APH: Finish that shit up, my class was cancelled anyways
Ahaha, I lied, this'll be a three parter.
Title: I Don't Really Know How To Tell You This, Part Two
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: Canada, Prussia, England, France, and America // PruCan and minor FrUK
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU When you have two dads and one jerk of a brother who all live in a rundown English pub, "meet the family" nights are not just awkward - they're horrifying. Story based on a prompt from 52_flavours
Prompt: "I'm not sure my parents will approve! And they run a bar!"
(cross posted to hetalia and prussiaxcanada)
Part One
Gilbert agreed to go home first before coming over, and Matt was forced to listen to his brother gloat as they took the bus out to Le Lys & La Rose.
"My God, Dad's going to forget all about that time I flunked my Science test!" Alfred was crowing. "I owe you man, seriously."
"Just shut up." Matt muttered sourly into his backpack, which he had clutched to his chest like some sort of comfort blanket. "Just shut up Al, I knew this was a bad idea, I told Gil..."
Alfred examined his brother for a moment. "So how did this all happen anyways?" he asked. "I thought you didn't like him. You guys never seemed to get along."
"Oh." Right. Alfred didn't know. "I'll tell you at dinner, okay?"
Now Alfred looked downright suspicious. "Matt..." he said warningly. Matt pulled the chain for the stop.
"Whoa, here we are, look at that!" he chirped with too much cheerfulness, and was out of his bus seat before Alfred could grab him, long legs easily taking him off the bus and down the pavement towards the pub.
"Mattie, if he's been doing something inappropriate I'm totally going to trip his brother next time we play!" Alfred was yelling at him. "Goddamn jackass, I knew there was a reason I didn't like him!"
"Just shut up Alfred!" Matt yelled for the umpteenth time that day, yanking open the door to the pub and slamming it behind him.
His father, Arthur, straightened up from behind the bar, a glass in his hand.
"Matthew?" he asked. "You're home late. Is something wrong?"
Matt collected himself, leaning against the door in case Alfred tried to get in. "No, Dad. I was just wondering if I could have a friend over for dinner tonight."
Arthur Kirkland, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaned on the bar counter, furrowing his rather massive eyebrows. Matt waited for his response, digging his heels into the floor as Alfred tried to open the door from the outside. "I don't see why not." he said finally - Matt deflated in relief.. "You'll have to ask your papa, though, he's the one making dinner." then the Brit frowned. "It's not that pothead you hang out with, is it?"
Matt rolled his eyes tiredly. "No, Dad, it's not Lars." he had no idea how his dad could of smelled the faint trace of marijuana on Lars's coat, but he had, and the dinner had ended on a rather sour note. Now Matt only went over to Lars's house instead of vice versa - in the Dutch boy's words, "I like you Mattie but your family is crazy. Especially your Dad."
"Oh. Well then." Arthur coughed. "Clear it with your papa, at least."
"Thanks." Matt smiled and stepped away from the door so Alfred could come tumbling in. His brother glared at him.
"Jerk."
"Loud mouth." Matt shot back.
"Boys." Arthur warned. Alfred stuck his tongue out at Matt and sauntered past him into the back room.
The Kirkland-Bonnefoys lived above the pub, in a three bedroom flat (well, it used to be two bedroom, but Alfred had complained so much about sharing a room with Matt - and vice versa, Matt's brother could be a pig when he wanted to be - that their fathers had changed the storage room into another bedroom). The two brothers worked at the pub - mostly cleaning and serving food - on the week end and some school nights. The only good thing about it was that it took very little time to get from home to work.
Matt's papa, Francis Bonnefoy, was in the kitchen, frying something up in a saucepan, wearing an apron with something written on it in French that Arthur refused to let Francis translate for their sons. Alfred had suggested looking it up in a dictionary but part of Matt didn't want to know.
"Hello papa!" Matt chirped, and Francis paused in his cooking to kiss his son fondly on the forehead.
"Salut, mon fils!" he replied. "How was school?"
