It was just another day.

Nothing ever changed in this place, Gilbert decided somewhere around the time fall set in. Orange, red, and yellow leaves fell from the trees and swirled in the wind on the other side on the windows, yet everything felt as grey as month old snow.

Maybe that was because the weather was the only thing that was ever any different. Day in, day out, everything in the hospital was painfully, undyingly the same. Even when disaster struck, it seemed things always snapped right back into the same tired routine just as quickly as it fell out of it. Being here was like being a hamster stuck on a wheel – working hard but always going in circles, never actually getting anywhere.

That was all Gilbert could think as he sat in the same chair, surrounded by the same men, listening to the same stories he'd heard in this same situation more times than he could physically count. He was really sick of group therapy. Sick of Ivan smiling, sick of Arthur scowling, sick of Mathias alternating between the two. If Gilbert was truly getting better, he had to wonder why he was still being subjected to the same old shit. It certainly wasn't making him feel any better.

If he was grateful for one thing that never changed, it was Matthew's soft voice. "Well, I think today was successful," he said with an encouraging smile. Gilbert wondered if that was at all true. After all, it wasn't like he had been paying attention. "Before I let you guys go, I'd like to ask one thing of you."

Arthur immediately groaned even though nothing had been asked of him yet. Just like everything else, it was to be expected. However, Gilbert could not fight the sneaking suspicion that Arthur seemed… different, somehow. Over the past few days, instead of just looking grumpy, he seemed plain miserable – walking around like it hurt, always looking down, snapping at anyone who looked up him, mumbling short, faint strings of curses under his breath that sounded almost like suppressed sobs. He did not even have the energy to chant aimlessly anymore. It was as if someone had torn the man's heart out.

But Gilbert just looked away, chalked it up to insanity, and listened as Matthew continued to speak.

"I promise you, it's not that bad. All I ask in that you respond to the prompt I'm about to give you in your journals." Matthew looked into his lap, ran his finger across the paper in front of him, and read the words aloud. "If you could have one thing in the world, what would it be and why?"

Gilbert fought back a chuckle when he wondered how the men around him would answer that question. For Mathias, it would probably be an obscene amount of alcohol, or perhaps a battle-axe. Arthur would probably say something about the unicorn he was always going on about – or at least he used to, now that Gilbert thought about it. Ivan would undoubtedly answer 'Yao.'

And then, as suddenly and violently as being attacked by a wild bear, Gilbert knew what his answer was.

He bolted from his chair and tore from the circle fast enough to earn a few incredulous stares, but Gilbert barely even noticed. There was nothing in his head except the words rattling around in it, deafeningly loud and in desperate, aching need of being put onto paper.

He made the decision before he even understood it. It was a terrible idea, a small voice in his head insisted as he flipped to a clean page, but a much louder, more convincing one screamed that it was what he needed to do. So Gilbert wrote. He wrote until the page was filled, his fingers were cramping, and his mind was clear. When he finished, he felt… lighter.

Gilbert tucked the journal under his arm, practically ran down the hall, and threw it on Matthew's desk before he could regret it. It was now or never. He doubted he wrote anything that Matthew did not already know, but hey, maybe something would finally be different around here.

.

Matthew knew what was happening, right away, before he read the first word or even opened the tattered notebook he knew was Gilbert's.

He was not sure exactly how he knew. Perhaps it was simply his therapist's intuition; perhaps his emotional intelligence was exceptionally high, or maybe, just maybe… Matthew was just getting his hopes up. But that was hardly wanted to think about that. So, when Matthew found it in him to pick up the journal he saw sitting on his desk and read the dog-eared page, all he could do was pretend he didn't know exactly what he would find in it.

Jeez, Mattie, these prompts are getting more pretentious by the day. I thought you said we weren't in a Lifetime movie?

Matthew had to smile at that. He supposed the prompts he threw out every couple of days could get a little silly, but at this point, he was willing to try just about anything to get his patients to open up. It wasn't working all that well so far, but it might one day. Maybe today was that day. He kept reading.

Next thing I know you'll be asking me if I was a fruit, what kind of fruit I would be? Well, to save everyone some time, I would be a dragon fruit. Don't ask why. It just sounds cool. But that wasn't the prompt today. You asked what I want most in the world, right? Something like that.

As Matthew's laughter faded, he had to fight the urge to hold his breath. Gilbert's entries always had a tendency to do that to him – he was always laughing one moment, breathless the next. It wasn't much different than when he saw him in person.

Alright, prepare yourself, because my answer is undoubtedly going to be the cheesiest and most cliché thing you've ever heard in your life. If I could have anything in the world, it would be you, Matthew. That's right, I said it.

Matthew had at least partially expected that answer, but that did not stop him from letting out a sharp gasp and bringing his fingers shakily, involuntarily to his mouth. He should have felt mildly inconvenienced by this, perhaps even downright disturbed. But he didn't. Matthew's face was flushed, his pulse fast, and in spite of himself, he was smiling. He forced it away before continuing.

