Based on a prompt from the kink meme, which basically requested a story in which Alfred was ignored and Matthew favored.

Nothing he did was ever enough.

He could make it to the moon in a homemade rocket and discover a whole new continent, and it still wouldn't matter because he wasn't Matthew.

Perfect, wonderful, amazing Matthew, who was a straight-A student, who was a good listener, who everyone noticed even if he did nothing at all. Who was everything Alfred was not.

And oh, they might have been identical, but no one could mistake one for the other – Matthew had glasses that brought out the violet in his eyes, Matthew grew his hair long, like their papa, Matthew hadn't ever experimented with hair dye and accidentally changed the shade permanently, and more importantly, Matthew could keep his mouth shut. Alfred just couldn't help himself, because there were so many amazing things in the world, and if you talked constantly at least, then, they would have to catch a word or two, have to pay attention if only to tell you to shut up, have to care for half an instant and that was all he wanted, really.

Wanted someone to care about his (state fair winning!) science project just as much as the article Matthew got published in the newspaper. Wanted someone to remember July 1st was his birthday, too, wanted to get just as many presents (Oh I'm sorry Alfred, it's just you've been so loud and demanding; good things come to those that wait. Like our little Mathieu!) And the next year it had been: (Oh I'm sorry Alfred, but you just didn't tell us what you wanted, and you know it's so much easier to buy for Matthew; he'll read anything!) And then he'd laugh, and that laugh, that laugh echoed in his dreams, in his nightmares –

And so this was all there was:

Yelling screaming demanding and the tantrums never helped, and always Matthew helped him up off the floor and was always so fucking nice, so nice you couldn't even hate him, so nice so everything and really, it made sense, that they would always like him better and none of it ever helped so he didn't know why he didn't just stop –

But he couldn't.

Couldn't stop the fights, the bruises, couldn't stop almost wishing it was abuse because it would prove, then, that they noticed. He couldn't stop, because it was only in the heat of a fight with an opponent that didn't dare take their eyes off him that he had any control at all.

It was only with them punching kicking beating (paying attention, he existed, wasn't just inferior invisible in-fucking-sane, because only crazy people could like this) him, it was only then that he smiled.

And maybe his gums were bloody and his teeth were crooked, but hey.

This pain, this right here?

This was something Matthew would never have.

And, well, when you had what the boy who had everything didn't have –

(then, just then, you had nothing at all.)