"Good." Matt said absently, then added, "Hey papa, can I have a friend over for dinner tonight?"
Francis frowned, tapping his fingers against his hip. "Mmm, Mathieu, I wish you had told me sooner." he complained. "It's very hard to cook for more so late in the afternoon..."
Matt's face fell. "Uhm, okay." he said dejectedly. "I was really excited too, my friend heard about your cooking and how good it was and wanted to try it..."
"Did they?" Chancing a glance up, Matt saw his papa give a flattered smile. "Well, then, I should not disappoint them, oui? If I change the recipe now dinner will only be a little bit late."
"Thank you, papa!" Matt exclaimed with an inward fist pump. Complimenting his father was the quickest way to get what he wanted. Francis chuckled at his exuberance.
"De rien, Mathieu. Now, don't you have chores to do before dinner?"
Matt frowned. "Don't remind me." he groaned. Francis stroked a quick hand through his hair.
"Hop to it." his father said, and reluctantly Matt left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to their flat. Alfred was already in his room, blaring very loud music, and when Matt pounded on his door to tell him to get to his chores (misery loves company!) he was ignored.
Or Alfred had gone deaf. Either was possible.
Matt stopped by his storage closet bedroom to drop off his backpack. Half of his walls were painted a deep, rich red, and the other half a neutral beige-white (a fight between him and his brother over paint colours - Alfred's walls were a mish-mash of red white and blue. Their fathers had wisely decided not to get between them on the subject).
Matt's white rat, Kuma, was curled up in his cage amidst a nest of shredded papers and wood chips. He was exceptionally big for a rat (something Arthur couldn't stand - "It was either that or he would've wanted a dog" Francis had argued gently on Matt's behalf), and his fur was very fluffy.
Matt tapped the glass gently. The rat didn't stir - no surprise, Kuma often acted like Matt didn't exist. Sighing, Matt threw his backpack on his bed and sat down beside it. The quilt on his bed had been made by Arthur, when Matt was just a baby, and whenever he looked at it, it made him smile.
His fathers had faced a lot of prejudice back in London, for being homosexuals, but they had never let it bother them. They had each other, and two wonderful boys, and they didn't care what anyone else said. When they moved here, Matt was afraid they'd find even more ridicule - small fishing villages are not exactly famous for their "open minds". But the family was greatly relieved to find that the townspeople simply didn't care either way if the owners of the pub fancied blokes - this town was bizarre enough that a gay family failed to freak people out.
Getting up, Matt pulled his apron from his bedside table and set off downstairs to clean the pub.
Arthur was serving a couple of fishermen when Matt, armed with a broom, started sweeping the floor. Alfred came down after a little while with a washcloth to clean the vacant tables.
Le Lys & La Rose was usually quiet in the mid-afternoon, which was when the family closed the pub down for an hour or so in order have dinner ("Eating dinner together regularly makes for a close-knit and happy family!" Arthur had insisted when Francis had asked why they couldn't simply take turns eating dinner so they wouldn't have to close - Arthur read a lot of parenting books in his spare time, especially now that his babies were getting older). It got busy in the late afternoon and continued on through the night. The patrons of the pub greeted Matt easily and with familiarity - in turn, Matt could remember all of their names, and most of the gossip he'd heard about them. This was one of the giant differences he had felt that made living here a little better than in London. You were hardly ever a stranger.
Around four the bell above the door rang, and Matt turned out of habit to greet the new customer.
"Hey, Matthew!" Gilbert was standing there, motorcycle helmet in his hands, jeans dusty from the trip out of town to the pub.
All the colour drained from Matt's face. Alfred looked over and slapped the washcloth down on a table with a frown. Arthur gave his youngest son a quizzical look - he did not look pleased that the town's delinquent was in his pub, but business was business.
Without waiting, Gilbert strode over to a table and sat down, placing his helmet on the top. Matt cringed. Of all the first impressions Gilbert could give, he chose this? He had expected Gilbert to dress up a little bit for dinner. And maybe not ride his motorcycle to the pub - but that was farfetched because that was all the transportation Gilbert had, the bike bought with his own money from working at the docks during the summer.
