He's never loved Arthur, not the way his brother thinks. Arthur is only his friend, and his older brother, even if they're not related by blood or paper. Arthur took him in when he was all alone. Arthur brought his twin back to his side, and it was Arthur who made them into a family. Alfred loves Arthur, he does, but only as far as he can love his family. There's a distinct line there that Alfred cannot cross, a depth of feelings he can't feel, no matter how much Arthur wants it. No matter how much Mathew thinks it's there.

Maybe he's emotionally stunted, or not as mentally mature as Mathew - Arthur had always said that Mathew was mature for his age, even when they were kids - but Alfred doesn't feel the same type of love as Mathew does, not for Arthur, not for anyone. He's not sure if he hasn't met the right person, or if he ever will. But he's knows that what Mathew feels is different than what he feels, and he knows that Mathew thought he felt the same way, if only by the way his twin's face pales at his announcement.

"I've never been in love with Arthur."

Mathew looks sick, and it makes Alfred uneasy. Even though he knows it's hypocritical even though he knows in his head that Mathew has flaws, even though he's experienced the effects of those flaws himself, it's still hard for him to let himself see them. Not when he spent so much of his youth being told "Why can't you be more like Mathew?". His brother always was better behaved than him, was well liked by people naturally with seemingly no effort.

Mathew always seemed to get what Alfred wanted first, or in a better way. Even that time, when Alfred struggled so hard to leave that house, to be independent, Mathew had done so easily.

Mathew is calling, something that's rare ever since Alfred left Arthur's house. Alfred isn't sure if that's a good thing or not, but regardless, he picks up. He hasn't spoken to his brother in so long, and the air is still tense between them, and he's still stinging from his brothers' betrayal - both of theirs. Still, it's been a long time since then, and he's ready to repair their relationship.

"Hello?"

Matthew's calling with good news, but Alfred's throat goes dry and he feels dizzy.

"Hey Alfred! Guess what! Arthur and I figured it's time for me to be a little more independent, so I... I got my own place now!"

Matthew's tone is bubbling with excitement, old fights and grudges temporarily forgotten in his pure joy, but Alfred can't seem to make himself congratulate him.

"You and Arthur did, huh? Together?"

Mathew sounds a little more subdued and embarrassed as he answers.

"Sorry, I didn't mean.. It took a lot of convincing, he didn't just let me, I didn't mean to bring up..."

Alfred knows his brother genuinely didn't mean to cause any bad feelings, but somehow that's worse. If Mathew had purposely called to rub his face in it, Alfred could have hated him easily. Instead, he has to swallow his feelings, he has to let it go, but all Alfred can think about is how Mathew gained something he had to fight for so easily, just by asking.

It makes Alfred wonder if there was even a point to all his suffering to get to this point. It makes him wonder why Arthur will give wya to Mathew, but not him. Was it becaue Mathew had held out for longer? Or was Mathew somehow much better than him? It makes him feel disgusting when he identifies his feelings of jealousy, but Alfred can't help but envy his perfect brother.

"Cool." He manages in a slightly strained tone, "I'll have to visit someday."

Its petty, Alfred knows, but he can't make himself congratulate his brother, not when he had to work so much harder for the same thing. Mathew doesn't seem to notice anyways.

Alfred feels small, like a child, nervously picking at lint on his sock, and even his seat on the floor seems to extenuate the distance between him and his brother. Mathew looks like he's finally figuring something out, and it's terrifying to Alfred. He wants to blame the distance between them on Arthur. It's because Mathew thinks Alfred lives Arthur that the twins grew apart. That's the reason Mathew treats him so coldly, or that's what Alfred keeps telling himself, but there's a little voice in the back of his head that tells him that's not true.

"Im sorry."

Mathew apologizes, voice shaking, and he sounds like he truly means it. It makes Alfred want to hope, to think That maybe it wasn't his fault, that maybe it was just a misunderstanding all along, and maybe, just maybe...

"Then..." Alfred fights to keep his voice from breaking, "Can I have my brother back?"

Matthew's shoulders bow forward as though under an invisible burden and his face contorts into an expression Alfred can't describe, but is certain he's mimicking himself. Matthew's eyes are misting over, and suddenly Alfred knows he doesn't want to hear the answer. He's barely aware he's made the decision to run before he's on his feet, but he doesn't get the chance to escape.

