A/N: Here comes a weekly update from yours truly! No, seriously, I wrote this chapter! This is the chapter that literally snowballs into the rest of the story. You think chapter eight was bad? Wait till you see the rest of the story!

I think I'm just hyping it up for no reason though. :P

But enjoy chapter ten and review! We're almost close to our halfway mark.

Chapter 10: In the Eye of the Storm

Soft humming came from the desktop hard drive as Matthew placed his chin in his palm. His fingers twitched incessantly as he continuously clicked the small mouse roughly with a frown, stopping here and there to correct a few mistakes. Then, it continued. Click, click, click. He sighed deeply as he looked off to the side at his phone. He couldn't help but think about Gilbert again.

It had been about a week and a half since Gilbert had come in last with a witty retort or an eye-catching smirk, and it had started to grate on his nerves. He stopped for a second and lifted his hands. Fingernails bitten down to the cuticle, some covered with scabs. He winced as he stared at them, suddenly gaining the urge to hide them away. His violet eyes wandered as he searched for a pair of gloves-anything, something to cover up what he's done to himself.

He knew that he acted too rashly. Gil knew next to nothing about his brother; he didn't mean to insult him, at least that's what he thought. He shook his head and chuckled humorlessly as he resumed his previous routine, the click of the mouse, ticking of the clock, and the occasional sound of animal calls being his only company.

After ten minutes, he began to bounce his foot. A half an hour, he bit his lip. An hour, he dug his hands through his hair. A few of his co-workers looked at him oddly as he fidgeted and squirmed in his seat, his eyes glued to his phone. To distract himself, he drummed out a random rhythm on his bouncing knees, trying to bop his head along to the beat. He knew he must've been acting like Captain Crazy right about now, but this seemed like the only way to resist the temptation of picking up his phone and checking for a reply.

Unknowingly, his eyes grew wider as his hands became blurs against his khaki pants. The rhythmic slaps increased in speed as his breathing became heavier. Matt felt sweat rolling down his forehead as he heard his blood pumping in his ears resonating with the annoying tick of the overhead clock, counting down his moments to insanity. And with a sharp clash of thunder outside, the commotion died down as Matthew froze, his hands suspended in midair.

He had no other choice. Swiping his password quickly, he punched in Gilbert's number and held it up to his ear, awaiting the necessary dial tone. One ring, he began to rummage his brain for words. Two rings, multiple scenarios played out in his head. Three rings, his fingers tittered against the keyboard mindlessly. Four rings, his face scrunched up and his nose began to burn. Five rings, he struggled to hold back something akin to a sob from escaping his throat.

The voicemail playback message was drowned out by the hard pitter-patter of the rain onto the plexiglass windows and the thunder that chimed in a repetitive manner. He bit back a string of curses as he hung up and slammed the phone onto his desk. Covering his face with his hands, he slumped over for a slight second as he grabbed his trench coat and suitcase with haste, nodded to the receptionist his goodbye, and headed out the door in one fell swoop.

It felt pretty ironic to Matthew that just this morning he had thought against bringing an umbrella to work today.

'An extra load, a waste of space, probably completely unnecessary, it's not even raining right now,' he reasoned earlier as he gulped down a cup of orange juice in a rush and stared out the window at the previously cloudy sky.

'I just can't get anything right, can I?' He glowered as he braced the blistering winds and the cold rain with his free arm trying trying to shield himself, weaving expertly through the crowd that surged every which way, frantically crossing streets, hailing cabs, and closing car doors. The relentless rain withheld no mercy as some were tossed around like ragdolls; papers, umbrellas, and hats twisting in the winds while their owners clung onto them as if they were lifelines.

Matthew whipped off his glasses and placed them in a nearby coat pocket. They were basically useless now with droplets of rain hanging from them like crystals on a chandelier. He would have considered it beautiful if he wasn't in danger of being whisked away like many unfortunate souls before him. 'At last, salvation!' he cried in his mind, as he bumrushed the small bus stop. He would have kissed it if it wasn't covered in bacteria. After dropping himself brusquely unto the miniscule bench to gather his bearings, he held his head between his ankles and kept still, feeling a slight wave of nausea and the weight of his soggy hair on the back of his neck. Every time a drop fell onto his head, a sniff followed not too far behind.

He hugged himself tightly as he openly burst into tears. He was soaked to the socks on his feet, but he didn't care. He felt uncomfortable, vulnerable, and weak, but he didn't care. He would most likely catch a cold, but he didn't care. Sobs wracked his body while the rain soldiered on, a never-ending torrent of misery, torment and guilt.

Matthew wished he could take it back. Oh, how he wished he could take it back! He had always been a thinker, not always a doer, but this time, it had really come back to bite him the ass. The saying had always been "action speaks louder than words," but Matthew had never been a loud person. In what he said, in what he did. The one time he manages to act upon his feelings, he ruins what could have been a wonderful friendship, or even something more. That must be one of the traits he shared with Alfred, he supposed.

He gasped for air harshly as his wails caught in his throat. He coughed achily as more tears spilled down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat and rainwater already collecting on his face. His eyes, heavy and puffy, gazed downwards at his hand. The same hand that caused this whole debacle. Pathetic. Matt knew that he'd have to be absolutely pathetic to start blaming his hand for what his mind told him to do. The blond shook unsteadily as he took a deep breath after he noticed his eyesight became blurry from the onslaught of tears, blinking them away erratically.

Exhausted, he leaned his head onto the disgusting post. Add that to his list of apathy. He slackened his posture and closed his eyes, focusing on the rain that never failed to pour on his head like a leaky faucet. Gradually, it began to slow down before coming to a complete stop. He opened his eyes as much as he could and surveyed the area. Yep, still raining. Then why did it-

A shuffle of clothing and the distinct screech of wet sneakers caused him to look up.

Three crimson jewels.

He saw the light in those crimson eyes. Filled with a deeper tone of worry, but a hint of amusement and longing. With one of his hands in his coat pocket, the other holding a umbrella with a proud ivory eagle with its wings spread marring the black surface, Gilbert Beilschmidt stood there, in the pouring rain, for him.

For him.

Without thinking, he slammed into him, almost knocking him off balance as they both skidded to a slippery stop. He encircled his waist with relief as Gil smoothed down his hair in comfort, whispering soothing words in German.

The albino's gut wrenched when he heard slight hiccups from the blond below him. Pulling him closer under the umbrella, Gil steadily pulled him up, wrapping Matthew's arms under his torso. The blond kept silent, only with the exception of the hitch in his throat. His mind racing, he turned to him and opened his mouth, but closed it, fearing the chance of another slip up. Instead, with a slight lurch, Matthew leaned on Gilbert for support as they hobbled together towards shelter.