II. Blue Jay

"How come you stutter?" Arthur wasn't one to beat around the bush. He stared unwaveringly at his new companion sitting across the table, chewing at a sandwich.

"I d-d-don't know," Matthew mumbled. Now he looked embarrassed, indigo eyes flitting downwards and successfully avoiding Arthur's eyes. "M-My mama s-says th-that it'll g-g-get better s-soon. I just h-h-have t-to keep p-pr-practicing."

Arthur digested this information for a while, studying the snow-covered ground thoughtfully. Matthew sounded uncomfortable, and he was starting to regret asking. "Maybe I can help."

Matthew's face lit up and he lifted his head at Arthur, eyes wide, lips pulled into a smile. "Really? You w-would?"

"Sure," Arthur said, thinking it over. "We can start now. I'll pretend to be someone else, and you have to try to talk to me without stuttering."

"O-Okay."

They spent the rest of recess doing this. By the time the bell rung, signaling for them to come back inside, they hadn't made much progress. But still, as they headed towards the school, Arthur felt Matthew lacing his fingers with his.

Before the young Brit could ask what he was doing, Matthew whispered, "Th-Thank you f-f-for being my fr-friend, Arthur."

Arthur shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal, but deep inside, his heart fluttered.

. . .

"I don't get why you don't just go for him," the unsightly teenager drawled, taking another drag from his lighted joint. Smoke wafted up into the air, dispersing once they reached the height of his tall, spiky hair.

Arthur didn't know how he began to be friends with the senior (his name was Lars, Arthur thought, but wasn't sure) but they both constantly lingered on the roof, so he supposed it was inevitable. After Lars first tried to offer him a joint and Arthur vehemently refused, they formed a sort of awkward friendship. Lars mostly gave the worst advice to Arthur whenever he told him about something, and then Arthur would criticize him.

"He has a boyfriend," Arthur deadpanned. "Or have you been living under a rock for the past couple of years?" His accented voice dripped heavily with sarcasm.

"Excuse me if I'm not so interested in your grade level's drama." Lars grinned toothily. He inhaled from the joint again, making a noise of contentment. "But seriously, why don't you?"

Arthur started to repeat himself, but Lars continued: "I mean, who's that Alfred kid to stop you?" Then he chuckled. "Although, I've seen your Matthew Williams, and I can't really blame the guy for wanting a piece of that."

That sparked something inside of Arthur - anger? Jealousy? "Don't talk about him like he's some possession you can have," he snapped, emerald eyes gleaming.

"I was just saying." Lars gave an indifferent shrug. "But, don't you see?"

"What?"

"You can't even defend him from someone like me saying stuff like that." The Dutchman chuckled again, enjoying seeing the younger boy riled up. He ran a hand through his unruly hair.

Arthur glared. "You haven't even held a single conversation with him. I doubt you're any closer to him than I am."

"I think I can get him if I tried," Lars replied easily, which made Arthur clench his fists. "Hey, don't get mad at me. I'm just trying to offer some advice."

"Really? Then I think this is the shittiest piece of advice I've ever heard from you." Arthur stood from his seat on the concrete, dusting off his pants. "I'm wasting my time with you." He started heading for the door leading to the flight of stairs down.

"Matthew wants someone who can protect him!" Lars called after him. "You keep talking about how one day you're going to beat out Alfred, but when will you? Words can't really help you in this situation, Arthur!"

Arthur slammed the door shut, practically stomping down the stairs. He could barely think straight after what Lars had said to him, his anger getting the best of him and clouding all rational thought.

It was quiet some time until he finally reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the school's hallways. By then, his mind was a little clearer, although the anger hadn't fully subsided yet. He wanted to strangle Lars.

Yet, as he prepared for bed that night, he glanced at the picture standing on his bedside table: One of him and Matthew standing in front of their old elementary school.

He remembered the smile that Matthew reserved especially for him, the times when they would hold hands. One would say that they were just too innocent to know any better, but Arthur did know better, and what he knew was that he loved Matthew.

