Let's say I had a little...inspiration from my own life & suddenly felt like writing this. May be a bit sad but only a bit. Enjoy~!
Matt frowned, eyes boring into the bathroom mirror after he had harshly coughed up blood for over five minutes. A stream of red flowed over his bottom lip and dripped off his chin. His stare, once so sharp and demanding, was now dull and tired.
He was no fool. He knew exactly what was happening to him. He'd been feeling off for a couple of months now, but it had only recently gotten this bad. He now couldn't help but feel exhausted as he went through the same thing each day; pains, difficulty breathing, hacking up blood, wheezing more than talking (though Kumi was the only one he talked to), and on top of that, an irritating case of pneumonia. Life wasn't exactly fun for him at the moment. He felt as lifeless as he looked.
His phone rang.
The Canadian's shadowed eyes slowly moved to the door. He picked up a wet wash cloth that he had been using for his fever during the night before his coughing fit had awoken him, and he quickly wiped the blood from his face before leaving the room to retrieve his house phone. Lifting it off the hook, he brought it up to his ear and lazily greeted the caller with a simple, "Yeah?"
"Sup, Puck Fuck?" said the voice on the other end; Matt's brother, Allen. "Dude, Ollie wants us at his place for lunch. No excuses for not comin', so stop bein' Canadian and get your moose ass over here."
Matt leaned against the wall, running a hand over his face and through his hair. The bags under his eyes suddenly felt so much heavier. He suppressed a sigh.
"You listening, asshole?" Allen sneered when he received no answer.
Matt took a deep breath and let it out, trying to relax. "Yeah," he answered softly.
Al seemed to hesitate.
"Why'd you call so early, anyway...?" the Canadian asked a bit irritably, relieved that his voice didn't give out to wheezing.
One could practically feel Allen's devious smirk through the phone. "Thought it'd piss ya off," he chuckled in a dark manor. Matt growled, and the American laughed again before the angry Canadian slammed the phone back on its hook. Even when he tried to keep a calm demeanor, his brother had always been able to break it.
And that's why he was reluctant to go to Oliver's for lunch.
It was getting more and more difficult for Matt to hide the symptoms of his 'condition' lately. If the constant coughing and fever weren't obvious signs of concern, then the blood certainly would be. Not only that, but his new breathing problems and aching pains would definitely hold him back in a fight against Allen, which was pretty much bound to happen. They would notice. And he desperately did not want them to know. Not only would they pity him...but they would probably force him to take treatment for his illness. And he was not only very against drugs and medications, but in all honesty, death sounded much better than a painful life of hospital visits and the such. And really...it would only be worse on his family to constantly worry over his health than if he were to just die without them knowing about the disease...
He knew they deserved to know. He knew he should tell them. But what was the point? It wasn't as if he could be cured...They couldn't do anything to help if they tried. It would only depress them to know. And they would only pity him.
So this was his secret. And he had already accepted it. He wouldn't fight. He couldn't bother. Death was inevitable as it was, so why torture himself over it?
Yes...death was inevitable...
Cancer would always win in the end.
"And Beaver Boy finally arrives!" Allen exclaimed cockily as Matt stepped in the front door to his former caretaker's home.
The Canadian sent a half-assed glare toward his brother before passing into the kitchen, where Oliver was at the oven, removing what looked like chicken casserole; Matt's favorite food, aside from maple syrup, jerky, and Canadian bacon. On the counter were several other foods that had been packed in containers.
Oliver placed the casserole on a rack on the counter and took off his oven mits, turning around to fetch the others. He was a little caught off-guard by the Canadian standing there, and he jumped and let out a little squeak, bringing his hand up to his mouth. "Oh, Mattie, you gave me a fright," the small man said, quickly growing a wide smile. "How are you, dear?"
"Been better," Matt answered just as the small Brit yelled for Al and Francois to tell them that the food was ready. He had hoped the man would move on to another subject afterward, but he'd never been one for luck.
