1. Icewine
Matthew hummed to himself nervously as he waited for Alfred to answer the door. He was excited-probably more so than was nessacary-because Alfred rarely, if ever, invited Matthew to any of his parties. Now, for the first time, he would finally be attending one! 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'it isn't really what you'd call a party,' but he shook the thought out of his mind, because to him it was a party, or at the very least it was the closest thing he would get to have to one for a long time.
To his shock and mild horror, Francis opened the door. It was a shame, really-being neighbors, Matthew had thought he would have been the first one there. But he wasn't, not by a long shot. In fact, he realized that he was actually the last one to arrive. Holding the slender bottle of icewine in his hand, he looked at Francis and gave him what he hoped was a smile. "Hello," he said, his voice sounding meek and quiet as it always did, "I'm here for Alfred's party. I brought icewine." Francis gave him a smirk that, for whatever reason, Matthew found ominous in nature. "Who is it?" called Alfred from inside the house. "It's Matthew," Francis called back. There was silence, then: "I invited Matthew? Oh well! Tell him to come inside already!" Matthew didn't wait for further prompting and walked inside the house.
The first thing he noticed was that, as usual, the smell of grease was in the air. He tried not to wrinkle his nose, but he did. He couldn't help it; his house was just so much, well, cleaner. Everything from his garden to his medical cabinent was in tip-top condition. But, then, Alfred honestly didn't have to have a clean house. People still visisted, and regardless he was the kind of person you either loved or hated. Being his brother, Matthew was often unsure which of these categories he fell into. Most of the time it was both, he decided. He joined everyone else in the circle. He looked around: starting at Alfred, it went Arthur, Ivan, Wang, Honda, Feliciano, Ludwig, and presumably Francis-because only Francis would bring a monogrammed pillow to sit on. Though he suspected the floor was filthy like all of Alfred's belongings, even Matthew wouldn't have gone so far as to bring something to sit on.
"Hey, bro!" Matthew jumped a little at this greeting. "Hello," he replied back, almost whispering the word. "You can sit by me," Alfred said, patting a spot between himself and Francis's pillow. Though Matthew didn't particuarly want to sit next to Francis for any reason or any extended period of time, he did as he was told. He didn't want to argue. "I brought icewine," he said, holding the bottle. It had already began to melt a bit. Alfred tended to keep his house warm, though it generally depended on what part of the house you were in. They were in the living room, all seated in a circle next to the couch, which meant that the temperature was mild-not too hot, not too cold. But for Matthew it felt much hotter than he was used to. "That's great! Go put it in the freezer, it's meant to be kept cold, right?" Though the wine was served cold, he didn't want the wine to be forgotten in Alfred's freezer, especially since he had taken great care to select a quality icewine, rather than something cheap. Still, once again he did as he was told.
After he had returned from Alfred's kitchen, Francis had already sat down, and Matthew had to squeeze in a bit between him and Alfred, which he found highly uncomfortable, though then again he was highly squeamish. Everybody was making light conversation, which made Matthew even more uncomfortable, because light conversation was not something he excelled at. He decided to pour himself a shot from whatever was in the clear, umarked bottle. 'Funny,' he thought, 'how it looks like water.' He poured the mysterious liquid into a shot glass that he had brought from home, and before he could register Ivan saying, "No! Stop, you can not handle that!", he had already downed the drink.
It tasted vaugely like lemonade, he thought to himself. Maybe he could handle this. "You keep your hands off of my vodka, da?" Ivan continued to shout at him even though he had no intention of drinking any more of Ivan's disgusting alcohol. His icewine was much better. But because Ivan was still shouting, Matthew decided to pour himself another shot. He downed it quickly. "You are going to be knocked off your ass, little bro!" said Alfred, laughing at the prospect. Matthew just looked at him, directly in the eyes-which was rare for him. "I can handle it," he said, whispering slightly louder than he normally did. "I am going to be just fine."
About an hour later, Matthew could not feel his tounge. In point of fact, he could not feel much of anything-but he noticed his tongue in particular because he was trying so hard to use it. As a result, his voice was softer than ever, and he continued to go unnoticed. Everyone was chatting and sampling each others' alcohol, but no one listened to him. 'Invisible, I am invisible once again-' he thought, but he interrupted his own inner monologue with a groan that he was unable to tell whether or not it was internal or external. He felt like his entire body was numb. Was it the whatever-Ivan-had-drink? Since it was Ivan, he decided that it had to be vodka. Vodka! No wonder he felt so bad. What on earth had possesed him? Matthew knew that even beer had the tendency to get him plastered, usually after only one drink. He began to feel worse, perhaps because he had convinced himself that he was going to die.
'This must be why Alfred calls me a lightweight.' He laughed and laughed like he had said something hilarious, though he knew that he had not. In fact, he didn't know for sure whether or not he was speaking or thinking or both of them at once. "Everything feels funny," he meant to say, but it came out slurred beyond recognition. "It is not normal to be that drunk after two shots," said Ivan, or maybe it was Ludwig-Matthew wasn't sure, and he really didn't care. "Hey, doesn't it take, like, an hour for someone to get drunk? Poor Matthew looks hammered!" Ivan shrugged. "It has been an hour. Frankly, I thought he would have died by now." Ivan's rather discouraging statement did not help Matthew's mental state.
Matthew noticed that the edge of his vision began to grow blurry. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked no one in particular, and he knew that in all likeliehood his speech was not understandable, and that even if it were it would most likely go unnoticed. He felt a warm tingly sensation all over, and then everything went black.