And no one knew that better than Alfred.
Alfred was almost the exact opposite of Matthew. While he did have an affiliation with the baseball team, he wasn’t by any means scholarly and quite hated most of his classes. That wasn’t to say he was failing necessarily because he wasn’t. The lowest grade he probably obtained was a C, but to Arthur, the letter grade wasn’t good enough. To be completely honest, Arthur and Alfred’s relationship had always been like that, Arthur having exceedingly high expectations for the younger twin that he was always just shy of achieving, but Matthew seemed to do so with such ease. No matter what Alfred did, it wasn’t good enough for Arthur. Thus, the arguments began and became more and more frequent. Matthew and Francis did their best to deter them or at least extinguish the flames a small bit, but it was usually always for naught. Damages had been done, and neither of the two was good with words or all that open about their feelings.
And so the cracks and fragments of their relationship stayed splintered and shattered.
Even so, Matthew was certain that the two loved each other. They had to. Matthew noticed the way Arthur would smile longingly at old family pictures of the four of them, lightly brushing his thumbs over the faces of his children that have long since grown and would be soon heading for college once their senior year came to a close. And Alfred, as much as he denied it, did his absolute best to please Arthur in any way he possibly could, even having sought out a tutor for the classes he was slightly lagging behind in.
They were dysfunctional, sure, but what family wasn’t? They still loved each other, and that was all that mattered.
…
Well, perhaps communication was good to have, too. If they had that, perhaps fights like the one that Arthur and Alfred were knee-deep in now wouldn’t happen.
Alfred and Arthur stood in the middle of the living room, the petite Englishman standing taut with his arms folded over his chest, thick eyebrows slanted down crossly as he continuously shouted at the taller teenager who had his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his bomber jacket he’d received from their dads several Christmases ago. Francis stood somewhat close to Arthur, just about a shoulder away, to ensure nothing got too out of hand, or at the very least that Arthur didn’t say anything too detrimental to their son. Matthew was serving a similar role, but for Alfred instead, standing much further away from his twin than Francis was to Arthur.
Thinking back on it now, Matthew did remember how this all started. A review of their recent report cards gave Arthur all the insight he needed on Alfred’s English grade, which just so happened to be that dreaded C that he just couldn’t get up no matter how hard he tried.
“Bloody hell, I’m an English professor, Alfred! Would it kill you to come and ask me for help in areas you don’t understand?” Arthur had accused venomously.
Alfred had grit his teeth, doing his best to keep himself composed under his father’s hateful eye. “Actually, it would!” He stated furiously. “I’m already trying my hardest, and I really don’t need a prolonged session of you pointing out all of the things I’m doing wrong willfully! I’m getting help, but it just isn’t working! I’m not as good at English as you, and I’m sorry for that. But I really am trying!”
“Well, I could hardly tell!” Arthur bit. “Honestly, Alfred, it isn’t that difficult. If you just applied yourself more, I’m sure you could bring that grade up no problem!”
At this, even Matthew felt a stir in his chest. He knew for a fact that Alfred had been applying himself in every way imaginable just to make their dad happy, and he wasn’t being given the credit he deserved. “Dad…” Matthew said quietly, as if in warning, but if Arthur heard it, he gave no indication.
“Dad, I really am trying!” Alfred insisted, the anger in his tone almost dissolving into something that Matthew would dare to call pleading. “Ask Toris! He’s been the one tutoring me. He says I’ve been improving, it’s just implementing those improvements into tests where I’m having trouble, and even then, it isn’t too much trouble. A C is average!”
“That may be so, but if your brother can get an A, why can’t you?” Arthur accused. “You’re always lagging behind him. Where he excels, you seem to fail. Maybe it’s that bloody sport, baseball. If we remove you from the team, you’ll have more time to focus on your studies!”
“Dad, no. God, no. Please don’t take that away from me. It’s the only outlet I have! I’ll go nuts without it!”
“It doesn’t seem to be doing you much good! Alfred, you’re behind on your grades, and if you’re not prancing about on some sort of baseball field, you’re out causing mischief and the like! I’m sick of constantly having to be concerned for where you’re at or who you’re with!”
