A Polite Secret
Yet again, Arthur felt a great sense of loss within him… What was he to do? The boy was at least ten years younger than him… and no doubt interested in his little brother rather than himself…
God that thought stung…
Arthur got himself off the couch, trying to think of a way to distract himself from the fact that those neat and clean boots had just been laying at his door just a moment ago… Now gone…
He doesn't belong here… He never will…
Still, Arthur couldn't help but wish. Wish that that one person that he and everyone else always seemed to forget was actually back here once more…
Matthew gave one look back as he entered the taxi, leaving off for the airport for a flight to France once again. He knew that he was leaving to his second home, but for some reason, he didn't feel like that was really the truth. Arthur's house always felt so nice and relaxing…
Not to mention the fact that the Brit himself was the one person that Matthew found himself wanting to be around the most… all the time…
If Francis finds out…
Matthew didn't want to think about it. Francis probably had a big thing for the Englishman, and if Matthew interfered, Francis would no doubt get jealous and annoyed. And when the Frenchman was jealous and annoyed, that wasn't a good thing. Matthew could never break his adoptive… father's heart. Actually, Matthew wasn't sure just what his relationship with Francis would be called, except family, but whatever it was, Matthew wouldn't dare to interfere. No. He was far too polite for that.
But as he looked back at that black ornate door, found most commonly in olden London, he felt a strong tugging at his heart, beckoning him back… back to his love…
With a deep breath and a soft sigh, the Canadian closed the door to the taxi, directing the driver to the airport.
It's only a one-sided thing anyways…
Arthur paced around his living room, glancing at the clock. Matthew had left about an hour ago… And his flight was in three more hours, for the Canadian was always so careful about time management.
I still have time… time…
To do what?
Arthur didn't want to admit that he was actually planning something—planning a way to get Matthew back into this house. Possibly planning a way to get Matthew into his arms.
Whenever Matthew paid a visit, the house always seemed a lot brighter, time always seemed to pass faster, and Arthur's life always seemed to be more purposeful.
Of course, when Matthew left, the house grew dim, the mood grew dark, the time slowed to an almost deathly pace, and Arthur's left felt lost with no direction.
And now that was how the Brit felt. For some reason, the sun had disappeared. The sky had fallen. The air had grown thick and crushing—crushing his heart to little pieces from which they would never be repaired.
Arthur stopped pacing and went back to his position on the couch. It was no use. There was no point in planning, hoping, obsessing. No point at all.
It wasn't his bravery or audacity that Arthur was unconfident about; it was the answer that Matthew would give him. No doubt that Arthur's little brother and Matthew were involved… therefore, it should have been obvious to the Brit that the Canadian was taken.
Of course, that didn't deter him at all.
Arthur found that his mind was still ill at ease, and that he was still fidgeting around with whatever he could lay his hands on, trying to get his mind off of that harmless and innocent smile.
God… Is this what Ludwig thinks of Feliciano?
Arthur shuddered at the thought, deciding that it was best not to think about relations between those two. Potatoes and spaghetti. At least it was better than maple syrup and scones… Arthur had a distaste for things that sweet.
After a while of lying down on the couch, arm preventing the light from reaching his eyes and disturbing his quest for inner peace.
The Englishman looked back up at the clock after a while, contemplating whether or not he should go chase and after Matthew or not. After all, the flight wasn't leaving for another hour and a half.
I still have time…
Matthew sighed as he sat himself down on the seat by the gate. This was his fourth seat already, since every single time he had settled before, someone always didn't notice that he was sitting there. Matthew barely escaped getting squashed by an obese foreigner from America just seconds ago.
It sucked to be so invisible to everybody. Everyone seemed to always forget that he was there… or that he was even supposed to be there. Those meetings went on without him. The UN never noticed the difference between his attendance and non-attendance at summits…
But worst of all, Arthur seemed to be included in the category of 'everyone.' The one person that Matthew actually wanted to be remembered by always seemed to forget that he was there too…
But only at meetings or others' houses… For some reason, whenever Matthew showed up at Arthur's house himself—just by himself—Arthur always seemed to know…
Or perhaps that was just because doors didn't open on their own, and so therefore, Arthur knew that it was Matthew just by that fact… After all, the Englishman could even see ghosts…
And yet, he can't see me…
Matthew leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing slowly in order to keep down the tears that were threatening to overcome him.
That was a very bad mistake.
In a short time, Matthew felt the wind knocked out of him by the crushing weight that came upon him. Actually, it wasn't that bad… But when he wasn't expecting it, it doubled the effect.
Matthew's eyes popped open in surprise and he saw a very shapely and beautiful blonde girl's back right in front of his nose.
