Arthur tossed the pan into the preheated oven and set the clock for 10 minutes. He bent over an watched the scones slowly rise. It was quite the peaceful day in his household. Everyone seemed to be out and about at this time. Or, that's what he thought, until he felt a tug at his shins. This had been happening for about a minute or so, but he had been too involved in cooking his masterpieces. But this time, he decided to answer. He turned around and looked down at Matthew, who was still in his night gown and holing his polar bear.
"Aw, wha is it, Mattie?" He said, softening up and picking up the child.
"Papa is out tolding Alfie how to 'pick up girls' 'n' I wanna you to tell me somethin because papa said you would"
He giggled at his improper grammar and sighed.
"Well today is your lucky day," he tapped Matthew's small, childish nose, causing him to flinch.
"I'm going to teach you how to cook something amazing," he said with a light in his eyes. He set the child on the counter for him to watch in awe.

- change pov ~('^'~)

Matthew desperately wanted to get this over with and spend more time with dad. Plus, while he was grasping for dad #2's attention, he watched him pour so much salt in his mix as if the world stopped spinning. He observed each spec too many pour into the bowl in slow motion, not saying a word.
Dad #2 was a terrible cook, and possibly everyone in the globe knew so.
Arthur began mixing another batch of 'radioactive' scone batter, while Matthew pretended to follow along.
But really, he was making crepes that Dad #1 taught him how to make just recently.
He liked to make them in his own way, though. Like a thicker version of them, with maple syrup, his favorite food item ever.
"So, what are papa and Alfie up to now?" Arthur asked, trying to start a conversation.
Matthew thought for a second.
"Daddy #1said he tooking brother to 'pick up girls'"
He giggled at the child's improper English once again. Then, he froze.
'Daddy #1'?
'Pick up girls'?
"Eheh, Mattie, if papa is Daddy #1, then what's my name?" He asked the toddler nervously.
Matthew thought for a second.
"Daddy #2!" He said with happiness.
Upon this answer, Arthur dropped everything and reached for the house phone, immediately dialing 'daddy #1''s cellphone number.
"Bonjou-"
"What are you doing with my son, Father #1?!"
Francis started exploding with laughter.
"Ah, Mathieu cannot keep his mouth closed can he? He's so cute like that and perfe-"
"Let's see how perfect your angel is after I teach him some of my most renowned arts!" Arthur said, cutting him off before he went on rambling about how much he loved Matthew.
"MON DIEU! DON'T YOU DARE TAINT MY BELOVED, PERFECT MATHIEU WITH YOUR TERRIBLE COOKING!" He yelped.
"Next, I'll teach him my favorite dark magic spell! Hahaha!"
Francis let out a "NOOOO!" as Alfred, in the background asked,
"Papa, what's a boob?"
Francis snickered.
"You hear that, bastard? I'm going to teach this child all I know! Honhonhon!"
He hung up to keep Arthur in suspense.
Matthew stared at his dad #2 in awe, for sure. Noticing this, he turned to him and pat him on the head.
"Hey Matthew?" He said softly, with a smile.
"Yes, daddy #2?" He responded.
"Your papa sucks." Arthur turned around and continued mixing batter.

The cooking session continued normally, with Matthew making an entire batch of pancakes and operating a stove perfectly right under Arthur's non attentive nose. Once again, he was invisible.

The oven timer reached 0:00 and let off an alarming beeping sound. Arthur dashed from the opposite side of the apartment and opened the oven door frantically, letting a lot of smoke into the room. Ignoring all the fire alarms going off, he set the pan on the table next to a plate of perfect, warm, golden pancakes.
He had completely forgotten about Matthew, and upon realizing this, felt his stomach drop.
He ran up the stairs and barged into Matthew and Alfred's shared room.

The child was curled up,under his blankets, and reading a book. How perfect. Carefully, he stalked over to the bunk bed and tapped his soft shoulder.
Matthew drowsily turned his head and whimpered in response.
"Hey Mattie, did you make those wonderful pancakes downstairs?" He whispered.
Before turning his head back to his book, he nodded and whimpered again.