"Dinner's not for a while." Matt said quietly, leaning on the table to talk to the albino. Gilbert crossed his feet at the ankles and stretched them out.
"I know." he said simply. "I wanted to come see you. I haven't been in here since your old man kicked me out for trying to order a beer."
Oh, this was just wonderful. "You what?" Matt hissed, chancing a glance at Arthur, who was looking more and more perturbed at the sight of the two of them talking. "Gil, my dad is really strict, and he already doesn't think kindly of you - "
"Oh, I know!" Gilbert piped up, grinning toothily at him. His hand boldly covered Matt's own on the table and Matt blushed, tilting his body so the action was hidden from Arthur's sights.
"Then why did you want to come to dinner, then?" Matt asked between gritted teeth - Alfred was making gestures at him from the other end of the pub, face twisted in mirth and gleeful apprehension of the fireworks that were sure to go off at dinner time. Gilbert was staring up at him, looking thoroughly amused by the whole situation.
"'Cause I want to be your boyfriend. And that's what boyfriends do, right? Or something. I dunno. Ludwig had this book he was reading and I looked in it and apparently that's what you do."
Matt made a few spluttering sounds, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Y-you moron - " he began hopelessly, but all of a sudden Arthur was striding over, eyebrows furrowed.
"Sorry." he told Gilbert icily. "We're closing for dinner now, so you'll need to leave."
Matt winced. "A-actually, Dad," he began, as Gilbert grinned cockily up at the older man, "Gilbert...is the friend who's staying for dinner."
There was a pause. Matt could practically see the murder behind his father's green eyes as Arthur finally ground out, "Oh, well that's just brilliant. Oh by all means (you smarmy little git), come into the kitchen for dinner. Matthew, help set the table (so help me God we are having a talk, boy)."
His father was muttering. That was not a good sign. Matt sent one more pleading glance at Gilbert (a glance that effectively said, get out while you can!), but Gilbert merely raised his eyebrows, stood up, dusted off his trousers, and picked up his helmet.
"Thanks a lot, Mr. Kirkland!" he grinned languidly. "I'm starved!"
Arthur scowled.
& & &
Dinner was painfully quiet - Matt had tried to fill the silence with idle chatter, but between Arthur's existing prejudice against Gilbert, Alfred's growing suspicion about what, exactly, his baby brother was doing after school, and Francis's uncanny ability to spot an awkwardly budding teenage romance a mile away, the only sound was the clinking of cutlery against plates.
Gilbert had stopped shoveling his food into his mouth long enough to tell Francis that his food was fucking amazing, which hadn't helped lighten the mood.
Finally Matt put his fork down and cleared his throat. "Uh, so, Gilbert and I have something to tell you." he began awkwardly, and paused to gather his words so he could make this as easy for himself as possible.
"We're dating." was Gilbert's blunt addition, mouth full of rice.
Well, there goes that idea.
Arthur spluttered. Francis curled his lip. Alfred looked torn between indignation and laughter.
"For how long?!" Arthur demanded. "You didn't think to tell us?"
"Well, I'm telling you now!" Matt protested. "And it's sort of been a gradual thing...not really dating, we haven't really gone on a date yet - "
"You came over to my house once." Gilbert spoke up, reminding him. His red eyes slid around the table, taking in everyone's reaction with a sort of gleeful appreciation of the mayhem he had just caused. Matt shot him a sour glance. "Remember, Matt? We had the house to ourselves...my dad was out...so I showed you my room..."
"Enough!" Arthur snapped, rising to his feet as Matt blushed in remembrance of that afternoon. "Matthew, I must say I am severely alarmed by this whole situation! This boy is trouble, and you know it."
"Thanks." Gilbert sneered.
"Dad, he's not really that bad..." Matt tried, but Francis shook his head gently.
