a/n:
THIS FIC IS A MONSTER. 8k words long(?), what's wrong with me. /shot
Uh, warnings: vague mentions of sex, sensitive topics, malexmale relationships... But then again, when should you not expect that from me?
Disclaimer: Be glad I don't own Hetalia. ; w ;
Blood Brothers
Siblings were close, and twins were supposedly closer. Despite being at a young age, Alfred F. Jones knew that he and his twin brother Matthew Williams were past even that second point.
Their parents(divorced, which was the reason for their different last names) both told them that they would support any movements in trying to move away from their identity of being the twins, and instead establishing their own separate identity from each other, but the attempts were always half-hearted on both sides.
They loved each other, though sometimes, Alfred wondered if they loved each other a little too much.
. . .
Age 8
The phone call came just as the babysitter was tucking them into bed. The slender brunette patted Alfred's head before rising to pick up the phone, greeting, "Mr. Jones?"
The caller was not their father. It was a woman who asked, "Is this the Jones residence?"
Matthew sat up a little straighter in the mound of pillows, somehow sensing that something wasn't right. "Al?" he whispered, clutching at his twin's arm.
Instinctively, Alfred wrapped a small arm around his brother and drew him closer.
"Y-Yes," the babysitter stammered, sounding as confused as she felt. "Mr. Jones isn't currently home right now; I'm just watching over his sons for the night. If you'd like, I can take a message…"
"Ma'am, Mr. Jones has been in a car accident."
The phone slipped out of her fingers, clattering to the floor.
"Miss Belle?" Matthew inquired softly. He let go of Alfred's shirt momentarily to lean over the side of the bed and pick up the phone.
As he handed it to their babysitter, he heard the woman on the other line say: "I'm afraid he didn't make it."
. . .
The next few days passed in a blur. Miss Belle stayed with them, but strange men constantly came during the day to pester her with questions. They wore sleek black suits and their eyes were mostly emotionless, as if they'd done this many times before, and it scared Matthew.
"I want Mama," he whimpered into the fabric of Alfred's shirt.
"She's coming, Mattie, don't worry." Alfred tried to sound cheerful for the sake of his brother, but he was just as frightened as the other. Where was his mom? And his dad?
"Which one of you is Matthew?" the gruff voice came from a dark-haired man that strode over and knelt down in front of them.
"Y-You can't take Mattie!" Alfred stepped in front of his brother, shielding him protectively with outstretched arms. "I won't let you." He scanned the room for their babysitter, wondering why she was gone in the moment they needed her the most.
"We're not going to take him, son," said another man to his right. "We have a few questions to ask about your mother. We were told that he was the one closer to her, correct?"
Matthew nodded carefully from behind Alfred. It was true: Alfred had always been closer to their dad, and Matthew closer to their mom. At age six, he didn't understand why it was important.
"We need to know if your mother was planning to go somewhere, or did go somewhere for this week," the man continued.
"Why?" Matthew's voice was very small and very scared. "Is Mama all right?"
The two men glanced at each other. "We need you to answer the question, Matthew," one of them finally said, tone soft.
Alfred, who had been watching the exchange, frowned. "You two are lying, aren't you?" he accused, pointing a childish finger at the one who'd spoken. "Tell us what you did to Mom and Dad!"
"No, she didn't say anything," Matthew answered uncertainly behind the louder voice of his brother. "The last time I saw her, she just kissed my cheek and said goodbye…"
. . .
Their mother was missing. Their father was dead. They had no other living relatives that could possibly take them in.
They had to drag Alfred from the house, the child kicking and screaming the whole way to the car. Matthew hurried after him, clutching a stuffed animal in his arms (a little polar bear he'd received on his fourth birthday), trying to soothe him with assurances of, "Just stay calm, Al, at least we're still here, we're still together," but even he had tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He had loved both of his parents and that love hadn't been hindered when the fights started and eventually they started living separately. To have them just swiped from him was unfair.
The woman was a driver who looked friendlier than the men. She buckled them into the backseat of the car with careful hands. Alfred, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes furiously, demanded, "Where are we going?"
The woman gave a sad sort of smile. "Your new home. Until we find your mother."
Their "new home" turned out to resemble anything but a home. It was four stories tall with peeling paneling and a dull blue roof that had more than several shingles. The door was an ugly brown, the windows were misty with dust, and the stairs looked like they would break if they were touched by a feather.
"Be careful," the woman warned them as they stepped up to the porch.
