Matthew took another sip of his beer and leaned back against the back of his couch.
"You're not even going to help me?" Anya asked bitingly from across the living room.
"Nope," Matthew replied, popping the 'p', "you're moving out, you can pack your own bags. And I'm going to watch."
"байстрюк," Anya swore in Russian, "Надеюсь, ты сдохнешь жалким и одиноким."
Matthew smirked, "I don't care."
"You don't even know what I said," Anya accused, throwing a shirt violently into her duffel.
"Non, et je ne m'inquiète pas," Matthew replied.
Anya narrowed her eyes at him and continued packing, muttering angrily to herself in Russian. Matthew watched, evil contentment settled comfortably in his heart. Finally, Anya finished packing and zipped her duffel up.
"Are you going to help me bring this thing upstairs?" she asked, bitter annoyance clear in her tone.
"Nope," Matthew replied, again popping the 'p'.
Anya eyed him angrily, then the numerous empty beer cans next to him and the unopened ones on his other side, "fine. Have fun with your hangover tomorrow. I am so glad we're over." Struggling slightly, she managed to pull the duffel up the stairs.
As she did so, Matthew called after her, "so long, biatch! Good riddance!" He swallowed a rather large gulp of beer, finishing off the can, and immediately grabbed another.
Gillian shut the trunk of her car, safely closing her shopping inside and blew out a tired breath, watching it fog in front of her and blow away in the cold winter air. She took out her iPhone and glanced over the list she had made of things she needed to pick up, ensuring that every item was checked off. She put the phone away and got in her car. She checked the mirrors and put the key in the ignition, but before she got a chance to turn the key, her phone rang.
"Wow. You couldn't have had better timing," she said to whoever was calling her. She pulled her phone out and glanced at the contact name. She did a double take. When was the last time she'd gotten a call from him? She was certain it had to be during college or slightly after.
That had been years ago.
Still somewhat confused, but never one to turn down a call from her best friend, even if they hadn't spoken for years, Gillian answered, "Matt?"
"Gil!" the voice on the other end called, "hey! What's up?"
Something was wrong. Gillian knew that immediately. Matthew almost sounded…
"Birdie, are you drunk?" she subconsciously switched to the nickname she had given him all those years ago. All those years ago… he hadn't been drunk once in the time she had known him. If he was drunk, it was either his first time or something that had happened to him since last they spoke.
"Nope," Matthew answered, popping the 'p' at the end of the short word.
That did it. He was drunk. She was sure of it.
"Hey…" Matthew began, drawing the word out, "wanna watch hockey? Be at my place in, like, an hour, 'kay?"
As if she didn't have evidence enough. Gillian followed hockey. She had ever since Matthew had introduced her to it in college. Since then, she had followed it as closely and as meticulously as any Canadian, despite being born German. She had lived in the Great White North since high school, after all. There were no games tonight. Not anywhere in the world, as far as she knew, and certainly none that would interest Matthew.
"Birdie, you're drunk," Gillian told him, "go to bed."
"Aw, I don't want to," Matthew complained in a slightly whiney tone, "come watch hockey with me…"
"Birdie-" Gillian stopped. How long had she been using that nickname? She tried again, "Matthew, go to bed. You're drunk."
"I'm not drunk. I want to see my best friend again. Just like in college! C'mon, Gil…" Matthew begged.
Gillian glanced at her watch. It was 2 hours to the town Matthew lived in, it was dark, it was winter, and she really, desperately wanted to go home and sleep. Apart from that, she wouldn't get there until 11:00. But…Matthew had been her best friend and far be it from her to walk out on a friend. You could ask Antonio or Francis. If she had a dollar for every time she had cared for those idiots when they were drunk… Of course, that went both ways.
Gillian sighed, "give me your address. I'll be there in a couple hours."
Matthew cheered on the other side of the call and she heard something fall and hit the ground with a loud bang, "we can watch hockey, right?"
It took quite a bit of coaxing and careful talking, but she managed to convince Matthew's drunk mind to give her the address. She then also managed to coax him into hanging up. She put the address into her GPS and started her car.
