Smoshie

Whenever Francis gets sick of Arthur he angrily retreats to his villa in Spain for a couple of weeks to cool off. For ancient flesh beasts like Francis, years are merely days, plans with the other embodied nations could take up decades of Francis time (once he had a 20-year strip poker run with Prussia) 

So, eventually Matthew joined in on Francis’s retreats as an opportunity to see his papa. This became a small routine the father and son picked up in the past 10 years. Despite being a grown man / creature / country mascot / thing, Matthew can't help but feel like a lost kid, especially when still grappling with what the fuck he is. He never understood how Alfred handles it so well… the isolation is crushing… can't be friends with humans, can't be friends with his own kind (well, he never tried to anyways)

Francis, his papa, is his comfort person. Makes him feel like a kid again, ignorant to the true vast repeating emptiness his life would be.

Mattie was always closer to Francis, due to their shared language they had an extra connection that Matthew never had with his other father, and Francis always had a soft spot for little Matthieu, his ‘little me’. So, here is Matthew eating with his papa, in a beautiful villa. Usually, this would allow him to ignore his internal problems and give him a sense of ‘normalcy’. Francis pours him a glass. Then another. Matthew starts over thinking, his mental state has been essentially, don't think about it, but the alcohol slows him down, he's rummaging. 

The room is spinning, he keeps thinking, thinking.. Maybe the fifth glass was a bit too much.

“Hey, uh, papa. How do we die?”

The question was so perplexing. Francis almost spits out his wine, a small chuckle arises, “quoi — what a strange question?” Matthew grimaces at the immediate lighthearted dismissal of the serious nature of the question. Francis looking up to seeing Matthew wanting an actual answer, Francis finishes his chardonnay 

“To put it short, we can't” he places his now empty glass down, “how come you want to know? Sick of being around your brother?” Francis grins, leaning on his arms. Matthew looks down, suppressing a frown - try to keep it nonchalant. “I, well, no — “Matthew swirls around the remaining liquid in his glass, staring at it as if he's waiting for his word que.  “Just curious” is what he lands on. A quick reply. Just drop the subject.