Alfred wanted to break free of this stranger's grasp and run away, but she held his hand securely enough so that he could barely wiggle his wrists. Plus, Matthew was on the opposite side, holding her other hand, and Alfred didn't want to risk leaving his little brother behind.
They were all that each other had left. He didn't want to lose Matthew too.
The woman left them there after an hour of filling out paperwork. Before she left for her car, she leaned down and told them, "Don't worry. We'll find your mom in no time."
. . .
Age 9
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and the months accumulated to a year. Their mother was found in a wreckage of a car accident, a province away. Why she was so far away from her home, no one was sure.
The same woman who took them away from their home visited again, and she explained this as kindly as she could. As the story was unfolded before their very eyes, Matthew buried his face into his stuffed bear. Alfred held his brother's hand tightly and they both cried for the loss of their family.
More paperwork was done, and as a result, the orphanage became their new home.
The orphanage was unkind to them and the other kids who inhabited it were no kinder.
Alfred kept close to his brother in case the older boys tried anything, and when they did, he did the very best he could to keep them away. It would always result in him getting an injury or another, and Matthew would have to gently chide him away from the bullies to bandage his scraped knee or kiss his swollen cheek better.
It was in this time of their life that Alfred started to love his brother more than a brother should. He cherished the way Matthew, albeit clumsily, tried to fix his scratches and felt warm butterflies in his stomach whenever the younger would press a kiss to the blossoming gray bruise on his skin. His chest would ache in an unnamed kind of pain as Matthew often gave him his food (a bowl of soup, a chunk of bread, or whatever the cooks decided to feed them that day), and tears would spring to his eyes when Matthew, despite his protests, only insisted, "You need it more than I do."
At night, they slept in a long hall that was lined with bed after bed, all draped similarly with gray sheets, a single pillow at the head. Each orphan had their own sleeping space, but at night, Matthew would abandon his bed and join Alfred on the other side of the room instead, pulling his blanket and pillow with him. In the morning, the nurses would find them sleeping peacefully together. They seldom had the heart to tell Matthew to go back to his own bed.
It was in this time of their life that Alfred - although he didn't know it yet, at his young age - fell in love.
. . .
Age 10
Alfred grew to be the stronger of the pair, while Matthew seemed to stay small and fragile. By the time they turned ten, there was a four-inch difference in their height.
They celebrated their tenth birthday by themselves, tucked safely under the covers, a flashlight between them so that they could properly see each other's face. They brought out small pastries and pieces of cake that they'd saved from rare instances of dessert and ate together. As they drifted off to sleep that night, they both whispered their "happy birthday's."
It was a week later that two men came into the orphanage, supposedly looking to adopt a son. They walked together, and Alfred figured that it must have been a strange sight to the nurses, because they pointed and whispered behind the couple's backs. He wondered if it was because they were two men, but was confused; what was wrong with two boys loving each other?
Matthew was reading and Alfred was trying to distract him when the two men entered the playroom. The twins didn't notice until the taller man, who had bright blue eyes and wavy blond hair, knelt down in front of them.
"What's your name, mon petit?" the man inquired of Alfred, and the boy looked to his brother helplessly. Their mother had taught them some French, but Alfred never really understood the language.
"Son nom est Alfred," Matthew mumbled. He tried to hide further behind his book, pressing himself against his brother's side.
He missed the way the Frenchman smiled in delight.
The second man, this one a little shorter with green eyes and sandy-colored hair, bent down as well. A few seconds later, Matthew felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder. "Are you two brothers?" He had an English accent, a sharp contrast to his partner's French one.
Matthew nodded, still refusing to put down his book.
"Mattie, your book is upside down," Alfred whispered, and dutifully corrected it so his brother was holding it the right way.
That drew a laugh from the taller man. "What do you think, Arthur?" he asked, presumably directed to the Englishman.
The man named Arthur looked down fondly at the two kids, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "I think we can handle two."
Before either of the twins knew it, they were standing in the lobby with the couple as Arthur signed the papers.
"I'm Francis Bonnefoy, and that man over there is my husband, Arthur Kirkland." Francis gestured to the man at the front desk. "You're Alfred and…" he pointed to Alfred, then looked to Matthew. "I don't suppose you have a name, little one?"
"I'm Matthew," the younger said, clutching his bear tighter.
"But I call him Mattie a lot," Alfred piped up helpfully. "Mister Francis, if Arthur is your husband, then why do you have different last names? Are you divorced," he pronounced the word slowly, making sure he said it right, "like Mom and Dad were?"
Francis looked surprised at the question; Matthew tugged at his brother's shirt, whispering, "That's not very nice, Al."