Matthew couldn’t deny that Alfred had the tendency to be reckless. He was by no means a criminal who deserved to be locked behind bars, but he had, on more than one occasion, come home intoxicated. Matthew had been able to cover for him a few times, but ultimately Francis and Arthur found out, and that in and of itself was a war within their household. Matthew couldn’t say that his parents’ reactions were in the wrong, as he, too, was concerned for his little brother, but he also believed that Arthur tended to hold those situations over his head more so than Francis did.
“ Mon amour, I think taking Alfred’s baseball away from him is a bit much, non ?” Francis tried to chime in, but Arthur promptly whirled around to meet the eyes of the Frenchman.
“I think not,” he hissed, emerald eyes ablaze with anger. “He’s completely out of control, Francis!”
“Right, because I’m always up to no good or something completely and utterly vile, am I correct?” Alfred butted back in, the desperation that had once swam pitifully in his sky blue eyes once again forming into that nasty anger Matthew was so accustomed to seeing.
“I don’t appreciate the tone in which you said that,” Arthur threw over his shoulder, not having turned away from Francis. “But if you’d be so respectful as to remove the snark from your voice, I’d simply have to agree with you. If you could just be more like your brother, these fights wouldn’t happen.”
Matthew felt nauseous that Arthur kept throwing his name around as if it was some kind of trophy that Alfred should be bowing to.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not my brother,” Alfred ground out between clenched teeth, eyes squinted dangerously narrow. “I’m not a goody two shoes. I’m not perfect in all things I do. I’m an academic failure who only seems to be good for sports. I’m not well mannered like he is. I’m the asshole at school everyone tries to evade. I’m not Matthew. I’ll never be Matthew. I’m just the fuck up kid that you got stuck with. And maybe that’s just because I’m a bad kid, but did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s also because you’re a bad dad?”
“Alfred!” Matthew interjected with shock, the younger never having gone so far with his words before.
But the argument wasn’t finished there, no. Arthur never was one for allowing anyone else to have the final word in a fight, so why would this be an exception?
“You know, I sometimes wonder why we ever adopted you! We would’ve been just fine with Matthew alone!”
“Arthur!” Francis’s voice, thick with his French accent, cut through the air with rage and horror.
Alfred’s hands clenched into fists, a deep scowl growing across his face, but Matthew knew better than to believe that his brother was simply angry. Those sky blue eyes hid a storm that was threatening to unleash its torrential downpour at any given moment. “I wish you hadn’t adopted me either, so I wouldn’t have to have you as such a lousy father!”
“Alfred!” Matthew cried out in shock, mouth hung agape.
Before any more words could be exchanged, Alfred let out a cry of frustration before turning towards the front door and sprinting out of it, leaving his stunned family behind without so much as another word.
Matthew feared the worst of where this could potentially go and followed as quickly behind as possible. “Alfie!” He yelled, running out the front door. Arthur and Francis could hear him yell a final, “Alfred!” before eventually all fell silent, neither boy returning to the inside of the house.
The tension between the remaining men was thick. The Frenchman was seething with anger while the Englishman could only gaze at the shut front door with a pained look of guilt and regret.
“Arthur,” Francis nearly growled at the shorter man, “you’ve gone much too far.”
Arthur took in a shaky breath, willing tears to not accumulate in his eyes. He knew he’d gone too far the moment the words left his mouth, them tasting of bitter poison and lies that he wished had closed his throat up tight so as to not let the vile words fly out. “I’m quite aware.”
“Your awareness is not fixing the problem,” Francis pushed, blue eyes radiating rage. “These fights are constant. And while it’s not true for all, you instigate most of them. Arthur, this can’t keep going on! One day you’re going to say something so irreversibly damaging that he’s going to want to leave or he’s going to do something so unspeakably worse. I don’t know what’s going on with you, mon amour , but it needs to stop immediately .”