The first thing that jumped to his mind was the 'lap dance' that Alfred always talked about. But it sure didn't feel good as Alfred had explained it.
Matthew blushed and stammered quietly, "E-excuse me…"
The girl stopped laughing and talking for just a second and looked around her confusedly, further bringing pain to Matthew, who was far too polite to actually voice it out.
"Umm… Miss?"
The girl jumped up and turned around, squinting almost as if to see something really small.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, bringing a hand up to her mouth in surprise. "Sorry!"
Her boyfriend stood up too and turned to give Matthew a 'what sort of jerk ass are you?' look, taking her arm and leading her elsewhere.
Matthew blushed. That look made him feel so horrible… God, now he felt like he shouldn't have told that girl to move. It would have been only an hour until boarding time anyways.
I'm being too affected by Al…
And of course, in the times that he felt such horror and self-loathing, the one person that he wanted to be near was… Arthur.
Matthew took one last desolate glance at the clock on the corner of the departure screen at the gate. Actually, there was only half an hour left until boarding…
Arthur gave up. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to go find Matthew and bring him back. Forty five minutes left. Thirty or so to get there, and fifteen to find Matthew's gate, attempt to get past security without getting caught, and find the Canadian in question before he landed in Charles De Gaulle airport.
I… can do it… There's still time…
Arthur tried to argue against his will one last time, but to no avail. There was no point in holding back anymore. Arthur knew that he loved Matthew too much to let Matthew go back to Francis without jealousy… Not to mention the next time they would be at a summit and Matthew and Alfred would be placed next to each other…
Arthur shuddered. No way was he going to be able to survive that without blowing up at his younger brother… yet again… and he probably would yell out to the world that he loved the Canadian too if he started ranting.
Better to get it out of the way in private, just so it didn't jeopardize Matthew and Alfred's relationship.
Upon arriving at Heathrow, England's main airport, Arthur dashed out of the car, glancing down at his watch to see just how insane his plan actually was.
Fifteen minutes until boarding.
Shit!
There was only one thing that Arthur could think to do at the time. If he let the Canadian leave on that plane without getting his own say in, Arthur knew that he'd regret it forever. And, he'd probably ruin it even further given the next chance.
Whipping out his phone, Arthur looked down to search for the name.
He heard the honking horn too late.
Matthew sighed for the umpteenth time that day, glancing up at the clock once again. Time seemed to almost pass backwards…
And in that long stretch of time when an hour seemed like an eternity, Matthew's thoughts found that they could only return to Arthur again and again…
There had been something different about this certain visit. Matthew had come because Arthur had looked troubled at their previous UN summit, and that had triggered Matthew's kindhearted worry.
But Matthew had a slight suspicion that Arthur had avoided the subject, and he did so with such craft that Matthew found it incredibly hard to get to the point. Eventually, he almost forgot what he had come for in the first place.
When he left after one night staying over, Matthew had made no progress whatsoever in his quest. And the frustrating thing was that he had woken up in the middle of the night and walked past Arthur's room on the way to the bathroom. And on the way there, he had heard the Englishman sigh with the greatest amount of disappointment and sadness that Matthew believed anyone had the capacity to let out. It was then that he felt his heart break.
Matthew chided himself quietly for not being at all useful and quietly retreated back to bed, not wanting to disturb Arthur.
And now that that memory had come back to him, Matthew felt the tears surge again, threatening to breach his control and slip down his cheeks.
I'm so… pathetic…
Matthew swallowed, trying to keep his tears down. How could he call himself a man when he couldn't even help the one that he cared for the most?
So utterly pathetic!
God Matthew felt sick… Sick of himself and his weaknesses… Sick of his inability to even be noticed, let alone do enough to change the life of someone else…
Suddenly, a chipper tone rung out, sounding a flute playing Canada's national anthem. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Matthew knew that it was his own phone.
Eyes still closed, he had half a mind to just let it go—the first time he had ever thought that. But in the end, his politeness won over and Matthew opened his eyes and sat up, checking the ID quickly before picking up, just in case it was some weird telemarketer or something.
The Canadian's eyes widened when he saw that it was none other than the Brit that was occupying his mind with such ferocity.
Opening the phone with lightning speed, he brought it up to his ear, speaking a soft "Hello?"
But all he heard was the sound of screeching wheels and a loud clatter before the line cut off.
It took a while for the Canadian to actually register what could have happened, and by then, his body had already moved away from the gate and back towards the main door that led outside.
But the Canadian didn't question his body's actions. He was just trying to fight back the slight panic that attacked him. This was the first time that Matthew had ever even needed to think about holding down panic, being a very calm and pacifistic person on most occasions… Actually, on all occasions up until today.
