Chapter 7: Gilbert's POV

It had been a few days since Matthew had finally—finally—spoken, and the excitement still hadn't worn off. He and I had talked for hours and hours about mindless things, pointless things, and it had been fine. He was still making progress.

In the beginning, I could see how much Matthew struggled to speak, and his voice was scratchy with lack of use. But as time went on, his voice cleared and he fought with himself less and less when he started a sentence or even a word.

I decided to make good on my promise and got all the paperwork signed and shit so that I could take him with me to the minor's ward. I figured that he wasn't anywhere near volatile enough to cause an issue, and if anything, the kids were more likely to send him into a panic attack than vice versa.

Matthew seemed a bit more nervous than usual as we rode up the elevator to the second floor of the building. I didn't know if it was the impending visit or the small space, but he was clutching that poor bear, Kuma-something, like it was a lifeline.

"Hey, you alright? We can do this later if you don't feel up to it right now." I asked gently, ignoring the instinct to put a hand on his shoulder. Although Matthew was slowly beginning to talk more and more, he still flinched away from any physical contact.

He shook his head, his eyes determined. His eyes interested me, partially because of their rare violet color and partially because of how expressive and honest they were. Unless he was purposefully hiding something or in the middle of a panic attack—then, they became a wall of ice cold stone—his eyes showed every emotion that passed through his thoughts. Admittedly, it made my job as his therapist—I cringed internally at the word—easier. I had had some patients in the past who had been so closed off that it had been nearly impossible to pry them open and even so much as try to help them. Those ones also turned out to be the biggest sweethearts on the planet, but still. Matthew, thankfully, didn't make a point to hide what he was feeling. I figured it was because he wanted help, wanted to be what he construed as "normal" again. Of course, normal was overrated, in my mind.

My thoughts cut off as we pushed through the doors and I was instantly mobbed by ten-year-olds. Most were there because they had witnessed or been through something horrible—abuse or bullying or had seen someone murdered, something along those lines—but there were a few that were there for things like suicide attempts. It made me sad to see them there, but it couldn't be helped. The world was cruel, and until the government got up its ass and did something to help fix the way that the younger generations were practically ignored, there were only a select few adults that could legitimately help. Luckily for me, I was one of them.

As I scanned the faces, only one was familiar. I recognized the bouncing blonde boy as Peter Kirkland, Arthur's nephew and a returning inpatient. He was probably in for attempting… again. That had to be his fourth time in the ward, if I had kept track properly. It had just been a downward spiral since his parents had died, to be honest.

I sighed sadly and bent down in front of him. The other kids quickly lost interest in me and went to go stare at Matthew with their big doe eyes as if he would have something special for them that I didn't.

Peter looked down and scuffed his feet at the floor, as if I was going to scold him. Instead, I just hugged him and smiled. "Hey, I thought I wouldn't see you here again? You promised, Peter."

He sighed softly and nodded, his thin arms wrapped around my neck. "I know, Gil. I just… it's hard."

His voice sounded small and weak, but I knew that he really was trying. It had been almost a year since his last release, so he had definitely been improving. The first time he had been released, it had been maybe two weeks before he was back.

"I know. You're doing good, though." I looked up and watched another small boy, clearly not a patient by the visitor's badge pinned to his shirt, watching us shyly. I recognized him as well. Raivis, Peter's best friend who, as far as I could remember, had visited every day without fail during his friend's stays there.

"Now, you go have as much fun as they'll let you in this hellhole, yeah?" I smirked and he giggled, running off to play with Raivis.

I stood up and looked over at Matthew. He was talking to—well, being talked at by—Tino, the small, energetic Finnish nurse who mostly worked in the minor's ward. Behind him was someone I had never seen before, a tall blonde man who was stoic and a little scary. He sort of reminded me of my younger brother, Ludwig.

Matthew seemed happier than I had seen him… ever, really, with three of the kids clinging to him and begging for his attention. Even Cindy, a little girl with a side ponytail and an attitude from hell, had taken a liking to him. I couldn't help but grin. He seemed like a little mother bird, his trail of hatchlings following him loyally as he wandered around with a smile on his face.

He turned toward me and his smile widened a bit. Before he could say anything, Cindy tugged him down by his sleeve, that angry pout that usually meant an oncoming shit storm on her face. He just smiled and nodded, letting her lead him away impatiently by the hand.

I spent about an hour leaning against the wall, watching Matthew flit around the room and keep the fifteen or so kids in the ward happy. It was quite a feat, since the age range was somewhere from eight to fifteen at the moment, and not one of them ever seemed inclined to throw a fit or even seemed remotely upset. He seemed really good with them, and I was impressed. Matthew seemed truly happy, despite whatever he had been through and his situation. Again, he reminded me of a parent bird, kind and gentle and bright. He looked like he really liked kids, especially the younger ones, and I found myself thinking that he would make a good teachers; one of those ones that everyone wanted and found themselves lucky to have. If I had had someone like the Canadian teaching me when I was in school, I probably would've been a hell of a lot less disruptive.

Well, maybe. Probably not, but I could dream.

Eventually, he made his way over to me, smiling shyly. "S-sorry… they're very energetic. I didn't m-mean to abandon you."

I laughed and shook my head, waving a hand dismissively. "Nah, don't worry about it. I'm impressed. I haven't seen them this calm in ages. Especially Cindy, she's usually a demon."

He looked shocked at that. "She's s-sweet, really,"

"Yeah, unless you don't give her what she wants. Either way, you're really good with kids, Birdie."

My mental nickname for him slipped out before I spared a second thought, and we both blushed. He buried his face in Kuma's fur and I quickly backtracked.

"Ah—sorry—I didn't mean to say that out loud! I mean, you just sort of seemed like a mama bird with them—" I seriously wanted to just run and hide right then, as embarrassed as I was. I couldn't believe that my brain-to-mouth filter had decided to quit working when it had.

"I… I l-like it… please don't apologize." I almost missed what Matthew said in my attempt to frantically take back my words, but his stopped me in my tracks.

"Wait… really? You don't mind?" I was surprised; most people didn't like the nicknames I gave them. Francis and Antonio, especially, didn't seem to appreciate them. For some reason, they hadn't liked me calling them Francey-Pants and Turtle Man.

He shook his head and his ears started turning red. I grinned, finding the action unbearably cute.

"Let's get you back to your room then, Birdie,"

He nodded, still hiding his face, and reached out to grab my sleeve, though he was still careful to avoid any contact with me. Still, it was the closest he had ever come to touching me, so I sure as hell wasn't going to complain. We said our goodbyes to the kids, Tino, and the other man who turned out to be named Berewald, and headed back down to the first floor.

I couldn't help but feel that it was simply the calm before the storm when Matthew disappeared into his room with a shy smile.