“I know that!” Arthur snapped, balled fists being thrown down to his sides in frustration as he whirled around to meet Francis’s gaze. “I’m trying, I really am, but I just…” he trailed off, the anger in his voice choking himself up as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “I just…” he didn’t know what he could say. He was by no means trying to justify his actions because he knew that they were unjustifiable from the start, but he wasn’t sure how to explain himself. He’d just told Alfred that he wished he had never taken him. He’d told Alfred he wished he wasn’t his son. He told Alfred that he basically hated him. He… God, he was a terrible father, wasn’t he? He’d really just…he’d…oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god .
“Arthur?”
He’d always said he wouldn’t turn into his father. He was going to be loving and gentle and patient and he’d love his kids no matter what. They’d want for nothing. They’d feel supported, and they would always know that they were wanted, and they would never ever turn out like Arthur had in his teen years because they knew their worth. Arthur had promised himself that the moment he and Francis had talked to their friend about adopting her babies once they were born since she couldn’t support them. Now eighteen years later, he realized he was failing, failing, failing, as his father had all those years ago, and there was no way to patch this up. His boys were practically grown. They’d be leaving soon if they so chose, and Arthur was losing time to fix things with his youngest son. He was crippled, drowning in all of his doubts, regrets, and fears and was falling, falling, falling deeper and deeper into the dark chasm that was his own mistakes.
“Arthur, mon amour , breathe.”
He’d ruined everything . His entire family was in shambles, and it was all his fault. All because he couldn’t get over himself and get out of his own head. Francis and Matthew were beyond furious with him for constantly tearing their family further and further apart, as they should be. They were enraged with him for tearing Alfred down, down, down all because he was scared for his son and couldn’t handle the issues in an appropriate manner. His precious son was doing as best as he could. And all Arthur could do was see his flaws and compare him to Matthew. God, he was just like his father.
“I’ve…ruined everything.”
The Englishman’s knees buckled out from underneath him. He could faintly feel a pair of hands attempting to keep him upright, but he gave little to mind to them. He could only succumb to the painful and guilt filled thoughts that slammed against his skull relentlessly, echoing off of his bones and rattling harsher and harsher within his ears.
“I…what have I done?” He wheezed out, barely noticing when the carpeting met his knees and when his back was leaned up against the couch. “I’ve…I just told…Alfred, God , Francis, what have I done?”
“ Mon amour , breathe,” Francis stated firmly. “You won’t be of any help if you’re panicking.”
Right, so he wouldn’t be. The Frenchman had a point there. Arthur did his best to bring his racing thoughts to a halt, to make his breathing once again stable, but doing so proved to be arduous, guilt constantly ebbing at his shot nerves. Eventually, though, his breath came to be even, if not slightly shaky from unshed tears.
Francis opened his mouth to speak but cut himself off when the two heard the door open. Their heads quickly shifted to see who had entered, and while Arthur was glad to see Matthew, he was slightly disappointed to see him not accompanied by his younger twin. “Matthieu,” Francis said quietly, “where’s Alfred?”
Matthew shook his head, his curl bouncing slightly as he rubbed his elbows with his hands, the boy having gone outside into the cold December air for at least ten minutes without a coat. “He left. Took his truck with him. I’m not sure where he went, but he said he needed to clear his head, and he couldn’t be here to do that. I offered to go with him, but he said he needed to be alone for a little bit. He’ll be back within the night. He always is.” The way he said it made it sound as though Matthew was saying it more so to convince himself that his counterpart would return.
“I’m sure he’ll be home within a couple of hours or so,” Francis thought aloud, Matthew nodding in agreement.
The eighteen-year-old’s gaze turned from worried to angry as his eyes fell upon his dad, seething from the words the older had spoken just moments ago. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to say something like that to him,” Matthew said lowly. “I get it that you two don’t have the best relationship, but Dad, he really is trying. Trust me. And I know that Alfred isn’t the easiest person to get along with, either. He can be selfish, loud, arrogant, and annoying very very often, but he’s done absolutely nothing that would ever constitute you telling him that you shouldn’t have adopted him. Dad, I love you, but you’ve genuinely made me sick tonight.”
Arthur was sick with himself.
“Thank you, Matthieu, but I’ll take it from here. We’re going to have a long talk,” Francis said pointedly, gaze flicking over to the Englishman with that sense of anger that hasn’t diminished in the slightest. Not that Arthur expected it to. Not that he wanted it to. He was angry with himself and then some.
