Look at me. I know you know I'm looking. Just look. Please.
Seconds passed. Minutes. His grip grew tighter and tighter until the pencil he was holding creaked softly; instantly, his hand went limp and the utensil dropped to the desk top. It was useless. No matter how much he wished and wanted and shouted in his head, he couldn't bring himself to actually say anything out loud. Especially not now, not in this class.
Unfocused blue-violet eyes drifted towards the front of the classroom where the professor stood, giving a lecture over…weapons or something like that. He hadn't been listening at all and hadn't taken a single note, either. Even though he was usual a very good student, the past few days hadn't seen his best work.
There's no way he's actually paying attention. Damn it! No!
Forcibly, Matthew tore his gaze from where it had once again wandered and trained it on the teacher. Staring at Gilbert wouldn't do him any good. The albino hadn't so much as glanced at him the entire time they'd been in the same room together. He just sat in his desk, staring straight ahead and looking completely bored, exactly as he'd done on Monday. So far, it didn't look like the Wednesday session of this class was going to be any different.
And yet, he couldn't help but watch the older boy out of the corner of his eye, hardly daring to hope that Gilbert might just lose focus and look over at him.
One glance. That's all I want. Acknowledge me. I can't stand this. I hate it.
Sure, one glance was all he wanted, but he didn't know what he'd do if the white-haired Prussian did decide to look over and catch Matthew staring. Smile? Wave? Stare back because he couldn't think of anything better to do? There was no point in hoping Gilbert would look at him. It wouldn't help anything, anyway.
Lowering his eyes, Matthew let out a barely audible sigh and slumped lower in his chair. This was awful. He'd rather go through bullying like in grade school or find out that he had even more siblings that he'd never met. He'd rather have a tooth knocked out or get a black eye or even suffer a broken bone than let this go on any longer. Three days was bad enough. Three days was far too long to go without talking to his best friend.
That's it. I'm talking to him. As soon as class is over, I'll catch up to him outside and apologize and explain and we'll be friends again. I'll be able to breathe again.
It felt better to know that he at least had a plan and was going to do his best to fix things with the older student. The possibility that he might incur Gilbert's anger all over again was terrifying, but he shoved those thoughts away. No matter how angry the albino might still be, he couldn't let that keep him from trying to get back the friendship he missed so much.
Determined, the Canadian sat up a little straighter in his chair and picked up his pencil so he could start taking notes. Now was no time for slacking off.
For the rest of the class, he put all of his attention on the professor and the lecture being given—turned out to be about how different wars had been fought with different tactics—so that he would have at least some notes when it came time to study. And when the lecture was over, he packed his things as quickly as he could manage, heart rate rising to think that he was going to talk to Gilbert, was going to fix things and get them back to normal. But when he turned to the older boy's desk, it was empty, and there was no sign of white hair anywhere in the classroom.
He's already outside.
Bag held tight, Matthew made his way out of the room as quickly as he was able, rushing to find Gilbert so he could talk to the older student. It wasn't until he made it out of the social sciences building that he spotted the back of a white-haired head, and he couldn't help but smile.
"Gilbert!"
The older boy didn't slow or stop or turn or give any sign at all that he'd heard his name being called, but Matthew wasn't willing to be so easily put off.
"Gilbert, wait! I need to talk to you!" He'd never been so frustrated by his own soft voice before. If he could only raise it to the volume of an actual shout, he'd have a better chance of catching Gilbert's attention!
"Gil!" Pushing people aside and earning a few muttered curses from his fellow students, Matthew fought to catch up to the older boy, finally getting close enough to reach out and grip his arm. "Hey!"
Immediately, Gilbert froze, his entire frame tensing as students parted to walk around them. His red eyes continued to stare straight ahead as if he couldn't bring himself to look down at the blond. "Let go, Matzhew."
"I want to talk to you, Gilbert," Matthew responded, out of breath from his efforts of catching the older boy. "Please, just—"
Before he could finish, Gilbert pulled his arm free and shook his head. "Nein, Matzhew. I don't have time right now." Then he walked away, leaving Matt standing alone in the middle of the sidewalk. Dozens of students continued to walk past him, gave him strange looks because he was standing there frozen, his expression one of shock and hurt. Gilbert had shaken him off, had completely ignored him, had purposefully walked away without saying good bye or looking at him. It hurt just as bad now as it had on Sunday night, maybe even worse.
Matthew's shoulders drooped, his head lowered until he was staring at the sidewalk so that no one would see the tears gathering in his eyes. He fidgeted with his bag and forced himself to start walking in the direction of his own dorm, taking slow, deliberate breaths all the way there so that he wouldn't break down in the middle of campus.
The sanctuary of his dorm had never been so welcome; he dropped his bag to the floor unceremoniously and kicked off his sneakers without bothering to watch where they landed. Then he clambered up into his loft and lay there, face half shoved into his pillow as shallow, shuddering breaths escaped him. Gilbert wanted nothing to do with him, and he had no one to blame but himself.
