(A/N Lucille is Monaco, Michelle is Seychelles, and Marianne is nyo!france idk why I made her younger tho. Apologies if I got any french words, grammar whatever wrong)
Francis woke up to a dimly lit room, the wine colored curtains of his window casting a purple glow on everything. He sat up, stretching, and looked at the sleeping form curled up in a mini nest of blankets. Aha that's who stole all the blankets in the middle of the night and left me to freeze. He thought, his lips curling up into a gentle smile. Matthew was sound asleep, clutching his stuffed bear, golden hair spread in a halo around his head. Francis got up, careful not to disturb Matthew, and walked into the adjoining bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, dreading the day.
Another day of pretending that everything is ok. Like my heart hasn't been torn apart. But the heart will heal... eventually.
He grabbed a brush and ran it through his hair, wincing as the bristles snagged at small knots. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the small roses carved into the handle, a reminder of his homeland. He missed France so much it hurt. Sure, spending five years in Canada was semi-tolerable, especially since everyone there spoke French, even if it was Canadian. He missed walking along the banks of the Seine river, gazing at the skyline of Paris at dawn. He missed his friends that he left behind in Europe. He missed his little sisters, Lucille, Marianne and Michelle. Closing his sky colored eyes, Francis let himself fall back into memories.
"Francis! Attends-moi!" (wait for me) His sister, Lucille, pouted, crossing her arms and trying to look as stern as a six year old could. Eleven years younger than Francis, who was the oldest of four children, she was unusually serious, something that Francis and nine year old Marianne loved to tease her about.
"Tu es si lent!" (you're so slow) Marianne whined, stopping to wait for her sister, retying her shoes, a few strands of hair escaping from her ponytail to bounce around her face. Seventeen year old Francis turned around to face them, one year old Michelle held securely in his arms. Michelle giggled, grabbing a lock of hair that had fallen out of Francis's own ponytail.
"Dépêchez-vous!" (hurry up) Francis sighed, tapping his foot impatiently. He hadn't seen his two best friends in forever, and they were all bringing their little siblings. But of course they had to choose today of all days to crawl at a snail's pace.
"Dis ça á elle."(tell that to her) Marianne responded, nodding at Lucille, who had caught up with them.
"Luciiiiiii~" Francis sang, getting down on one knee to be at her level. "Dépêchez-vous s'il vous plaît ou nous ne serons pas là à l'heure." (Hurry up please or we won't be there on time)
Lucille stuck her nose in the air and turned around with a huff, still bitter at being left in the dust. "Non." she sniffed.
"D'accord." (Ok) Francis placed Michelle on the soft grass and scooped Lucille up, sitting the stubborn child on his shoulders. She yelped and wrapped her arms around Francis's head, alarmed at the sudden change. A giggling Marianne picked up Michelle, and began to jog to a grove of trees, where a group of people were gathering. Francis laughed and stood up, beginning to also head in that direction while holding onto Lucille's legs to make sure she didn't fall.
"Francis! Oh dios mío when the hell did you grow two heads amigo?!" one of Francis's friends shrieked.
"Antonio you dummkopf zhat's his little schwester!" Another voice shouted.
Francis set Lucille down, and she quickly ran off to play with the other children. "Bonjour mes amis!" he yelled, running forward to greet them.
The three friends met together in a messy group hug, which they had a fair amount of trouble getting out of. "Oh 'ow 'ave you been? I 'ave not seen you guys in cinq mois!" (five months) Francis asked, switching to English, the only language that the three of them had in common.
"Vell, Vest und I managed not to get kicked out of our new appartment, und ve adopted a new dog." Gilbert, a loud albino from east Germany, (or Prussia as he insisted), replied.
"How in the world did you manage to get kicked out of the previous one?" Antonio, a kind and always happy Spaniard, asked.
"Apparently my awesome mild parties are not allowed. Vhat a buzzkill."
"Gilbert zhat vas not a mild party!" Gilbert's girlfriend, Elizaveta, a pretty Hungarian, piped up.
" It vas too! Und mein awesome head still hurts from jour skillet."
"I had to coax jou down from ze statue somehow! Jou vere drunk out of jour mind!"
"I vos being awesome!"
"Jou vere clinging to ze statue yelling 'GILBERD VHILL INVADE JOUR VITAL REGIONS!'" at this Antonio and Francis burst into laughter, and Gilbert hung his head.
"I don't even know vhere I got zhe statue..." he mumbled.
Francis sighed, remembering how they used to cause so much trouble together. They had been friends since they could remember, and remained friends to this day, although they were all living in different countries. He opened his eyes to check the time and found that he had been lost in memories for well over an hour, and it was now time to start making breakfast. Francis made his way down to the kitchen, planning to make Matthew's favorite food, pancakes, or crêpes, for breakfast. As he was setting out the ingredients, his laptop, which was sitting on the counter buzzed with an incoming video call. Clicking accept, he was greeted with a split screen of Antonio's and Gilbert's grinning faces.
