Matthew Williams sat in his office alone, eating lunch and going through his lesson plan for the following day, as always. Mattie wasn't the most social of people, and he didn't mind being alone. He could hear the children laughing in the hallway as they headed off to the cafeteria. After lunch he had two classes to teach, then he could go home. Not that he actually wanted to go home, what with his brother suddenly moving into his apartment without even an hour's notice. Apparently Alfred had been kicked out of his boyfriend's apartment after he'd been rude to his parents. Matthew was sure they'd be back together in no time; Alfred and Arthur had been on-and-off for the last five years.

"Mattie! The rest of the teachers and I are going out drinking after classes let out, you wanna come?" Asked Alfred poking his head into the doorway of Matthew's office.

"No, thank you." Matthew was not one for publicly drinking.

"All right, bro! I'll see you later." And with that, Alfred disappeared behind the wall.

"Alfred! Don't get too drunk! I don't want to have to come pick you up!" He heard a soft 'all right' and went back to work.

Francis Bonnefoy was sitting in his classroom, accompanied by Gilbert Beilshmidt and Antonio Carriedo. He was not looking forward to his two upcoming classes: two periods of first year French students butchering his native language.

"Alfred is inviting everyone to go drinking with him tonight." Gilbert, arguably Alfred's only friend at work, always tried to rope the other two into drinking with him and Alfred.

"You're not getting us to go with you this time, Gilbert. We had to get you out of a dumpster last time and I ruined my shoes." Francis grimaced.

"Come on! I promise not to get drunk this time! Plus," The Prussian lowered his voice, "that Canadian cooking professor you like so much just so happens to be Alfred's brother and I bet I can convince Alfred to get him to come."

"Oh, mon ami, I can get my own dates, thank you."

The last two periods went by quickly for Matthew. Today was an easy day: all his students had to do was chop and boil some potatoes. The end-bell rang and the students rushed from his classroom, most of them forgetting to turn off their burners and put away their things. Matthew went around the room, collecting left-out utensils and turning off burners. He turned around to go put the silverware in the dishwasher in his backroom and noticed that the French teacher—Francis, he reminded himself—was sitting on his front table.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Bonnefoy."

"Vous allez bien?" [How are you?]

"Ça va, et vous?" [I'm okay, and you?]

"Pas mal." [Not bad.] Francis hopped down from the cabinet, "Would you like some help?"

"You don't have to," Matthew shifted his weight and Francis held out his hand, offering to take some of the plates Matthew had stacked in his arms.

"It's no problem." Francis took half of the stack and both of them headed off toward the back room, Matthew leading the way. Once they were done, Francis stood in the doorway, eying Matthew over while the Canadian packed up his things.

"Yes, Mr. Bonnefoy? Is there a reason you're looking at me like you're confused about something?" Matthew shouldered his bag, trying to halt any premature advances the older man might be thinking of making. Mattie wasn't one to believe rumors, yet he suspected the stories Alfred had told him about Francis being rather...promiscuous were true.

"Your French-" Francis cut himself off, his eyes narrowing. Ah, so that's what this was about.

"Where do you think I went to culinary school?"

"In France? Why are you teaching, then?"

"I could never deal with the way any of the restaurants were run. I thought about opening my own restaurant here but I never had the money. I've always loved children, so teaching the thing I love to children is a nice alternative." He shrugged, sliding past Francis into the hallway.

"Are you still saving up to open your restaurant?" The older man followed him, walking a little bit too closely beside Mattie for the Canadian's liking.

"Yes, a bit. You can't save that much on a teacher's salary, though." Matthew smiled, glancing over at Francis.

"You'll have to tell me if you ever end up opening that restaurant." Francis smiled back and they parted, waving goodbye and heading to their respective cars. With what he'd heard about the school's French teacher, there had to be an ulterior motive for Francis talking to him.

Matthew brushed the weird experience with Francis off. There was nothing to suggest that it was anything more than Francis teasing him or stalling until he had to go out to his car. That's probably all that it was. The next day came, Matthew taught his classes, and when the lunch bell rang he started to clean up the lab, only to hear a knock on the classroom door. Assuming it was a student, Matthew yelled, "Come in!"