The drive to Matthew's house was full of memories. She couldn't supress the thoughts of her and Matthew together. They had met during the summer before their first year of college. They were two students, both 18, who had just graduated from high school. They ended up working retail together as they tried to save what little money they could before classes started again that fall. During that summer, they learned just how much they had in common, and it had been very nice for both of them, but especially for introverted Matthew, to have someone they already knew by their side at orientation.
There had been hockey games and fairs and festivals and broken hearts. They had been there for each other through all of it. There had been the times when they both became so sexually frustrated that they could do nothing but each other and their friendship escalated to 'friends with benefits'. There were the misunderstandings and 'no, we're not dating' conversations with friends, the awkward explanations of their relationship to significant others.
They had lived it all, and all four years of it replayed itself in fast motion in the two hours Gillian had entirely to herself, her groceries forgotten in the trunk of her car, on the highway driving to Matthew's house.
She found the place easily enough. It was clearly well cared for, smack dab in the middle of a fairly prestigious-looking community, and the driveway was recently plowed. Gillian debated between parking on the street and parking on the driveway for a moment, but decided the driveway was the best option. She didn't know when the streets were plowed and didn't want to be in the way, just in case.
Gillian got out of her car and walked up to the front door. She rang the doorbell, but received no response. After trying a few more times, she knocked and called, "Bird- uh, Matt? Are you here?"
She wondered if she had the wrong house and checked the address. Then she wondered if Matthew had given her the wrong address in his drunken state. But, even if the address was wrong, someone would answer the door, wouldn't they.
Gillian tried the door, only to find it unlocked. She opened it and stepped inside.
The house was a nice, two-story bungalow that opened immediately into the living room and dining room area. Off to one side was the kitchen and off to the other was the bathroom and stairs leading into the basement. Directly across from the main door was a door leading to the backyard, which, even in the darkness, Gillian could tell was a formidable size. The house itself was decorated tastefully, and clearly designed to emphasize the natural light that the many large windows were sure to welcome during the day. All the lights on the main floor were turned off and Gillian didn't see anyone up here. She wondered briefly if Matthew was married or had a girlfriend, but shook the thought from her head. For some reason, it struck her as an uncomfortable topic that she refused to ponder. Besides, she figured she'd hear something if he got married. They had, after all, been best friends once.
There was a faint glow of artificial light coming from downstairs, and, if she listened carefully, Gillian could hear the sound of a TV playing infomercials. Figuring that was where the 'party' was, Gillian made her way down.
"Matt?" Gillian called quietly, not wanting to wake the poor drunken man if he had passed out, "Matthew? Are you down here?" The stairs spilled into a much smaller living area with one bedroom and a bathroom on one side, and a second bedroom across from the stairs.
A lamp in one corner of the living area provided the only light in the room and the TV, turned down quietly, displayed infomercials, just as Gillian had suspected it would. But there was still no Matthew in the room.
"Matthew?" Gillian asked again, cautiously making her way across the room. She checked the far bedroom first. It was clearly the master bedroom, adorned with a queen-size bed and several other tasteful pieces of furniture. The bed was unmade, though. Gillian decided that this had to be Matthew's house. The neat-freak that was Matthew kept everything in order except his bed. It was the one thing he wasn't anal about cleaning. Gillian checked then checked the bedroom closest to the bathroom. It was smaller and had a double bed that hadn't been set up with sheets. There were a few boxes in it and a neatly organised desk against one wall and it had clearly been most recently used as a storage room and office rather than a bedroom.
Still having found no trace of her friend, Gillian poked her head in the bathroom, only to see…
"Birdie!" Gillian rushed over to her friend. He was sitting on the floor in the bathroom in front of the toilet, leaning against the wall and looking very much like he had slid down it immediately after vomiting. And, after a hasty evaluation of what was in the toilet bowl, Gillian concluded that that was exactly what had happened. The smell was horrid and Gillian coughed and gagged before covering her nose as she approached Matthew, "mein gott, Birdie, what happened to you?"