Now, that's not because I want to lock you in my basement and use you for psych facts or anything. That would just be creepy.

Another laugh. Matthew actually had to bite down on his tongue to keep from losing it completely, since dissolving into giggles alone in his office wouldn't exactly help anyone take him seriously. He fought back spurts of laughter as he read the next few lines… before the urge disappeared completely.

When I say I 'want' you more than anything, what I mean is… shit, I'm awful with words. I might as well just come out and say it. At the risk of sounding like a complete sap, the reason I'm writing this is because I'm so, so in love with you.

Laughter died. Suddenly, nothing mattered but the words on this page. The room could have burst into flames and Matthew wouldn't have noticed. If a patient were having a hysterical fit right outside his door, he would not have even heard them. Never, not once in his entire life, had Matthew had a single sentence hit so hard it left him feeling dizzy. Now, the room was spinning like a top. The page in front of him was doing the same.

God knows you're smart enough to have figured this out already, but I wanted to be sure you knew. I know, I know, certain boundaries can't be crossed or whatever. I'm not even really sure what I'm trying to gain with this. I guess I just needed to say it, Matthew. I just needed to say it once.

Really, if Matthew was going to be completely honest with himself, he had known. He had known ever since Fritz had outright told him about Gilbert's feelings that one disastrous day of family therapy. Gilbert telling him he was 'too important to him' not long after had not helped his suspicions, either. But actually reading those words, those blunt, simple words that he could not overthink into meaning something else, was different. Very different.

There was only about a paragraph left in the entry, but Matthew must have taken five minutes to get through it.

Look, I'm not going to get all sentimental on you. I don't want to say it and you don't want to hear it. All I'll say is this – you're more important to me than anyone I've ever met in my goddamn life, and I don't know what I would do without you. That must mean something. How you feel is your business, and I'm not looking for an answer. All I'm saying is I think there's something here, and both of us can probably see it.

So yeah, that just happened. Cya.

-Gil

Matthew's hands shook as he flipped the journal closed. Transference, he told himself time and time again, this is only transference. Nothing to worry about. But the more he told himself that, the more ridiculous and untrue it ended up sounding. This was different from the times a patient had randomly announced they wanted to sleep with him, or confessed their undying love for him five minutes into their second session. Gilbert's confession was more honest, more real, than any of those instances… perhaps even more so than anything anyone had ever told him.

"No," Matthew mumbled to himself, removing his glasses to rub his temples. He could not afford to think this way. A true professional would have passed off Gilbert's case at the first sign of this, but… Matthew just didn't want to, dammit. That was the only reason. For once in his career, he was completely ignoring what was professional, what was moral, because his personal feelings were just too strong. He couldn't run from them anymore.

And suddenly, almost painfully, Matthew admitted to himself that he might just return every sentiment written in the journal.

He tried to deny it for the millionth time and failed. There was a sick, panicked feeling in his stomach now. Matthew knew he could not allow this to go any farther. It would simply be wrong. But he could not deny that he had spent entirely too much time worrying about transference, when in reality he should have been concerned about something else entirely.

Countertransference.

.

Gilbert had done plenty of stupid things in his lifetime, but with each second that passed, he became more and more convinced that giving Matthew that journal was right up there with the stupidest. He glanced at the clock in the commons and noted less than an hour had passed, but it felt like much longer – long enough to regret just about everything he had ever done, at least.

People always told Gilbert he was impulsive. He was only starting to believe that now. Why, why had he given Matthew that journal entry? Why had he written it in the first place? He didn't have an answer for that. It wasn't as if he had anything to gain by spilling his insignificant, honestly immature feelings like a middle-schooler on Valentine's Day. Matthew probably already knew. It wasn't as if Gilbert had gone to any great lengths to hide it. If this whole ordeal had accomplished anything at all, it was probably driving an even bigger wedge between the two of them.

So, Gilbert paced. He walked around the commons so fervently he was half inclined to believe he would wear out the carpet. At least he didn't draw that much attention to himself because, in the grand scheme of things, his wandering was hardly the strangest thing going on at the moment. Arthur had spent the past two hours staring out the window with vapid, unseeing eyes. Gilbert was fairly certain Ivan hadn't so much as left his room in several days. Mathias was running up and down the halls again, and an orderly was trying and failing to stop him.

Gilbert was about halfway through his umpteenth lap around the couches when he was abruptly stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He stopped, turned, and nearly choked on his own spit when he saw Matthew in front of him.

"Hello," said Matthew with that same damn smile, as if everything was normal and Gilbert had not told him anything at all. "You seem rather hyper this afternoon."