"Oh, you wouldn't happen to need help again, would you?" Instead of a student, Matthew found Francis standing in his doorway.

"If you wouldn't mind, I could use some help with picking up the dishes again."

"It would be a pleasure to help you." Francis set down his bag and swished around the room, gracefully picking up dishes and placing them in the dishwasher in the back room. He was also whistling a familiar, flowing tune.

"Moonlight Sonata?" Matthew asked after they'd finished putting away everything.

"Of course." The Frenchman smiled and picked up his bag.

"You're a fan of Beethoven?"

"Yes, his songs are beautiful. ===== is also a favourite of mine."

"I'll have to look === up. I don't think I've ever heard anything by him." Matthew put his papers into his bag and started toward the door, Francis walking beside him.

"You should. == is another one you should look up, if you're interested." Francis held the door open for him and they began to walk toward the cafeteria. Usually Matthew ate in his room, but he had promised to meet Alfred for lunch. The Frenchman was talking and smiling and Matthew wondered if this would become a regular thing. He wouldn't mind it if it did.

Over the next couple of months leading up to spring break, Francis would often stop by Matthew's classroom after school let out and, sometimes, even during lunch. They would clean and talk about music, cooking, and French. Matthew eventually came to look forward to their talks, though they never really delved further into anything personal. He knew that Francis liked classical music, good food, and seemingly everything French, but that was about all he knew about the man. One curiosity after another began to take form in the back of his mind. He wanted to know more. Sure, he would hear about Francis through rumours from Alfred, but those were hardly reliable due to both their nature and source. When spring break finally came around, Matthew missed talking to Francis, so when Alfred mentioned going out to drink with Gilbert, he didn't exactly reject the indirect proposal. He hadn't been drinking with Alfred in a while, so what could it hurt? A shower and a change of clothes later, the brothers were at the local bar.

Alfred was talking to some girl in the corner, and Arthur, who had just happened to be at the same bar, was visibly fuming with anger. Gilbert was sitting next to Matthew, chugging beer after beer, rambling on about how his girlfriend was, at times, annoying, but also undeniably 'awesome.' Needless to say, Matthew wasn't exactly having the best time. He wasn't one for drinking and even if he was, he still had to get Alfred home, because there was no way his brother would be able to get home on his own with the amount of alcohol he was consuming. Really, he didn't know what he expected to happen when he had agreed to come. There was only a slight possibility that Francis would be there, and even if he were, Matthew wouldn't have wanted to bother him. So, Matthew sat and contentedly watched people make drunken fools of themselves. Gilbert was getting to the point where everything he heard made him giggle and Matthew was almost ready to call him a taxi.

The Canadian tapped Gilbert on the shoulder and asked for his phone. Drunkenly, the latter pulled out his smart phone and handed it to Mattie.

"Jus' call Francissss." Gilbert slurred, his forehead resting on the table. Matthew unlocked Gilbert's phone, his heart beating a little bit faster when he found Francis' name in the contacts. He clicked on it and it started to ring. Suddenly, his heart was beating out of control.

"Allô?" Matthew could hear the annoyance in his voice and he froze, "Gilbert, mon dieu. You have got to stop drinking so much."

"Uhm," Unsure of what to say, Matthew remained silent. Honestly, this was an awkward situation he really didn't want to be in.

"Where are you, idiot?" Matthew could hear keys clanking together and a door open and close in the background.

"Gilbert is at "Ruckard's" on fifth street," Matthew's voice was weak and apologetic. He could hear a car door shut and an engine rev to life.

"Oh, Mathieu! I'm sorry Gilbert has bothered you with this, I will be there to pick him up soon." And with that, the call dropped and Matthew was left feeling disgruntled and sorry. He handed Gilbert his phone and went to sit over by Arthur because while Arthur was fuming over his brother, he was still better than a completely smashed Gilbert.