She reached out and instinctively felt Matthew's neck for a pulse, but ended up not needing to. As soon as she touched him, he stirred and opened his eyes. He squinted drunkenly at her through his indigo irises before an intoxicated smile broke out on his face, "oh, hey, Gil. Whaddaya doin' here?"
Gillian recoiled at the smell of his breath, then got underneath him and carefully lifted him up. "What happened, Birdie?" she asked, concerned.
"Me 'n' Anya've been fightin' a while now," Matthew slurred, "an' she lef' me t'day. I saw 't comin'. Didn' surprise me."
"Anya?" Gillian asked, "your girlfriend?" She decided not to comment on his improper grammar. Matthew was a grammar nazi, but she assumed (read: knew) him being drunk would dull his senses.
"Yup. We been datin' a year an' a half," Matthew replied.
Gillian took him into the master bedroom and let him lay down on the bed, but he immediately sat up again.
"Gil, you promised we would watch hockey," Matthew complained.
"There isn't any hockey on tonight, Birdie," Gillian replied patiently. She had dealt with drunks before. Hell, she had dealt with drunks before while she herself was intoxicated. She refused to lose her temper with her best friend, even if they had fallen out of contact.
"There's snot?" Matthew asked, blending the two words into one.
"No, Birdie," Gillian answered, suddenly realising she was using her nickname for him again.
"Oh," Matthew seemed genuinely surprised.
"Why don't you lie down and get some sleep," Gillian suggested, stifling a yawn of her own. She wished Matthew would take her suggestion so she could take it herself.
"But 'm not sleepy," Matthew told her, sounding very much like a rebellious child.
It suddenly occurred to Gillian that to save Matthew from the worst hangover he would likely ever have, she should be getting him to drink water, not getting him to sleep.
"Okay. Wait here," Gillian said, hoping she wasn't making the worst decision of her life by leaving the drunk man alone, "I'll be right back."
"Where're you goin'?" Matthew asked.
"To get you a drink," Gillian answered.
"You don' needa go far. I have sommore b-beer by the couch," Matthew told her with a hiccup.
"Okay, Matthew," Gillian said, pretending to care as she walked off.
Gillian pulled out her cell phone as she made her way into the kitchen, an idea occurring to her. She searched her contact list and searched the cupboards for a cup simultaneously, and found both things she was looking for at the same time.
The man on the other end of her call answered almost the second she shut the water off.
"Hello?" the sleepy voice asked.
"Hi, Alfred?" Gillian asked.
"Yes. Who is this?" Alfred asked.
In the background of the call, Gillian heard a woman's voice asked, "who is it, babe?"
"Gillian," Gillian answered, "Gillian Beilschmidt." It didn't surprise her that Alfred didn't have her number. She wasn't sure he ever had. She had only met him a handful of times, after all. She only had his because Matthew had given it to her in case of emergency. "I'm a friend of Matthew's," Gillian continued.
"Oh, yeah, you're the albino German girl, right?" Alfred asked, sounding slightly more awake.
"Yes," Gillian replied.
"So, you still in touch with my brother?" Alfred asked.
"Sort of. Actually, he called me up drunk a couple hours ago and-"
"Drunk? Mattie? Matthew Williams, my brother?" Alfred asked, "you sure he was drunk?"
"Positive," Gillian replied, "in fact, I'm at his house now. He's, how should I put this…very drunk."
"Oh god…" Alfred groaned, "he's never been drunk in his life. You're sure he's drunk?"
"He's off-his-rocker drunk," Gillian confirmed, "I know. It's weird. Anyway, I'm calling to ask if you can help me take care of-"
"Uh," Alfred interrupted again, "gee, I'd love to. Really, I would, but… aw, man. I'm kinda in Europe right now. My job requires a…decent amount of travel."
The phone picked up the woman's voice in the background again, "Alfie…go back to sleep. I'm jetlagged."
"Shit, really?" Gillian asked.
"Yeah," Alfred sounded apologetic, "I'm really sorry. I'm afraid you're on your own. I'll definitely check up on him first thing when I get back, though."
