Whoa, sorry about the wait…

Thank you to the lovely Lysetletrille, who corrected my use of French~!

Oh! "I know a fairy can't wave a wand and make it all better" whoever said that; I told woodbyne that on gchat, where were you? (Technically it was "Does the gay fairy smack him on the head with her wand?" "If it comes to that, she can shove her wand up his ass until he likes it!")

Oh, and if anyone who feels that way inclined could just say a HUGE thank you to woodbyne (I'm TheRutheLa) for posting these last three chapters while my internet is out, that'd be great. That woman needs much love. She's the reason you aren't waiting another three days.

If there was one way in which the two men were remarkably similar, it was that they both loved their mothers, and in a time of need, there is no greater comfort to a little boy than his mom, no matter how old he may be.

~====o)0(o====~

Amelia Jones wore her age well. There were laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, and her hair was bottle-blonde to make up for the grey. Sometimes she made jokes to the theme of her being an old woman, but that wasn't necessarily true.

Her favourite coral lipstick sat in the creases of her lips as she smiled at her webcam, and Alfred couldn't help but smile back, even if there were still worry-lines on his brow.

"Hey, Alfie-baby," she said, "What's up? You sounded so serious on the phone," her smile faded a little as she saw how upset her son looked.

"It's-" Alfred fidgeted, looking away and then back again, arms folding and unfolding, legs crossing and uncrossing, "Ma, am I a bad person?" he asked, teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Oh, baby, no, of course not! You're a bit thick sometimes, but you're a good boy," she assured, her maternal-radar throwing up bogies all over the show.

"What if- What if I did something wrong? But I don't know what I did wrong and now I've messed everything up," he sighed, looking at his keyboard, wondering if Matthew would answer his emails. He certainly wasn't answering his phone.

"You'll always be my hero, Alfie, you can solve everything. You're my good, clever boy. Now why don't you tell me what's wrong?" Amelia said calmly, her voice soothing. It was nice to hear that tone after so long – Al made a point to call his mom more often.

"It's Mattie, Ma. He's in love with me," the young man smiled ruefully at the camera, the corner or his mouth twitching as he tried not to let his lip wobble.

"Oh dear," his mother sighed, "Still? That poor boy."

"What? You knew?" Alfred was outraged. His own mother had kept this from him? What else didn't he know? "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked for the second time that evening, hoping for less extreme results this time.

"It wasn't my secret to tell. Besides, it wasn't that hard to see. Poor Matthew dotes on you, Alfie-baby. He'd probably jump in front of a bus if you asked him to," again, Amelia sighed maternally, wondering how the boy she considered her second son was handling this little coming out. Not well, most likely. Matthew had never dealt with emotional extremes very well.

"Thanks, Ma. Now I feel blind as well as stupid," Alfred grimaced, rolling his eyes and slouching low in his seat, "And I don't think Mattie'll be doing me any favours again. He told me he loves me and that he never wants to see me again."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. What happened next?"

"I confronted him, he yelled at me, he kissed me, I freaked out."

Amelia frowned deeply,

"Why?"

"Why what, Ma?" Alfred was literally tearing at his hair in exasperation, deep lines of hurt and confusion gouged into his face. Everything was just so mixed up. He had a wicked urge to just shut out people, take apart his laptop and put it back together again. That always calmed him down when he was upset. But his mother was on his laptop, so that would be a little rude.

"Why did you freak out?" she asked calmly, "It's not as if the two of you haven't kissed before."

"How do you even know that?" his voice rose in pitch, eyebrows pulling together like magnets on his forehead.

"God gave me two eyes and French windows for a reason, Alfie," Amelia said brusquely, "And as I recall, you kissed him that time." And she had also seen gangly little Matthew blush, hanging his head and touching his lips, a hopeful little smile curling their corners, "I don't think you did that boy any favours."

"What? You just said that I hadn't done anything wrong!" Life had been so very simple just a few days ago. His only worry had been keeping his girlfriend's names straight. And now his best friend had made his prestige and Alfred didn't know who to look to anymore.

"I said you were a good boy. There's a difference. You know what they say about the road to hell-"

"Mother!" he yelled, distraught.

"Yes?" she asked, seeming to rethink her previous statement about hell and good intentions.

"What do I do?" Alfred asked, no, begged. He needed to be told what to do here. He didn't want to have to deal with this problem. He didn't want to have to solve this mess on his own. Usually Matthew would help him, but in this instance, Matthew was the problem and his mom didn't seem to be that much of a help either.

"That depends very much, baby," Amelia said, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she regarded the state her son was in.

"Has this ever happened to you? What did you do?" Al really was grasping at straws now, anything to get rid of this problem and make things go back to the way they were.

"Yes, but I don't know how help-"

"What did you do?"

"Alfred, don't shout at me, this isn't my fault. When my best friend fell in love with me, I married him, if you really must know, and we had a child named Alfred Franklin Jones," Amelia snapped, a little irritated at how out of hand Al was getting.

"Dad? Oh, God. What does it depend on, then?" marriage was not really a possible solution that he wanted to explore in this scenario.

"Well, how did you feel when he kissed you?"