Matthew nodded at his papa’s words, walking away from the two and up the stairs, muttering a quiet “ Je t’aime .”
Once the younger blonde was out of earshot, Francis sighed and moved slightly away from the calmer Arthur, gaze falling to the carpeted floor. “This has gone on long enough,” he mumbled. “I won’t say it’s all your fault. That would be incorrect and immature. You were clearly in the wrong, but sometimes so is Alfred. He can be reckless and irresponsible, and those are concerning behaviors that need to be addressed. But as Matthieu and Alfred’s father as well, it’s my job to ensure they’re safe and happy. I haven’t come to Alfred’s aid as I should have, and I haven’t talked to you and intervened like I should have, and I haven’t taken Alfred’s reckless behavior as seriously as I should have. But that ends tonight . I don’t care what steps we need to take. I want us all to be happy again. Please, mon amour , tell me what’s going on so we can work to fix this strained relationship between you and Alfred.”
Shame burned bright in Arthur’s stomach, so much so he briefly thought he might vomit. Between the firm yet still somehow gentle voice of his husband and the words his twins had both left him with, Arthur was all but swimming in a sea of guilt and regret. Arthur couldn’t meet Francis’s gaze, instead staring at the wall behind him. “I just…” he began slowly, “I just see so much of me in him,” Arthur almost whispered.
Francis’s face held a look of incredulity, mouth wide open as if he was about to yell his inquiry of how that relates to the arguments before a look of realization blazed in his eyes. “Arthur-”
“No, no, listen . He’s just like me when I was his age just on a slightly smaller scale. He has no regard for his safety, his grades are slipping, he sneaks out, and he drinks without us knowing. Francis, he’s just like me.”
“Now, Arthur hold on a minute,” Francis interjected, taking Arthur’s hand into his own. “Yes, there are many similarities you two share, and yes he is portraying some very concerning behavior, but even so your approach to these topics are all wrong,” Francis brought a gentle hand to Arthur’s shoulder, rubbing it softly. “I know you have many regrets from your youth, and reasonably so. But Alfred doesn’t know why you’re so worried. As of now, he thinks you’re just being a connard , and to an extent you have been one. You need to explain the issues in a way that doesn’t incorporate yelling or harmful words. And you need to let yourself not get blindsided by the hardships of your past. The more you allow your problems to interfere, the harder time you’re going to have talking to Alfred. Arthur, you need to see that some of the problems you’re fretting about aren’t anything to be too concerned about. Yes, the drinking and sneaking out are concerning, but yelling isn’t going to resolve it. You know that better than any of us. And his grades…Arthur, I know you want the boys to get all A’s, but that isn’t always feasible. Sure, Matthew can do it rather easily, but academics have always come easily to him. That isn’t the case with Alfred, and even so, it’s not like he’s failing . It might not be what you want to see, but C’s aren’t anything to get worked up about. The things you did at his age were deplorable, yes, but he hasn’t gotten to that degree, and if we handle these situations correctly, he won’t.”
Arthur nodded, drawing his knees up to his chest and leaning heavily against the couch. “You’re right.” You’re always right , he wanted to add but for the time being didn’t.
The two fell into a momentary silence, Arthur giving a gentle sniffle every now and again. In attempts to lighten the mood, Francis gave a weak smirk. “I’m going to need to get that in writing.”
Arthur rolled his eyes, a watery laugh escaping his lips. “In your dreams, frog.”
Francis pursed his lips in thought, directing his gaze from Arthur to the floor. He loved his family dearly, and he knew the others did, too. But he also wasn’t so naive as to think that a couple family talks would suddenly make all of their problems vanish into thin air. They all had things to work on and address, and the moment they slipped up and let their attempts at healing falter, he knew they’d just slip back down into the same routine they’d been trapped in. They needed something that would be consistent and intensive.
Something like…
“Maybe we should try family therapy,” Francis suggested in a hushed voice.
Arthur startled, eyes widening and squirming slightly away from the Frenchman. “What?” He asked surprisedly.
