A/N: This story is one I wrote at 1 AM on Christmas Day, yet it has no Christmas element in it. It feels a bit rushed to me, and the plot seems pointless, but I thought I'd publish it because even if it's quite bad, I'm proud I actually had the motivation to finish it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any characters used.

Matthew Williams
Born July 1st, 1981 – Died August 12th, 2005
A loving son, friend, and sibling

His fingertips grazed the surface of the freezing stone. The sky was shadowed; the air was brisk and sharp as it pushed past his body, causing his blond hair to fly aimlessly in the movement. With a head tilt, the tears that had been falling down his clenched jaw began to dry, stopped by the air that had frozen them in place. He stepped back, cold fingers slipping into his coat pockets. No sound passed through his lips as they parted—what was there to say? He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

…

September 8th, 1995

Arthur Kirkland had just transferred schools. Born and raised up until this point in England, his family had moved on business to New York State. Their home back in England had been fairly sized, in a lovely neighborhood with conversational neighbors and contently warm. The teenager had not been happy about the move, but there was nothing he could've done.

"Arthur, dear, why don't you try to make friends here."

With a sigh, the teenager had agreed. Today marked the first day of his American public schooling—what fun he was about to have. Approaching the school gate, his green eyes became transfixed on the obnoxious crowd of American's who had suddenly quieted down when he entered. The silence buzzed in his ears, causing him to scowl, muscles tensing as his grip on his back tightened. He needed to get to the supervisors office to pick up his schedule.

As he stalked through the crowd, he heard the muttering of the students. Comments on his attire, his eyebrows—on him. Arthur tried to pay it no mind; he just continued to walk aimlessly. The first bell rang, most students scrambled past him in a flurry he soon felt dizzy. He still had no clue where the office was! Scowl intact, the Briton turned to his right to find a tall, but lanky teenager with golden hair and a Canadian sweatshirt at a locker, trying to shove papers inside. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, but do you know where the main office is?"

The boy jumped, a small squeak emitting as he turned around. The first thing Arthur noticed was his bright indigo-violet eyes, wide with surprise. Arthur was momentarily mesmerized, before tuning in to the soft voice that was speaking.

"Go down the hall, and take a right. You'll find it there! I'm Matthew."

The boy was nervous seeming, but he smiled nonetheless. He seemed quite surprised that Arthur had spoken to him, which the Briton had noted as a bit odd.

"Arthur Kirkland."

He murmured a thank you as he rushed down the hall, following the instructions. He was lucky to have made it there before the second bell rung. He mentally made a note to thank Matthew.

…

December 31st, 1996

A friendship had formed between the two boys. Matthew and Arthur grew close, in the same year at school. Arthur learned that Matthew was mostly ignored, and that he had a younger brother named Alfred—Matthew, in turn, had learned of Arthur's brothers and his family's move to the US.

They were inseparable, as close friends, and always insisted to hold holidays together. Matthew's mother was proud of him achieving a new friend, and Arthur's was proud of Arthur for becoming well adjusted to the life of New York State.

Currently, the snow was falling in flurries as the two blonds sat out on Matthew's porch. The rest of their family's were inside, watching a sitcom that had flickered upon the television. Matthew leaned beside Arthur as they stared at the sky. Minutes until the New Year, the best friends had wanted to spend it together.

"Hey, Arthur?"

Green eyes flickered upward at the sound of the soft Canadian's voice.

"Yes, Matthew?"

Arthur felt fingers thread themselves through his own. He didn't resist, he just stared questioningly at the now flushed red (he blamed it on the cold) boy beside him.

"Promise, this year, we won't fall apart?"

Arthur couldn't help it. He laughed. He felt Matthew tense, and to that he bumped their shoulders, tightening his grip on Matthew's fingers.

"Of course not, you sap. We'll be friends forever!"

…

Despite the promise made by the naïve young Briton, he and Matthew did fall apart.