"What ever do you mean?" Oliver asked, turning his attention back to his 'younger brother' with a slightly worried expression. After all, Matt usually answered with a lazy "Fine" or even a grunt. "Are you alright? What's wrong?" the Brit asked. "Mattie?"
Matt shook his head. "Just...been havin' migraines..." he lied. "And that idiot," he continued, pointing a thumb at the American who'd just entered the kitchen, "decided to call and wake me up." He was trying his best to speak calmly and a little quieter than usual, hoping that it could keep him from wheezing or having a coughing fit while he spoke. So far, so good...
The American smirked as he entered the room, having heard the last part of the conversation. He frowned, however, when Oliver smacked him upside the head. "Ow! The fuck was that for?!"
"Swear jar! And quit calling people so early, Alley," Oliver scolded, tugging on the other's ear. He quickly grew a smile again as he let go and clapped his hands together. "Alright! Let's get going then~!" he sang and skipped over to the counter, grabbing the casserole.
"What about Franny?" Allen asked before furrowing his eyebrows together. "And wait a minute. You freakin' called me at 2AM! And don't call me Alley!" he retorted, but Oliver preferred to hum a song and ignore him.
Francois then came into the room, cigarette in mouth, and leaned against the door frame beside the Canadian. Matt involuntarily moved away, then pretended he'd been going to help Oliver carry things upon realizing what he'd done. He grabbed one of the food containers and followed the Brit out the back door. Francois did the same shortly after.
Allen stood alone in the kitchen now, after watching the others leave. Something was up. He knew it. That morning, his brother hadn't argued back with him as he usually did; same with when he first greeted the Canadian at the door. He'd actually heard the entire conversation between Matt and Ollie, too...and the Canadian's behavior was unusual. And just now...Matt, a smoker, had basically flinched away from a cigarette and tried to cover it. Allen wasn't stupid. He knew what he'd seen, and he knew something was up. "Migraine, my ass..." he thought as he squinted, glaring at the door his family had left through. He grumbled to himself and decided not to bother with it yet. Grabbing the last food container, he quickly made for the door and left after the others.
He found the three of them sitting on a pink and blue checkered quilt out in Oliver's gardens. The Brit had always loved his picnics. Sitting down, Al quickly started to complain about the sun being too bright. As his mouth rambled on, his mind was paying attention to the tired-looking Canadian beside him. He watched him from the corner of his eye, glad that his sunglasses made it difficult for the others to know where he was looking.
Matt was generally an easy-going guy, but he always had much sharper eyes; and a temper when it came to the American. Today, however, the Canadian appeared to be worn out. His eyes were more distant than usual and had bags under them as if he hadn't been sleeping. He was slouching more as well, though he usually kept a good posture. He wasn't talking as much and wasn't arguing at all. His clothes were even more unkempt than usual, and his stubble was thicker and more abundant. He seemed skinnier than the last time Al saw him, and he hadn't smoked once since he'd arrived. On top of that, he seemed wary of the everyone; as if he were hiding something...
Al stopped blabbering suddenly and became quiet. They all looked at him a bit strangely. He was frowning, clearly trying not to say whatever he was thinking.
"Allen?" the pink-haired Brit asked. "Something wrong, dear?"
Al closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. His leg shook anxiously. His mind swirled with a million possibilities, and he wondered if Ollie or Franny had noticed Matt's odd behavior as well. It wasn't like Matt to keep secrets, and Allen was becoming very curious. And as much as he hated to admit, he was worried for his brother.
"What's your problem?" Matt asked casually, a bit irritated by his brother's sudden behavior.
Allen cracked. "The fuck is your problem?!" he shouted and continued before Oliver could scold him. "The hell is going on with you today?! You look like you're gonna fuckin' kill over!" He had flailed his arms a bit during his yelling and managed to knock his sunglasses off. Now he just glared at his brother.
Matt squinted his eyes, glaring back. "I told you I've had migraines," he defended, trying to keep his voice steady.
