Boots

Twenty Four

For days, Matthew got texts from Gilbert. But he didn't return one. He didn't want to pull himself back into that mess. He didn't want to hurt again.
Mattie please. I miss you. I'm worried.
Matthew grimaced at the latest text, closing out of the sms app and slamming his phone onto the table.
"Matthieu..." Francis looked at him from the counter as he stirred something in a bowl, concerned. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah." Matthew shrugged, standing up.
"Where are you going?"
"Basement."
"Dinners almost ready."
"Yep."
Matthew heard Francis sigh as he opened the basement door and stepped downstairs. He had been hanging out down there a lot recently. It was dusty but nobody bothered him since Alfred was afraid of spiders and Francis couldn't stand the dust.
Sometimes Arthur came down, but he never spoke to him. He probably didn't even notice him there, sitting on the floor in the corner, legs pulled up to his chest, eyes pinned to the concrete floor.
At least...Matthew had assumed...until that particular day when Arthur just happened to be already working on something at his table.
The young adult froze, smiling awkwardly at his father.
Arthur smiled back, rather calmly, turning right back to his work.
So he must have known Matthew was there all along. Why hadn't he said anything? He was probably just giving Matthew his space.
The Canadian sat down in his usual spot, staring at the dust on the floor.
"Matthew," Arthur finally spoke up, "is everything alright?"
"Yeah. Everything is fine."
"Fine doesn't hang out in the basement staring at the wall." Arthur hadn't looked up from his tinkering once since this discussion started.
"For the record, I was staring at the floor."
"Matthew, come over here and help me out."
The younger blond sighed, standing and heading toward Arthur's work table.
"You seem stressed. You're not eating or sleeping right and everybody is worrying about you."
"I am stressed. Of course I'm stressed. It's been months and I haven't been able to get a new job. Wouldn't you be stressed too?"
"Of course I would be. But I know there's something else bothering you and I know you don't want to talk about it, but maybe you need to."
"Dad...I..." Matthew lowered his gaze. He didn't know how to tell Arthur that he had nobody to talk to, that not even Alfred would understand what he was going through.
"It's alright Matthew. I'm here for you."
"I don't want to talk aboot it."
"I know. Pass me the lavender."
"Huh?"
"The lavender." Arthur pointed to the dried up plant piled in the corner of the table. Matthew obediently handed it over without fuss.
"What are you making, anyway?"
"Something for Francis. He's been having trouble...you know..."
"I don't know..."
"Uhm...well..." Arthur coughed into his fist. "Getting going."
"Getting go-oh oh shit." Matthew was shook. "Why did you have to tell me that? No wonder I turned out to messed up."
"It's your fault anyway! He's never hard when something's on his mind!"
"Don't tell me that stuff! I don't want to hear that my papa can't get a hard on because of me. God!"
"I'm kidding, Matthew. Lavender is to help people sleep. I thought you knew that." Arthur rolled his eyes.
"So everything's okay down in southern France, then."
"It's always okay in southern France." Arthur said dreamily. "But northern France can't sleep so here I am."
"Does any of this stuff actually work?"
"Yeah. It does. Do you want something made?"
"Is there something that cures heartbreak?" Matthew immediately regretted his words. He swallowed, preparing himself for questions.
"Matthew..." Arthur was caught off guard. He gave his son a sad smile. "You'll have to ask Francis about that."
There were no more questions after that. Matthew was grateful that Arthur respected his boundaries with this, especially since he was having such a rough time.
"Yeah." He muttered. "Good idea."