During the beginning of 1997, Matthew had confessed his love for Arthur. Arthur, as he was raised by a strictly religious family, felt immediately disgusted. His family had pressed the ill thoughts against homosexuality, and the idea of his own best friend loving him like that was disgusting. Arthur made these feelings clear, that he definitely did not feel the same, and that he did not want to be associated with Matthew.

During the year of 1998, the whole year to graduation, Arthur didn't acknowledge Matthew's existence. He felt it was the right thing to do, he ignored the heaviness in his chest as he saw the boy standing at the sidelines as Arthur passed him. He ignored the constant looks Matthew spared in his direction, the hopefulness on his face when he though Arthur was heading his way.

On their graduation, Matthew hadn't shown up—or, Arthur didn't see him. He was invisible to him, only a figment of imagination.

…

June 15th, 2003

Arthur Kirkland was now an English teacher. At twenty-four, he had the degrees to pursue his dream of teaching. His accent had faded slightly; he had matured when he had left for college.

He lived on his own, in an apartment walking distance from his job and a library in the same direction. The man breathed in the warm summer air as he step lightly towards the public library, in search of a new book that may spark his interest.

He walked inside, smiling at the main desk as he stepped towards a familiar bookcase that held the mysteries. He moved from aisle to aisle, until he had gone through most. He found a book, one that was historical fiction with the element of fact and precision. He approached the desk, and as the librarian checked it out for him, his green eyes had flitted across the quiet room.

His eyes met with a shade of indigo-purple he had once known so well.

Matthew stood in the opposite section as Arthur had started, a stoic expression on his face as he stared back at the Briton. It had been so long, so many wounds still open, so many scars fading.

Arthur did not know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He did the one thing he could've done with certainty—he fled. He checked out his book and he ignored Matthew, leaving the pleasant smelled library.

As he walked home, he had many thoughts in his head. He had no idea what to feel, what he should've done, what he should've said. He felt angry, he felt so much at once—it was painful. Was this what he had put Matthew through?

Arthur had an uneasy time going to sleep. He could only feel those indigo-purple eyes and how they looked so hurt, so tired. He could remember many things from high school, but the only one he had locked out until now was Matthew Williams.

…

September 8th, 2005

Arthur stared down at the grave that belonged to someone he once knew so well. Someone he was so close to, someone he had trusted with all his heart—he had let it all go because of something so small, so simple. The regret splashed in his chest as the silence roared in his ears, each wave more painful than the first.

"I'm sorry. I miss you, we all miss you."

He could barely choke it out, but he managed. He could remember when his mother had called him in tears, telling him "the nice boy who always came over had died". It washed over him until he drenched, weighed down by the overwhelming emotion that had at the utmost destroyed him. In that moment, he felt the remorse he should've acknowledged long ago.

"It's bit ironic, you know. I'm seeing you on the day I met you all those years ago."

At fourteen Arthur had been new and Matthew had helped him; at twenty-six Arthur had been part of the reason Matthew could not have been helped.

Arthur must've destroyed him, along with all the others who contributed to the pain.

"I love you. Maybe not the way you did, all that time ago, but I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shut you out; I shouldn't have left. I never got to tell you how much of a great friend you were. I miss you. After we graduated, mum used to call and talk to me about your family. I never went to see you because I was a coward. I was horrible, and I'm so sorry. I can remember when we were fifteen, and we were talking about our future—you said we'd grow up together and be together forever. Guess I ruined it, huh?"

A dry laugh erupted from Arthur's throat, as tears fell down once more.

"I remember your favorite band. I remember every little detail I knew about you, and knowing what I did makes it worse—it kills me to know that I did that to you. We used to sing on the holidays, remember? Alfred used to tell us to shut up when he was doing the exact same thing; hypocrite. You were an amazing big brother, you know. You were amazing and so smart and.. Now you're gone. And it's my fault. If you're listening, I want you to know that I.. I'm so, so sorry and I love you so much."