"I knew a boy like you when I was in school," he told Gilbert in an unusually firm tone. "If you are going to be dating my son, I expect you to prove my initial expectations wrong."
Gilbert looked impressed. "I'll try my hardest." he said airily. Arthur sputtered, turning to his lover.
"Francis, I can't believe - " he seemed lost for words. " - for God's sake, don't you remember? He spray painted breasts on the town statue! He set off firecrackers in the gymnasium on Guy Fawkes Day and the school had to be shut down because the sprinklers went off!"
"That was you?" Alfred asked Gilbert excitedly, who winked. With a scowl, Arthur pinched his eldest son's ear. "Ow, Dad!" Alfred whined. "I was just asking!"
"I will not have my son associated with a hooligan." Arthur declared stiffly.
"This is why I didn't want to tell you!" Matt exclaimed suddenly, catching his family off guard. "Because you always overreact, Dad!"
Arthur huffed. "I do not always overreact!" he protested.
"Yes you do." Matt countered. "You always let Al do whatever he wants but when I want to have a boyfriend you decide that it's the worst thing in the world!"
"It's not your having a boyfriend that's the issue here." Francis said soothingly, reaching out a hand to his youngest son. "It's the fact that Gilbert's reputation is less than stellar. Your father is worried about you."
"You're never worried about me!" Matt told Arthur vehemently. "Neither of you are, Al was always your favourite, and you don't care about me unless it's to stop me from doing something I want!"
"Now hold on, young man - " Arthur began sternly but Matt, face set in an angry expression, stood up and stormed out of the kitchen. They heard his footsteps pounding on the stairs, and his bedroom door slamming shut above them.
Arthur looked stricken. Francis rose to his feet.
"I will go talk to him." he said quietly. "Sit with the boys." he leaned down to kiss Arthur on the temple, adding, "And behave."
Arthur grumbled but obligingly remained at the table as Francis rounded the corner towards the stairwell.
Gilbert looked highly amused. "This is way better than Frozen Dinner Fridays." he told Alfred confidently.
( onto the last part!)
Title: I Don't Really Know How To Tell You This, Part Two
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: Canada, Prussia, England, France, and America // PruCan and minor FrUK
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU When you have two dads and one jerk of a brother who all live in a rundown English pub, "meet the family" nights are not just awkward - they're horrifying. Story based on a prompt from 52_flavours
Prompt: "I'm not sure my parents will approve! And they run a bar!"
(cross posted to hetalia and prussiaxcanada)
Part One
Gilbert agreed to go home first before coming over, and Matt was forced to listen to his brother gloat as they took the bus out to Le Lys & La Rose.
"My God, Dad's going to forget all about that time I flunked my Science test!" Alfred was crowing. "I owe you man, seriously."
"Just shut up." Matt muttered sourly into his backpack, which he had clutched to his chest like some sort of comfort blanket. "Just shut up Al, I knew this was a bad idea, I told Gil..."
Alfred examined his brother for a moment. "So how did this all happen anyways?" he asked. "I thought you didn't like him. You guys never seemed to get along."
"Oh." Right. Alfred didn't know. "I'll tell you at dinner, okay?"
Now Alfred looked downright suspicious. "Matt..." he said warningly. Matt pulled the chain for the stop.
"Whoa, here we are, look at that!" he chirped with too much cheerfulness, and was out of his bus seat before Alfred could grab him, long legs easily taking him off the bus and down the pavement towards the pub.
"Mattie, if he's been doing something inappropriate I'm totally going to trip his brother next time we play!" Alfred was yelling at him. "Goddamn jackass, I knew there was a reason I didn't like him!"
"Just shut up Alfred!" Matt yelled for the umpteenth time that day, yanking open the door to the pub and slamming it behind him.
His father, Arthur, straightened up from behind the bar, a glass in his hand.
"Matthew?" he asked. "You're home late. Is something wrong?"
Matt collected himself, leaning against the door in case Alfred tried to get in. "No, Dad. I was just wondering if I could have a friend over for dinner tonight."