"Because, see," Alfred continued, either ignoring his brother or having not heard him, "Mattie and I have different last names, too. Mine's Jones, and Mattie's is Williams." He stopped, face morphing into an expression of confusion. "Wait, does that mean me and Mattie are divorced, too?"
Francis chuckled, patting the young boy's head. "You're too young to know about such a concept," he said. "But if you'd like, you can keep your own last names?"
"Sure, mister Francis!" Alfred stopped again. "Do we have to call you Dad now?"
"Only if you want to, mon chou." Francis stood as Arthur came back, a bunch of papers in his hand.
"Thanks a lot for helping me out," the emerald-eyed man said crossly, and Francis only laughed and put an arm around him and kissed his cheek.
They went home a new family.
. . .
Age 11
They had initially asked the twins if they were comfortable with going to a nearby elementary school, but they weren't too keen on the idea yet. Their birth parents had home-schooled them.
And so Arthur and Francis decided that they would be home-schooled as well.
They fell into an easy routine: In the morning, Francis would cook breakfast as Arthur came home from his night shift at a pub downtown. After eating, Francis would give them their morning lessons(science, math, and sometimes a little bit of French), and then later leave for his own job at the local restaurant as a chef. Arthur would make lunch - or, at least, try to. They almost always ended up ordering take out, but neither Alfred nor Matthew minded.
After that came their afternoon lessons(English and history). When they were finished, they were free to do whatever they so chose.
It was a rather relaxed system, one that Alfred and Matthew appreciated.
"I'm glad they adopted us," Matthew said once as he fixed his bear's white fur.
Alfred crawled over and collapsed next to him, head falling into his lap. The two sat in silence until the older asked: "Do you…ever think about them, Mattie?"
Putting his bear aside, Matthew studied his brother's face. "A lot," he admitted, and another silence settled in after his answer. He smiled, though, and combed his fingers through his brother's shorter hair. "But then I think of Arthur and Francis and they really nice things they do for us, and then I don't feel so sad any more." He leaned down and kissed Alfred's forehead, which made the latter's cheeks redden slightly. "So don't feel sad, okay, Al?"
"I love you, Mattie," Alfred sighed happily.
Outside their shared bedroom, Arthur moved away from the door, which had been opened a crack. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but they had been talking rather loud, and he couldn't help but overhear…
Matthew's words rang in his mind, and he returned to the living room with a small smile on his face.
On their eleventh birthdays, they were disappointed to find out that Francis couldn't take a day off and had to work. "But don't worry," their adoptive father said as he kissed the top of their heads, "maybe you can stop by the restaurant later, and we can all sit down together for dinner, oui?"
And so when six o'clock came, Arthur told Alfred and Matthew to go dress up in their nicest clothes; they would be visiting Francis's workplace. The twins wasted no time in doing so, and Arthur took his own time(all the while trying to convince himself that he didn't care what Francis thought he looked like).
They had to walk since Francis had taken the car. It was a short one, and when they arrived, they bumped into Francis, who had just finished his shift, near the entrance. Alfred and Matthew greeted him with hugs, and Francis told them to go pick a seat. Once Alfred rushed off, Matthew trailing behind, Francis turned to his husband.
"You look stunning," he purred into Arthur's ear, and Arthur blushed scarlet and pushed him away half-heartedly.
Alfred, who had seen them, tugged on Matthew's sleeve and pointed. "What do you think Francis said to Arthur?" They had fallen into the habit of calling their guardians by their first names, although sometimes Matthew called one or the other "papa."
"I don't know, but Arthur's face is really red." Matthew giggled despite himself.
Alfred looked at his two fathers, before looking to his brother. Then, without really thinking, he leaned forward and kissed the other's cheek.
The result was Matthew blushing, almost as much as Arthur had. "Wh-What was that for?" the younger of the two complained slightly.
Alfred didn't know, but it had felt…right.
And Matthew was blushing so cutely.
"I love you, Mattie," he said simply, smiling cheerfully at his brother.
Their dads caught up with them, and they took their seats in a small booth near the back of the restaurant. A few minutes later, a waitress came to take their orders.
As they finished, Francis added, "Would you also mind fetching us two glasses of wine?" Then he took Arthur's hand and pressed a kiss against the top of it, smiling against his skin.
Arthur pulled his hand back, sputtering indignantly, and Francis and the waitress just laughed. Alfred watched them curiously, before reaching across the table for Matthew's hand and pressing a kiss into his fingers, too.
Neither of their fathers noticed.
Matthew kept shooting shy glances at his brother the rest of the night.