He dashed to the door, wanting to catch a taxi to immediately go to the Brit's house and see if the accident happened around there.
Please don't… be…
But Matthew denied his thoughts from continuing. No. No way was he going to think of that. There was absolutely no way that Arthur was… dead…
Once again, Matthew felt his throat tighten. What if…? No! He wasn't going to think that!
When he found his way to the door, he met with an issue of great frustration. There was a crowd of people barring his way out, all seeming to be shouting and whispering about something.
After a while of attempting to fight through, Matthew paused for a moment and realized that this could actually be Arthur's accident… But that would have been too coincidental… right?
That possibility pushed Matthew forward strongly, elbowing his way through a crowd for the first time in his life. Usually, he just stood in the back, forgotten as always.
But now, when he finally edged his way up to the front of the crowd, he found himself held back by the policeman, trying to keep the developing crowd at bay.
"Sir! Sir, I know him! I know him!" Matthew murmured pleadingly, not able to actually raise his voice much higher. He took a chance in assuming that it was Arthur who had been crashed into. After all, it would have been quite a coincidence if there were two car crashes at the same time on the same possible route that Arthur would have taken…
The police seemed to have taken no notice of his words, almost as if he had said nothing at all, continuing to try and keep the crowd behind the scene. But the crowd was at least dying down in its ferocity and interest. People were just starting to either stand there calmly or whisper to each other. Some regained their senses and realized that they actually had a plane to catch.
"Sir!"
But again, there was no recognition in the policeman's eyes of the fact that a statement had even been uttered at all.
Finally, overcome by grief and the need to know just who was behind the scene, Matthew, for the first ever time in his life, raised his voice and actually yelled, "Sir!" But though it was what the Canadian thought to be yelling, in actuality, it was just the normal tone that most others took when they wanted some polite attention for just a moment.
Not having time to be perturbed about the fact that he just yelled—or at least thought he did—Matthew spoke up about his knowledge of the victim, and that he'd like to go and see the scene himself.
Immediately, Matthew was led to another policeman on the side, apparently investigating things to see what actually happened.
Matthew answered his questions calmly, surprising himself by the fact that he actually felt agitated; this was a position from which he couldn't see the victim, surrounded by paramedics. God this was a day of firsts…
Matthew was then told to wait to the side, being asked specifically for his cooperation. What choice did he have anyways? If cooperation would let him see who the hell it was that was being treated, then he'd do anything at all. After all, the policeman had said nothing at all about who the actual victim was, supposing that Matthew actually knew for sure that this man was him.
The Canadian stood by quietly, looking onto the paramedics, who were now loading the person onto the ambulance. There was blood… A lot of it.
Matthew's heart tightened.
Dear God… if you're there…
It was then that he saw a flash of unmistakable blond hair… And that olive green coat folded to the side… Matthew could never have missed that coat. After all, he himself was the one that gave that to Arthur two years ago…
And now that he knew that it definitely was the Brit, it came crashing down on the Canadian. Arthur. Car accident. Airport. Ambulance. Wounded. Blood. Shit.
And for a moment, Matthew felt nothing. What was he supposed to feel? This was far too heavy for "sadness," but it was far too confused for "love," and it was far too curious for "worried." Perhaps the best word—the most accurate word in the English language—was sheer desperation.
Yeah. That's right. Desperation. Downright, sheer, blunt desperation.
But before he could dwell more on his new realization and view of the world around him, Matthew was called over to the ambulance—something about riding in the back with the victim.
He rushed over without even registering half of the words that were thrown at him. All Matthew knew was that he had to see Arthur. He just had to see his one love.
But when he laid eyes on Arthur, Matthew winced inwardly. These wounds seemed… bad. Of course, the Canadian didn't know much about medicine and wounds, so he couldn't tell for sure… But all of these bandages sure looked bad.
Silently, but with a very worried expression, Matthew sat down and followed the instructions given to him about safety procedures and such, though not really registering those words yet again.
Throughout the whole time, his eyes remained glued to Arthur's expression, which looked almost searching—definitely not peaceful… almost in pain, but not in pain from physical injury. It was definitely a peculiar expression for someone as such to have.
"I-is he… unconscious?"
Matthew fidgeted nervously with his watch, not sure what to do or where to look.
One of the paramedics glanced up at him and smiled reassuringly, murmuring a light reply in what was supposed to be a practiced soothing tone, "He is. But don't worry. He'll be perfectly fine. Just broke… a few ribs and injured his… well, he'll be all right."
