Matthew walked through the halls, trying his best not to be seen.

"Goddamnit, Gilbert..." He murmured.

"Hey! Faggot!" Someone called out. Matthew's blood ran cold.

Matthew turned, only to come face to face with none other than Ivan, who seemed to have a problem with him specifically. "Oh, what? I'm sorry, am I about to make you late for a night out with your boyfriend?"

Matthew winced. "Oh, so it's complicated, then?" Ivan asked, grinning childishly.

Matthew didn't respond; he simply kept walking. He really didn't want to deal with this, not right now. No, no, no. I have crap to do today. The project is due—

Ivan caught up with him. "Walking away, hm?"

And suddenly— Matthew never knew how it happened— he was on the ground, winded. Ivan kicked him in the stomach repeatedly.

Matthew tried not to make any noise with each kick. That would just make everything worse.

Alfred walked by with his friends, casting a weary glance at him as he headed for his next class. Great.

Alfred hated him. They'd been together for such a long time, but Alfred most certainly did not get involved in Matthew's business, and vice versa.

The bell rang. Ivan left quickly, and Matthew sat up. He felt rather faint, and his stomach was twisting in knots.

He would be late to his class, just as he was every day. But somehow he was missed on the roll call the majority of the time, despite having the same classes and last name as Alfred. He was forgotten. Hell, sometimes his own adopted parents forgot to pick him up, but they always came back. They just never mentioned it, and that was fine,that was all fine, but this, this situation that he was in— this was not fine. It was like this every single day.

Mathew stood up hesitantly, leaning against the wall for a moment to steady himself. He really didn't want to go to class. He didn't want to be ignored even more.

Still, he walked away.

He slipped into the classroom. The door was wide open, and he just walked to his seat. He would never ditch this class, even though he easily could.

"Oh, Matthew. You're here. When did you show up?"

"I've been here since the beginning of class."

"All right. I accidentally marked you as absent. My apologies."

Matthew shrugged. "It's fine, Miss." That wasn't fine, either. His father, Francis, had already complained to the school a number of times that Ms. Bren couldn't keep the attendance properly or even pay attention to the number of students, but the district never did anything.

He sat through his class, writing down notes without truly paying attention to what the teacher was saying. He would read through them later. Right now, his body ached and he couldn't wait to go home.

Except, it would hardly be better at home with all of his parents' prying questions. He felt horrible whenever he worried them.

Alfred stared ahead, seated on the opposite side of the room. He knew all this stuff already, and if he didn't he could easily learn. Of course, Arthur and Francis would probably scold him when he got home, but he didn't really care. He had more important things to worry about, of course.

Alfred was the cause of the majority of his troubles. Alfred was an asshole to everybody (except for their adoptive parents, of course) and lashed out frequently.

The class ended. More shuffling through the hallways.

In his next class, Ivan wasn't there— he was supposed to be; Ivan and Matthew had the same final class- but he wasn't. Neither was Alfred, but that didn't exactly surprise him.

And, when class was over, Alfred wasn't standing at the car with Francis and Arthur, as he usually was.

Matthew hopped into the car, settling into his usual spot.

Alfred dashed out a few minutes later. He hopped into the car.

"What took you so long?" Arthur asked.

"Sorry. I had... a bit of trouble with my locker."

Francis frowned. "Did you get all the things you needed?" Arthur asked. Alfred nodded. "Good." He ruffled Alfred's hair and then started driving them home. Inconsistency.

"Matthew, how was your day?" Arthur asks.

But Arthur doesn't listen long enough for Matthew to respond. Instead, after waiting a moment too long, he turns to Alfred, scolding him because there was another call home— another time Alfred has been sent to the office.

When they get out of the car, Francis turns to Matthew, a smile on his face that quickly fades. He frowns, worries, taps his fingers on the younger boy's wrist and asks gently, "Matthew, where did you get those bruises?"

Matthew shrugs. "I fell again."

Francis exchanges glances with Arthur. "Are you getting enough sleep? Did you eat lunch today?"

"Yeah."

The day had righted itself. Everything was perfectly predictable yet again. Matthew continued on with his day, shrugging off the lack of consistency, an idea that he so heavily relied on. Alfred and Matthew do their homework, and then Alfred plays solitaire on his phone and talks to Matthew while Matthew dedicates about a third of his attention to Alfred, and two-thirds to the book he was reading. Life continues.