. . .
Age 12
There was a boy who lived several houses down from them, whose name was Gilbert and had funny hair and funny eyes. At least, they looked funny to Alfred - Matthew didn't seem to think much of it and even befriended him.
Alfred didn't really like Gilbert, and Gilbert didn't really like Alfred, but for the sake of Matthew, they tried to be on friendly terms whenever they met up in their backyard. Alfred would bite back any sarcastic remarks he wanted to say to Gilbert, even though the older boy would always hog Matthew's attention. It would make Alfred feel sick, and later he would learn that he was feeling jealous.
When they turned twelve, Alfred and Matthew told their fathers that they wanted to try going to school, with all of the other kids. Francis and Arthur were reluctant, but come that August, they were shopping for school supplies. On the twenty-fourth, Alfred and Matthew woke up at six in the morning to get ready for their first day of school.
"Al," Matthew spoke up, "do you know what it's like to kiss someone?" He tried to make himself look busy and smoothed down that one errant curl that refused to stay down with the rest of hi hair.
Alfred glanced up, finishing the last button on his shirt. "Of course," he answered. He praised himself for sounding so calm even though his heart had begun to beat rapidly. "I've kissed you loads of times."
"Not that kind of kiss." Matthew turned to face him fully. "I meant- Oh, never mind." He regretted asking in the first place. Now his brother probably thought he was weird.
He moved to pass him, but Alfred caught him by the wrist before he could leave their room. "No, tell me," he insisted. "Did you mean the kind of kiss that Francis gives Arthur?"
Matthew's face flushed in embarrassment, but Alfred seemed intent on getting him to clarify his question. "Yeah, that's what I meant," he mumbled.
"Oh." Alfred let go of his wrist. "You should have just said so. No, then." He tilted his head, curious. "Why'd you ask?"
"Gilbert told me that he got his first kiss yesterday. Then he asked me if I've had mine, and I said no, which made me start wondering if you've had yours yet." The words tumbled out from Matthew's mouth before he could stop himself.
"Boys, are you ready?" came Francis's voice from downstairs.
"Hold on!" Alfred called back. He re-averted his attention to his brother. "W-Well, it's not like it matters, does it?" He laughed nervously. "It's just a stupid kiss. You shouldn't care whether you've been kissed or not."
Matthew smiled. "I guess you're right."
There was something in Matthew's expression that made Alfred regret his words. His smile looked forced, and there was something akin to disappointment in his eyes. "Mattie-" he began, and took his wrist again. Before Matthew could ask what he was doing, he drew him closer and gently, clumsily, kissed him on the lips.
When they pull away a second later, Alfred rushed to explain himself, "Kisses are meant to be for people you love, right? And I love you, so I kissed you! Please don't be mad at me, Mattie. I don't want you to hate me." He readied himself for Matthew's surely-to-be angry response.
Instead, Matthew mumbled, "Can I tell you something?"
"What?" Alfred baited his breath.
"I wanted my first kiss to be you."
. . .
Somehow, something worked out without either of them having to say a word. Alfred had laughed before practically leaping on him and hugging him, relieved beyond words that his brother didn't hate him, and that he could finally do what he'd been wanting to do for a while.
Eventually, Arthur came into their room to tell them that they were going to be late. He found them on the floor, a heaping pile of tangled limbs and laughter. He berated them, but he was almost certain that they weren't really paying attention.
A few minutes later, Alfred and Matthew followed Arthur out of their room and downstairs, their respective backpacks slung over their shoulders. Behind their guardian's back, they held hands.
. . .
Age 13
"I'm starting to wonder if letting you two go to a public school was a good idea," Arthur said, putting Alfred's report card down on the table in front of them. "Two C's, two B's, and an A. Which happens to be in chorus."
Matthew always told him that he was a good singer, but truth be told, Alfred only signed up because he knew it would be an easy A and would make his report card look somewhat better.
"Are you having a hard time concentrating, Alfred?" Arthur sounded genuinely concerned, but Alfred didn't want to talk about his grades at that moment. He didn't understand the point of them, anyway - how were letters supposed to measure how smart someone was? "Or is your teacher not explaining things well enough?"
"Our teacher's fine," Alfred protested. "I just don't do good on tests and quizzes."
"Well," Arthur corrected. " 'I just don't do well on tests and quizzes.' "
"Same thing."
"You were fine when it was me and Francis who taught you," Arthur continued. "Do we need to pull you out and home-school you again?"
Alfred thought of what he would miss: His friends, making fun of the substitutes, lunch. Most of all, he thought of Matthew and having to spend eight hours a day away from his brother. He was quick to answer, "N-No!"
