Alfred always thought he was content. He had Arthur, after all. And he really did love Arthur. But... Now he wasn't sure. He stared again at the words scrawled across the skin of his wrist. He thought... But no. Arthur was gone now, and those words were still unspoken. Damn it! Arthur was supposed to say those words! Alfred felt tears streak his face again. The last words spoken to him by his soulmate. Those words meant more than an 'I love you', more than five years together. They meant that it wasn't him. It wasn't Arthur. But Alfred still loved him. So he cried. This wasn't supposed to happen. Just a fever, just a little cold, that was all, Alfred had said as he left his sick lover to go to work. Then it all went to hell, and now he had lost everything. And the words scrawled across his skin just taunted him, made him want to punch something. The words went blurry as more tears filled his eyes, and he vaguely heard himself call out for his British lover to come back before he finally succumbed to his exhaustion.
Matthew was content. He had Gilbert, after all. He really did love Gilbert. And as he walked briskly towards his office building, his thoughts were filled with the Prussian's face, his voice, his quirky little laugh. So much so that he barely noticed the man until he ran into him and dropped all his account books. He was just a little taller than Matthew, with blonde hair and an odd little cowlick sticking up from his head. "I-I'm so sorry," Matthew stuttered, bending down to pick up the books he had dropped. The blonde man bent down hurriedly as well, picking up books and handing them to the Canadian. "No, no, it was all my fault." They both looked up, and their eyes met. The world stopped for a moment. The man's eyes were sad, and Matthew just wanted to comfort him. Instead, he straightened up. "I'm really sorry. I have to go now." And he continued on his way to his office, something bothering him about the encounter.
"I'm really sorry. I have to go now." With that, he was gone. Alfred froze in shock. "I'm really sorry. I have to go now." Those words, scrawled across his wrist had haunted him for almost a year now. He shook himself from his stupor, and, knowing somewhere in the back of his min that it was hopeless, called after the other man. "Wait! Come back!" He pushed his way through the crowd, but lost energy with every second. The last words spoken to him by his soulmate. They were no longer left unspoken. And he didn't even know the man's name. He broke down again, sobbing on his knees in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. No one bothered to help him.
A day later, and Matthew still couldn't get that strange encounter out of his head. Something about it really bothered him. Gil was out, so he turned the channel on the tv to the news. They were talking about a suicide. Some poor guy called Alfred Jones had slit his wrists open and bled to death. It was sad, such a shame, Matthew thought. Then they showed his picture. It was the man he had bumped into yesterday morning. In the picture, he was smiling and holding someone's hand. His eyes lacked that sad element he had seen in them. Then it hit him. It was what the man had said. "It was all my fault." Mattie pushed up the sleeve of his red hoodie and stared at his wrist. The words scrawled there took his breath away. And suddenly, he couldn't think of anything but dying. He didn't have a reason to go on if his soulmate was gone, right? He had to at least do something for the man he never got a chance to know. In a daze, Matthew stumbled to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet held a full bottle of prescription meds for his insomnia. That would do the trick. Without thinking, he downed the whole bottle, then went to lay down on his bed. He would just fall asleep. Then maybe he could find Alfred. He thought he heard the door open and a familiar voice with a German accent shouting hysterically before he lost consciousness. "Gott, no! It was all my fault! It was all my fault!"