"Okay… thanks, I guess," Gillian grumbled.
"Sorry," Alfred apologised again, "really. Uh…gotta go. …Bye."
"Yeah. Bye," Gillian hung up reluctantly. She tried calling Francis and Antonio, but that got her nowhere (Francis didn't answer, so she assumed he was having sex or something and Antonio's boyfriend Lovino was apparently quite sick and he didn't want to leave his side), so she cut her loses, decided she was on her own with this one, and, after removing her winter clothes, which she suddenly realised she was still wearing, took the water back downstairs to Matthew.
She entered Matthew's bedroom to find him sitting against his headboard, his shirt thrown to one side and his pants pulled down to his ankles. His legs were sprawled out, but luckily he had left his red boxers where they belonged. Not that Gillian hadn't seen him naked before or anything. She just wasn't too fond of the idea of seeing Matthew drunk and naked right now.
"Here. Drink this," Gillian said, handing him the water.
Matthew sipped it and grimaced, "that's not beer, Gil."
"Yes it is," Gillian lied easily. She used this trick with Francis and Antonio a lot, "it's a special kind of beer."
"It tastes like water," Matthew stated, not convinced.
"That's what makes it special," Gillian replied.
"Oh," Matthew said with the enthusiasm of a child. He immediately began drinking the water.
Gillian watched him for a moment, trying to decide what to do. She figured the best thing would be to get Matthew ready for bed.
"You should take your pants off, Bird- Matthew," she said, "so you can go to bed."
To her surprise, Matthew gave her a dirty look, "do you wanna go to bed with me, Gil?"
Gillian instinctively took a step back, "B-Matt…that's not what I-"
"C'mon, Gil. It'll be jus' like old times," Matthew insisted, "jus' like college. An' we can watch hockey after." Matthew put the water down on his bedside table and flipped himself over so he was on his hands and knees. He crawled over to where Gillian was standing and grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to move away. "C'mon, Gil," he urged, pulling her close, "it'll be fun."
Gillian brought her free hand up to his shoulder and held herself a fair distance away from him, preventing him from bringing her closer, "no, Matt. That's not a good idea."
"Why not?" in that moment, Gillian remembered how much stronger than her Matthew had always been, because he then continued moving forward despite her hand on his shoulder. He held tightly to her wrist and moved in. Gillian could smell the alcohol on his breath, then suddenly tasted it on her own.
For a split second, Gillian remembered every moment like this, every kiss they had shared. Every time, whether it had been passion-filled or chaste, she remembered that, for a while, they had both wanted more than they had. More of each other.
How had she forgotten?
But here, in this moment, it was wrong. Matthew was drunk.
The realisation hit her like a bullet to the brain and she quickly pulled away, managing to wrench her wrist from his grasp.
The sudden movement caught Matthew off guard and he fell from the bed. When Gillian looked down at him, she realised he had passed out, though whether from the impact for from simply being drunk, she wasn't sure.
For a moment, Gillian simply looked at him. It was funny…moments ago, he had been acting entirely intoxicated. But now, eyes closed in sleep and peaceful expression on his face, he could have just dozed off while they were watching a movie. Then Gillian remembered he was on the ground and quickly lifted him and deposited him on the bed. She removed his pants the rest of the way and pulled the blankets up around him. How many times had she done that in the past? She was certain she couldn't count if she tried.
And that moment…the moment when he kissed her.
She had forgotten.
Forgotten their forbidden love.
He was seeing someone. She was seeing someone. And yet, when they watched hockey together, when they saw movies together, when they played video games together...
They snuggled a little closer, they made love a little longer, they kissed a little more frequently.
It had been taboo to speak of. They hadn't mentioned it. But hadn't they both wanted each other back then? She knew she had wanted him.
Why hadn't she asked him if he wanted her?
Because they had both had significant others.
No. Gillian could make up all the excuses she wanted, but none was good enough to excuse her from not claiming him as hers when she'd had the chance.
And maybe tonight was nature giving her a second chance.