Arthur recognized the stricken tone of his voice and sighed, feeling a little guilty. "I'm sorry, lad. I just want you to be able to grow up all right. I'm afraid I'm going to muck things up, and then it'll be my fault someday that you'll have a hard time in life."
"Don't worry, Artie," Alfred said, ignoring the way his adoptive father blanched at the nickname. "I think you're doing pretty good so far."
Arthur smiled tiredly. "Just try to study harder, okay?"
"Okay."
When he entered his shared room with Matthew, he collapsed on the floor with a loud, exaggerated sigh. He turned to his brother, who was busy scribbling away at his notebook. Matthew's grades had been much better than his. "Mattie, can you tutor me?"
Matthew put his pencil down and studied his twin for a moment. "Why?" he asked, a little suspiciously. He would never have thought that someone like Alfred would ask to be tutored.
"I need to bring my grades up," Alfred said, purposely emitting the part where if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to go to school with Matthew. "So, can you?"
"Sure." After a brief hesitation, Matthew added teasingly, "What's in it for me?"
Alfred grinned, practically tackling the younger boy. "Well," he said, pinning the other easily underneath him, "you'll get my undivided attention." He leaned down to nuzzle Matthew's neck, pressing kisses into the soft skin.
"St-Stop it, that tickles and Arthur might come in-" Matthew broke off into giggles as Alfred refused to stop, moving upwards until he was kissing him on the cheeks, then his lips. "I really love you, Al," he said breathlessly.
Alfred didn't miss a beat. "I love you too, Mattie."
. . .
Age 14
They made sure that no one knew about their relationship. Matthew was unhappy to be stifled like so, but they both had a feeling that if someone were to discover them, they would be in trouble.
Alfred dreamed of a world where it was okay to love someone like he loved Matthew.
His grades gradually went up.
. . .
"Oh, god, Mattie," Alfred said, barely stifling his giggles. "You look like a nerd." He poked his brother's face teasingly.
"You're getting glasses too, you idiot," Matthew grumbled, adjusting the rounded frames across the bridge of his nose.
His resentment flew out of the metaphorical window when Alfred leaned in and whispered, "A cute nerd…"
While Matthew was off-guard, Alfred snapped a picture with his phone and only laughed and ran away when Matthew tried to get it from him.
. . .
Age 15
"We have a surprise for you both," Francis declared on the day before their fifteenth birthdays.
Matthew shot Alfred a confused look, but the older twin merely shrugged, equally as clueless. They followed their fathers upstairs. As the other three went on to the end of the hall, Alfred stopped by his and Matthew's room to drop his backpack off. When he opened the door, he froze, stunned at what he was seeing. "…Francis? Arthur?"
He heard them stop up ahead and Arthur make a noise of aggravation. "Great, it's spoiled now."
Within a few seconds, Matthew was at his side. "What is it-" The younger boy stopped when he saw their bedroom. "Papa? Where's my bed?"
"Come over here and you'll see, mon cher," Francis chided gently.
After giving Alfred a slightly panicked look, Matthew walked over to where his parents were. His mind raced with questions: Did they know? Were we too careless?
Francis opened the door to an old guestroom that they never really used, revealing where Matthew's bed had gone, as well as a new dresser, desk, computer…
"M-My own room?" Matthew stammered, unsure of whether to be relieved yet or not. He looked back and forth between Arthur and Francis.
"We thought you'd appreciate a little more privacy," Arthur answered. "Plus, you two were getting too old to still be sharing rooms."
"Oh." Matthew didn't know what else to say. He never minded having to share a room with Alfred; he enjoyed being with his brother, even if he got a little overbearing sometimes. He wanted to keep sharing a room.
Francis frowned, tilting his head. "You don't like it?"
"N-No!" If Matthew said otherwise, they would probably start to suspect things, and the last thing he wanted was for them to find out, all because he decided to be selfish. Besides, Alfred was probably getting sick of sharing rooms. "I think it's…great."
. . .
The room was unnaturally quiet - too quiet, with the lack of Matthew's constant tossing and turning. Alfred hadn't realized how much he doted on those little things, how much they comforted him at night. Now that all he had was silence, it was difficult to sleep.
This would take some time to get used to.
"Al?"
He jerked violently backwards and into the headboard at the whisper of his name. He fumbled to put on his glasses. When his vision finally cleared, he saw that his door was opened and Matthew's head was poking through. "Mattie?" he whispered harshly, rubbing his head.
