Author's Notes: All right. I'm going to apologize again for the long wait. I'll keep working on this as quickly as I can, without sacrificing its quality.
Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and/or followed The Library. And an extra thanks for putting up with me and my erratic updates.
Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are property of Himaruya. All books mentioned are property of their respective authors.
~X~
It was scant hours after Arthur called Matthew that he received an order from the Canadian. 'Anna Karenina', of all things.
The timing was such that he was almost positive that the delivery was nothing more than a ruse, but he didn't say anything except that he would be there in the morning with Leo Tolstoy's work.
Arthur bit down on the edge of his thumb, still worrying. He knew that he had been pushing the boundaries between himself and Francis as of late, but the Frenchman had seemed more than all right with it.
Some vain part of him had hoped that they were close enough that Francis would actually trust him. After all, Arthur had trusted him with more information about his mother than almost everyone else he knew. Alfred being the only one who knew more.
Yes, he had only mentioned a few small details, like that 'Les Misérables' was her favorite book and that she taught him to read, but hell. Arthur had yet to tell anyone else even that much.
Of course, he had known he was crossing a line when he even thought about mentioning the scars. It had bee so painfully obvious. He should have known much better than to even consider asking about them.
But he didn't think the mere allusion to them would provoke such a cold response, even after gratuitous back-pedaling on Arthur's part.
He was therefore expecting the worst when he knocked on the door of Matthew's apartment. He couldn't say he knew much about the Canadian student, but all the same Arthur knew that expecting the worst possible outcome was always the best way to go. That way you were never disappointed.
Matthew's expression was somber when he answered the door. "You came here earlier than I expected," he said, opening the door wider, silently inviting the Englishman inside. "Do you have time to talk? I think we have to have a serious discussion about your phone call yesterday."
Arthur sighed, his head bowing. "I'm assuming that you didn't really call to borrow Tolstoy's book," he stated, talking a step inside the apartment. He immediately noticed that there were a few packed up boxes lying about, lending Francis credibility when he said that he was going to be helping Matthew move.
The other man shrugged. "I have no interest in reading it. My roommate-to-be might, though. I'll hold on to it for her." He sighed. "Look, did you say something to Francis? He was pretty upset yesterday."
He pressed his lips together. That was the complicated part. They hadn't really said much. Their conversation was a little more implication instead of actual... well conversation. "We didn't talk much," he replied.
The younger blond nodded slowly. "I've got coffee brewing in the kitchen. Do you want any? I get the feeling that we're going to need it. Providing that you don't have any plans, of course."
That almost made Arthur grimace, but he pushed it back. He detested coffee. It was far to bitter for his tastes. "I can only stay for a few hours," he replied. "To be perfectly blunt, I'd rather get this over as quickly as we can."
Matthew shrugged again, gesturing to one of the many chairs about the room. "Take a seat. I need caffeine if we're going to have this conversation." He didn't wait to see if Arthur actually did, opting to disappear into the kitchen.
The Englishman looked around the place, really not wanting to be there. Yes, he wanted to help Francis, but… A lecture from his cousin likely wouldn't help even a little bit.
When Matthew returned with a steaming mug of coffee, he raised a brow when he noticed that Arthur was still standing near the entrance. Still, he didn't comment. Instead, he settled himself on the couch, taking a sip before speaking. "I don't know what you said to my cousin, but he's scared."
Arthur sighed, pressing his fingertips to his temple. He was not even remotely prepared for this. "I didn't say much of anything to him," he repeated. "We didn't exchange a lot of words that day."
"I went to see him after you called," Matthew said. "Whatever happened between you two…? Last time I saw Francis so upset it was when Antonio found out about—" He broke off abruptly, visibly paling as the coffee nearly slipped out of his hand. Arthur could hear the shattering of realization when it him.
"Shit, that's what he meant," he whispered. His dark blue gaze shifted, boring directly into Arthur.
He shifted uncomfortably under those eyes, tugging at the bag slung over his shoulder. If looks could kill, Arthur figured that Matthew's was capable of crushing another beneath its weight.
"You saw his scars," Matthew stated. "No wonder he was freaked out… Jesus, I think I need something stronger than this." He stood abruptly, his movements stiff as he returned to his kitchen for a short moment.
"I wasn't thinking," Arthur said, hoping that he could speak before everything began to spiral past his worst expectations. "I was scared for him, and I didn't think before I… Well, I didn't mention them out loud, but it was pretty clear what I meant."
Matthew stopped in the doorway, not turning around, but listening silently.
Suppressing a sigh, Arthur continued. "We didn't have an argument or anything. There may have been one sarcastic remark, but that's it. Then he left, and I called you. That's all that happened."
Matthew looked back at his guest, a frown etched on his lips. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this, because that isn't going to get us anywhere. You screwed up pretty badly," he stated. "You have to fix it. Today."
Arthur grimaced. He didn't solve problems; his talent lay solely in creating them. "And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that? You're his family. Shouldn't you be the one to… to help him?"
"I don't care how; just do it," Matthew nearly snapped. "You call yourself his friend? Then freaking act like one."
Matthew's tone made Arthur recoil. He had never heard so much anger, or pure emotion in the other's voice in the two years they had been acquaintances. "We aren't friends," he defended softly. "Francis and I are just…" He paused, not sure how to finish that sentence.
Hell, he didn't have a clue what they were. They weren't friends, he was sure of that. But, they weren't merely acquaintances. Arthur didn't go about giving keys to just anyone.
Francis was like a permanent fixture in his life. Someone who was always there, and who probably would be there for the rest of his life. Or, at least that's the way it seemed right now.
Matthew sighed after several moments of silence. "I don't care what you are. I just need you to be what's best for him right now." A small frown shaped his mouth as he took another sip of his coffee. "Can you do that?"
His eyes widened at the thought. Of course he couldn't do that; Arthur could only be a bystander the mess that he had helped create. He took a shuddering breath, nodding once. "I'll do whatever I have to," he said quietly.