Arthur's heart sunk again. His own child, a toddler, made good better than his.
Well, anyone made better food than him, he thought. He cringed and gave himself a mental face palm.
"Hey, how about we go downstairs and I can actually teach you something?" He said, sitting on the foot of his bed.
Matthew got up, rubbed his eyes, and nodded. He tripped out of bed and held Arthur's ginormous hand (compared to his) all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen.
On the table were his leftover pancakes he had made for Alfred or someone. Next to that, was a pan with 'rocks' on it, as he liked to believe. He looked up at Arthur, who was looking around the room for improvement inspiration on what to teach him.
Matthew stood on the tip of his toes and barely managed to reach a corner of the pan that was hanging off the table.
Once again, he was invisible.
He carried the warm pan above his head and exited out the back door. The grass moistening his bare feet, he waddled over to a patch of flowers and rocks.
Arthur leaped out the door and watched Matthew set his scones at the edge of the flowerbed.
"What are you doing with those scones?!" he shouted in panic.
"They're rocks and they can't be inside because they're dirty," he said, placing the last 'rock' down. Arthur sighed and walked over to him, also noticing a patch of dead grass on the way.
"What's that over there?" He asked, pointing to the dead grass.
"Alfie planted a rock because he wanted it to grow into a bigger rock but it didn't not happen because he's a stupid and everyone knows rocks don't grow on trees."
It took Arthur a moment to understand the sentence. Suddenly, he sprung to his feet.
"That's it!" He exclaimed as he picked up Matthew.
"I'm going to teach you all about hockey!"

--

Arthur dragged Matthew through the back door. He tried to pull his tiny had from his grasp, but it was no use.
"I'm still in my pajamas,"
No response.
"I'm in my pj's"
No response.
"Daddy, I'm still in my night gown!"
He turned his head right before he grabbed the front door doorknob.
"Oh, I'm sorry, lets go get that fixed,"
They both went upstairs to Matthew and Alfred's room. Arthur sat on the bunk bed and the toddler raised his arms. Then, he pulled off his pajamas, he opened a drawer from the dresser next to him and chose one of his t-shirts and jeans.
after putting all his clothes on, they finally went outside, also throwing their winter coats on on the way.

Matthew sat on Arthur's shoulders as he skipped down the sidewalk. They went through a trail that pierced a small forest, and reached a lake that had been frozen over because of the cold weather. Arthur set Matthew down, walked over to a chest, swept all the snow off, and pried it open. In it were many pairs of ice skates that varied in size.
"Kids your age always used to play hockey on this lake," he explained, pulling out a pair that looked Matthew's size. He put them to the side and started digging for skates that were his size. Lucky enough, he did, because of his tiny feet.
When he turned around to help Matthew put on his skates, he was already at it. It was almost like the child knew how to to care for himself.
"Do you want any help?" He offered.
Matthew shook his head.
Arthur shrugged, turned back around, and pulled on his skates.

As soon as they were ready, the two held hands and stepped on the ice of the lake. Using each other as a balance when they lost their own, they both got to the center of the lake within a minute.

Matthew got the hang of ice skating surprisingly quick. Soon enough, he was skating around the lake smoothly and happily.
"Wow, you're so great at this!" Arthur exclaimed as he skated over to him.
"I'm so proud of you!"
"I really like this, papa!"
"I'm so glad," he replied, letting out a sigh.
"Let's go get the real hockey started," he held his hand and skates back to the old chest.
Matthew sat and stared as Arthur pulled out long, slender sticks from the chest. Along with that, he pulled out 4 cones and set them on both ends of the lake.
"It's time to play hockey," he said, and he handed little Matthew a hockey stick.

Matthew learned pretty quickly, luckily. It was like he was naturally made to play hockey. He even scored several points against Arthur.
"You're way better at this than I am!" He exclaimed.
"I don't like it,"
"Huh?"
"I'm lonely,"
Arthur frowned, and replied,
"Let's get Alfie to play, then!"
"Mhm,"
They both skated back to the chest, and Arthur set his stick down and pulled out his phone.
"When are you coming home," he texted Francis.
"I hope you're not texting and driving," he added
"Jaidjenqidhbrkajdntiwkxnkiqidnfiwj,"
"Francis,"
"Ajshaaffashhsjrkeiroylhlpjlullyomcncnv,
"Francis are you ok?!"
"Jdnfnbfbfbfbfbddhwhqfq,"
"Francis, don't text and drive!"
He waited anxiously for about 30 more seconds.
"Sorry, Alfred got my phone,"
"You tit,"
"We're in the driveway right now,"
"I'm at the lake with Matthew, and he wants to play with Alfred. Can you bring him over?"
"He's really tired though,"
Arthur let out a sigh.
"Maybe next time, Mattie," he said to him, patting his head.
He then sat on the chest and pulled off his skates. Of course, when he turned around to help Matthew, his skates were already removed and bundled together. After loading them into the chest along with the hockey sticks, he propped him on his shoulders and began marching home.