"Hey." The younger of the two looked sheepish. He opened the door wider and stepped in, carrying a pillow in his hand. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted quietly, stopping at the foot of the bed.
Alfred barely bit back a crooked smile. "Makes two of us." He moved over so there was space, pulling the comforter back invitingly. "Hop in."
Matthew slid gratefully under the covers with him, fitting himself comfortably against his chest. It had always amused Alfred how perfectly they fit together, as if they'd been made specifically for each other.
They both fell asleep much faster.
. . .
Age 16
"Oh. My. God." Alfred was practically salivating at the sight of the new, sleek black car sitting in front of their driveway. "Are you seriously serious, Artie?"
"Your grades have been really improving, and I was getting tired of having to drive you two to places," Arthur said. Then he smiled softly. "We were proud of you."
"You'll have to share it," Francis put in, "but I don't think that'll be a problem, oui?" He knew how close the brothers were. Surely they could manage sharing a car.
"It's perfect." Alfred was grinning so hard, his cheeks felt like they were going to split.
"Thank you, Arthur, Francis," Matthew said, a little more reserved than the other. He reached over to hug his parents, and soon enough, Alfred joined in.
"Just make sure to drive carefully and always be home before eleven."
. . .
"Dad, Mattie and I are meeting up with some friends." The announcement surprised both Arthur and Matthew.
"Okay," Arthur said slowly. "Where are you going?"
Matthew looked at his brother, as if trying to ask, Yeah, Al, where are we going?
"We're grabbing a bite to eat, and then we're going to just hang out." Alfred paused. "Don't worry, we're not gonna breaking the law or anything! Jeez."
Arthur glanced over to Matthew. "Make sure they don't," he said seriously.
Matthew nodded, solemn despite the fact that he had no idea what his brother was up to.
"Awesome!" Alfred grabbed him and began pulling him towards the door. "Come on, Matt, we'll be late."
Arthur looked worriedly after them - when had Alfred ever worried about punctuality?
. . .
"We're not meeting up with friends, are we," Matthew deadpanned as soon as they were in the car. The engine hummed to life as they backed out from the driveway.
"Nope!" Alfred answered cheerfully. "We, Mattie, are going on a date."
The bluntness of the statement caused Matthew's cheeks to turn pink very quickly. "A date…?"
"Yeah." Alfred glanced sideways at him, scratching the back of his head. "I realized we never really went out together. And I wanted to try out the car."
He sounded rather well-intentioned, and Matthew didn't have the heart to chide him. So instead he laughed softly. "Where are we going?"
Alfred found his hand and intertwined their fingers, the gesture sweet enough to make Matthew feel warm all over. "A place where we're not siblings."
. . .
They ended up in the next town over, sitting in a little bistro that was situated on the corner of a busy street. Matthew fidgeted nervously as they entered through the front doors, and Alfred wrapped an arm around his waist and whispered, "Don't worry, Mattie."
They picked a seat near the back - even though no one knew they were brothers, it was still pretty uncommon to see two boys together.
By the time their food arrived, the fact that no one here knew them had just dawned on Matthew. He reached tentatively across the table, touched Alfred's hand, and said, "Thank you for taking me out here, Al."
Alfred only smiled back. "It's my pleasure, Mattie."
. . .
Age 17
"So, are you going to prom with anyone?"
The voice made Alfred stop outside of the nearly empty classroom.
The bell rung about five minutes ago, and he'd come to meet up with Matthew so they could walk to their lockers and leave together. They had done this every day since they entered high school without fail.
"I'm not sure yet," came a soft reply.
Yes, that was definitely his brother's voice.
Alfred tried to peek through the small window, but there were papers taped to it on the other side, blocking most of his view.
"Oh, cool." And was that Gilbert Beilschmidt? "I was, uh, actually wondering if you'd want to come with me."
Alfred froze, his blood going cold. He felt an uncontrollable urge to burst in and grab Matthew, yell at Beilschmidt - do something that would let that cocky albino know that Matthew was his, and his only.
But that would raise a lot of questions.
He just had to hope that Matthew…
"I-I'm sorry, Gil, but…I was hoping to go with someone else…"
That also made Alfred stop to think. Was Matthew just lying to get out of the situation, or did he really want to go with Alfred?
He tried to imagine what it would be like, ended up imagining his brother in a dress, and had to stifle his laughter lest he would be seen.
"Oh, okay." Although it was faint, the disappointment was evident in Gilbert's voice. "I guess I'll see you around, then. And…good luck. With whoever you want to go with." It was the first time, Alfred thought, that the crimson-eyed boy sounded so unsure of himself.