Gillian shook her head. This was an unlucky coincidence. She checked her watch. It was almost midnight. With a yawn, Gillian made her way back upstairs.
Her finger had already pushed the unlock button on her car when she hesitated. She glanced back at the dark windows in Matthew's house. She opened the door to her car. She hesitated again.
With a sigh, Gillian convinced herself that Matthew would wake up hungover and would need moral support to get through the morning. She closed the door to her car and returned to Matthew's house, justifying her decision to herself by saying that Matthew wouldn't mind and that it was too late to drive back to her place anyway. Deciding not to sleep downstairs with Matthew for appearance's sake, Gillian searched the house for spare blankets and made herself comfortable on the couch.
Her mind took its time settling down. She was wound up and adrenaline had practically replaced the blood in her veins. She tossed and turned for a couple hours, but managed to nod off eventually.
Despite having fallen asleep late and exhausted, Gillian awoke early. It was still dark out, due to it being winter, but her watch told her it was 7AM. Figuring she wasn't going to get any more sleep, Gillian got up. Needing something to do with herself, she turned the TV to Breakfast Television and began searching Matthew's kitchen for something that would appease his hangover. Due to the numerous hangovers she had not only had but cared for, she had done her homework (most of it was from personal experience) and prepared eggs and toast with cut up bananas on it.
Just as she was finishing the preparation, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She glanced over at the staircase to see Matthew stumbling his way upstairs, one hand holding his head as he stared at his feet with half-closed eyes. She immediately turned the volume on the TV down.
"God, what was I doing last night?" Matthew asked, "I feel like my brain is the battle field for a three-way Ireland vs. Scotland vs. England shouting match."
Gillian chuckled. Cute little analogies had always been something Matthew had been rather…astute at.
"And I had this funky dream," Matthew continued, dropping his head with a painful-sounding thunk onto the table. After a brief moment, he simply moaned, "ow."
"I made you breakfast," Gillian said softly, placing a plate in front of him.
Matthew remained frozen for a moment, completely still. Then he slowly looked up, confusion clearly written on his face. He blinked at Gillian sleepily, then quietly asked, "Gil? What-" Realisation suddenly dawned in his eyes, "oh, god. That wasn't a dream. So, Anya, she really…"
"I'm sorry about your girlfriend," Gillian said soothingly.
Matthew waved off the apology, "don't be. She was a bitch. It was a semi-abusive relationship. It's best that she's gone."
"Wow, really?" Gillian asked, surprised, "how did you get yourself into a situation like that?"
"By being stupid and desperate," Matthew groaned, "light hurts."
"Is this the first time you've been hungover?" Gillian asked.
Matthew hesitated, "uh…no."
"Hm," Gillian replied simply. She picked up the plate she had prepared for herself and set it at the place across from Matthew at the table, then got them both cups of water. She sat down, "drink lots of water. And eat what I made you. It'll help the hangover."
Matthew sipped at the water and took a bite of toast, chewed slowly, then froze. His gaze locked on Gillian, then instantly moved away in shame.
"I-I'm really sorry, Gil," he apologised, "about last night. I…shouldn't have…"
"Don't," Gillian commanded, cutting him off, but refusing to look at him, "you were drunk."
"Yeah, but that's no excuse. I-I mean, I just…" Matthew sighed, "I don't know. I'm just sorry."
Gillian looked up at him. His blue-purple eyes were fixed on her expectantly, hopefully. It was the same puppy dog look he had given her when they were in college. Only this was much less innocent.
Gillian smiled comfortingly, "apology accepted. Now eat. Seriously. It'll help. Especially the water."
Matthew nodded once and did as he was told. After a few moments, he awkwardly said, "so, how have you been? It's been a few years, eh?"
"Yeah," Gillian was surprised at how hard it was to get her words to work. This man…he had been her best friend for years. She didn't even know why they'd fallen out of contact. What they had…it'd been special. "I'm fine," she answered awkwardly.
"Did you ever get to open a mechanic shop with Ludwig?" Matthew asked.