Arthur Kirkland, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaned on the bar counter, furrowing his rather massive eyebrows. Matt waited for his response, digging his heels into the floor as Alfred tried to open the door from the outside. "I don't see why not." he said finally - Matt deflated in relief.. "You'll have to ask your papa, though, he's the one making dinner." then the Brit frowned. "It's not that pothead you hang out with, is it?"
Matt rolled his eyes tiredly. "No, Dad, it's not Lars." he had no idea how his dad could of smelled the faint trace of marijuana on Lars's coat, but he had, and the dinner had ended on a rather sour note. Now Matt only went over to Lars's house instead of vice versa - in the Dutch boy's words, "I like you Mattie but your family is crazy. Especially your Dad."
"Oh. Well then." Arthur coughed. "Clear it with your papa, at least."
"Thanks." Matt smiled and stepped away from the door so Alfred could come tumbling in. His brother glared at him.
"Jerk."
"Loud mouth." Matt shot back.
"Boys." Arthur warned. Alfred stuck his tongue out at Matt and sauntered past him into the back room.
The Kirkland-Bonnefoys lived above the pub, in a three bedroom flat (well, it used to be two bedroom, but Alfred had complained so much about sharing a room with Matt - and vice versa, Matt's brother could be a pig when he wanted to be - that their fathers had changed the storage room into another bedroom). The two brothers worked at the pub - mostly cleaning and serving food - on the week end and some school nights. The only good thing about it was that it took very little time to get from home to work.
Matt's papa, Francis Bonnefoy, was in the kitchen, frying something up in a saucepan, wearing an apron with something written on it in French that Arthur refused to let Francis translate for their sons. Alfred had suggested looking it up in a dictionary but part of Matt didn't want to know.
"Hello papa!" Matt chirped, and Francis paused in his cooking to kiss his son fondly on the forehead.
"Salut, mon fils!" he replied. "How was school?"
"Good." Matt said absently, then added, "Hey papa, can I have a friend over for dinner tonight?"
Francis frowned, tapping his fingers against his hip. "Mmm, Mathieu, I wish you had told me sooner." he complained. "It's very hard to cook for more so late in the afternoon..."
Matt's face fell. "Uhm, okay." he said dejectedly. "I was really excited too, my friend heard about your cooking and how good it was and wanted to try it..."
"Did they?" Chancing a glance up, Matt saw his papa give a flattered smile. "Well, then, I should not disappoint them, oui? If I change the recipe now dinner will only be a little bit late."
"Thank you, papa!" Matt exclaimed with an inward fist pump. Complimenting his father was the quickest way to get what he wanted. Francis chuckled at his exuberance.
"De rien, Mathieu. Now, don't you have chores to do before dinner?"
Matt frowned. "Don't remind me." he groaned. Francis stroked a quick hand through his hair.
"Hop to it." his father said, and reluctantly Matt left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to their flat. Alfred was already in his room, blaring very loud music, and when Matt pounded on his door to tell him to get to his chores (misery loves company!) he was ignored.
Or Alfred had gone deaf. Either was possible.
Matt stopped by his storage closet bedroom to drop off his backpack. Half of his walls were painted a deep, rich red, and the other half a neutral beige-white (a fight between him and his brother over paint colours - Alfred's walls were a mish-mash of red white and blue. Their fathers had wisely decided not to get between them on the subject).
Matt's white rat, Kuma, was curled up in his cage amidst a nest of shredded papers and wood chips. He was exceptionally big for a rat (something Arthur couldn't stand - "It was either that or he would've wanted a dog" Francis had argued gently on Matt's behalf), and his fur was very fluffy.
Matt tapped the glass gently. The rat didn't stir - no surprise, Kuma often acted like Matt didn't exist. Sighing, Matt threw his backpack on his bed and sat down beside it. The quilt on his bed had been made by Arthur, when Matt was just a baby, and whenever he looked at it, it made him smile.