Francis looked back up at Arthur again, all hilarity having left his face. “Hear me out,” he pressed pleadingly. “Berwald and Tino have been going to couples therapy considering Berwald has such a difficult time expressing himself, and it’s done their relationship wonders. If we do family therapy, and I mean all of us, I think it would genuinely benefit us.”
Arthur bit his lip, mulling over the idea. He had never been one to ask for help when it came to himself alone, so asking for help in regards to his entire family certainly made him uncomfortable. To admit outwardly to a complete stranger that their family was going through hardships bigger than them was not at all appealing. “I don’t know, Francis.”
“Arthur, mon amour, please,” Francis begged, grasping tightly at Arthur’s hand and looking the younger man in the eyes. “At this rate, our family is going to run itself into the ground. Alfred is only going to be able to take so much before he snaps, and we both know Matthieu would follow him to the ends of the world. If Alfred leaves, so will Matthieu. It will tear us both apart until there’s nothing left of us but shreds. I cannot imagine what Alfred and Matthieu must be feeling right now,” Francis said, voice trailing off as his eyebrows furrowed down in concern.
And another pang of guilt sharply stabbed itself into Arthur’s chest.
Parenting, in short, was difficult. He knew going into it that it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but he never expected it to be anything like this. He was always terrified of doing it because of what his father subjected him to. But that’s where Arthur supposed he and his father differed.
While Arthur stuck his roots deep into the family, his father cowered away and ran.
He wasn’t going to be like his dad in that aspect.
Hesitantly, Arthur gripped Francis’s hand back and nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “If you believe it’ll help our family, I don’t see why we shouldn’t give it a shot.”
Francis let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, a tired smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Arthur.”
Arthur shook his head, scoffing slightly. “Don’t thank me. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me. I still can’t believe I just…that I told Alfred…God, Francis I’m such a terrible father,” Arthur removed his hand from the Frenchman’s, instead burying his face in them. “He’s my son. One of the brightest lights of my life. And I told him I wished we hadn’t adopted him. Why would I say such a horrendous thing like that? I didn’t mean it, not in the slightest.”
Francis sighed, folding his hands and looking away from the ball Arthur had effectively curled himself into. “We say things we don’t mean when we’re angry,” he stated plainly. “That doesn’t excuse what’s happened. I’m still quite livid with you, if I’m honest. But I know you didn’t mean to say that to Alfred…as he did not mean what he said to you.”
Arthur highly doubted the last statement from his husband but said nothing of it. He wouldn't blame Alfred for meaning it or saying it. He sure as hell felt like a lousy father and worse.
Arthur’s silence was enough to convey to the Frenchman exactly what he was thinking. “Hey,” Francis coaxed gently, sending Arthur a small smile when he watched emerald eyes peeking out from behind pale fingers, “you’re not like your dad if that’s what’s going through your brain.”
Francis could remember the day Arthur’s father left with crystal clarity. They’d both been young, maybe when Arthur was thirteen and Francis was fourteen. Francis had never seen his best friend so upset, even the London sky had been crying along with him. Arthur would never admit it, but Francis knew that that day had impacted Arthur more than the younger man was willing to admit. It had shone quite brightly through Arthur’s teenage years, hence his rebellish behavior, and within their waiting of adopting the twins. Francis knew that the harmful effects of Arthur’s past often seeped into his parenting.
Another reason why he thought they needed therapeutic intervention.
Arthur tensed slightly at the comment, but otherwise remained silent. Francis always had been able to read Arthur like a book.
Francis sighed, scooching a little closer and throwing an arm over Arthur’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to the Englishman’s temple. “We’ll overcome this. Together. As a family.”
As a family . God, that felt nice to hear.
For a moment, the two sat there in silence, sitting on their living room floor and pondering on the changes that were going to occur, Francis rubbing Arthur’s shoulder every now and again in reassurance. Yes, he was still very angry with Arthur, but he knew that Arthur understood his errors and wanted to work through the problems. He wanted to grow.
And for that, Francis was thankful.
A few minutes more, and Francis moved his arm away from Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m going to head to our room, but I’m going to stay up until I know Alfred’s home. Are you coming with me?”
Arthur considered it momentarily, gazing up at the steps before shaking his head. “I’ll be up in a couple of minutes,” When Francis stood and moved up the stairs, Arthur sighed and stood.