Gillian looked at him, surprised. That had been one of their inside jokes in college. She examined his face for a moment, then recognised the twinge of expectant humour that pulled one corner of his mouth up slightly higher than the other.
Gillian smiled and chuckled, "oh, yeah. Luddy's been a real nuisance. He keeps wanting to buy manuals for everything, even though he knows it by heart."
And like that, the ice was broken. They spent the next few hours curing Matthew's hangover and reminiscing college days. Before they knew it, they found themselves at a restaurant for lunch, then back at Matthew's place after lunch, then watching reruns of Friends that they used to watch in college. And then, unexpectedly, the winning question popped out of Gillian's mouth before she could stop it.
"Why did we ever stop doing this?"
Silence descended over them, harsh and quick and full of painful, unspoken, forbidden things.
"Well," Matthew began. Gillian looked up at him expectantly, hoping he had an answer. He hesitated before speaking again. He looked her straight in the eye, "Gillian…I have a confession to make. After we graduated, I didn't want to pursue a relationship with you because…well, because I loved you. And I thought that, further down the line, that would come to haunt me. I mean, you were dating Roderich Edelstein and-"
"Roderich Edelstein?" Gillian interrupted, "Birdie, that guy was an idiot. I broke up with him the day after graduation. I told you that, didn't I?"
Slowly, Matthew shook his head.
And there it was. All these years of silence. All these years of not speaking with Matthew for an unexplained, unmentioned reason. It all made sense now. Everything snapped into place.
Gillian remembered forgetting. She had been busy the day before graduation. Drinking with friends, or something. And she hadn't gotten a chance to tell Matthew that she was planning on breaking up with Roderich. It was likely the only thing she had never told him. And on graduation day, they hadn't gotten much of a chance to see each other at all, and when they did, in the heat of the moment, the last thing they were going to talk about was relationships. Matthew had assumed she had gone on with Roderich, or broke up with him further down the line. He had distanced himself because he didn't want to see her with him, because he didn't want her to distract him from his life. And, somewhere, he hoped that if he stayed, he would distract her from her life as well, but he hadn't realised that was exactly what would have happened.
Suddenly, Gillian laughed, surprising Matthew. And, before he had a chance to think, she had pinned him to the couch and pressed their lips together. She finally lifted herself up, took a breath, and whispered, "oh, Birdie. I love you too."
:3
Anywho~
So, I'm not super happy with certain parts of this fic, but I'll come back and rewrite them eventually…
This fic, just for reference, is supposed to take place in Southern Ontario, where there are, like, a hundred towns that are all only a couple hours' drive away from each other (right where I live, actually, there are tons of tiny little towns that are literally so close to each other you can just walk from one to the next in a couple minutes).
Anyway, Breakfast Television (BTV) is a TV program that comes on in the mornings. I'm not sure if it's just a Southern Ontario thing (it's out of Toronto) or if it's all over Canada and just different in different places, but that's what it is. Any Canadians out there from other parts of Canada, you guys wanna let me know?
OK, on to the bit that matters. I wrote this fic in just a couple hours after it occurred to me while I was drinking Pepsi watching my sister pack her things to move them to our house from our grandparents' house where she's been living for the past year (complicated situation. Please don't ask. I'll answer if you do, but…seriously). It just sort of popped into my head. So I sat down and started writing and this happened.
I'm pretty happy with this, but, like I said, there are a few parts that I think need work. I'm gonna go ahead and publish it as-is anyway, and I'll go back through and do what I can about the awkward parts later (so if you think anything is a little awkward or want to see some changes, let me know and I'll see what I can do :D ).
Also, Anya was written with Nyo!Russia in mind, but you can see her as and OC if you want to.
Translations:
What Anya said (in Russian): "Bastard. I hope you die pathetic and alone."
What Matthew said (in French): "No. And I don't care."
What Gillian said (in German): "My god!"
Until next time!
~Maya
P.S. I am SO jealous of my mom's awesome Wal*Mart mug. I want to steal my mom's awesome Wal*Mart mug! (Meaning a mug she got at Wal*Mart, not a mug about Wal*Mart.)