A/n: Nothing is mine. Everything is Hima's. This parallels Smitten which tells Frances' and Alfreds' story. It is in the same universe.

Shake it Out by Florence + the Machine drifted across the campus lawn, sung in a deeper masculine voice, the words lingering in the fall air enchanting Arthur. It was some bewitchment he thought, truly, like the faerie world he believed in as a child, and the world sometimes he wished would come back to him now that he was older. Sometimes when it was very misty and foggy out, he wished the forest would lead him away from this world into the world of childhood, of magic tea parties, strange lanterns lighting paths into the forest, and fetes that he rode to on a unicorn.

Lord, Arthur thought with a shake of his head, what a maudlin mood.

He knew the voice that lured him. A siren whose shores he would gladly dash his ship upon, a very polite siren, one that would apologize before consuming him.

"Arthur?" The siren's voice now said very close, confused. The music had stopped, the lithe fingers that were as adept in biology labs now stilled against the frets of a guitar. Lavender blue eyes looked up through glasses, questioning him, and if they had known what he was thinking, probably his sanity. Arthur's feet must have led him to the sound just as clearly as a ship did to a siren's sound.

"Er, Matthew." He said clearing his throat, feeling the flush climbing his face, "Keep playing. I was enjoying it."

Matthew just smiled slightly, "Sure, anything for you Arthur."
Which just tightened Arthur's pants slightly. He sat down quickly; trying to pretend everything was normal. The afternoon sun was filtering through the leaves of the tree they sat under. The colors played across the lawn across Arthur's arms and he looked at the green sunlight leaves, as Matthew sang.

Then Arthur could no longer resist and he took in the lovely wavy blonde hair that hung over a strong face softened by beautiful lips and the longest eyelashes Arthur had seen. Matthew smiled as he sang, his flannel shirtsleeves rolled up his arms to reveal strong arms that were pale and lovely.

How did this start? Arthur couldn't do this. He knew it. He knew that it would never work. He could never get someone as beautiful and lovely as Matthew. After all, that mess with Alfred would complicate things immensely. Not to say that just the fact that Matthew was Alfred's twin would be trouble. What was that buggering bro code Alfred was always nattering on about? Something about not dating your best bro's sister? Well, Fuck. Matthew wasn't a girl; he was a guy. But if Arthur made a move on him, Alfred would most likely smash his face in. Or at least try. Arthur thought maliciously.

Last year had been horrible. Arthur's heart had been broken. He knew, knew that Alfred would come back to him. How could he not? He needed Arthur. Without Arthur there for him, his life would collapse. Hadn't Arthur cleaned up all the problems he had created? Hadn't he made sure he was eating right? Hadn't he made sure that he was dressing right, and that he would study? Kiku couldn't do that. And no, Kiku had told Arthur as much, very politely, so subtlety that Arthur couldn't even argue back. Kiku had said, that Alfred-kun needed to find himself, and that he could do all those things himself, and that being Alfred's roommate didn't mean he had to take care of Alfred.

Anger burned, and resentment, and Arthur had realized just how much he had loved Alfred. Their relationship would never be the same. Or all Arthur's loose-leaf tea floating in the bathtub had made that expressly clear. The dorm room had been emptied, and Alfred refused to talk to him.

So that when he had walked into his dorm room on finals week and seen Alfred there, his heart had jumped. But no, as much as the stature and coloring was the same, this Alfred had longer hair and was tilting his head scanning through Arthur's assembled books, his face lax, a stuffed bear leaning on his scuffed converse. Arthur would remember that image many times in the future, the perfection of the late afternoon sun, the dust motes and haze creating an angelic haze around Matthew, for that was his name, Alfred's twin, as his heart leapt. The boy had turned, his eyes startled behind glasses, the blue having an Elizabeth Taylor effect turning lavender in the sun, and the soft smile that graced his lips.

His heart hadn't changed overnight. But over summer vacation he had kept in touch with Alfred through Matthew. He had started talking to Matthew instead of Alfred. Their emails, phone calls, skypes had been full of interesting conversation, so much so that Arthur would forget why he even called in the first place.

Then he had run into him the first day of registering for classes, and everything had just clicked. His heart was feeling something totally different. He had loved Alfred; in a way he still loved him. But this feeling was different; it was deep and dark, and filled with hopes and dreams, something he couldn't think about, because those things had to be contained. They were things that could never happen to him, one of those things being Matthew. Someone he desperately wanted. It was strange this feeling. He held it quietly by his heart, he knew so many things that would shatter it, and so he kept it hidden.

Matthew was beautiful; Arthur was ugly. Matthew was tall and strong, Arthur was shorter and wiry. Matthew sat outside like today, under the trees playing the guitar. All the guys would come and listen, girls too. Arthur had seen Carlos ask him out, and then Ivan, and even Ian. Matthew was shy, reserved, but for Arthur he always had a smile, put his heart into things, it was sweetly loyal, and Arthur had never had a friend like him. Arthur drifted in his world of regrets and internal chastisement letting the music wash him away on this perfect day of blue skies, and brilliant greens of Indian summer.

He didn't notice.

He didn't notice how Matthew's eyes drifted to the scrunched, too large eyebrows, the pursed lips, the emerald green eyes unfocused contemplating who knows what, and how they watched Arthur under their eyelashes. How they dared Arthur to notice the flirtatious look, to maybe see Matthew differently, maybe notice him at all.

All Matthew could do is sing love songs at a man who was in love with his brother, and live his life hiding the deep admiration for the man who said he liked his songs and music. Arthur, Matthew sighed, would never see Matthew as Matthew saw Arthur. Matthew sang on, capturing his love in lines of music and voice, drawing him the only way he knew, keeping him to himself as long as possible. Perhaps his dreams of him loving him back would keep him through the late summer night, and through the fall, perhaps during winter, and forever.