“I’ve still got someone else to talk to.”
After all of the things that had happened that awful night, this was certainly something Matthew hadn’t expected.
When he’d heard the knock at his door, he’d hoped the visitor was Alfred, but he subconsciously knew that had it been his twin, he wouldn’t have knocked. Upon creaking his door open, Matthew was met with the sheepish emerald gaze of his dad, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand.
Matthew had never felt his own gaze harden as quickly as it had then.
“What?” Matthew asked coldly, feeling a sense of pride when he noticed the way his dad tensed.
Arthur fidgeted a bit, fingers tapping against the warm mug within his hands as he looked on at his eldest son. He tried to wear a smile, but it looked horribly uncomfortable and nervous. “I, uh…I made you some hot chocolate.”
Matthew squinted incredulously at the Englishman, scoffing. “If you think you can just bribe me back into your good graces after everything you’ve done tonight, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Arthur’s feeble attempts to smile vanished with his son’s words as well as any confidence that he might’ve had when he first worked up the nerve to speak to Matthew. “I wasn’t trying to bribe you. I just…thought it’d be nice to talk a bit and apologize after tonight, and I know you hot chocolate so…” his words died on his tongue, noticing that Matthew’s fuming stance wasn’t faltering in the slightest.
“You want to apologize ?” Matthew bit out, arms crossing tightly over his chest. “Really? After the years of dread you’ve held over us? After all the times you made us feel as though we were walking around eggshells when we so much as spoke to you? After the vile things you said to my brother? I don’t know if you heard the fight quite right earlier, but you told Alfred that you’d wished you’d never adopted him . How do you go about apologizing for such soul cutting words? Do you know how awful Alfred is feeling right now? What’s going through his head? Mon Dieu , Dad, he might not show it to you often but he takes everything you say to heart. He wants nothing more than to impress you, and you telling him that crushed him. I know he’s annoying, acts out, has more than a fairshare of concerning habits, and isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be wanted,” Matthew leaned heavily against the frame of his door, further blocking Arthur from entering as he continued on with his enraged tirade. “He’s my brother, Dad. My closest confidant, the one person who knows me probably more than I know myself. He’s hilarious, always ready with a joke whenever we’re sad. He’s compassionate, always willing to lend a helping hand when needed. He’s hard working, diligently doing everything he can to better himself and make others proud of him. He carries so much on his shoulders because he’s so bent on proving that he can be independent and that he’s fearless and doesn’t need others, and I’m so scared that he’s going to try to shoulder so much that one day he completely breaks, and you just don’t seem to care. You’re so focused on his bad traits that you can’t seem to notice all of the good he does or when something’s genuinely wrong with him. Is that really all you see in him? Nothing but failed potential that you didn’t tap into early enough? A failure that you wish you hadn’t taken on?”`
Matthew had been so caught up in his words that he’d failed to notice the tears that started to trail down his father’s face. Arthur’s hands shook violently, so much so that some of the contents within the mug he was holding began to slosh out, coating the sides in brown that splattered on the ground. The sound of the spoon rattling against the glass was what broke Matthew out of his blind rage, eyes snapping to look at his distraught father’s face. Matthew’s eyes softened a bit at the sight.
“I didn’t mean it,” Arthur said quietly, shaking his head. “I could never mean what I said. It was utter bollocks. You boys were what made life make sense, Alfred included. I could never and would never ever regret adopting either of you. I…I know I haven’t been handling these recent situations correctly, and I also know that there’s nothing I can do that will ever make the damage of what I said and what I’ve done dissipate, but I’m so… so sorry for everything. For what I’ve put this family, my precious and beautiful family, through. I want to learn and grow from what I am now. I want to get better so that we can go back to being a happy and open family. I want to stop hurting all of you. I’m not asking for your forgiveness for the heartache and pain I’ve put you through, but I want you to know that I am so dreadfully sorry for everything I’ve done.”
At that moment, two things happened.