I should have told him I was going. I should have invited him or made plans to see him after. I should've done something. He thinks I lied to him.
The tears that had begun gathering outside finally began to fall as Matthew remembered the look on Gilbert's face, the initial confusion at the texts, how guilty he felt over what had happened. The guilt was eating at him, making him feel dirty and broken and worthless.
It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to see him.
Maybe that was true, but Matthew didn't think he'd be able to handle it if he was completely cut off from Gilbert so suddenly. They'd met in their history class, after all, that day Gilbert stood up for him against the teacher who couldn't remember Matt's name. That had been their first ever interaction; lending him a pencil.
Stupid pencil.
The door opened and closed but Matthew remained exactly as he was, letting the slow-falling tears soak into his pillow.
"Hey, Mattie."
Not bothering to move, Matthew let out a broken sigh as the only response to his brother's subdued greeting. The last few days had been strange for the two of them, not that either brother would admit that.
He hates me.
It made his heart hurt to think about it.
"How was class?" The older blond's tone was forced light and curious, making him sound nervous and like his voice was a little higher than normal.
"Fine."
"Was Gilbert there?"
Matthew's throat tightened but he managed a soft, "Yeah."
"Did he talk to you about Sunday?"
"No, I…tried."
"Tried?"
"He…he didn't want to talk to me."
"Well." There was a pause. "Maybe he's still upset."
"He hates me."
"No, he doesn't."
Matthew looked up when he felt the loft shift and found that Alfred had partially climbed up the side in order to look at him.
"He doesn't hate you, Mattie. You didn't do anything wrong. So you went to dinner with your brother and friends—big deal. Gilbert overreacted and if he's this pissed over that then I don't want you hanging out with him anyway. I thought he was gonna grab you or somethin' the other day, you know, and I was ready to break the bastard's nose when you started crying. He's just lucky I stayed to take care of my little brother instead of going after him."
Silent, Matthew studied the older boy's set jaw, the slight furrow in his forehead that drew his eyebrows in but not quite together, the honesty and concern in his blue eyes.
Where was this guy while Matt was growing up? He certainly could have used such a protective older brother before now.
"Thanks, Al." The Canadian forced a small smile that only lasted for a few moments; Alfred's expression remained the same.
"If he bothers you, I'll beat the shit out of 'im."
No!
That wasn't what Matthew wanted, not even close, but he didn't argue. The look on Alfred's face made it clear that he wouldn't be able to change the American's mind, anyway. It bothered him to imagine the two of them getting in a fight—they were both so strong—they'd get hurt, maybe bad—because he didn't want either boy angry at the other, not to the point of fighting. Still, he knew Alfred's statement was based on his determination to protect his little brother, so he was grateful for that.
"Thank you."
Satisfied with that response, Alfred climbed back down and moved to his own side of the room. "We're going to lunch soon. You should come with."
Lunch? Matthew stomach rumbled softly at the thought of food, but the blond ignored it. "I'm okay."
"Matt, you can't stay in here all day again. It's been three days. Have you even eaten since Sunday night?"
No. "Yes." Sort of. He'd had an apple yesterday, and half of a sandwich the day before that. It wasn't healthy, he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. He just wasn't hungry enough to bother.
"I don't believe you."
"I ate."
Please believe me. Don't make me get up. I don't want to go.
Alfred sighed. "Mattie—" He was interrupted by someone knocking on the door and stopped, glancing at the loft where Matthew lay completely still before he moved to answer. "Hey, Francis."
"Bonjour, Alfreed. 'ow are you zees fine morning?"
"I'm fine. You?"
"Well enough."
Barely lifting his head, Matthew peered over the side of his mattress at the Frenchman who had just entered his dorm. The older boy smiled at him, though there was concern in his eyes.
"Bonjour, Matthieu. Comment vous sentez-vous?" he asked, tilting his head just slightly so that his hair fell away from his face.
It took the Canadian several moments to come up with a response. "Fatigué."
"Ah, zhat ees too bad. Would you care to join us for lunch?"
"I already asked. He's not hungry," Alfred responded before Matt had even taken a breath to speak. A little guilty due to the tone his brother had used, Matthew lowered his head onto his pillow again so he wouldn't have to see Alfred's disapproving expression as the two older boys left; the door clicked shut behind them and he let out a sigh, his eyes falling shut.
I lied to Alfred. I made Gilbert mad enough that he won't even talk to me, and I lied to the one person in this country who genuinely cares about me.
What on earth was happening to him? He'd never done anything like this before. People didn't get mad at him, not like Gilbert was. Sure, his classmates in high school picked on him and teased him about being so quiet and for liking boys, but that had only happened on those rare occasions when they actually noticed him. Now he'd managed to lose the first friend he'd made in America. And he'd just been getting close to Alfred as a brother, only to lie to him about eating so the older boy would leave him alone.
No one noticed me before, so I had no one to upset and no one to lie to. Is this what happens when you make friends? Have I always been this kind of person?
