A/N: Only three weeks left of summer vacation, and I am not looking forward to summer's end. I haven't had internet for a while, so I can only go on when I'm at my grandma's, my dad's, or when my neighbors decide to take the security off their connection-really, it's just the latter (there are many computer hogs in my family).

This is my first time writing a few of these pairings, so I hope that I did well.

Edit: I went back and fixed grammatical mistakes, as well as issues with flow.

Disclaimer: I only own the plot.

"You're leaving?"

Matthew sits up in his bed, not bothering to cover himself with the sheets. His hands clench tightly around the covers as Arthur offers him no answer. Arthur doesn't look at him as he dresses, tugging on his boxers and rising from the edge of the bed to fetch his dress shirt. He slips his arms into the holes and does up the buttons of his shirt, refusing to acknowledge Matthew's pleading stare. There is only one window in the room, but it offers no source of light other than the weak glow from street lights outside. It's late, around eleven thirty, and Arthur isn't going to stay the night.

He never stays.

"Please." Matthew begs, the words taking on a desperate tone that he loathes, "Please don't leave again."

Matthew is graced with a brief glance as Arthur straightens out his tie, emerald orbs immediately drifting back to his wrinkled trousers, which his hands struggle to smooth down. Arthur quickly realizes that the creases in his slacks will not come out without proper ironing, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and heading for the bedroom door.

Arthur turns the knob and steps out, "Goodbye, Matthew."

Matthew waits until he hears the front door close before falling back onto his pillows, fingers untangling themselves from the bed's dressings and running themselves through his wavy strands. Matthew is with Arthur, yes, but he doesn't feel like his boyfriend, instead serving solely as the his fuck buddy. At first, Matthew was perfectly fine with the way they interacted, but now he wants something more than a detached romp. Arthur, however, does not.

"…I hate you." He mutters.

But he loves him too much for that to matter.

Matthew has been with Arthur for a year-they've been having sex for a year, he corrects himself-and still hasn't been to the slightly older (he's twenty-two and Arthur is twenty-five) man's home. He adores Arthur, and there's no doubt in Matthew's mind that he's in love with him, but there's also no doubt in his mind that Arthur does not feel the same (the thought is agonizing; heart-wrenching and painfully apparent). But Matthew shoves all these thoughts aside and continues his trip to Arthur's office, laden with a container of fish and chips; one of Arthur's favorites.

It's late summer, so Matthew takes advantage of the slightly humid (but still pleasant) weather, dressed in a pair of beige khakis and a light blue t-shirt, a pair of white loafers adorning his feet. The walk is short, and he brightens considerably when he spots Arthur's messy shock of hair in front of the building, calling out to him with a wave.

"Arthur!"

Arthur turns, smiling distantly at Matthew before the bespectacled man beside him catches his attention. Matthew is a few yards away, but manages to overhear the man.

Sniffing disdainfully, the man who Matthew can only assume to be one of Arthur's colleagues inquires, "And who might he be?"

Slowing his steps slightly, Matthew grits his teeth and hopes, 'Please, please, please.'

He doesn't really know what he's hoping for, maybe a romantic title (boyfriend, lover), but it certainly isn't what Arthur says next.

"Oh, him? He's no one special: just an acquaintance."

Matthew wilts slightly at Arthur's cold tone (no one special) but paints on a smile as he reaches the pair, holding out a Tupperware container to his lover (the word doesn't seem to fit, he thinks, ignoring the stab of pain when Arthur shoots him a displeased glare). Matthew tentatively meets Arthur's eyes, shifting uneasily when he sees a spark of something akin to fury in his shining gems, but forces himself to speak nonetheless.

"I brought you lunch; I know you tend to skip meals when you're busy."

There's an uncomfortable pause as the stranger and Arthur glance at each other, and Matthew realizes belatedly that they were probably getting ready to go to lunch themselves. He averts his eyes in shame.

Arthur speaks up, ending the awkward silence, and informs him pointedly, "Roderich and I were just heading to lunch."