His fathers had faced a lot of prejudice back in London, for being homosexuals, but they had never let it bother them. They had each other, and two wonderful boys, and they didn't care what anyone else said. When they moved here, Matt was afraid they'd find even more ridicule - small fishing villages are not exactly famous for their "open minds". But the family was greatly relieved to find that the townspeople simply didn't care either way if the owners of the pub fancied blokes - this town was bizarre enough that a gay family failed to freak people out.
Getting up, Matt pulled his apron from his bedside table and set off downstairs to clean the pub.
Arthur was serving a couple of fishermen when Matt, armed with a broom, started sweeping the floor. Alfred came down after a little while with a washcloth to clean the vacant tables.
Le Lys & La Rose was usually quiet in the mid-afternoon, which was when the family closed the pub down for an hour or so in order have dinner ("Eating dinner together regularly makes for a close-knit and happy family!" Arthur had insisted when Francis had asked why they couldn't simply take turns eating dinner so they wouldn't have to close - Arthur read a lot of parenting books in his spare time, especially now that his babies were getting older). It got busy in the late afternoon and continued on through the night. The patrons of the pub greeted Matt easily and with familiarity - in turn, Matt could remember all of their names, and most of the gossip he'd heard about them. This was one of the giant differences he had felt that made living here a little better than in London. You were hardly ever a stranger.
Around four the bell above the door rang, and Matt turned out of habit to greet the new customer.
"Hey, Matthew!" Gilbert was standing there, motorcycle helmet in his hands, jeans dusty from the trip out of town to the pub.
All the colour drained from Matt's face. Alfred looked over and slapped the washcloth down on a table with a frown. Arthur gave his youngest son a quizzical look - he did not look pleased that the town's delinquent was in his pub, but business was business.
Without waiting, Gilbert strode over to a table and sat down, placing his helmet on the top. Matt cringed. Of all the first impressions Gilbert could give, he chose this? He had expected Gilbert to dress up a little bit for dinner. And maybe not ride his motorcycle to the pub - but that was farfetched because that was all the transportation Gilbert had, the bike bought with his own money from working at the docks during the summer.
"Dinner's not for a while." Matt said quietly, leaning on the table to talk to the albino. Gilbert crossed his feet at the ankles and stretched them out.
"I know." he said simply. "I wanted to come see you. I haven't been in here since your old man kicked me out for trying to order a beer."
Oh, this was just wonderful. "You what?" Matt hissed, chancing a glance at Arthur, who was looking more and more perturbed at the sight of the two of them talking. "Gil, my dad is really strict, and he already doesn't think kindly of you - "
"Oh, I know!" Gilbert piped up, grinning toothily at him. His hand boldly covered Matt's own on the table and Matt blushed, tilting his body so the action was hidden from Arthur's sights.
"Then why did you want to come to dinner, then?" Matt asked between gritted teeth - Alfred was making gestures at him from the other end of the pub, face twisted in mirth and gleeful apprehension of the fireworks that were sure to go off at dinner time. Gilbert was staring up at him, looking thoroughly amused by the whole situation.
"'Cause I want to be your boyfriend. And that's what boyfriends do, right? Or something. I dunno. Ludwig had this book he was reading and I looked in it and apparently that's what you do."
Matt made a few spluttering sounds, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Y-you moron - " he began hopelessly, but all of a sudden Arthur was striding over, eyebrows furrowed.
"Sorry." he told Gilbert icily. "We're closing for dinner now, so you'll need to leave."
Matt winced. "A-actually, Dad," he began, as Gilbert grinned cockily up at the older man, "Gilbert...is the friend who's staying for dinner."
There was a pause. Matt could practically see the murder behind his father's green eyes as Arthur finally ground out, "Oh, well that's just brilliant. Oh by all means (you smarmy little git), come into the kitchen for dinner. Matthew, help set the table (so help me God we are having a talk, boy)."
