The Switch

{ Prologue }


The light and high-pitched voice immediately assaulted Matthew William's senses. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking his blurry amethyst depths, wondering who it was. He tried to focus, only to feel dulling pain in his sockets.

I couldn't have had that many beers last night

"Wake up, sleepy head!" The figure spoke once more, who by this time, have crawled over and is looming above him, tapping his cheek. He can only make out the individual's crown of golden blond hair and petite frame. Judging by the high pitch, it's female, probably in her early teens.

And why is she sitting on top of him?

"W-who?" He mouthed the words slowly, sitting up. He clasped the girl's slender wrist. His eyes hurting even more as he tried to focus on her face. Her blond hair just seemed to glow. Oh how he hated hang overs.

She tilted her head to the side, "Oh my poor dear, what have he done to you?"

She also had blue eyes. Blond hair, blue eyes, the rest of the details are still a blur. She is sitting on his torso, her slender legs folded on his sides. She seemed to be wearing his polo shirt from last night-and nothing else.

"Whoah!" He quickly lets go of her wrist, then clumsily tried to get up and scramble for his glasses. The young girl got up immediately, giggling as 'she' watched in utter amusement.

"I will be downstairs, mon cher. I will explain everything during breakfast!" she chirped, twirling around before heading out of the door and downstairs.

A young girl, a young french girl.

"I...I'm probably seeing things." Matthew mumbled, slapping himself lightly on both cheeks as he headed towards the bathroom. A nice, hot quick shower. That's what he needs right now.

"Hurry, breakfast is getting cold!"

Matthew twitched. Maybe water splashing on his face will make him see things clearly.

Scratching his sides and wearing nothing but his maple leaf printed boxers, he went towards the sink and bent over it, splashing cold water on his face. He briefly looked up.

Odd, he blinked in front of the mirror, rubbing his chin. I remember shaving last evening...

Meanwhile downstairs, the young blond girl from earlier is waiting impatiently for Matthew to arrive by the dining area, 'her' slender legs dangling and swinging about from her chair as she reached for her glass of wine.

With both hands, she held on the glass and carefully sipped from it, a liquid trail of fire burns down her throat a little. She hears some commotion upstairs and lets out a heavy sigh. Swishing the contents with one hand, she lifted the glass up, leveling it to her lazy blue gaze.


The stumbling became louder.


There is a surprised shout, probably Matthew struggling to get in a pair of pants.


He slams the glass of wine on the table and Matthew immediately barges out of his room, his face was bright red and he was panting. As 'she' have guessed, his pants were undone and it was a little too tight in certain areas. A purring sound almost escaped her mouth.

"Well, well...bonjour."

Matthew was gasping, his jaw moving but he can't form the words from his mouth.

"Papa?" he cried out, finally realizing who the young girl was. He made frantic hand gestures, as if words are not enough to express or describe what just had happened. "Wha-What is this? Wha-" He pointed at Francis Bonnefoy, his Papa, looking very much like he was during the middle ages: a young effeminate lad that could pass as a female.

And he seemed to enjoy it too, for some reason. Matthew can still not unsee the horror he saw at the mirror few minutes ago. He has matured in ways he is not ready for. For a minute, he thought he was staring at his Papa's reflection.

Then he realized it was his.

"Angleterre." he explained calmly, jumping off the chair, meeting Matthew who has stumbled half-way, still trying to get used to his suddenly mature and stockier physique. "He ez ze only one capable of doing zis to moi. he ez the culprit!"

Well, that would explain everything. Matthew thought grimly. His two 'parents' have always been at odds with each other since probably the time immemorial. Even last night during a party, Alfred had to pry a soaking wet, screaming drunken Arthur from him, threatening he would have his revenge. Matthew cannot recall what his Papa did that time, but upon seeing the snickering Gilbert and Antonio outside, he assumed he has once more been fooling around with his Dad just for the heck of it.

So how did he get into this mess?

"That's what I want to know as well!" Francis said, as if he read his son's mind. He reached for his hand and tugged it. "But first, breakfast."

The visibly shaken Matthew reluctantly followed him towards the dining area, sitting at their respective places. "You will have crepes." He pointed out, as Matthew stared disappointingly at his food plate. "I know how much you love pancakes, dear. But when you have a gorgeous body like that you will need something healthier!"

"A..Alright." Matthew stammered, reaching out for a fork and knife wearily. His hands are still trembling. "Papa," he asked, and then paused briefly. Should Francis be even drinking that much wine in his young physical form? "What now? Should I contact Dad about this?"

"Oh, no need!" he laughed lightly, dismissing the notion with the saucy flick of his hand. He sips from his glass once more. "That's already taken care of!"

Somehow, Matthew feels that whatever his Papa is planning, it's not going to be a good one.

A/N: To be continued. This is just SO short. Well, it IS a prologue. Kudos to my friend claudiakat who did the beta/re-phrasing and making Francis's language as authentic as possible.