"Oh." Matthew manages to say, feeling inexplicably ashamed, "E-Enjoy your lunch, then. I'll just..."

He doesn't bother to complete the sentence, forcing himself to smile politely at them before turning sharply on his heel and beginning the seemingly endless walk to his apartment, cradling the box close to his chest.

Arthur watches him leave without a word.

Matthew tosses the meal into the trash when he gets home, Tupperware and all. He doesn't bother to wipe the angry tears from his cheeks.

"Why are you even with that con, Matthieu? He is clearly using you pour le sexe."

If his dearest friend had said anything of the sort to him two years ago Matthew would have scoffed at his hypocrisy, but Francis has changed drastically, and Matthew honestly can't remember the last time Francis hooked up with someone. Azure orbs challenge him silently, daring him to say something that contradicts his statement. Matthew cannot, instead deciding to plead his case to the judge.

"I love him, Francis! I love him and I-" Matthew's voice softens, his gaze falling to the floor as he murmurs, "-all I want is for him to love me."

Francis laughs sardonically, swishing the wine around it's glass before taking a sip, and musing aloud, "Is that not what nous voulons tous? To be loved?"

Francis apologizes for his harshness when he takes note of Matthew's hurt look, setting his glass on the coffee table and embracing him. Matthew settles in between Francis's legs, allowing Francis to wrap his arms around his waist and settle his chin atop slightly mussed locks (running his fingers through his own hair has become a bit of a nervous habit). They are both quiet for a moment, the only sounds in the apartment being their own breathing and the ticking of the clock. Francis's fingers card slowly through Matthew's hair.

"Je suis désolé, Matthieu." He whispers remorsefully.

Matthew wonders when Francis became so bitter.

"How dare you!"

It's less of a question than an accusation, and Matthew's head swivels towards the door with evident alarm as Arthur enters, wincing when he slams the door closed behind him. Arthur strides angrily into the room. Matthew places the bookmark in his book and sets it down cautiously, worry in his eyes as he observes how incensed Arthur is.

Matthew resists the urge to raise his hands to his hair, frowning nervously, "What do you mean, Arthur?"

Matthew knows what he means.

"Why did you come to my office?" Arthur demands, obviously livid, "You made me look like a fool in front of a partner!"

Attempting to ignore the way his lips tremble, Matthew replies, hurt by Arthur's callous behavior, "I just wanted to bring you lunch, Arthur; I don't see what's wrong with that."

Arthur chuckles hollowly, and runs a hand across his face frustratedly, "Don't you understand?" Matthew bites his lip apprehensively, "You're nothing more than a good shag, Matthew!"

Matthew feels like his world is falling apart, even more so when Arthur throws his keys onto the table and rigidly lets him know that he's not to contact him ever again. He cannot speak, instead watching mutely as Arthur storms out, the door thudding closed.

Arthur says one more thing before closing the door, and the words resound in Matthew's head until Francis calls him, coming over when he realizes that his friend is unwell.

"I'm not wasting anymore time on you."

It takes two months for Matthew to realize that he was never really in love with Arthur.

"Oh come on, Mattie! You and I both know that he was never particularly kind to you, and you can't fall in love with an asshole!" Alfred concludes decisively, smiling triumphantly when Matthew's resistant expression falters.

Ivan nods in agreement, tracing his thumb over his and Alfred's entwined hands absently as he adds, "Da Matvey, Alfred is right. He was not very pleasant, you told us this yourself."

Matthew recoils slightly at that: none of his friends have ever met Arthur, but he had told them regularly of the man's loveless actions and general apathy. His friends, the majority of them assembled around the table (except for Francis and Ludwig, who have Philosophy and Engineering, respectively), all smile encouragingly at him, glad that he's finally beginning to see their way.

"Mattie," Gilbert speaks up from his left, red eyes narrowing slightly as he stops Gilbird from making another lap around his head and plops him onto his mass of silver hair, "no offense, but you only ended up with Arthur because you were kind of desperate for the attention."

