If there was ever a moment that Arthur wondered how his seemingly normal life turned into an absolute mess, it was the moment he stood on an elevated stage, flipped off a woman wearing a ginormous wig, and snogged the fucking frog.

Okay, maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself.

Before he found himself standing on that fateful stage, Arthur Kirkland was a single father to a rambunctious, but sweet four-year-old boy. Alfred had been blessed with his mother's genes – bright blue eyes and normal eyebrows- and could melt the coldest of hearts with a wink and a smile. Together, they lived a relatively quiet life in a small, but cozy, house in the suburbs.

Arthur worked at a publishing company doing a job he could barely tolerate, but he did it for his child. Being a musician – his real true love – didn't always pay the bills. At least during the weekend Arthur could brush off his guitar, put in his piercings, and take his boy to Tonio's. Arthur played at Tonio's 'Amateur Night' so often that he was the only musician that was allowed a portion of the cover charge.

It was Antonio – the fucking asshole – that started this entire mess.

While preparing for the bar to open one night, Arthur and Antonio sat at one of the tables near the stage and watched their children dance across the platform. He always brought Alfred with him to this gig. Being a parent himself, Antonio was smart enough to realize that most of his employees benefitted from cheap and readily available childcare. Working at a bar overnight wasn't the best occupation for finding a babysitter, either.

Arthur was grateful. Alfred became close friends with Lovino, Antonio's son, and he got the chance to play music. The only thing he wasn't grateful for was the annoying French bartender, Francis Bonnefoy. In fact, the only good thing about Francis was his four-year-old son, Matthew.

Sweet little Matthew was polite, friendly, and absolutely everything his father wasn't. He got along well with Alfred and even managed to impress Arthur with his manners. If it weren't illegal, he would have kidnapped the child from the poisonous clutches of the frog. Surely, Francis was going to ruin that child, like he ruined everything around him.

But, anyway, back to the issue at hand.

Antonio was the reason Arthur's life unraveled.

While watching Alfred, Matthew, and Lovino dance across the stage one night, the Spaniard leaned over to show him a picture on his cell phone. It was of Lovino with a crown on his head. Despite the grumpy expression in his eyes, he was clutching at the crown with a small smile on his face. "I entered him into one of those beauty pageants last month."

"Oh, Tony, why would you do that to him?" Arthur was quick to judge. He'd seen the television show about the spoilt pageant girls and their overbearing parents. He didn't expect Antonio to push his child into something like that.

"It wasn't bad, really." The Spaniard argued as he flicked to the next picture. "We're between sports right now and it's something to get us out of the house." He stopped on the picture of Lovino holding a wad of cash. "Plus, he won five hundred dollars for that title. Easiest money anyone has ever made. I used half of it to pay rent and the rest I let him blow on toys and candy."

"I don't think five hundred dollars is worth my child's dignity."

"Last weekend your son streaked through the bar during rehearsal."

"Point taken."

It was almost like Arthur had a sixth sense for Francis' bullshit. The moment the frog was near, his skin began to crawl. Sure enough, as the goosebumps rose on his arms, the Frenchman appeared at his elbow.

"What are you two whispering about over here, hmm?"

Arthur gritted his teeth together as he 'accidentally' jolted his elbow back just enough to ram it into Francis' hip. It knocked the Frenchman back a bit and the Englishman was rewarded with a soft gasp of surprise. "Oops," he responded with a shallow, toothy grin, "I didn't see you there, Francis. I'll have to be more careful."

If Francis doubted his sincerity, he didn't mention it. He gave Arthur a tight smile as he safely walked around the edge of the table to hover over Antonio's shoulders. "Ahh! I knew Lovino would place high in the pageant, didn't I tell you? Look at him! That smile must have won over the judges! However did you get him to behave long enough to go through a routine?"

"You talked him in to this?" Arthur's snooty remark was ignored as a gushing Antonio turned to babble to his longtime friend. He rolled his eyes at the two, catching snippets of their conversation as he idly sipped his drink. It wasn't alcoholic, but he wished it were.

"Bribery, amigo! I bribed him with every single treat I could think of! It worked wonders for his attitude, really." Antonio explained with a wide grin, handing Francis his phone to show him the numerous pictures he'd taken that day. "There weren't many boys there for his division, so Lovino did not have much competition. I knew my little tomato would do wonderful!"

"Of course he did, mon ami! He has his father's good looks, no? Not to mention, that European charm!" Francis' eyes cut across the table to stare at Arthur for a moment before he handed back the phone. "Not that Arthur would know. Everyone knows the British don't have an ounce of charm in their body."

Arthur jumped to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. "I have more charm in my fucking pinky that you do in your entire body, Bonnefoy!"

"Daddy! That's a bad word," Alfred supplied from the stage with big, blue eyes shining with disappointment.

Arthur wasn't even aware his four-year-old knew what disappointment was, but it was certainly clear across his face. The man groaned to himself as he attempted to give his son a sweet smile. (Needless to say, it came off a little tense and strained.) "Alfred, dearheart, Daddy is sorry. He won't say those words again." He ignored the Frenchman's snickers in favor of accidentally jostling the table into his side. Obviously it didn't hurt Francis, but it made Arthur feel better.