The classroom door opened, and Alfred nearly jumped back. He forced himself to look casual, as if he'd just arrived: "Is Matt in there?"
Gilbert cast him a wary look. "Yeah." Then he stalked off, but not before letting his gaze linger on Alfred a little longer than necessary, as if judging him.
For a moment, Alfred thought he might have seen realization in Gilbert's eyes, but someone like Gilbert couldn't have figured them out so easily. They always made sure to be careful and never dared to try anything in school in fear of being caught.
Matthew came out a few seconds later, carrying his books. He saw his brother and the way he stared off in the direction Gilbert had gone. "…How much did you hear?" he said quietly.
"Enough," was all Alfred replied.
. . .
"Not bringing anyone with you?" Arthur asked as he straightened the collar of Alfred's tux.
"Didn't really want to take anyone," Alfred said as he examined himself in the mirror. "I was- Jeez, why are these things so uncomfortable?"
Arthur barely stifled a snort as he tried to smooth down a persistent cowlick, only to have it spring back up again. "You'll get to wear them more in the future," he promised solemnly.
"Great." Alfred stepped back then, holding his arms out. "Well?"
Arthur smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Any girl or boy would be lucky to have you."
Alfred thought: The one I want is one of the few people I can't have.
. . .
"Make sure the punch isn't laced with alcohol," Francis instructed, "and if it is, but you don't realize it, make sure you tell Alfred to drive you home immediately. I do not want my son having his first time under the influence of alcohol."
Matthew blushed. "Don't worry, Papa," he assured. I'll probably end up just standing awkwardly in the back, anyway.
He'd hoped to go with Alfred - actually, he'd been hoping that since they first entered a relationship - but, of course, it was too risky, even if they tried to pass it off as nothing more than being close brothers.
"Arthur and I will also be going out tonight, so try to come home before midnight, all right?"
"All right."
Francis made a hum of approval, brushing off the last piece of invisible lint on Matthew's shoulder. Then he looked his son up and down and said, "I'm so proud of you."
Matthew looked at himself in the mirror, studying his face, his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, his chin. He had grown so much that he could hardly believe that nine years ago, he was a little boy who had lost his family and doted on his brother for everything…
. . .
The drive was short and thankfully not long enough to evoke any awkward conversation. Matthew was slowly driving himself insane in the silence - he wanted desperately to ask Alfred what was wrong, but didn't want to set his brother off any further. He'd been acting off since the incident with Gilbert.
When they arrived, Matthew went ahead without Alfred and, once inside, scouted the area for a spot that he could sit and mope at for the rest of the night.
He always imagined prom to be something soft and romantic, but the current scene was the opposite. There was a dance floor which was crowded with bodies, moving to the upbeat music.
Matthew had just found an empty corner when someone grabbed him by the arm and yanked him through a set of doors. He made a noise of surprise, but barely anyone heard him over the loud music. He was pulled up and along several flights of stairs. The darkness didn't allow for him to see who the stranger was, and it was only when they stepped onto the roof of the school that he realized it was his brother.
"Sorry about that," Alfred apologized. "I was rushing so no one would see."
The air was cool, and there was a lot of space across the roof. The music could still be heard from below, but it wasn't as loud. Matthew liked this much better than being trapped in a room full of gyrating bodies.
Alfred surprised him further when he slipped his arms around his waist, effectively cutting the distance between them. "And sorry there's no romantic music," he added cheekily, and Matthew laughed and leaned up and kissed him.
They danced to their own quiet little song, for a moment feeling the sense of complete bliss that they had oh-so coveted their whole lives.
. . .
They drove home two hours before prom officially ended. Neither minded.
They barely made it inside the empty house before they were kissing again, hands roaming, hot breaths skimming against skin as they pressed tightly together and still sought to be closer.
Alfred held himself above Matthew with his arms and asked, "Are you sure?"
Matthew looped his arms around his brother's neck and pulled him down into their millionth kiss for that night, whispering, "Positive."
. . .
Careful - they'd always been careful. They were strictly brothers whenever they were around familiar people, and that pretense only slipped off when they were alone, where they could be lovers.
It had been that way since they first started up until that penultimate moment of their lives.
Five years.
They hid from the world for five years.
Maybe that's why they were so thoughtless on that night. Maybe that's why, Alfred thought, they chose to sleep on afterwards, drowning in each other's embrace, instead of returning to their own bedrooms and erasing any evidence of the love that had been made.
Maybe that's why morning came and they were still half naked on Alfred's bed when Arthur suddenly opened the door.