Matthew's eyes widened. God that sounded really bad. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse than he had expected, but either way, Matthew knew that it wasn't good. When the paramedic avoided the subject like that… Matthew shuddered and closed his eyes, finally deciding that it was best just to come to terms with himself first before worrying about anyone else. It sure wouldn't help Arthur's situation if his 'friend' was having a breakdown in the corner.
Of course, this was the first time that Matthew ever had to even calm his own heart and breathing, let alone hold back tears and prevent a breakdown.
God… if you're out there…
Arthur felt his senses slowly regain. Well, perhaps it wasn't senses, but more so feeling and consciousness.
The Brit felt nothing and saw nothing… He just knew that he was back.
After a while of lying there, feeling each of his extremities regain feeling of some sort, Arthur finally found his will to open his eyes.
Looking around groggily, Arthur waited until his vision of three focused into just a vision of one…
An… angel?
Framed by that golden hair, that kind and gentle expression turned toward him, Matthew sure looked like an angel, though one that was asleep on the side of Arthur's bed. But an angel nevertheless.
The Englishman eventually realized that it was actually Matthew. Matthew. Francis's… relative by some way. Alfred's lover. Arthur's own love.
Blinking a couple of times, the Brit quickly came over his surprise, his stunned expression softening into a soft smile.
I was… right. It is an angel…
It wasn't time to question why Matthew was here with him in this hospital in god knows where; it was just time to enjoy it.
After all, this could possibly be the last time they would ever have a peaceful moment together… Arthur doubted that they might even talk anymore after what he was planning on saying. Well, of course they'd talk, since Matthew was too polite to not do so, but those chats would probably be only obligated conversation… There would be no more visits, no more soft, almost intimate laughter, no more quiet conversation exploring any and every subject at all… There would be nothing.
And that was why Arthur knew that he should just sit here quietly, watching on, observing that peaceful face… for what was most probably the last time.
Arthur winced when he shifted just slightly, finally becoming aware of his bandages and wounds. Sheesh what had happened to him? There were bandages on at least every part of his body that a child could name. Head. Check. Shoulders. Check. Knees. Check. Toes. Foot. Close enough.
So apparently an accident had happened… After all, Arthur remembered nothing except for that screech, partly covered by Matthew's voice in his ear speaking his sweet tentative hello. Beyond that, there was nothing.
About an hour passed until Matthew stirred quietly, rubbing his eyes in the most adorable manner before looking up at Arthur, not really expecting much to have changed.
But his bright blue eyes widened when they met the watchful green ones, seeing almost a smile in them.
Shaking loose of his initial surprise, Matthew smiled brightly and laughed, wiping away a tear of joy.
"You have no idea how happy I am… I… I just…"
Matthew wiped away another tear and picked up Arthur's hand, and held it up to his cheek, smiling with soft inner peace that finally came to him with Arthur's awakening.
It was Arthur's turn to be surprised. He almost pulled his hand away by instinct. But when he didn't, he found himself stuck. Though he relished in the feeling that this action was giving him, Arthur knew that Matthew was thinking of something else completely. Perhaps things should stop before Arthur made some stupid mistake or slip.
"Matt…" Arthur murmured, not sure what to say. Was this it? Was this going to be the time to finally reveal it all?
Matthew seemed to sense it too and looked up, putting down Arthur's hand. He blushed, realizing exactly what he had just done.
You let your guard down, he chided himself. What's he going to do? Reject me? God… I'm so pathetic…
Arthur found that that pink tinge that graced his love's cheeks was so absolutely adorable. Matthew blushed like that often, but every single time looked just as pretty as the last to the Brit. Matthew always looked positively wonderful.
Opening his mouth to say something, Arthur was cut off by a soft apology from Matthew.
"What?" Arthur asked after a while, both not sure if he had heard that correctly and confused about what Matthew was talking about.
Matthew looked up meaningfully at Arthur, blushing, and then saying again, just as softly, "I'm sorry…"
Arthur blinked. He had definitely heard that right. But why?
"Whatever for?" Arthur asked in a slightly anxious tone. Had he done something wrong? Should there be something that he should know that he actually wasn't aware of?
Matthew's thoughts paused for a second. What was he supposed to do from here? Answer it and say "Hey! You know, even though you're probably in love with Francis, and even though Francis will kill me for this, I love you" or something?
"I… U-Umm…"
Matthew averted his eyes down to his hands, which were now clasped together on his lap, far away from Arthur's hand, which lay forgotten on the bed next to him, almost like nothing had happened.
"I…"
Arthur sighed, deciding that he didn't want to see Matthew uncomfortable, let alone be the one that caused it. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Matthew's clasped ones and smiled softly, not sure how to say what he was about to.