His father was muttering. That was not a good sign. Matt sent one more pleading glance at Gilbert (a glance that effectively said, get out while you can!), but Gilbert merely raised his eyebrows, stood up, dusted off his trousers, and picked up his helmet.
"Thanks a lot, Mr. Kirkland!" he grinned languidly. "I'm starved!"
Arthur scowled.
& & &
Dinner was painfully quiet - Matt had tried to fill the silence with idle chatter, but between Arthur's existing prejudice against Gilbert, Alfred's growing suspicion about what, exactly, his baby brother was doing after school, and Francis's uncanny ability to spot an awkwardly budding teenage romance a mile away, the only sound was the clinking of cutlery against plates.
Gilbert had stopped shoveling his food into his mouth long enough to tell Francis that his food was fucking amazing, which hadn't helped lighten the mood.
Finally Matt put his fork down and cleared his throat. "Uh, so, Gilbert and I have something to tell you." he began awkwardly, and paused to gather his words so he could make this as easy for himself as possible.
"We're dating." was Gilbert's blunt addition, mouth full of rice.
Well, there goes that idea.
Arthur spluttered. Francis curled his lip. Alfred looked torn between indignation and laughter.
"For how long?!" Arthur demanded. "You didn't think to tell us?"
"Well, I'm telling you now!" Matt protested. "And it's sort of been a gradual thing...not really dating, we haven't really gone on a date yet - "
"You came over to my house once." Gilbert spoke up, reminding him. His red eyes slid around the table, taking in everyone's reaction with a sort of gleeful appreciation of the mayhem he had just caused. Matt shot him a sour glance. "Remember, Matt? We had the house to ourselves...my dad was out...so I showed you my room..."
"Enough!" Arthur snapped, rising to his feet as Matt blushed in remembrance of that afternoon. "Matthew, I must say I am severely alarmed by this whole situation! This boy is trouble, and you know it."
"Thanks." Gilbert sneered.
"Dad, he's not really that bad..." Matt tried, but Francis shook his head gently.
"I knew a boy like you when I was in school," he told Gilbert in an unusually firm tone. "If you are going to be dating my son, I expect you to prove my initial expectations wrong."
Gilbert looked impressed. "I'll try my hardest." he said airily. Arthur sputtered, turning to his lover.
"Francis, I can't believe - " he seemed lost for words. " - for God's sake, don't you remember? He spray painted breasts on the town statue! He set off firecrackers in the gymnasium on Guy Fawkes Day and the school had to be shut down because the sprinklers went off!"
"That was you?" Alfred asked Gilbert excitedly, who winked. With a scowl, Arthur pinched his eldest son's ear. "Ow, Dad!" Alfred whined. "I was just asking!"
"I will not have my son associated with a hooligan." Arthur declared stiffly.
"This is why I didn't want to tell you!" Matt exclaimed suddenly, catching his family off guard. "Because you always overreact, Dad!"
Arthur huffed. "I do not always overreact!" he protested.
"Yes you do." Matt countered. "You always let Al do whatever he wants but when I want to have a boyfriend you decide that it's the worst thing in the world!"
"It's not your having a boyfriend that's the issue here." Francis said soothingly, reaching out a hand to his youngest son. "It's the fact that Gilbert's reputation is less than stellar. Your father is worried about you."
"You're never worried about me!" Matt told Arthur vehemently. "Neither of you are, Al was always your favourite, and you don't care about me unless it's to stop me from doing something I want!"
"Now hold on, young man - " Arthur began sternly but Matt, face set in an angry expression, stood up and stormed out of the kitchen. They heard his footsteps pounding on the stairs, and his bedroom door slamming shut above them.
Arthur looked stricken. Francis rose to his feet.
"I will go talk to him." he said quietly. "Sit with the boys." he leaned down to kiss Arthur on the temple, adding, "And behave."
Arthur grumbled but obligingly remained at the table as Francis rounded the corner towards the stairwell.
Gilbert looked highly amused. "This is way better than Frozen Dinner Fridays." he told Alfred confidently.
( onto the last part!)