When Matthew sat down, Arthur was still feverishly looking over at Alfred and the blonde next to him. It would be better if Arthur never even noticed Matthew was there at all, just to avoid the conversation that Matthew knew would follow: meaningless pleasantries whilst Arthur continued to look over at Alfred. The fact that this was their 12th break-up didn't matter to Arthur, even though he knew that this was how Alfred always dealt with their fights. It was annoying to say the least; Arthur obviously loved Alfred and Matthew knew Alfred loved Arthur, so why they fought all the time still was anyone's guess.

"Matthew," Arthur had noticed him, "how are you?" While Arthur was turned toward Matthew, he wasn't looking at him, he could tell. His eyes were still focused on Alfred, and Matthew knew he could probably say anything and Arthur wouldn't hear him.

"I'm fine, just waiting to take Alfred home." That seemed to catch Arthur's attention, which suggested that, perhaps, the Brit was actually paying attention to him. Or he just honed in on any mention of Alfred, either way.

"So you're the one that's going to have to drag that idiot home?" He looked over at Alfred and then back to Matthew, "Well, maybe you won't have to with the way he's all over that blonde over there."

"Alfred's only doing that to make you jealous and you know that." Matthew had stopped playing along with their games a while ago. Arthur didn't answer him, and Matthew assumed he was no longer paying attention to him.

"I'm also waiting for Francis to get here and take Gilbert home. I could have taken Gilbert home if you and Alfred would just stop being idiots and get back together. I wouldn't have had to bother Francis if you and Alfred weren't so stubborn." Matthew's words fell on deaf ears, just as he had predicted. Arthur had begun fidgeting in his seat, as if he were going to jump up and slam Alfred's head into the table at any moment. Matthew wouldn't put it past him.

"Ey, Mattie! Did you call Francis?" Gilbert tugged on his coat. He was on his hands and knees, apparently too drunk to stand now. The Prussian tugged on Matthew's jacket harder, pulling Matthew to the floor with him.

"Matttiiiiieee, did youuuu calllll Francissss?" Gilbert hugged Matthew's waist, squirming around on the floor.

"Yes, I called Francis." Matthew tried to get the man off of him, but when that failed, he started making his way toward the door, the Prussian still firmly latched on to his waist. The older man looked at Matthew groggily, blinking a few times,

"Ohhhh, heyyyy Francis. When did youu get 'ere?"

"What? I'm not Fra—" Matthew was cut off by Gilbert again.

"How're yoouu doin' with that whole 'ya know' situation?"

"What?" They had finally made it to the front door of the bar and Matthew was really regretting coming out drinking with Alfred.

"You knoww! How's that—" Gilbert fell forward and Matthew struggled to pull him up without letting him collapse to the floor. All in all, this was turning out to be an absolutely awful night.

It had been thirty minutes since Matthew had called Francis and Matthew had finally managed to get both himself and Gilbert outside. Gilbert was passed out and leaning against the building whilst Matthew was sitting on the curb, glancing over at Gilbert every few minutes to make sure no one was robbing him.

"All I wanted to do was see Francis, you know? But nothing ever turns out the way we expect it to, does it? It was a small chance at best and I got my hopes up knowing I would be let down." Matthew was rubbing his temples while looking at the ground, attempting to quell an oncoming headache.

"What let your hopes down, mon ami?" It was a certain French voice that made Matthew's mouth run dry. Maybe he hadn't heard right, yet when Matthew looked up he found Francis smiling at him, his figure illuminated under the streetlamps.

"I was...just hoping Alfred and Arthur would get back together so I wouldn't have to deal with their constant fighting all the time tonight." While that wasn't the whole truth, it had enough truth in it to make it sound at least partially convincing.

"Ah, yes, Arthur is fighting with Alfred again. Arthur is that type, you know, and your brother just seems to instigate him," Francis sat down next to Matthew on the curb, "They make quite the pair." He smiled and looked over at Matthew, his eyes flicking up and down his figure.

"I don't think it's healthy."

"Well, anything involving Arthur has its limits on how healthy it can be. He's dysfunctional and English, what can you expect?"

"I guess."

