Matthew hummed slightly to himself as he poured pancake batter into the pan. Like every morning, he had gotten up first, rising pretty much at the same time as the sun. He liked to get up and make breakfast for the rest of his family. It was something that made him feel useful.
"No way! Superman is, like, a million times better than Batman!" The loud declaration announced Matthew's brother, Alfred's, arrival in the kitchen. Even though it was barely seven in the morning, he was already on the phone with one of his many friends.
"Good mor-" Matthew began.
He was cut off by a stifled scream. Turning around quickly, Matthew saw Alfred staring at him in fear. The other boy was holding his cell phone slightly away from his ear, and Matthew could hear loud, worried sounds coming from it. Then Alfred shakily returned the phone to his ear. "Kiku." He said in a small voice that was very unlike him. "It happened again."
Matthew turned back to what he was doing, fighting tears. This happened every morning. Nobody ever noticed him, as if he was invisible. He had yet to make any friends at school because of this, and sometimes he wondered why he even went. If his own brother couldn't see him, it was a given that his teachers couldn't either.
Biting his lower lip to keep from letting out a sob, Matthew flipped the pancake in the pan.
"Ahh!" Alfred screamed, and Matthew heard his fast footsteps running from the room. "It's right there." He hissed into his phone. "It's at the stove, cooking as we speak."
As best he could, Matthew blocked out what his brother was saying. He put the empty bowl of batter in the sink and ran the water, putting the pan with it once he had removed the food. Then he got the syrup from the fridge and placed it with the large plate of pancakes on the table. Finally, before retreating to his bedroom, he set the table for three, a spot for each of his parents and his brother.
"Ngh..." Matthew grit his teeth as the cold metal slid across his skin. Then he watched as blood seeped from the cut. For a split second he wondered about letting it drip onto the carpeted floor of his room before he sighed and reached for a tissue. Leaving a stain wouldn't accomplish anything.
Bandaging the cut properly, Matthew looked at the scars from previous mornings. His arms were covered with them, and he knew, if he lifted his shirt, he would see more just above his hip. There were so many little marks that Matthew had stopped keeping track of the number over a year ago.
Matthew turned to where he had draped his red sweatshirt. What would happen if I didn't wear it? He wondered for a moment. Would anyone notice the scars? That would involve them noticing him. Maybe he should leave the sweatshirt at home, let the world at Hetalia Secondary School know what he had been driven to.
"Alfred!" Mathew's dad, Arthur's voice cut through his thoughts. "You're going to be late for school!" He shouted in his thick British accent.
Matthew grabbed his sweatshirt off his chair and quickly crammed it over his head. Then he grabbed his backpack and dashed out of his room.
"Get going!" Arthur said angrily, pushing Alfred out the door. "If you're bloody late again, it won't matter how many times you make breakfast, you'll be in a heap of trouble!"
"Yeah, yeah." Alfred waved off the threat as he stepped out the door.
Matthew slipped out behind him quickly and hurried after him. He didn't walk directly behind his brother, not wanting to freak him out if he (by some miracle) heard his footsteps and turned around. Because of this, when Alfred slipped into his first class just as the bell went, Matthew walked in late.
But it didn't matter, because nobody saw him.