Francis had that look in his eyes that Arthur didn't trust. He especially didn't trust it when directed towards his son. "Mathieu competes in these beauty competitions, too. I don't let him compete in the fully glitz pageants, because I do not agree with putting children in make-up and fake teeth all for the sake of a prize. He's always placed very high in the natural beauty competitions around here. You know," the Frenchman glanced at Alfred again, "your son is a very handsome little boy with a lot of personality. He'd do well in these competitions, too."

"Francis is right, Arthur, it's really a great opportunity for the boys. Lovino is far more confident with speaking and he's becoming more outgoing." The Spaniard gave his son a proud smile as the little one attempted a headstand. "Not to mention, the bigger competitions have scholarship opportunities for them. Imagine how much easier our lives would be if we didn't have to worry about paying for their tuition."

Arthur wanted to point out that they could all move back to Europe for free tuition, but he knew it was a moot point. Scholarships, monetary prizes, hell, even the idea of getting Alfred involved in something that wasn't a violent sport was appealing. Despite his best efforts, Alfred was never going to be a football – he still refused to call it soccer - star. (Poor boy just didn't have the coordination and Arthur wasn't going to let his four-year-old play a sport that was sending men into early on-set Alzheimer's.) It would be something to look into. "When's the next competition, if you don't mind me asking?"

While Antonio was searching on his phone, Arthur watched his son. He flounced around the stage like he was meant to be there. It wasn't surprising; his mother had been a struggling actress when they met. A few too many drinks at a club and nine months later, they found themselves parents. Her leaving them had been hard, but necessary. She hadn't been prepared for the family lifestyle. She hadn't been mature enough to toss away her dreams. Arthur wished her the best, but made her promise to never return. Alfred didn't need anyone in his life that just gave up on him.

"Arthur," Antonio interrupted his thoughts as he offered up a picture of a flyer on his phone, "the next competition is only two weeks away. You're in the heart of pageant season right now, so you'll be able to find competitions all across the state. It just depends on what kind you want to enter him in."

It was all a little overwhelming. Arthur knew almost nothing about this pageant world, but here he was considering it. He had to be a bit mental, right? "There are different types?"

"Oui," Francis chirped as he held up two fingers. "Two divisions that really matter, anyway. Full glitz, which is usually more expensive and tedious, and the natural competitions, which is a lot more laid back and fun. I would suggest start with the natural and then see if he likes it. No need in buying a bunch of expensive things if he hates it."

Fuck, the frog gave good advice and now Arthur would have to thank him. The words tasted foreign on his tongue, so he just sent a solemn nod in the man's direction. "I'll give it some more thought. I've got to prepare for the set before it's too late. Just, uhh, send me that flyer, yeah?"

As his phone buzzed with the sound of a received message, Arthur slipped to the back of the bar to prepare for his show. He thought he'd never look at the flyer again, even laughed at himself for thinking of it. Surely, Alfred would hate the idea. On a daily basis he refused to even wear clothes. There was no way his son would ever agree to dress up for other people. He'd never agree to do it.

(Two weeks later…)

Really, Arthur should have learned a long time ago to never say never.

Not only had Alfred agreed to take part in a pageant with a Hollywood theme, he seemed excited about it. Every night he asked 'how many days until the pageant' or 'can he be James Bond, please.' It was shocking how involved his son was with the planning process. (It also warmed his heart a little that they were spending so much time together. Many afternoons Arthur found himself simply too tired to roughhouse with his rambunctious child. Now they had a calm, almost-relaxing outlet for them to focus on.)

When the day of the pageant finally arrived, Alfred was the first one up and ready. They didn't live far from the hotel were the pageant would take place, so they dressed him in their bathroom. His hair was meticulously combed – even though that one strand refused to lie down – and his face scrubbed to the point of rawness before either male was pleased with the look.

Arthur fretted for days over the boy's outfit before choosing a fairly simple look. He went with a pair of pressed khaki slacks and an off-white button-down shirt with a cerulean blue bow tie and suspenders. Honestly, he knew the suspenders made the outfit. It was all worth it, though, because his son was going to dazzle the judges in the beauty competition.

He'd known that from the first moment Alfred stepped onto the makeshift stage in the hotel's meeting room and flashed a big, toothy grin at the judges on the first row. It was a bit obvious his boy was unpolished. Arthur could hear another mother behind him whispering critiques every time Alfred missed his cue or held his arms in the wrong position. (He had to stop himself from punching the large woman, but his glare made her uncomfortable enough that she eventually moved to another seat.) Arthur wasn't expecting Alfred to win anything, but he seemed like he enjoyed his moment in the spotlight.

If – at any point – Alfred had decided he hated it, the Englishman would have removed them both from the situation. It wasn't difficult to see the young boy enjoyed it because the moment his division was over, he skipped to Arthur's side and practically jumped into his arms. He was full of 'can I do it again' and 'how did I do, Daddy?'