Matthew glanced up, surprised, with an even deeper blush tingeing his cheeks.
Arthur looked up, tentative green eyes meeting curious and embarrassed blue ones. Before saying anything else, Arthur reached up his hand and pulled Matthew closer, their noses almost touching. Matthew tried to avert his eyes, but there wasn't really anywhere he could look to avert to in his current position.
Closing his eyes, Arthur took a deep breath and opened them again, determined gaze boring into those surprised blue ones.
"I love you," he whispered softly, leaning in and capturing Matthew's lips in his.
Matthew was far too surprised to actually react before Arthur pulled away and let him go. This was the last thing that he had expected would happen. He wasn't even sure if he had heard that right, but did that really matter next to the kiss that sort of signified the words?
The Canadian felt his heart break apart into infinite pieces as he looked upon that devastated expression that Arthur was trying to hide from him.
Arthur had taken that non-reactive reply as the answer. The answer.
"It's all right," Arthur murmured softly, trying his best to cover up his dejected expression with a smile. But that only served to break Matthew's heart further.
Matthew tried to say something, but was cut off by Arthur again and again.
"I know… You and Alfred have this… thing," Arthur murmured, looking down at his knees, which was covered in bandages and blankets. "And that you… probably are disgusted with the fact that I, someone that you've no doubt thought of as a friend, if even that, actually feels for you… And though I know you have no issue with gays, it must be very weird for you to find yourself in this situation…"
Again, Matthew tried to break in with his own words, but once again, he was cut off.
"I'm sorry that you missed your flight back to France… I'm sure Francis is worried and missing you right now… I'm sorry that I had caused it, by my stupid selfish call that I had placed…"
Arthur felt his throat tighten slightly and he reached up to wipe a tear before it fell down his cheeks. Real men did not cry.
"But I knew that I had to chase after you… I couldn't let you go back to Francis and your usual life without knowing how I… how I felt."
Arthur chuckled, a sad and despairing sound.
"But then I went and got myself injured, and now you're wasting your time sitting here when you could be having hot chocolate with Francis, or… or snuggling up to Alfred or something. Tche! God I'm sorry!"
Arthur wiped his eyes once again.
"I'm so, so sor—"
But he was cut off by none other than the feeling of soft but persistent lips on his own. Arthur's eyes widened in surprise for the umpteenth time since he had regained consciousness. Of all the things that he had expected, this surely wasn't one of them.
Matthew, on the other hand, had given up on his feeble voice doing any good, and decided instead on interrupting right at the source. He figured that preventing the lips from moving would then effectively stop the talking too.
"Don't worry Arthur," Matthew murmured softly in reply, pulling away with a smile, blushing insanely, but looking all the more adorable to the Brit as he listened in wonderment.
"I don't think there's much to apologize for…"
As the meaning of Matthew's words sunk into him, Arthur leaned back in slight bewilderment, but more just plain wonderment. Could this really be happening? Was this even possible?
"But," Arthur interjected with a slightly unsure expression, "What about… Alfred… and Francis…?"
Matthew couldn't really reply. He knew that he was in deep trouble with Francis, and possibly Alfred, depending on what Alfred's feelings were for the Brit. Still, for once in his life, he didn't actually mind being in trouble.
Instead, he leaned his head down and laid it next to Arthur's hand, kissing it gently before closing his eyes.
"It doesn't matter," the Canadian replied almost at a whisper. "Happy Valentine's Day, by the way."
Arthur looked up at the calendar on the wall, and sure enough, it was February fourteenth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur registered that he had been unconscious for three days. But that didn't seem all that important at the moment.
Smiling, the Brit leaned over, wincing with the pain it brought, and ruffled the Canadian's hair gently, enjoying the feeling of those soft strands passing between his fingers.
"I think we can keep this our little secret," he murmured in reply with the most satisfied feeling that he had felt in a really long while…
Author's Comments:
This is written as a prize for APurpleAvacado for getting one of my trivia questions right in my other fic!
I do admit that it's a pairing that I would never have thought to ever write about, but she did want it, and so, well, here I am and here it is! It took me a while to get into things, and the fact that I just got back from a ten hour long day of competition at a history thing from six in the morning probably dampened the coherency and literacy of it.
For that, I apologize. And I also apologize for the fact that the confession scene lacks the correct emotions... Actually, this whole fic lacks the correct emotions. I'm sorry! T_T
*shot*
I hope you, APurpleAvacado, liked it! And I hope that everyone else who read this liked it too! Again, forgive this poor old soul, who is, after all the most incurably lazy devil to have ever stood in shoe leather.
I apologize for not being among the greatest, but I do what I can. =)