"And I'm telling you that's fucking bullshit!" Allen yelled and ground his teeth angrily.
Matt glared harder. "The hell would you know?!" he asked in a slightly raised voice.
"You fucking look like shit! What the hell happened?!"
"I'm fine. Mind your own damn business!" the Canadian nearly screamed as Oliver stood between them to keep them from fighting. He then coughed under his breath once and brought his hand to his mouth as he went into a slight coughing fit.
"M-Mattie?" Oliver asked, blinking rapidly.
"See! You're not fucking fine!" Allen ranted. "What are ya, sick?! You don't have to play all tough-guy just 'cos you caught a little illness."
Matt tried to calm his coughing as he continued to stare at his brother with slight hatred. "I'm fine," he rasped and coughed again, "...dumbass." He averted his eyes.
The American huffed and pushed past Oliver, grabbing the Canadian by the shoulder and forcing him to look him in the eye. He was going to continue his rant until he saw blood seeping from between Matt's fingers. He paused in shock, his eyes widening, and his grip loosened before letting go completely. He stepped back and began to stutter. "W-what..."
The Canadian sighed and slowly dropped his bloody hand away from his face. He weakly averted his eyes again. The red liquid was still seeping out of his lips and running down his chin.
Al just stood in shock, staring wide-eyed. Oliver brought his hands up to cover his own mouth, looking ready to cry. Francois' skin paled, and the cigarette in his mouth loosened and threatened to fall out. Even his eyes were wider than usual.
"M-Mattie..." Oliver cried as tears began spilling down his face.
Matt sighed and wiped the blood off his chin with a lazy swipe of his arm. "I was hoping not to tell you..." he practically whispered. Allen involuntarily clenched his jaw and fists, waiting for the explanation. Matt leaned back and looked at each of them with his dull eyes. "I have cancer."
They didn't move. Al almost stopped breathing. His face paled and fists slowly unfolded, trembling. Oliver let out a strangled cry and launched himself at Matt, burying his wet face into the plaid shirt. Francois' cigarette fell to the ground, and his face lost all color. He slouched, gulping, and trembling slightly. Matt's eyes searched them over and stopped when they met his brother's fearful eyes. He smiled weakly. A tear escaped the corner of Al's eye as he continued to stare in shock. Matt looked back over to Francois, whose face was half-buried in his hand, shaking but not shedding tears. The cigarette burned a hole in the quilt.
Matt hadn't wanted them to worry. He didn't want them to cry.
"Mattie...?" Oliver whimpered, pulling back from the now-wet shirt and looking up at the Canadian with large, watery eyes.
"Hm?" Matt answered, staring down at him blankly.
"I..." the Brit choked. "We love you...!" he cried and hugged Matt tight, shaking with each sob.
Allen stared at the ground off to the side, looking unusually depressed. "How long have you known this...?" he asked without looking up. The others stopped what they were doing and looked at Matt expectantly.
Matt hesitated. "Couple o' months..."
Al looked at him with eyebrows furrowed in worry, but Matt was staring at the ground. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asked, clenching his fists again.
Silence rung through the air. Matt sighed. "Didn't want...to hurt you..." He mumbled the end, never looking up to meet anyone's eyes. He felt Oliver's hug loosen. Allen's fists unclenched again. Matt then felt Francois' arm wrap behind his back and the Frenchman's head rest lazily on his shoulder. Next, Allen's arms wrapped around his torso from the side, and he leaned into him. Oliver numbly played with Matt's hair as his arms wrapped around the Canadian's neck. He kissed Matt on the forehead before laying his head down in the crook of his neck.
Matt just sat there, processing their actions. They were a close family, yes...but he couldn't remember them ever hugging like this. It was nice; made him feel less empty, just a bit...and even if the sun was beating down on them, he didn't mind the warmth of their embrace.
He would be cold soon enough.
Hope you liked this. Please review. ^_^