Chapter Text
It was a quiet afternoon at the Kirkland-Bonnefoy household when the front door burst open, revealing Alfred, who was storming in with Matthew trailing behind him, clutching his backpack and looking both amused and concerned. Francis was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, while Arthur sat in the study, editing the draft of his latest novel.
“Papa! Daddy!” Alfred’s voice echoed through the house, loud and full of indignation.
Francis poked his head out of the kitchen just as Arthur appeared in the hallway. “What’s all this noise about, Alfred?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.
Alfred stomped over to the living room, threw his bag onto the couch, and flopped down dramatically. “It’s Ivan!” he exclaimed, his face red with frustration. “He’s so creepy and mean and scary! I hate him!”
Matthew quietly took a seat beside Alfred, carefully setting his own bag down. “He’s not that bad, Al,” he said softly.
“He is too!” Alfred insisted, sitting up and gesturing wildly. “He pulled my chair out from under me in class! And then he called me a baby because I didn’t want to play that dumb game he made up! And—and he stared at me all day! Like this!” Alfred scrunched his face into a dramatic, exaggerated scowl and glared at Francis for emphasis.
Francis bit back a smile, setting down the towel he’d been holding. “That does sound unpleasant, mon petit. But why are you allowing this boy to anger you so much? Remember-"
“Because!” Alfred huffed, crossing his arms. “You and Dad said you hated each other when you were my age! Does this mean I have to marry Ivan someday too?!”
Arthur’s lips twitched, but he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, pretending to clear his throat. “That’s… not exactly how things work, Alfred,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of amusement.
Francis, however, couldn’t contain himself. He burst into laughter, leaning against the doorway to steady himself. “Oh, Alfred!” he managed between chuckles. “Mon Dieu, the thought of you and this Ivan as a couple—how romantic!”
“It’s not funny!” Alfred whined, his cheeks flushing. “He’s awful! And scary! And he eats weird stuff for lunch, like cold soup!”
Matthew tried to hide a smile behind his hand but failed miserably. “It’s called borscht, Alfred. It’s not that weird.”
Francis wiped a tear from his eye, finally managing to compose himself. He crouched down to Alfred’s level, his tone softening. “Listen, mon fils, just because your father and I started as rivals doesn’t mean everyone who annoys you will end up being someone you love. Love doesn’t work like that.”
Arthur nodded, his expression warm but firm. “And besides, even if you and Ivan don’t get along, you should still try to be respectful. You’re better than stooping to his level.”
Alfred sighed dramatically as if the weight of the world were on his small shoulders. “Fine. But I still hate him. And I’m never eating cold soup.”
Matthew finally spoke up, his voice teasing. “But if you ever did have to marry him, Alfred, I’d be your best man.”
That sent Francis into another fit of laughter, and even Arthur had to suppress a snort as Alfred groaned, throwing himself face-first into the couch cushions. “You guys are like the worst family ever,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but still full of melodrama.
Arthur leaned over, patting Alfred’s back affectionately. “You’ll thank us one day, darling. Just… maybe not for this conversation.”
Francis winked at Matthew, who grinned back. Peace returned to the house...for now.