The Virtues Of Literature

Part 8

Chapter 8

Francis opens his eyes to the lightening of his bedroom, the natural induction of the new day. At this time of year the days are short and he would usually be awake when it is still dark, but unlike usual Francis seems to have overslept slightly and it is already approaching nine o'clock. It was probably due to the stress of the previous day; it had completely exhausted him.

He gets out of bed and pulls a dressing gown around the pyjamas he is wearing. He recalls late last night having woken up after falling asleep by accident. Francis was still in his day clothes but blankets were covering him and his shoes had been taken off. He has no recollection of doing either of these things, and wonders if it was just his imagination, or whether Arthur, perhaps, had come to visit him. The thought isn't uncomfortable for Francis, and he recognises the closeness of the bond he and the Englishman have somehow developed. Yes, they bicker and don't get along from the outside but something about being in each other's company noticeably relax them both. Well, before anyway. Arthur might not be so relaxed about Francis after what he did yesterday.

Francis had changed into pyjamas and gone to the toilet the night before, but he remembers about the two figures who were curiously sleeping in their living room. Arthur was there with them, so Francis wasn't alarmed and was too tired to bother to question it - he really couldn't find it in him to care and actually have to question Arthur on it at the time.

Francis walks out of his room to go and cook breakfast,and sees a mess of temporary bedding on and below the sofa. The camping mats below house a sleeping person sprawled out in the space around it, splayed limbs tangled amongst blankets. His wheat-blonde hair is messy, with one cowlick in particular standing tall above the rest, and his relaxed face is decorated with drool. Francis chuckles at the boy and recognises him as Alfred, remembering having met him at Arthur's concert. He seemed like a nice guy and Francis doesn't see why him staying would pose much of problem.

The sofa is quite obviously slept on, though there is no one currently occupying it. Francis heads to the kitchen, and immediately upon entry he sees and hears someone cooking inside.

A man stands in the kitchen mixing a bowl of some sort of batter, very quietly humming to himself. His hair is nearer the length of Francis' than Alfred's or Arthur's, but subtly darker, and Francis can tell his frame is as muscular and tall as Alfred's though hidden under baggy pyjamas. Francis smiles at his efforts to help and make breakfast, and strains his mind to remember his name from hearing it briefly at the concert with Alfred. M something...? After a moment of thought Francis mentally celebrates as Matthew pops into his head.

"Matthew? Is that your name?" Francis asks calmly so as to not scare the other man. It doesn't work too well however, as he whips his head around, slightly startled.

"Oh! Uh, hello! Sorry! Good morning! Sorry I appeared out of nowhere and invaded your kitchen and apartment, Arthur was happy to invite us in temporarily since we have been evicted from our residence, I really hope you don't mind too much, we'll try to be helpful. A-and yes, it's Matthew." He chuckles and scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

Francis smiles, amused at how flustered Matthew is. "Don't worry about it at all Matthieu, it'll be my pleasure to have you here for a little while. I'm Francis by the way, I think we met briefly at one of Arthur's concerts."

"Ah, yeah I remember. Et merci beaucoup, Francis."

Francis' smiles widens. "Tu parle français?"

"Oui, mais le français canadien."

Francis joins Matthew at the kitchen counter. "That must be why you're making pancakes, then," he jokes. "A little tip if you'd like: adding a dash of strong maple syrup to the batter makes the pancake taste even more delicious, as well as an extra bit of milk."