After staring at that picture for the longest of times, Lars's advice suddenly began to seem less ridiculous.

. . .

The bathroom was one of Arthur's least favorite places in the school. Often it was dirty and smelled awful, thanks to the Axe spray that the boys weren't too conservative on using. Arthur tried to avoid using it as much as possible, but an idiot had smeared glue all over his desk as a prank, and Arthur found his hands unbearably sticky by the time class started. He excused himself to go to the bathroom to wash it off.

It was empty, thankfully; the annoying boys who usually hung around were in class. He was just drying his hands when the door opened and someone else walked in.

He wasn't expecting it to be anyone of importance, much less Matthew himself.

The fair-haired Canadian didn't really notice him at first, making his way to a sink and turning the water on. It was only when Arthur mustered up enough wits to say, "Morning" that he finally turned to the Englishman, surprised.

"O-Oh, Arthur!" An easy smile broke out on his face. "Wow, I haven't seen you in a long time, eh."

Not since you started dating that asshole.

The truth was practically the metaphorical elephant standing in the room; Arthur credited Matthew for managing to act so casual.

Instead he said: "School's been keeping us all preoccupied, I suppose." He returned his gaze to the rectangular mirror hanging on the wall, studying himself. His eyes were sunken, his skin seemed pale; he felt embarrassment at being caught in this state - especially by Matthew.

"Yeah." The conversation died off for a while as Matthew ripped a paper towel off and began drying his hands. Arthur was certain that the blond would just leave, but the other surprised him by turning around again and suggesting, "We should meet up after school sometime. Catch up with each other, or something."

Arthur looked at him through the mirror, making sure to mask his surprise. Matthew Williams still wanted to do something with him? He studied him. His eyes were almost immediately drawn to that spot on his cheek, where a gray, ugly bruise had been, almost three years ago... "Really?" he asked dubiously.

"Why not?" Matthew smiled softly. "It'll be...just like the old times."

An image of two little boys sitting together on a set of swings surfaced to Arthur's thoughts, and suddenly, he felt angry.

Who was Matthew to deny him like he had, pretend that he didn't exist, and then, four years later, ask him if he wanted to spend some time together? Did he find it funny? Did he like to torture Arthur like this?

But despite the irrational rise of anger, Arthur also imagined him and Matthew walking down the sidewalk together, maybe heading to that old park where they used to play as kids.

He thought of the picture in his bedroom, the one he had kept for eight years now, and of the advice Lars had given him just the day before.

"How about after school, later?" he offered, tone softening. He found himself smiling.

Matthew hesitated for a few seconds, but answered, "Sure. I'll meet you by the parking lot?" He smiled back.

Arthur's breath hitched, and at that moment, he felt like seventh grader Arthur again, standing in front of his best friend with sweaty palms, admitting that he-

"Sounds fine with me."

Not too long after he'd spoken, the door was abruptly shoved open, and a litany of voices and laughter filtered into the bathroom. The sounds echoed throughout the walls.

It was Alfred.

He blinked in surprise at the scene before him, and Arthur took pride in the way he looked off-guard. "Mattie?" the quarterback asked, averting his confused eyes to his boyfriend.

"I was about to leave, Al," Matthew said, tossing the balled up paper towel into the trash can. "I got a little sidetracked with Arthur."

Arthur felt hurt that Matthew could brush him off that easily, but he didn't miss the furtive glance that Matthew cast him. The Canadian was probably trying to keep Alfred at bay.

"Okay." Alfred wrapped his arm around Matthew's shoulders protectively. Possessively. Led him out of the bathroom.

Before Alfred shut the door behind him, he made sure to make eye contact with Arthur, cerulean clashing with emerald. "Stay away from him."

Arthur didn't respond.

It was when the American finally yanked the door shut behind him that Arthur allowed himself to smile a smile that was so wide, his cheeks hurt. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror as he walked out and couldn't help but compare his own expression to that of a madman's.

Words weren't going to help him in this situation, after all...