Hetalia Feels

A Flower's Song (S)

It was a beautiful day when Matthieu Bonnefoy entered this world. It was a beautiful day when his twin and mother left it. It was a beautiful day when Francis, the father, was saddled with the weight of the world.

Everything had been perfect. The babies had been healthy, Jeanne had been healthy, everything was alright. An emergency c-section, a clumsy and drunk doctor, and a suffocating baby was all it took to change that.

Yes, he sued. It merely helped with money, and gave them the chance to live a comfortable life. It wouldn't bring them back, though. All the money in the world couldn't bring them back.

There was a white tulip on their grave. Francis didn't know who had put it there. Perhaps it had been him.

Broken, yet knowing he had to be strong for his son, Francis had taken that burden and carried it with a smile. Though some days were harder than others, he managed.

The days, weeks, months flew by as Matthieu grew older. Time was the petals of a flower, flying in the wind and escaping your grasp before you knew what you had lost.

Matthieu was four now. Francis slowly pried his eyes open, eyes squinting against the light. It was a beautiful day. It always was, on Matthieu's birthday. He stretched, and headed downstairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was a quite young man to be a father, merely twenty four, and the glow of youth continued to surround him despite his circumstances.

Yawning, Francis began breakfast, a sullen expression upon his face. These days were always the hardest, when he was reminded of her. The corners of his lips twitched as he heard the gentle pattering of small feet upon wood.

Turning around, Francis mustered a jolly grin, lifting Matthieu off of the ground. Matthieu squealed, giggling, and for a moment, everything was alright with the word.

"Did you sleep well, mon petit Matthieu?" Francis grinned, placing his excited son upon the counter.

Matthieu nodded insistently, nose coming up to sniff the air. His eyes lit up, his usually soft voice becoming much louder. "Pancakes?"

Francis nodded, patting Matthieu's head. "Of course!" He exclaimed, bringing Matthieu to the table so that he could collect the finished pancakes.

Matthieu looked up hopefully. "Will you do the thing?"

Francis sighed and laughed, taking a deep breath before singing as he bustled around the kitchen. "Be our guest, be our guest, put our service to the test!" He winked and tied a napkin around Matthieu's neck. "Tie a napkin around your neck, cherie," he kissed the tip of Matthieu's nose, causing him to explode into a fit of giggles, before continuing to set the table, "and we'll provide the rest!"

Francis continued to sing, dancing all around as Matthieu continued to giggle. Yes, this was perfect. He could get used to this.

~~~

Matthieu was six now, and, as usual, it was a beautiful day. Light streamed through the canopy of leaves, the babbling brook decorating the passing of time. Matthieu trailed dutifully alongside his father, Francis' hands preoccupied with holding the picnic basket and pointing to the various flowers dotting the grass.

Matthieu looked up at his father. "Papa?" He inquired, "where are we going?"

The Frenchman smiled softly at his child, pointing to a small cluster of trees. "Why don't you find out?" he teased, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Matthieu beamed, rushing towards the cluster of trees. They were hiding something, he knew it, his father always loved to give him beautiful surprises. Never with money, of course- every beautiful experience he created on his own, like an artist creating dazzling images with nothing but a few stray bits of paint and a worn down paintbrush.