The first was that Matthew’s angry resolve almost completely collapsed to the ground. Not entirely, of course. He was still quite angry with his father’s harsh words that were aimed at his brother, and he didn’t foresee that ending anytime soon, but he also acknowledged the sincerity within his father’s words. If there was anything anyone knew about Arthur, it was that the Englishman didn’t fall to tears nor speak his true feelings often. He was tsundere at best, contradictory in every emotional sense possible. That was just a fact that one got used to when they lived with Arthur nearly their entire life. For such heavy words to be said with sincerity bleeding through them so profusely was all the sign Matthew needed to know that Arthur truly wanted to better himself and truly resented all that he’d done, not just that night, but during every single fight he’d put the family through.
And the second…
Arthur gasped in shock, nearly dropping the mug of hot chocolate on the ground as long arms latched themselves around his waist and pulled him in close. Matthew’s grip was tight, almost as though the younger was scared the moment would vanish if he let go. Because finally , he felt like he had his dad back. Not the one where everyone felt as though he was a ticking time bomb where just one wrong word would set him off, or the one where imperfection wasn’t an option. It was the one he’d remembered as a small kid that would read him bedtime stories and tuck him into bed tightly with a hug and a kiss and the promise of unconditional love that would never vacillate no matter what.
Home finally felt like home.
Arthur’s mouth was slack with shock, tears still silently falling down his cheeks. “I-”
“ Je t’aime, ” Matthew whispered, voice sounding strained as his own set of tears coated his eyes and threatened to spill over. “ Merci , Dad, merci beaucoup ,” Things weren’t ok. Things hadn’t been ok for a long time, and Matthew knew that this night wouldn’t instantaneously make everything ok. There was so much to work on, so much to talk about. But this, this, was a good sign. A sign that they were all heading in the right direction. A sign that healing would finally begin after what must’ve been years of earthquakes that were threatening to completely shatter the family’s fragile foundation. “I…” his voice was shaky, shakier than he would’ve liked, but if he thought that he’d be able to successfully keep his tears at bay, he was sorely mistaken, “I don’t forgive you. Not yet, not for a while, but…I’m so thankful that you want to fix things with us, that you want us to all get help together ,” Matthew tightened the hug with his next set of words, scrunching his eyes shut tightly and the words coming out choked. “For staying and fixing the problems as opposed to just leaving us.”
Arthur sobbed once, trying his hardest to keep himself composed, but utterly failing. He held Matthew as tightly as the younger boy was holding him and shook his head fervently. “I could never leave you three. You all are my family, my very heart and soul, and without all of you I’m nothing. I will never leave you three, so never believe that I will.”
Tears cascaded down both of their faces, neither saying anything about it as they opted to just hold each other, acknowledging the cracks in their relationship and the unsturdy legs that were supporting it, but also realizing that it was all going to change soon with everyone’s help.
A couple minutes passed and Matthew pulled away, messily wiping his nose and eyes on the back of his sleeve. Arthur mimicked him, wiping his reddened eyes with the palm of his unoccupied hand before glancing at the cup of hot chocolate that had long since lost its warmth and had effectively sloshed a bit more out of the mug than he would’ve liked. “I’m sure it’s cold by now, but if you’d like it, the offer still stands,” Arthur said as he outstretched the mug towards Matthew.
The teenager laughed and took the mug from Arthur, a soft smile gracing his lips for the first time that night. “How about we go make two new one’s while we wait for Alfred?”
The offer sent Arthur’s heart soaring and tears relining his eyes, but he pushed down the urge to cry more, opting to simply nod his agreement.
And so the two went back down stairs and into the kitchen where they serenely—and not at all messily—made two more mugs of hot chocolate for them to enjoy together on the couch in the living room.
And sure, the hours ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace as they waited for the return of the youngest son and went so long that both had decided to wait in their rooms for the rest of the night for Alfred’s return, but even so both knew that healing was on its way. It would take a while, as all good things did, but it would be worth it, and with all four contributing to the process they knew it wouldn’t be too long before they were all happy again.
No one fell asleep that night while waiting for Alfred, all much too anxious about his whereabouts.
But when they all eventually heard the front door creak open and the floor groan as Alfred stepped in and threw his car keys on the keyring next to the entrance, they knew that the healing would be able to continue.