"The bigger question is why you are here, Mathieu. I've never seen you out drinking with Alfred before and I used to frequent this place with Gilbert and Antonio quite a bit." Matthew could see the slightest twinge of a smirk on Francis' face and his stomach dropped.

"I—Alfred asked me to be his designated driver." He glanced over at Gilbert again, praying that maybe the Prussian would somehow wake up and start pestering Francis to take him home.

"Ah, you're a good person." Francis smiled and gestured over his shoulder to Gilbert, "The only reason I keep picking him up is because I can blackmail him into helping me with things later." And with that, the Frenchman stood and walked over to Gilbert.

Over the next few days Francis was all Matthew could think about. He felt like a middle school-er discovering they have a crush for the first time. No matter what came up, what happened, what he tried to do, his mind unfailingly managed to relate it back to Francis. He was frustrated and he couldn't get more than 5 minutes of work done because of that idiotic, absurdly beautiful man. The night at the bar had replayed over in his head multiples times. He had gone over every possible meaning of that night, running Francis' words over and over in his mind, and he had come up with two plausible meanings: either Francis was being nice or he was putting off dealing with a drunk Gilbert. Eventually he came to the conclusion that it really didn't mean anything, and so he went on about his day.

While he had resolved that his conversation with Francis meant nothing, and that Francis coming to visit him during lunch and after school was nothing, that didn't mean he quit mulling over it. The not knowing was the thing that was getting to him. He was a patient man, but he found it hard to sit still through the weekend, anxiously waiting for the school week to start up again on Monday.

He could hear every little thing that was going on in Alfred's room. And it only made him more unsettled than he already was. All of the quiet whispers, the stifled laughs, the squeaks of the mattress meant that Arthur was here. Matthew had always wanted Alfred to get his own apartment, and this was one of the main reasons why: whenever Alfred and Arthur got back together it usually resulted in a 'trying to be quiet but not really succeeding in being quiet' round of sex in the bedroom next to Matthew's. The walls were paper-thin and if everything was still and calm, he could even hear them breathing. Thus, it was a miracle if he got any sleep at all on those nights. Sometimes he could drown them out with headphones, but others, well...it wasn't enough.

Matthew fell asleep at 2 in the morning, when Alfred and Arthur had finally quieted down. What little sleep he did get, however, was unsatisfying and restless. He awoke 6 hours later, Alfred and Arthur still fast asleep in the room next to him. Matthew rose, went to the kitchen, and began to set up the things he needed to make breakfast. By the time the other two staggered into the kitchen he had effectively cooked his way into a slightly better mood.

"Hey Mattie. Pancakes?" Alfred sat down at the small dining room table, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and gesturing for Arthur to sit next to him. Matthew turned and placed a stack of pancakes in front of Alfred and in front of the chair where he knew Arthur would sit. Arthur complied and sat down next to Alfred, who immediately pulled their chairs closer together.

"Thank you, Matthew." Arthur was always polite and somewhat apologetic and it was nice to a point, but it still got annoying. Matthew set his own plate down and began to eat, trying to ignore Alfred teasing Arthur and Arthur glaring back at him. He ate slowly and the couple ended up leaving the table before him, saying something to the effects of: "We're going to the amusement park." They left with Alfred smiling triumphantly and Arthur blushing a nice shade of scarlet. In some ways Matthew envied his brother: he envied the way that Alfred could just be around Arthur and be happy and he envied their good times when they weren't fighting. For Matthew, there had never been someone who had made him happy just to be around. There had never been that one person who, when they were around him, his heart would flutter and he would have trouble thinking. Arthur was that person for Alfred. Despite all their fights, Matthew could see it in Alfred's eyes. Whenever Arthur left there would be a dullness to them that would dominate them until he saw him again, and then there was a spark. The spark in Alfred's eyes when he caught sight of Arthur was unmistakable and bright like the morning sun. And Matthew had always been jealous of that: that spark, the ignition of emotion that Alfred could get from someone, namely Arthur. He would find his someone someday. Perhaps in another life.

Spring break was over and everyone was back to work and back to school. It was near the end of the day and Matthew was irritated once more. His students were either stuck in spring break or living in the summer and they were wrecking everything they set their hands on. When the final bell finally rang, he had three cracked bowls, two broken measuring cups, and a busted sink.