Gilbert could hardly believe he didn't know why that was. "It's just one of those days, I guess," he said with a dismissive shrug. "I have a lot of, uh, energy."

"Oh." Matthew almost laughed. Gilbert felt his face warm, adverted his eyes, and noticed Matthew had a drawstring bag hanging off his shoulder, for some reason. He did not lift his eyes even when he continued to speak. "Well, if you have so much energy, would you like to take a walk with me?"

Gilbert looked up sharply. "Walk?" he repeated. He immediately felt like a dog, or something, and looked away again. "Can we do that?"

"Sure we can. It's just around the outside grounds, anyway."

"Like, alone?"

"Mm-hmm." Matthew paused, tilted his head. "Do you not want to?"

"No!" Gilbert blurted immediately, and then rushed into a stuttering cover-up. "I mean, uh, no, I wouldn't, uh…" He cleared his throat as Matthew looked on in amusement. "Yes, I want to."

"Awesome." Matthew then drew his brows together and gave another short laugh, as if to catch himself. "Looks like I've picked up one of your idiosyncrasies, huh? Okay, follow me."

Gilbert just nodded dumbly and followed along behind him, ignoring the fluttering feeling overtaking his chest.

.

The garden outside the hospital was actually a lot more intricate than Gilbert had previously realized. Flowers of all colors and kinds were arranged in careful rows, stretching up to meet the sunlight, flooding the beds of soil and coming up to hug the edge of the grey stone path. If he could ignore the fact that Ivan was the one to put it together, he could even say it was beautiful.

Even if that was true, Gilbert ended up barely glancing at the flowers. Somehow, none of it compared to Matthew walking beside him, blond curls catching the wind, light reflecting off his glasses as he craned his neck to look up at the clouds.

"Ivan did a nice job with this," said Matthew eventually, walking at a leisurely pace. "I can see why he spends so much time here."

"Not lately. I never see him anymore," Gilbert said and then, before he could stop himself, added, "So, he hasn't killed anyone yet?"

Matthew stopped walking for a moment, nearly scoffed, and kept going. "No. You two really hate each other, don't you?"

Gilbert actually did scoff. "He almost murdered me!"

"Okay, but even before that." Matthew shrugged. "I've always had the feeling you were at each other's throats from the moment you met."

Well, he certainly wasn't wrong. "You could say that." Gilbert wasn't thrilled about discussing Ivan right now, and he certainly didn't want to get into detail about their many battles, but there had been a question sitting on his shoulders for some time now and he figured it was now or never. "Let me ask you something. What's up with him and that one guy? Yao, or something."

"Oh." Matthew immediately tensed, his pace slowing and his eyes fixing on some faraway spot. "To be completely honest, I'm not sure even I know the answer to that anymore."

Gilbert wrinkled his nose. "Yeah?"

Matthew nodded reluctantly. "Unfortunately. I really shouldn't disclose a whole lot, but I can tell you this started as somewhat of a… business deal, but through some twist of fate things wound up snowballing into something else entirely."

Gilbert was practically deaf to all but two words: business deal. "So I was right," he said under his breath.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing," said Gilbert quickly. "Anyway, wow, that's… something. Between him and Arthur, I'm starting to think this place is just a really weird matchmaking factory."

An immediate, heavy silence fell over the two of them, and it was not until then that Gilbert realized that might have not been the best thing to say. He glanced quickly at Matthew only to find him staring back, and they both looked away immediately. It was not until a handful of minutes later, when they had moved away from the garden and made their way to a small, vacant sidewalk around the side of the building, that Matthew blinked away his apprehension and spoke again.

"Look, Gil…" He trailed off, looked away again. Gilbert knew exactly what was coming. It wasn't as if they could avoid it forever. "About your journal. I…"

Gilbert immediately waved his hands, unwilling to hear this, unwilling to see Matthew so uncomfortable over something he had caused. "No, really, forget it. It was really fucking stupid of me."

Matthew looked up, his eyes suddenly firm and without confliction. "It wasn't stupid."

A faint swell of frustrating hope rose up Gilbert's throat like bile. He could not quite force it down this time, so he bit down on his lip and nodded.

"I can't…" Matthew did not finish his sentence, as if unsure if he should continue. The heavy sigh he let out suggested he was simply unwilling to. Gilbert stayed silent, and it felt as if an hour had passed before Matthew delivered the quiet, slightly shaky words. "I can't be your boyfriend."

Melancholy and subdued acceptance sat where perhaps heartbreak and despair belonged. Really, Gilbert had not expected anything better. If anything, he was pleasantly surprised to not be shunned, or even laughed at. Matthew really was too damn decent for what he deserved. "I figured," he said as flippantly as possible.

"Here's the thing." Matthew looked up and into the sky, breathed out, and began to smile again. "I obviously cannot become involved with a patient like that. But in all honestly, Gilbert, I don't think I've ever enjoyed having a patient as much as I've enjoyed having you. So, I would love to be your best friend."