That made him feel even worse. America wasn't the place everyone seemed to think it was. All that hype about "the land of opportunity" was completely false. He would have been better off staying home and going to the local community college. Then none of this would never have happened. He'd be safe with his mother and Kuma and he never would have met Gilbert Beilschmidt or known he had an older half-brother. Besides, he hadn't wanted to come to America in the first place.
I want to go home.
XXX
It was so easy, the most natural thing in the world. The way his muscles bunched and stretched as he moved, the jarring sensations that ran up his arms and into his torso with every hit. Sweat beaded on his face and he shook his head to keep it out of his eyes, not caring that his shirt was nearly drenched with it or that several pairs of eyes were watching him. So what? Right now, in this moment, he didn't care about anything but the faded, dull red bag that swung away then back only to be hit again. All of his focus was centered on it, blocking out all thoughts about anything else. The perfect distraction.
Why had he ever stopped doing this? Boxing had been his passion in high school, the one thing he'd always been better at than Ludwig, not that many people had noticed. Yet it was Ludwig who'd brought him to the gym, given him the gloves he now wore and forced him to take his anger out on the inoffensive punching bag. And Gilbert couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so powerful.
This was his world, the boxing ring. Here, he outdid the blond that was favored by everyone else. He outdid everyone.
"Gilbert!" a familiar voice called, breaking his concentration. Gilbert gave the punching bag one last hard hit before stepping back out of the way as it swung, red eyes moving to land on an approaching Ludwig.
"Hallo, Ludvig," he responded, slightly out of breath from the amount of effort he'd just been exerting.
The blond eyed the punching bag, clearly impressed by how hard Gilbert had been hitting it. "Vorking hard, I see."
Gilbert shrugged, though he was grinning slightly. "Ja, vell, zhere's no ozher vay to box."
"Have you gotten in zhe ring yet?"
"Nein." The albino's grin spread and he gestured at the other students currently in the room. "Zhere is no vone here brave enough to fight me."
That made the younger brother laugh and he placed a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "Vell, ve vill have to find some vone vizh zhe nerve to go against you. For now, zhough, it is time for dinner. Are you finished?"
Gilbert eyed the punching bag then nodded; he was satisfied with what he'd done for the day. "Ja, and starving."
"Zhen get your zhings and let's go."
It only took Gilbert a couple of minutes to put his gloves back in the locker that was technically checked out under Ludwig's name, then followed the blond out of the gym after picking up his bag.
"Feliciano is meeting us at zhe cafeteria."
He didn't respond to that, knowing that Ludwig would scold him if he complained or said anything mean about the little brunet. It was only dinner, anyway. He could tolerate the Italian for that long.
"Ludwig!"
Both boys looked to see Feliciano standing by the doors to the cafeteria, waving excitedly. A fond smile appeared on Ludwig's face and he started walking faster so that he reached the brunet before Gilbert did, wrapping Feliciano in a hug and lifting him slightly. Gilbert couldn't help but roll his eyes, though he was careful not to let anyone see his reaction to the cutesy sap that his little brother really was.
"Ciao," Feliciano greeted them breathlessly once Ludwig had placed him back on his feet, his usual smile in place. He glanced at Ludwig then shyly held his hand out to Gilbert. "I don't think we were ever really introduced. I'm Feliciano Vargas."
Okay, so his accent was kind of adorable and he was so small that Gilbert knew he could easily have lifted the Italian and carried him off with little to no effort, but he refused to smile as he accepted Feliciano's hand and shook it. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." A glance at Ludwig revealed that the blond was doing his best not to show how pleased he was that they'd finally spoken to each other. Gilbert narrowed his eyes at his little brother, daring him to say something, and Ludwig cleared his throat.
"Dinner, ja?" he asked, holding the door open so that Feliciano could go first; the brunet practically skipped ahead as Ludwig and Gilbert followed him.
"Fein. Er ist nicht so schlimm," he admitted grudgingly, and Ludwig grinned, his blue eyes glued to the back of Feliciano's head.
"Ich wusste sie würden kommen um schließlich, groß bruder," the blond replied quietly, and for the first time, Gilbert realized how important it was to Ludwig that he and Feliciano get along. In all the time that the German had been dating the brunet, Gilbert had never thought that Ludwig actually wanted his approval. The realization made him feel like an ass for not noticing, but, at the same time, he was pleased that Ludwig actually cared what he thought.
Silent, he exchanged small smiles with his little brother as they followed the happy Italian into the cafeteria for dinner.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Late…but not as bad as the last chapter. Sorry about that. Life has been extra hectic the last couple of weeks. Here's this week's chapter, sorry if it's not all that exciting. I do promise that it's important to the plot, so I beg your patience and your understanding. See you next Monday!
(Rough) Translations:
Bonjour, Matthieu. Comment vous sentez-vous?
French: "Hello, Matthew. How do you feel?"
Fatigué.
French: "Tired."
Fein. Er ist nicht so schlimm.
German: "Fine. He's not so bad."
Ich wusste sie würden kommen um schließlich, groß bruder.
German: "I knew you would come around eventually, big brother."