As the students exited the room, Matthew rounded up all of the dishes and put them in the wash, cleaning up the counters once the dishwasher had started. Francis didn't seem to be coming today, so he decided to work on the following day's lesson. He pulled out his lesson plan and gathered everything together, humming softly to himself.

"Ah, I'm a bit late today. I'm glad you're still here." Francis smiled and set his bag down by Matthew's desk, "Need some help?" Matthew smiled back and shook his head.

"No, I've cleaned everything up and now all I'm doing is making sure tomorrow's recipe is correct." He started to pour the needed ingredients into his bowl, mixing them leisurely. His eyes were on Francis though, as he shrugged off his jacket and came to sit next to where Matthew was standing.

"What are you making?" Francis rested his chin in his hands, looking at least vaguely interested in what Matthew was doing. There was a warm feeling that made its way through Matthew's body, starting in his stomach and coming to rest in his chest. It was odd, but it felt good, and he chuckled quietly before passing the recipe paper over to Francis.

"A cake?" The Frenchman scoffed and pushed the paper back to him, "Just a cake?"

"Yeah, I mean, they are just high school students. Did you think I was going to have them making a 4 course meal?" He added more sugar, looking over just in time to see a slight blush make its way across Francis' face.

"No, I just thought you'd do something a little more...difficult."

"Have you ever cooked with high schoolers? They can barely handle pouring water without setting something on fire." Matthew turned to look directly at Francis. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat and hear it in his ears, "Would you like to help?" Francis smiled and stood, taking the spoon from Matthew.

"Of course, but I may need some of the teacher's help." And with that, Matthew swore his heart stopped for a few seconds. With a wink, Francis took the bowl and began to stir.

"Okay." It was a squeak, and he could see Francis smiling wider now, glancing over at him occasionally.

"Am I doing this right, teacher?" The Frenchman laid his hand on top of Matthew's, "I don't think I'm doing it right."

"You're uhm—you're—yeah. I—" If Matthew was not a bright scarlet before, he was now. His mind was blank, he didn't know what to do.

"Are you all right?" Francis put a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back.

"Ah, yes, I'm fine." He was nervous, "Are you? You aren't—stirring...correctly." He cursed himself internally, that was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever said. But Francis just smiled back at him and took his hand and put it over his own, stirring the batter once more. Matthew hesitantly wrapped himself around the other, his other hand overlapping Francis' other hand. He was sure Francis could feel his heart beating, maybe even hear it. The pace was slow, as Matthew liked it, and he could feel his pulse take over his chest. They stayed like that for a while, stirring until the mix was smooth, and maybe a bit longer than needed.

"Ah—all right. Let's get this in the oven." Matthew let go of Francis, a bit reluctantly, and retrieved the pan from the counter behind them. He set the pan down next to the bowl, and began pouring the mix into the pan.

"Are we going to sit here while it bakes?" Francis asked, placing a hand on Matthew's hip, and Matthew could feel the heat rising to his face yet again.

"Yeah, I mean, I am. You—you don't have to." He stuttered, finally pouring the last bit of batter into the pan. Gently, he picked up the pan and headed over to the oven in the back room. Once it was in the oven, he went back to the front room.

"You're staying?"

"Of course."

"All right." Matthew sat next to Francis, his breathing becoming even more erratic than it already was.

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"Why are you nervous, mon cher?" Francis inched closer to Matthew, leaning in closer with each breath.

"I—you, you're close." He could feel Francis' breath on his lips, tickling his skin and begging him to lean in a little bit closer to connect them. Francis beat him to it, leaning in that last little bit and touching their lips together slowly. When Francis pulled back, he grinned and moved back in, kissing Matthew as softly as he had before. Matthew felt calm, steady, and he kissed back more forcefully, surprising Francis a bit. They broke apart again, but their foreheads stayed together.

"Are you still nervous, mon cher?"

"No." And he smiled. Maybe he would find his someone in this life. Maybe he had found his someone in this life.