Alfred stared into the middle-distance for a while. How had he felt? Shocked? Scared? Angry? Confused as all hell? Yes, yes, yes and yes. But at the same time, in the instant he had parted his lips to bite his best friend; the thought had come upon him that Matthew was actually a really good kisser, and maybe it would be worth kissing back. Maybe he wanted to kiss him back. That tiny little thought scared him more than the fact that Matt had actually kissed him in the first place.

"I don't know," he whispered, holding his head in his hands.

~====o)0(o====~

Matthew sat on his couch, legs folded up to his chest as he clutched the telephone. His hair was dark with water from the shower, hanging straight to his shoulders and soaking his tee shirt. Dressed comfortably in old sweats and a cotton shirt, his glasses forgotten on the counter beside the bathroom sink he stared at the device in his hands, long fingers tapping the number in and hitting call.

"Salut," a male voice answered.

"Oh, hello, Pierre, is my mother at home?" Matthew always made a point to speak English to his mother's boyfriend even though French was actually his home language, simply because it pissed him off. His parents' divorce was still rather a sore subject.

"Oui," Pierre had long since come to the conclusion that his step-son was a passive-aggressive little shit and it was best to just put up with it, after all, it's not like they ever really had to converse at length. There was a pause as he turned his head from the phone, "Madeline, mon amour? C'est Matthieu!"

"Matthew?" she said happily, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Maman?" the relaxed tone he had used with his stepfather fell away completely, "I fucked up big time."

A nasal sigh echoed down the international phone line, "Oh dear, sweetheart, what happened?"

"Alfred. I- Mon Dieu, I'm so damn stupid - Je, je l'ai embrassé, Maman. He looked at me...comme si j'étais dans la merde sous ses souliers. "

"One or the other, Matthew, you know I can't abide Franglais."

"Désolé, Maman," he said, dutifully waiting for her comment on his crisis. She let out another sigh, this one heavier than the last. There was the weight of a worry that had waited many years for fruition behind that exhalation,

"I always knew that boy would break your heart," Matthew frowned at the phone,

"I know you never liked him much, Maman, but he's my best friend and he's been otherwise very good to me." He said reproachfully. Madeline's tone was sharp when she next spoke,

"Il est bête noir," she said contemptuously, and Matt could almost hear her pursing her lips.

Matthew seethed into the receiver, "He's never said a word against me. He's been kind and faithful to me throughout everything. He has never, ever left my side when I needed him, no matter his personal problems and expected nothing more than my friendship in return. He makes my heart sing, Maman. He makes my day brighter just by being there and smiling. I know you think he's a bad influence on me, but he hasn't. He's been good for me and good to me. What more do you expect from him? It's not Alfred's fault that I fell in love with him!"

"Neither is it yours. You're still his champion, even after he's rejected you," Madeline sounded tired. She was sick of Alfred Jones stringing her son along, despite her best efforts, and now that he wasn't any more, Matthew's sadness made her heart ache. She wanted her boy to smile again, the way he used to before this foolish dream of his had been crushed.

"I'm afraid I might always be," Matt sighed, blinking his tired eyes at the ceiling of his apartment, "Maman, I'm afraid-"

"You can survive without him, Matthew. You are so much stronger than you think you are. I can't make the hurt stop, sweetheart, but you wash your face, watch a comedy and maybe eat some strawberries – those always make you feel better – and things won't seem so bad, alright?"

The Canadian in America gave a thin smile to the bowl of sliced strawberries, sugar and cream besides him and the Puss in Boots DVD menu on the TV screen in front of him and laughed damply, "You know me so well, Maman."

"You'll always be my boy," Madeline smiled fondly at the reviewer in her hand.

"Always. À bientôt, Maman," Matthew said quietly, pressing play, "Love you."

"Love you, too, Matthew."

Strawberries, a funny film, a fairly heartening conversation with his mother; Matt's day was beginning to look up a little. Of course, what the rest of the night would hold was another story entirely, but for now, he had some modicum of happiness to be getting on with, and perhaps tomorrow he would build on it.

~====o)0(o====~

Alfred lay spread on his bed, star-shaped and open, hoping for the universe to grant him some kind of reprieve from his own mind, which was chasing itself in circles. His skype-call to Amelia hadn't done him nearly so much good as Matthew's to Madeline. Now he had new questions dancing around his head. Ones he had purposefully avoided. A thousand 'what ifs' poured into his conscious as though someone had opened the sluices of his though process.

What if he'd been leading Mattie on all this time? What if he never got his best friend back? What if he'd been cruel to Matthew? What if things had gone differently? What if Matt had told Alfred that he liked him the first time they'd kissed? What if Alfred had seen the signs? What if Matthew got over his feelings and they were friends again- would it be awkward? What if Matthew never got over his feelings and Alfred couldn't be without his best friend? What then? What if he'd never kissed Matt in the first place? Would all this have gone away? Would it never have happened? Would Matthew be happier? But the largest, most pressing question weighed heavily on Alfred's conscious. After all these years of making him sad, could he make Matthew happy again? Would he want to if he could? Would he be a bad person for not trying? Would Matthew ever forgive him for today? He'd seemed so… hopeless. What if he could give Mattie hope? Would he be able to give it to him always? Should he? If he didn't feel the same way?

…He didn't feel the same way… did he?

What if I'd kissed him back?