After school, Matthew found himself on the dorm room's small couch, nursing a large carton of maple-flavoured ice cream that he had been saving for a special occasion, before this emergency had shown up. There was not a lot of furniture other in the room save the couch on which he was sitting – two beds, two desks and chairs, two dressers, a low refrigerator, a small closet and the door to a private bathroom. Nothing else.

Matt had his bulky, oversized walkman earphones on, listening to a mix CD of depressing indie rock. God, he was pathetic, but even that realization did not make him particularly wont to remedy his pathetic-ness. He was just too exhausted.

"Why do I get myself into situations like this?" he asked his small pet polar bear (the one he was smuggling into the school. But that is a whole other story). The bear cocked its head and stared at him in confusion, simultaneously dipping his paw into the melting carton of ice cream.

"Who?" the bear's eyes seemed to ask.

Matt just sighed. He wasn't in the mood to deal with this. At least Alfred wasn't here to make him feel even worse. Slowly, fat tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn't check them. Sometimes it was okay to cry, if it made him feel better, if there was no one watching. Kumikuro didn't count.

A knock came at the door.

"Shit," Matt sniffled, wiping roughly at his eyes with the oversized red sweatshirt that he had thrown over his school uniform. It was Alfred, he could tell by the undaunted intensity of the knocking.

"C-come in," he wavered, trying to calm himself. He should never have let his guard down; whenever he did he was always discovered and hurt!

The door squealed open, but it wasn't Alfred; it was his Chemistry teacher, Mr. Weillschmidt. Matthew yelped and sat up, trying to hide his tears, his polar bear, his disheveled appearance.

Gilbert, meanwhile, hadn't expected Matthew to be the same kid that he had busted in his first period for cheating on his test. In fact, he had completely forgotten the incident until just now. He stared into the glowing blue eyes of the young man and was struck by just how damn cute the kid looked. Shit! If Francis didn't have first dibs on him, then Gilbert himself was pretty tempted to try putting some moves on the kid himself. Maybe he would, if Francis ever dropped the ball.

"M-Mr. W—Weillschmidt!" stuttered Matt, realizing that the teacher most likely wanted to punish him for the incident this morning. No, not on top of everything else! "Umm – I'm so sorry about class today, please don't say you're going to expel me! I wasn't cheating, really I was just-"

"Hey, hey, back up!" cried Gilbert, holding up his hands. "I'm not here about that. I just wanted to tell you that Fr … Mr. Bonnefoy wanted to see you in his office."

Matt blushed at his mistake. Oh, yeah thought Gilbert, watching the faint brush of rose on white, smooth skin.

That kid was totally hot.

"S-sorry. I'll go see him right away!" said Matthew, trying to force his teacher out the door as he was leaving; he wasn't sure if Kumojiko was poking out from where he had stashed him under the couch, but he didn't want Mr. Weillschmidt to take him away. After closing the door - wishing it locked, but the students were never allowed that much controll - he hurried down the hall, suddenly nervous. Francis? Had wanted him? For what? It was probably a mistake; he had probably wanted someone else.

He rounded the corner, walking into the now-empty French classroom in time to see Francis' eyes skimming a rather familiar piece of notebook paper. His paper. His love letter.

Matt gasped in shock as Francis looked up, an intense and frightening and utterly indefinable emotion flickering in his ice blue eyes. The blonde man rose to his feet, fixing Matt with a stare so full of feeling that Matt felt like he was drowning. He was caught, as effectively as if Francis had grabbed his wrists or his shoulders. He couldn't move.

"Matthieu…" Francis breathed, now only inches from the Canadian's face. Matt could feel the feathery touch of his breath, scented of wintergreen and spice of the strong French mints the man kept in his pockets. Matt's lips burned with a sudden greed, a desire that took over his mind. He wanted this so badly. He wanted Francis.

And Francis himself was reeling. Matt… loved him? It was as if someone had heard his harried, ragged prayers for Matt's attention, and gifted him with this letter that told his affection so plainly. He did not have to worry if Matt loved him back; he just knew.

And so he leaned in to brush his lips along Matthew's own.

Matt jerked away.

Matt had seen the letter in Francis' fist and the look in his eyes and had a feeling he knew what he saw there. Pity. It must have been pity. It must have been some kind of sympathy for a poor, mixed up kid because he knew himself and he knew there was no way anyone could ever love him and he just knew that Francis was going to tell him "no". Even when Francis leaned in to kiss him his brain screamed that Francis did not mean it, did not mean a kiss more than to say "I'm sorry" and Matt did not want to hear that, did not want to hear it at all so he jerked away and, eyes burning, searched Francis' face.

"You don't really mean it…" he murmured, and then spun and ran away, leaving Francis alone to stare after him and wonder what the fuck that he had done wrong.