Matthew glares, punching his friend in the arm (hard), and ignoring his groan of pain.

Elizaveta takes the opportunity to cut in, patting her boyfriend's other arm comfortingly, "What Gil meant-" she gives him a sharp look, "-was that your parents didn't really do much for your self-esteem and you wanted to feel needed."

Matthew considers this, understanding their thinking despite himself (as a psychology major it's hard not to): his parents were very neglectful of him (to the point of forgetting to serve him a plate at the dinner table), and perhaps the need for attention had been transferred over to Arthur (who wanted him for something, at least).

"Ve~!" Feliciano interjects dreamily, "Besides, how can you love someone who doesn't love you back?"

Yong Soo opens his mouth to correct the bubbly Italian, but snaps it shut when Lovino gives him a warning glare.

It's not long (six months after the pseudo-breakup; you can't have a breakup with someone you were never really with, it was more like a dismissal) before Matthew begins to remember his highschool years, when he was so hopelessly enamored with Francis, and his buried feelings emerge. Matthew is waiting for his friend to exit the shower so they can go to the cinema when it happens. It being the moment when Matthew realizes that yes, he does still have feelings for his handsome best friend.

Francis, a towel fitted snugly around his waist, saunters across the living room, immediately drawing Matthew's attention away from the television.

"F-Francis!" He stammers embarrassedly, feeling seventeen all over again, "Why aren't you dressed?"

"Well, cher, I'm heading to my bedroom right now…" Francis blinks, an amused smirk playing on his cheeks as he registers Matthew's flushed cheeks and wandering eyes, "Why? Like what you see, mon amour?"

Blushing furiously now, mostly because of Francis's state of undress (and that drop of water trailing suggestively down his toned chest), Matthew painstakingly looks away without granting him a response, knowing that Francis will continue on to his room if left unanswered.

Matthew can't deny that he is a bit disappointed when Francis does continue onwards, although he does savor the brief view of his friend's retreating form.

It's another month before Matthew deems it necessary to tell one of his friends (but not his best friend) about it.

"Hehe, yeah. You're totally in love with him, Matt."

Matthew slumps over onto his couch, lying on his stomach and despairing as Feliks continues filing his own nails, laughing delightedly at his reaction.

Matthew raises his head to frown at his perky friend, "I don't see why you're laughing."

Feliks sets down his file and begins to give himself a French manicure, shaking his head pityingly all the while, "It's, like, so obvious!" He pauses for a moment, "And tragic too; kinda' like a soap opera, really.

Matthew gives him his best confused look.

Rolling his eyes, the green-eyed (a few months ago the color would have depressed Matthew because Arthur's eyes are a similar shade, but he doesn't feel a thing) man elaborates, "Um, duh: you were super into Franny in highschool, but he was a man-whore so you gave up on him. Now, in college, you got together with that jerk wad Arthur because you were attention-starved, but by then Francis was already in love with you. You were taken, so he pined after you for awhile." Matthew, now sitting up, gives him a wide-eyed look as he absorbs this information, hoping ardently that this is true, "Now you're both single, and you realized that you never really stopped loving him, and you're bound to get together one of these days." Feliks sighs dreamily, "This would make an awesome soap, seriously."

Matthew doesn't reply, staring blankly at the blank TV screen as every logical (read: scared) part of him denies his friend's words, 'I think I would have noticed if Francis was in love with me.'

"I know what you're thinking, Mattie." Feliks remarks, starting on the clear coat and ignoring Matthew's startled look, "But he does love you. I mean, have you seen him with anyone in the past two years?"

Matthew blinks dumbly, thinking back to he and Francis's conversation about Arthur and the obvious bitterness that the Francis had displayed. Francis still hasn't been with anyone, which Matthew knows because he's been spending most of his time with his friend. Even a comparison of Francis's behavior during highschool and now shows that Feliks is correct.

