Lars aligned Matthew back into place and resumed his painting. His eyes were constantly moving. From Matthew, to the canvas, to the paints beside him, and back. A very repetitive pattern he kept up. Besides the light tapping of the brush against the canvas, the room was silent. A warm cup of hot chocolate stood by itself on the table next to Lars. Not but one or two sips were taken from the drink. It was beginning to grow cold.

Francis stood over Lars' shoulder, watching him paint. This had been the first in quite some time since anyone had ever watched him paint. He wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable with it or not so he just pretended he wasn't there at all. Francis had said something to him, but Lars didn't quite hear him. He backed away and left the room, unknowingly to Lars.

For a moment, as he looked back up at Matthew, his shoulders relaxed a little and he tilted his head to the side. His body ceased to move. It wasn't until this moment that he realized how…perfect Matthew was. The way to describe it wasn't so much like the beauty of a woman, nor was it handsomeness of a man. It was a mixture of the two. Because Matthew was not a woman. He knew that, and he would never treat him as such (as long as that was what he wanted). And yet, he wasn't masculine. Matthew had delicate, soft features, both in his looks and personality. Lars just had an urge to protect him and shelter him. And love him.

"Lars?" Matthew murmured. "Are you alright?" Forgetting to stay still, he tilted his head with concern. Why is he looking at me like that?

Nervously, Lars cleared his throat and turned away. "Uh, yeah. My eyes are just tired."

Matthew looked at the clock hanging on the wall above him. "I guess so. You've been working for an hour since Papa got home. You should take a break."

"Good idea." He set his brushes down then took a big gulp of the hot chocolate, even though it was more like room-temperature chocolate now. It took a moment to realize Matthew's father was not in the room anymore. "Hey…where did your father go?" he asked.

"He went to get you something, remember?" he replied. "Or were you too busy to hear him?" Matthew giggled.

"Yeah. Too busy."

"Ah, here we are!" Francis returned, smiling brightly and arms behind his back, obviously holding something. "This is for you, Lars. It's just a little present for all you've done."

Not knowing how to respond, he reluctantly held his hands out. "You…don't have to give me anything…What, um…what have I done, exactly…?"

Francis chuckled. "So humble! For this painting of course! And for making my son happy."

In Lars' hands was a large, heavy bottle, with French text written in beautiful cursive. Fine wine. Had it not been a gift, and an expensive one at that, Lars would have immediately tossed it. Self loathing inflated his heart. He lifted his head so he didn't have to look at it. As calmly as he could, he spoke, "Thank you…but I don't…drink."

"Well, we have enough wine for an army in the house alone. Take it anyways. Maybe you'll change your mind in the future, hm?" He smiled that fatherly grin all good fathers seemed to be capable of.

Lars set the bottle down, avoiding looking at it at all costs. He instead turned his nervous eyes to Matthew, seeking comfort.

Matthew frowned sadly. Lars…did something…happen? "Hey, wanna watch t.v. for a while? Just to take a break from the painting?" What he really meant was, I want to talk to you. Make sure you're okay.

Lars nodded, looking slightly distracted.

"Well, you two have fun with that," Francis said, putting his coat back on, followed by his shoes. "I'm going grocery shopping. I'm making supper, and no use arguing about it, I insist!"

"O-Okay, Papa. Thank you!" The second he left, Matthew, quiet literally, dragged Lars to the couch, pulling him down and sitting right beside him.

"…What?" Lars asked. "I just said I don't drink…nothin' wrong with that."

"I-I know…but…you looked so…so…"

"I'm fine."

"Did something…happen to you?"

"No."

Matthew sighed. Why do you always insist on hiding things? he wondered. "Well…if you ever want to talk about it, let me know." He knew something happened, but he wasn't going to force it out of him.

The two sat in silence beside one another. There was pain in Lars' eyes, fear of the truth he was hiding. The past was behind him. And that's where he wanted it to stay. He understood that Matthew was concerned about him and only wanted to help. But this was an internal battle. Something he had to handle on his own.

He looked down at Matthew's pale, but elegant hand, now resting on his knee. A tender smile eased on Matthew's lips. Words were not needed for Matthew to tell Lars that he cared. The meaningful silence was more than enough to get the message across. A sort of connection was made between them; a soundless trail connecting their minds. Lars nodded, overlapping his hand with his own. "Thanks."

Matthew positioned his head against Lars' shoulder. He sighed, embracing Lars' warmth. Lars didn't have to tell him his every secret if he didn't want to. Accepting this fact, he decided that, if the time comes, Lars will bring it up when he wants to. Bright, violet eyes stared up at Lars, completely, hopelessly in love.

Slowly Lars' eyes shifted down to meet those of Matthew. "Why do you always look at me like that?" he asked, not realizing that he himself had a similar facial expression when he saw him.

"I can't help it. You're too handsome." He batted his eyelashes cutely at him.

Lars turned away. "N…No."

"Yes!"

Lars shook his head.

Matthew nodded.

Lars grunted, face red and his body flustered by the complement. "Yeah, well…you're cute," he said, covering the complement up with a voice attempting to disguise it as an insult. But it wasn't. It was a legitimate statement that he meant.

Matthew laughed sweetly, hiding his face in Lars' shoulder like a giggly child.

Lars smiled as he looked away. He stroked his hand through the golden, curly hair.