"Hola amigos!" Antonio said, waving his hands frantically.
"Oh mein gott Francy-pants mein eyes!" Gilbert shrieked, covering his eyes. "Vhat in zhe vorld are jou vearing?!"
"Quoi?" Francis asked, looking at his French flag print sweatpants and "Paris Je t'aime" tank top. "What ze 'ell is wrong with my clothes? Keep in your tiny mind zat we are six 'ours behind you."
"Oh that's-a why you are dressed like-a the tomato bastard picked out your clothes." A gruff Italian voice commented from the background.
"Lovi!" Antonio beamed, and dragged his husband into the frame. Lovino Vargas-Carriedo, Antonio's husband of three years, sputtered and attempted to detach the Spaniard from his arm. Francis laughed at the Italian's antics, and moved around the kitchen, mixing the ingredients for the crêpes in a large bowl.
"Bonjour Lovino! Comment ça va? Ze same to you Gilbert and Antonio!" (How are you?)
Lovino merely growled, still trying to free himself from the clutches of his affectionate husband. Gilbert grinned and responded without sounding like an animal.
"Alles ist gut. Vhat about jou Frenchie?" (All is good)
Francis waved a hand and redirected the question back to Gilbert. "Same 'ere mon ami. Now 'ow is your lovely girlfriend?"
Gilbert's grin dropped off his face, and he looked down, his pure white hair hiding his face from view. "Elizaveta iz no longer mein girlfriend." he said, voice cracking like he was trying to hold back tears.
They all gasped, and Francis felt the bowl beginning to slip out of his arms.
"QUOI?! What ze 'ell 'appened? Oh mon dieu c'est horrible!" Francis exclaimed.
"S-she iz not mein girlfriend anymore... because..." Gilbert said shakily, then took a deep breath. "BECAUSE SHE IZ GOING TO BE MEIN VIFE!" He screamed, head snapping back up and joy in his eyes. A whirl of brown hair obscured the camera for a few seconds, and when it cleared away, it showed Elizaveta and Gilbert kissing. They broke away after a second, and Gilbert shoved Elizaveta's hand up to the camera to display a large diamond on her ring finger. "SAK EET LOZERS!!!" he yelled, and turned to his fiancée. "Ich liebe dich Lizzie."
Lovino and Francis squealed, and began to congratulate the newly engaged couple. After a few minutes of chatter about the engagement, only resulting in Lovino screaming that if Gilbert "EVER SCARE ME LIKE-A THAT AGAIN I WILL-A TURN YOU INTO PASTA YOU ALBINO POTATO WITH LEGS" once. Francis cheerily flipped crêpes in the skillet, throwing and catching them like a professional.
"Bonjour papa." Said a small voice, and Francis turned his head to see a just awoken Matthew standing on the stairs, rubbing his eyes. "Crêpes?" he asked hopefully, lifting his nose and sniffing.
"Oui. Viens saluer Gilbert, Elizaveta, Lovino, et Antonio." (Yes. Come greet...)
"Bonjour!" Matthew chirped as he scrambled up on the counter. Francis handed him a crêpe with blueberries and maple syrup, Matthew's favorite. "Merci." he began to munch on it, waving to the people on the screen.
"Ciao Mattie. How are-a your English lessons going? Oh mio dio please tell me you don't-a have a horrible accent like-a your father." Lovino asked, seemingly horrified at the prospect of Matthew speaking like Francis.
Matthew attempted to respond while eating a crêpe, which failed miserably. Wiping his son's mouth, which had maple syrup all around it, Francis took the opportunity to respond.
"Excuse-moi, my accent iz not zat bad. Matthieu understands a lot of English, but alas speaking is a different story! Matthieu, why don't you show what we 'ave practiced. In your best English s'il-vous plaît."
Matthew looked at Gilbert and Elizaveta, who nodded in encouragement. "H-h-hello Lovino. 'Ow are you? My English lessons are going well. Zough I understand a lot more zan I can say." He said rather shyly, with a thick French accent.
"Zhat vas sehr gut! Alzho I zhink zhat jou should learn ze great language zhat iz German first."
"You dumb potato what will German help him with? He needs to learn Italian." Lovino proclaimed.
"Or Español!" Antonio chimed in.
"Oh mon dieu by ze time zat my son grows up I would not be surprised if 'e knows all ze languages you mentioned, just from talking to my friends. Now I must go, I 'ave to clean ze whole 'ouse."
"For what reason amigo? Surely you can stay and chat a little longer no? Please?" Antonio asked, looking at the clock.
"Non I can not. Au revoir!" Francis sang, shutting the laptop.