Sometimes, Matthew sits in the window seat of the large old sunroom and wonders about things.
He sits and wonders about the world, his state of affairs, his people – but mostly, he wonders about his family. He could sit all day and ponder anything else; maybe the dust in the universe, or the gas in the stars. Instead, he chooses to dwell on something as simple as a family. "But are they so simple?" he wonders sometimes. Every interaction is different, and they have so many separate faces for every occasion. He supposes maybe, that they are not so simple after all.
As of late, he's been wondering about his brother, Alfred. He wonders about the way he lies in his bed, curled on his side, stone-blank face turned to the poppy seed blue wall. Matthew knows that when Alfred does this, he's wondering about things too. As to what Alfred wonders, Matthew couldn't be less sure. But, every now and again, he tries his best to figure it out.
He visualizes himself, sitting in his place on the carpet, back to the side of Alfred's bed. The spot is really his after all, if you consider the permanent matted place in the carpet where he sits. He will sit and wonder and lean his head back on the edge of the mattress. Alfred will be still – so incredibly still – and not breathe a sound. When Matthew finally speaks it's harsh words that bubble up, sharp and pointed. He works at Alfred's brittle armor with them, worming his way in.
He doesn't mean to be harsh of course, but his voice just isn't strong enough and his words just too much so.
When Alfred does respond it's with anger; something more pained and failing than his mask. Sometimes they work through it like that, but then Matthew begins to wonder, "Why?"
"Why is it," he questions himself, "that we must always become disagreeable before we can progress?"
Sometimes, Matthew sits in the window seat of the large old sunroom and wonders what it would be like if he were a sister instead of a brother. He knows he's not very good with emotional communication, and he thinks that maybe if he were a sister –most definitely not a brother – he would be able to empathically relate to Alfred better. He would be more connected, more caring and possibly more knowing about things like wondering. If he were a sister, and not a brother, then he wouldn't need his spot on the carpeted floor ("No," he thinks, "I certainly would not.") He would be closer to the problem, sitting instead, up against the poppy seed blue wall.
But alas, he is still on the carpet, and he is still very much a brother, and not a sister. He is still very awkward and unsocial, and he hides himself from the face of the world. "In fact," he considers aloud, "I wonder if I'm even very much of a brother after all." He wonders maybe if he can just put all of this behind him, and stop all these nonsensical wonderings. Then, maybe even wondering would become a thing of the past.
Sometimes, most often times, Matthew sits in the window seat of the large old sunroom and wonders about things.
*****
Hetalia does not belong to me, and I'm finding that I feel kind of crazy again.