. . .
"I- you…" Arthur was at a loss for words, staring, dumbfounded, as his adoptive sons scrambled to get dressed.
Francis was silent the whole time.
. . .
"Arthur, Francis, we were just- just-"
"Dad, don't get mad at Mattie, please, it wasn't his fault, it was mine, I made him-"
. . .
They were pulled out from school abruptly. Plans were made for Matthew and Francis to go on a trip to France, while Alfred would stay in Canada with Arthur. Alfred and Matthew would be away from each other for at least a year.
"A-Arthur, please don't do this," Alfred pleaded. "I can't be away from Mattie, don't you understand? How would you feel if you had to leave Francis? Please, I love him."
Matthew was crying silently, his shoulders shaking with sobs as Francis tried to console him. Alfred wanted nothing more than to reach over, take his brother in his arms, hold him and tell him that everything was going to be all right, but Francis gently led the other boy away to start packing.
"Dad," Alfred said to Arthur, and he tried to stop himself but it was too late, and the tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was crying because it wasn't fair it wasn't fair-
. . .
"A-Al."
His bedroom door was opened carefully and Matthew stepped in. Through the darkness, Alfred could see the way his brother's eyes were bloodshot from crying, his hair was carelessly tousled, and he looked like a wreck.
Without another word, Alfred pulled the blanket back(like he'd done two years ago) and let his brother in.
He could feel Matthew trembling in his arms, and he smoothed circles into the younger boy's back, murmuring, "It's okay, Mattie, ssh, let it out, just let it out."
Matthew cried and it wasn't too long before Alfred's facade broke and he was crying, too.
. . .
"We could run away," Matthew whispered. His throat was raw from crying, but it didn't stop him from speaking. "Our bags are already packed, we can just take your car and drive to somewhere else, start over…"
"What about Francis and Arthur?" Somehow, Alfred knew what effect it would have on them if they walking in to find that both of their sons, a big part of their family, was simply gone. After all, he'd experienced the same thing himself. "We can't just leave them like this."
"But I don't want to lose you, Al." Matthew's grip on his shoulders tightened. "W-We can do it. We can run away together, like in those movies we used to watch."
"This isn't the movies, Mattie." Alfred's voice was soft, fingers gentle as they ran through Matthew's wavy tresses. "This is reality."
"Or I can run away," Matthew continued, desperation gnawing at the edge of his tone. "And then- and then, we can meet up again when we're older."
"Kind of like Romeo and Juliet?"
"Kind of like Romeo and Juliet."
Alfred smiled, bittersweet, into his hair. "Just go to sleep, Mattie."
. . .
It was about an hour later that Alfred roused to the bed shifting. He felt the warm body leave his arms as Matthew slipped out. He kept his eyes closed - he pretended not to feel Matthew stroke his cheek, see him walk out of his room, hear the linger of the "I love you so much, Al" that had been whispered with a sense of finality.
It was when the door clicked shut quietly behind Matthew that Alfred finally opened his eyes and wept.
. . .
Age 27
He stretched his arms above his head, wincing when he heard a few bones crack. The outdoors offered him plenty of fresh air, but just knowing what ten-year anniversary that day marked unsettled him.
There was a stop sign a few feet away, which reminded him of that old bus stop where he and his brother used to go to-
Someone took a seat on the waiting bench next to him, an opened newspaper in their hands. He caught sight of the familiar headlines: BOY RUNS AWAY FROM FAMILY.
Below is a picture of a Frenchman and an Englishman, distraught evident across their familiar faces.
"That's an old paper," he commented.
"It's always interested me," the woman replied, flipping the page.
"Incest?"
"No, just the case in general."
"I see."
The bus squealed to a stop in front of them, and the woman rose. She folded the newspaper demurely. "Makes me wonder if either of the brothers have regrets now." She stopped halfway into the bus. "Are you getting on?"
"No." He waved her off, and the woman shrugged before disappearing somewhere inside. The driver pulled the doors shut and the bus rumbled off, leaving Alfred by himself once more.
He pulled out a worn picture from his pocket, one of an indigo-eyed boy caught by surprise, his hair just a shade lighter than gold, face angelic. He thought of clandestine kisses and hands that he never tired of holding and a body that always fit perfectly against his. He thought of the desperation that had been in Matthew's voice, how tempting it had been to accept his offer and run away together.
("Regrets?")
He wondered if they would ever meet again. He sincerely wished they would meet again, and come together like two pieces of a puzzle that have been long lost.
("Yeah, I have some.")