"I'm such an idiot." Matthew groans, falling onto the couch again.

"You, like, totally are."

A sigh, "Not helping, Feliks."

Matthew has spent more than a week holed-up in his apartment, trying desperately to think of a way to confess to Francis, and he has succeeded in coming up with the most cliché route of action there is: he's going to confess on the renowned day of love.

It's Valentine's Day.

He hasn't seen Francis for almost two weeks, which is somewhat worrying, but the Frenchman asked him if he'd like to spend the day together shortly before his disappearance, so Matthew is trying not to stress himself out over his absence. Besides, Alfred had mentioned running into Francis a few days ago, and Gilbert reported (after he asked) that he and Antonio had visited him at his apartment days before that.

Matthew, bundled up in a white scarf (adorned with little red maple leaves, of course) and a black pea-coat, sits on a park bench and begins to wait for Francis. It's beautiful outside: a thin layer of snow blankets the ground, flakes settling gently atop one another as the sky peppers everything below. The frozen lake hosts only a single couple who skate serenely on the far side, and a jubilant warmth settles in Matthew's stomach as he observes his surroundings.

"Matthieu!"

Matthew's smile widens as he stands to greet Francis, kissing each of his cheeks briskly before enveloping himself in his arms, "Francis, How are you?" He pulls away reluctantly, examining the man's face, "I haven't seen you in a while."

Francis laughs, reassuring him quickly, "Calme-toi, Matthieu: I'm fine." He reaches in between them to interlace their fingers, and Matthew blushes despite himself as they sit on the bench, "Do you remember the last time we came here, mon cher?"

Matthew nods, eyes shining brightly as he recounts, "Of course: it was two years ago and Ivan needed help wooing Alfred so we told him we would come with and make it a group thing." His blush deepens as Francis begins to stare intently into his eyes, "We told Alfred that we were all going skating together, and didn't bring our skates so he and Ivan would be by themselves. Alfred almost went home, but I convinced him to stay, and the two of us sat on this bench until the end of their date in return…" Matthew trails off, blinking confusedly, "Why do you ask?"

Francis is silent for a moment as he studies their entwined hands, speaking deliberately, "I waited seven months after your break up with that Anglais con, and before that I waited for more than a year for you, Matthieu." Matthew's breath catches in his throat as he realizes where this is going, "I haven't been with anyone during this time, nor have I wanted to be with anyone but you, and two years ago I realized that." Francis takes a deep breath before locking eyes with his companion, "Je t'aime, Matthieu."

Matthew crushes their mouths together, pulling away shortly and grinning at Francis, "I spent the entire week figuring out how I was going to confess to you, and you just did it for me." Blue eyes widen in surprise, a smile tugging at Francis's lips as Matthew concludes, "Je t'aime aussi."

Their lips meet once more.

"Alfred?" Ivan inquires softly, tapping Alfred on the shoulder, "You do know that we shouldn't watch them like this, da?"

Alfred nods, beginning to skate around again, his expression belying a sense of relief, "Yeah, I know." He smiles happily at Ivan, "I'm just glad that Mattie's finally with someone who's right for him."

Ivan hums in agreement, skating around Alfred once, and remarks, "Matvey is going to be very happy with Francis: they have been dancing around each other for a while." His expression darkens briefly, "That Brit almost ruined things, though."

Alfred grabs his hand, "Don't worry about it, Vanya; everything worked out in the end."

Violet eyes twinkle merrily as Ivan replies, "Da, everything did work out."

A/N; I wrote this over the span of a few days, and I think it turned out O.K.-hopefully.

Until next time.

French translations;

Con-asshole

Pour le sexe- for sex

Nous voulons tous- we all want

Je suis désolé- I am sorry

Cher- Dear

Mon amour- my love

Calme-toi- Calm yourself/ Calm down

Mon cher- my dear

Je t'aime- I love you

Je t'aime aussi- I love you too

Russian translation;

Da- Yes