Can I just say this took so much work to write. I'm so tired...tired of life, tired of lack of sleep, tired of people. But I'm driven by the happy endings in my stories...so I'll be okay.
Okay, story time. Sit down children, let me tell you a tale of bitter, forgotten love. - ;
### ####
To be fair, it was a very manly scream.
"Wh-what the bloody fuck?!"
Arthur had somewhat unfortunately shut the door behind him when he entered, so when he backed up he was stuck against the door, unable to move. His startled, gasping breaths echoed around the room as he tried to control the fear of not seeing the body until he'd practically stood on it.
And that was when it moved.
Bleary violet-blue eyes observed him silently as the teen pulled himself off of the ground. He wasn't wearing a jacket or anything on his uniform, opting instead for just the white button-up shirt and paint-splattered jeans. It didn't make the blonde look bad; it was more like the messy, distracted look worked for him. The worst thing was he looked JUST like Alfred. Then he spoke. "...Arthur?"
It couldn't be Alfred. Alfred had practice. Arthur should know; the American had dragged him to far more than a few games, usually unwillingly. Then his eyes landed on the strawberry-tipped blonde hair, slightly waved and tied into a loose ponytail. Alfred's hair was nowhere near that long. But...but... It wasn't possible that...
Oh.
"...Matthew?"
Matthew couldn't even smile as his name passed the others lips, in that accent. He used to love it, the way Arthur said things. Now it just hurt, because there was only a tiny flicker of recognition in those acid-green eyes, where there had been, once, so much more. There had been that warm affection, his true feelings showing. "Wh-what is it?" He managed to say over his stormy thoughts. The Brit smiled at him, although it was behind a wall of politeness. Matthew remembered when he didn't have that wall between him and the rest of the world. So vulnerable...but unbelievably strong at the same time. That wall was what had kept Arthur safe; it guarded his heart when Matthew had passed on the job.
"...Matthew? Hello?"
He looked up again, startled. Arthur had a small frown on his face. "So, is that okay?" he questioned, although Matt had no idea what was going on in the slightest anymore.
"Huh?"
"You're not that different from your brother, are you?"
A ripple of pain shot through him as he looked at the Brit. "Wh-what?!"
"Neither of you listen."
Matthew looked away, turning to the wall he'd been starting to scrub old paint off of. He picked up a sponge and wiped around the edges of the green he'd been painting, patiently waiting for Arthur to repeat himself; not brave enough to look the other in the eye any more. He'd moved to the abandoned art room exactly because of this.
"I said as a student council member, I have to review the art club."
"...I see. For how long?" Matthew replied.
"It depends. About a month, I suppose?"
"When does it start?"
"Officially next week, but I like to get in early."
"You always did," Matthew murmured before he could help himself. He was assured Arthur hadn't heard him anyway; despite all the man's complaints about Alfred not listening, the Brit himself only heard what he wanted to hear. It was interesting, if not hypocritical. "So...where are the other members?" Arthur said after a few long, awkward minutes. Matthew glanced at him as he picked a dart from the floor and stuck it in a paint jar. "What other members?"
"A club needs at least two members during the middle of the year to function."
"Lars is in the club officially, but really...he uses it as an excuse to go get high."
"Do you ever join him?"
Matthew chuckled. "Sometimes."
### ####
"Where's Matthew?" Arthur asked Alfred as they settled down to watch a movie at the American's house. It was a horror movie, of course.
Alfred laughed, although it sounded a bit strained. "I told you, he lives elsewhere. Dude, should I be jealous?"
"No, I was just wondering," Arthur replied hastily.
### ####
Lovino rested his head on Antonio's chest, staring up at the ceiling while the Spanish male played idly with his hair. "I can't believe he, of all people, forgot who Matthew was," he complained. Antonio smiled. "It's okay, Lovi, he can't forget for long, si?" Lovino didn't reply for a minute, deep in thought. He finally sighed and spoke the words he'd been thinking ever since Arthur had mentioned the Canadian half of the twins. "I can't help but think there's something we're missing, and the hamburger bastard is neck deep in it," he growled. The hand on his hair stilled as his boyfriend thought this over. "You think...Alfred did something?" Lovino shook his head. "No, not like that. Remember when they used to switch out? I think Alfred might've used that to his own advantage and screwed up everything."
"...it's possible, mi amor."
### ####
The next day, Arthur let himself in to the art room early, hoping to get a look around by himself to evaluate the state of the place. On the outside, it was shitty to say the least, and on the inside, it was chaotic, but somehow comforting. Like he'd seen the flames drawn across the main room, the autumn leaves etched into the wooden door, the strange, vibrant colours. He scribbled notes into his book and continued to the adjoining room, eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight. It had been converted into a room, with a plugged in microwave, a small Wi-Fi transmitter and a mattress-style bed. Not to mention the person on the mattress.
The blonde was clad in simple Canadian flag boxers and nothing else. He looked flushed, like he had a fever, and Arthur could hear him mumbling in his sleep from a few feet away. He stepped closer, kneeling down beside Matthew and placing a hand to his forehead. It was burning hot, and Arthur could only frown at the weak-looking blonde. He didn't have a heater in here, and it was the middle of winter.
Matthew's eyes fluttered open halfway as Arthur looked down at him. The Brit was caught by the unfocused, pale violet of his irises. "Artie, you came to visit me," he said, although it was so quiet he had to strain to hear it.
Artie.
The only person who called him that was Alfred.
"...Matthew? Are you feeling quite alright?"
Matthew wasn't listening to him by now, already mumbling to himself again, the flush of his cheeks making him look very, very different to Alfred, however. "It's been so long. Remember when we were children, and you got sick and I looked after you?"
No.
It couldn't be.