Honestly, Arthur had no idea how his son did. He didn't know what the judges were looking for – despite Antonio's best efforts, this entire pageant world seemed about as clear as mud – or even if his son did anything right. He certainly wasn't going to tell Alfred that, though. He swung the boy on his hip and pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead. "You did wonderful, love! The judges smiled the entire time you were up there. Daddy is so proud of you!"

Alfred's beaming smile just about melted Arthur's heart. Really, who wouldn't love such an awesome kid? While the rest of the competition continued, his little boy napped against his chest. He needed to be well rested for his next appearance on stage. Most competitions – according to Antonio – were divided into two parts: beauty and theme wear. Theme wear had to go along with the team of the pageant.

Since the theme was Hollywood, Alfred begged to go as James Bond. Really, Arthur was to blame for that one. He read the books to the boy – or at least told him a condensed tale about the famed spy – over the past year. He was just glad his son seemed to adore bedtime stories. Maybe it would mean a healthy appetite for reading, as he grew older.

When his age division -4 to 6 year olds- was called up, Arthur gently tickled his sleeping child awake until he had a laughing mini-James Bond. They'd traded the khakis for a more formal set of black slacks with a mini-tux jacket. Arthur found both at a nearby thrift store for only a few dollars and his talent for embroidery made the small details pop. He adjusted Alfred's bow tie and pressed a set of sunglasses against his nose before nudging him towards the lineup.

Once more, he took his spot a few rows behind the judges to watch as Alfred strutted across the stage. Arthur was okay with developing choreography. As a musician, he needed to know how to move across the stage. He didn't know very many technical terms for choreography, but he thought he managed to show his son enough unique moves to impress the panel. As the original James Bond Theme sounded from the speakers, Arthur barely suppressed a grin as Alfred tumbled across the stage.

When they were practicing, Arthur tried to make his son walk onto the stage, but Alfred insisted that James Bond wouldn't just walk across a stage. He'd taken one look at Arthur and did a cartwheel. He wasn't very good at them. It looked more like a practiced fall than anything else, but it was cute and his son was having the time of his life. His routine was shaky at best, but each acrobatic stunt was punctured with a wide smile. By the time Alfred's routine was over, he was out of breath and beaming. Arthur waited for him at the end of the row, clapping as his child skipped back to his side.

"Did you see me, Daddy? I was the best James Bond."

"The absolute best," Arthur cooed, lifting Alfred back into his arms for a quick cuddle. Even if his son didn't place today, he'd had the best day with his boy. He'd taken a boring Saturday and had a great time. With his son in his lap, the Englishman settled down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and created a nonsensical story about unicorns while they waited for the crowning.

When time for crowning came, each group was called up by age, as it had been during the competition. Most were given some kind of minor title. According to Antonio, though, the real prizes were in the 'Supreme' titles. Alfred's division had a lively group of boys, especially as crowning began. They squirmed on stage as the minor titles were given out, but nothing came for Alfred's name. Even as they crowned the 'King' of the division, his son hadn't been called.

Those blue eyes dimmed a little once he realized he hadn't been called, but he didn't lose his smile. Arthur's heart broke for his son, especially as he saw him attempt to smile through his disappointment. Well, he'd have to take the boy for ice cream later. That would soothe that hurt. When his division was dismissed, Alfred walked slowly to his father's side, sniffling a little as he held his arms open.

"It's okay, lad." Arthur soothed as he scooped him up. "It's your first time. I think you did wonderful."

"He did," a young woman behind them interrupted with a soft laugh. She was blushing all the way to her hairline, but he appreciated the interruption if her words were true. "Your son pulled for a higher title. If they don't get crowned in the first round, that means his scores were high enough for a supreme title."

"Is that true, Daddy?"

Arthur knew Antonio had mentioned 'pulling for a higher title', but he didn't have the slightest idea what it meant. He tickled his son's belly, grinning as the laughter echoed around the room. "Maybe so? We'll have to see, won't we?"

So, instead of leaving with their tails tucked between their legs, the duo sat there through the remainder of the crowning. After all the age divisions were called, the pageant director began calling the supreme titles. Arthur didn't actually believe his son would get called, but sure enough they were watching another little boy crowned for 'Most Handsome' when Alfred's number was called out.

"Our winner for our Supreme Title Most Personality is number fifty, Alfred Kirkland!"

Hearing his name made the little boy laugh happily. He jumped from his father's lap and raced towards the stage where a bright red crown was placed atop his head. He was given a basket full of goodies -which he immediately dived into- and a small monetary reward of $100. Despite the crown being too big, Alfred bounded back to his father's side to show off his hard earned goodies. After digging through the toys, he found a toy airplane that he adored and spent most of the ride home making noisy airplane sounds.

Later that night - after two stories about airplanes - the two cuddled together in Alfred's bed and soaked up the last few minutes before bedtime. The crown was placed haphazardly on the small desk near the window and the airplane rested on his nightstand. Arthur soothed his son's hair back to ask him if he wanted to do another one. Alfred's resounded 'yes, please' was all the answer he needed.

That first victory was too sweet not to try over and over again. Unfortunately for the Kirkland family, the chase for the thrill would change their entire lives.

In ways they could never even imagine.