The bright blue letters of the alarm clock were near-blinding as they noted the time: 2:35 AM. It had been about six hours, incredibly, since the fight started and despite the late hour, there was no sign of it ending.

Matthew curled around his stuffed polar bear and tried to muffle the noise with his pillow to no avail. Why did they have to fight? Why this late? Why when I was home? A loud crash caused a cringe within Matthew and a painful worry to coil in his stomach.

"Are you insane?! I need that! For work!"

"You need it? Fucking bollocks, you frog!"

The music his parents had playing loudly on the stereo system faded momentarily, the radio station pausing between the songs as annoyingly chipper disc jockeys made irrelevant comments before switching the playlists.

"I hope you're fucking happy, twit! He can probably hear you being such a—a—fucking useless whore!"

There was a pause and Matthew stiffened, moving the pillow from his head and straining his ears. He hated being pulled into fights but wanted to know exactly what his enraged parents had to say about him.

"What?"

"What? Can't you fucking hear? I said—"

"I know what you said!" His papa had screamed in an uncharacteristically brutal tone. "What is his name, Arthur? Huh? What is your son's name?"

Another pause. Matthew frowned deeper and sighed into his bear.

"I asked you a question."

This couldn't be good, Papa never pulled him into fights like this. Arthur—Dad—did, yes, all the time… but never Papa Francis. Francis, unlike Arthur, wanted to keep his marital problems as far from his children as he could manage. He never liked his kids having to worry about their parents and always fought quieter in hopes that just maybe Matthew and Alfred didn't hear it when they came home from college.

The small blonde scooted to the edge of his bed, leaning close to where the door in his bedroom was. He knew he couldn't be heard over the stereo but moved silently, a childish fear gripping him that his eavesdropping could somehow make matters worse.

Sliding off the bed, unpleased with the poor audio in bed, Matthew crouched by the door and leaned against the wall. His glasses made a barely audible clicking as they knocked into the door frame when he leaned his ear to the crack. Did they hear that? Oh god, they'll know I'm listening—No. No, calm down, Mattie, they can't hear you. They can't hear you. They can't…

Arthur grunted and Matthew heard glass knocking into glass. He was drinking… again. "What the bloody hell does it matter?"

"He's your son. I think it's important to remember your own son's name!"

"I remember Alfred!"

"And that's your problem, Arthur! You can't focus on your other son! You can't even listen to me when I try to talk!"

"My problem is I listen to you too damn much! And that other son—"

Oh no, Dad, please, don't say something bad, please, don't—

"—it's not my fucking fault your son is so fucking forgettable! You raised him to hate me!"

Francis made an exasperated noise. "What? You're so drunk, Arthur! To think I'd turn one of our kids against you!"

The fighting continued long after that but Matthew couldn't handle sitting and voluntarily listening in any longer. No, he didn't like when his parents fought and he hated hearing it... yet he wanted to know what they were saying when they started fighting. He always had such a compelling urge to press his ear to the door and grasp some concept of why they were so unhappy.

It was a bad idea to come home, Matthew told himself and (though he wouldn't tell anyone) his bear. I should have stayed at college. At college I could pretend they weren't fighting and pretend I had a normal family and I wouldn't be kept up at—he checked the time again—3:26 AM.

His desperate attempts at a distraction or reprieve from the madness were fruitless. All texts sent to all his close friends and people who would likely still be awake at this hour remained ignored on his phone. When the fighting began he kept up a short conversation with Gilbert, though it died within an hour as the albino had tests to cram for and essays to write.

Why did Gilbert have to be productive at the worst possible time?

It was well past 4:00 AM when the music died and the house fell silent. As usual Arthur must have fallen asleep during his drunken rants and Francis would have stalked back to his room, calling his best friend, Antonio, to talk about how bad Arthur was this time.

The heavy worry faded from his body and Matthew was finally able to sleep with some sense of safety. Arthur was asleep and Francis was in another room. They were okay. It would all be okay.

And so the following morning was started with a text from Alfred, texting Matthew at 8:46 AM about how he was totally about to kick this organic chemistry exam's ass, then again at 11:16 AM asking how things at home were.

The second message woke him. He stared blurry-eyed at the bright screen and slowly typed out his lie to soothe his brother, wanting nothing more than for someone in the family to be okay for once. Things are fine :)

He was asleep minutes later, not waking again until late afternoon. The sun was already dimming and his parents would both undoubtedly be home from work. Fuck.

The light flooding under the door from the hallway was alarming, and when investigated Matthew found that it was just because Papa was home (he had a penchant for turning every light on, claiming it made the house seem more alive). He peeked his head out the door and crept to the kitchen, starving from the missed dinner, breakfast, and lunch that he had spent hiding in his room. Surprisingly Papa was sitting at the table, drinking coffee.

"Matthew," he called before the boy could turn around and go back into hiding. "Come here."

The sadness within his father's eyes were enough to send the Canadian straight to his side. He was soon encompassed in a loose hug and felt his father's grip tighten when he returned it.

"I know you heard everything last night," he said quietly.

"I… yeah, I did, Papa."

"I'm sorry. I never want you to have to hear us fight. I just want you to know I love you and your brother more than anything. Don't let what your dad say make you think otherwise, okay?"

Matthew nodded gently and leaned into his papa's side. This was warm and safe and nice, unlike everything the night before.

"I love you very much, Matthew," his Papa whispered into his hair.

Matthew was too comfortable in his father's arms to repeat it.