"Best friend?" Gilbert could not contain the wide, joyous grin spreading across his lips. It was not exactly what he wanted, but exactly what he wanted was a fingernail's width from impossible, and this was certainly better than nothing. Almost laughing, feeling weightless, he said, "What is this, kindergarten?"

When Matthew smiled too, the tension was gone. "Oh, stop it. You know what I meant."

"Whatever, man." Gilbert quirked an eyebrow, cocked his hip, and lifted a hand to wag his finger teasingly. "Hey, are therapists supposed to play favorites with their patients?"

"No, not at all," Matthew admitted. "But therapists aren't supposed to pay random men to talk to one of their patients and allow their brother to fool around with another one, either. And they probably aren't supposed to do this."

Gilbert wasn't sure what to expect from that. At least part of him must have been waiting for some grand, world-altering gesture, because his heart leapt to his throat, and he froze. When Matthew simply slid the forgotten bag off his shoulders and tossed it to him, Gilbert was strangely disappointed.

He just stared. "Uh…"

Matthew nodded, as if to urge him on. "Open it."

Gilbert did as he was told. He pulled the drawstrings, looked inside, and immediately recognized the smooth black case resting in it. "Oh," he breathed. Whatever he had been expecting, he was fairly sure this was not it.

"I thought it would be a nice change, considering." Matthew stepped off the path and into the grass, beneath the shade of a large oak tree. "I know we discussed it awhile back. Have you had any chance to play at all?"

Memory hit. As far as Gilbert knew, Matthew had no idea about the strange night with Ivan and the others by the telephone. He wasn't sure he wanted him to know, either. Gilbert still had questions about it himself. He shook his head. "Nope."

"Do you want to?"

Gilbert stepped off into the grass as well, smiling slyly. "This is just an excuse to hear me play, isn't it?"

Matthew shrugged. "That may have had something to do with it."

"Of course. You therapists are all the same, using your poor, unassuming patients for music and gardening," Gilbert laughed. Really, he was quite sure there was not one therapist – or person in general – exactly like Matthew anywhere in the world.

"Oh, I know. Awful, all of us." Matthew lowered himself to the ground and sat cross-legged in the grass. Gilbert had not actually answered, but more often than not, it seemed they could reach an understanding without saying a word.

Gilbert sat across from him, snapped the case open, and took a moment to marvel at the way the silver flute caught the sunlight before beginning to play.

At first it felt strange. Gilbert could not shake the fact that Matthew was watching him, unblinking eyes glinting with fascination, as he fumbled for a song to play. It was definitely more nerve wracking than playing a random string of notes from a man he couldn't stand in the wee hours of the morning. This time, he felt a crushing need to play better than he ever had in his life.

Gilbert did not set off to play anything specifically. But Matthew was on his mind as he started, and the song – one he had known for several years – ended up being instinctual. He was surprised how quickly he remembered the notes, even if he could not remember the title. It just felt right, somehow. Within seconds, he did not have to think about it. So he played, and played, his eyes squeezed shut and his pulsing racing, until he simply did not have the breath to continue.

Gilbert lowered the flute. The world was deadly silent again, save for the occasional rustle of leaves above them. He looked up, almost absurdly nervous, to see Matthew covering his mouth with both his hands.

A long moment passed before Matthew said a word. "Wow." It was scarcely more than a breath, barely audible through his fingers. "Gilbert… that was absolutely beautiful."

Gilbert ripped up a handful of grass, let it drop. "Really, it's no huge thing-"

"What song was that?" asked Matthew suddenly, interrupting. He lifted his hands from his mouth and used the heels of his hands to wipe his eyes – only then did Gilbert realize they were bleary. "Wait, I think I know, was it…" A pause. Matthew sniffed, and Gilbert's stomach did a backflip. "You raise me up?"

Gilbert, having zoned up, snapped back to attention. His heart skipped a hard beat. "Huh?"

"You raise me up. You know, the song?"

Gilbert realized, as his face went up in flames, that that was in fact been what he had been playing. Wasn't that song about God? If he could have picked something cheesier, it was beyond him. He prayed Matthew did not know the lyrics. "Oh. I guess it was."

"Well, I'm astounded. Really." Matthew smiled again, but this time, he looked almost sad. A few new tears sprung to his eyes, which he quickly wiped away. His lip quivered for a moment, and his voice wavered as he said, "I'm sorry, I'm a mess…"

Slowly, Gilbert came to the first confusing, and then pained realization that Matthew's reaction was not entirely about the music. Immediately after, he realized something that troubled him even more – Matthew had never actually said his feelings were not returned.

To be continued...

Author's Note: What Gilbert was playing can be found here: /watch?v=kHvjpg9JPnA

I suggest you all look up the lyrics to "You Raise Me Up," too!