There's a grip on his arm, tightly gripping his arm, probably too tightly, and Alfred knows there will be bruises. He also knows he can break the grip easily enough with his strength if he wanted too. He doesn't. Mathew is crying, and Alfred thinks he is too. He wants to run away, he wants to avoid the words he knows he doesn't want to hear, but he also wants to hear those words, even if it hurts. It's not sensible or sane, but Alfred is frozen as Mathew speaks and Matthew's grip tightens, then releases when Alfred hisses, but still, Alfred stays and listens.

Everything Mathew says hurts, but Is also something that Alfred understands. Alfred hates it. He hates the way a word from Mathew can send him into such a deep chaos and depression, how only a refusal to speak makes his heart sink. He hates how he's so dependent on his estranged brother's approval that he's internally self desructing, and he hates that many of things Mathew is saying to him are things he already knew, or things he wants to say to Mathew. Alfred hates that Mathew is making such stupid escuses, but he hates even more how eager he is to accept them. He hates how desperate he is for just a single word.

But Mathew doesn't say that word. He says anything and everything else, And Alfred doesn't like how he's both relieved and disappointed by this. Alfred knows Mathews refusal to answer is an answer in itself, and it hurts. He answers Mathew in a choked voice, replacing Mathew's name with Arthur's.

"Because if it's just that Arthur doesn't see anything in you, then there's nothing you can do."

Alfred realizes that nothing he can ever do will bring his brother back to him. It's not because of Arthur that they grew apart. It's because of him. Alfred isn't good enough, and he feels like this knowledge is breaking him apart. This time, it's not him who runs. It's a mistake, Alfred tilting his head to check Matthew's expression, blurry though his tears, and meeting the watery gaze of the other, heartbrokenly. Alfred sees an answer there that he already knows.

He doesn't know what Mathew sees, he doesn't have a chance to wonder, because Mathew bolts from the chair, brushing past Alfred to the doorway, and Alfred feels a hot tear splash on his arm as Mathew paasses, and he barely has time to register anything before he hears the cry from the doorway.

"Arthur?"

It's a small, broken sound, that shatters whatever was left of what's holding Alfred together. He spins, and there they are. Mathew, tearful and horrified, hand to his mouth in shock, Arthur, guilty and avoiding his gaze, and though he can't see him, Alfred knows Francis is standing just around the corner as well. There's a sense of finality in the air, and all Alfred can thinks is "It's over."

His relationship with his brother,

His relationship with Arthur,

And even his relationship with his dear friend Francis, who had helped him so much over the years, both in escaping from Arthur's house, and even finally building a relationship with Arthur where they could both accept the other as a friend, where Arthur wasn't pursuing Alfred anymore, even though Francis had helped him so much, Alfred knew it was over.

He sinks to the floor, curling and tucking into himself, head down and eyes closed, as though this position with make the sharpness in his chest go away, but it doesn't. He can faintly hear Arthur's voice, and fel the hand on his back, and he wants to yell at Arthur.

"How can you be so stupid?" He wants to say. "If you love Mathew, why do you always come to me first? Go to him, you idiot!"

And the hand is gone, and Alfred's throat is sore and he knows he's said the words out loud but he can't even care. There's shouting in the hallway, Francis's belligerent tone, and Matthew's even but loud response.

Its breaking, the relationship between Mathew and Francis.

There's a sharp retort, and Arthur's shaking voice joins the fray, and Alfred isn't listening to what he's saying, but instead the tone, and he hears anger and pain, and his hands go up to curl over his ears.

The relationship between Arthur and Francis is breaking too.

Its over. It's all over. Everything is falling apart. His family, Alfred's own, self made family, is gone, and he's afraid to face the world alone. His shoulders are heaving with his breathes, though he isn't sure if it's because of the force of his sobs or something else. For the first time since he was very young, even before he met Arthur, Alfred feels incredibly alone.

Then, there's a presence in front of him. A person who stands somewhat like Arthur, but feels more like Alfred. A voice that asks, In a tiny, shamefilled tone, but with a steadiness that Alfred has always been jealous of;

"Alfred?"

Alfred won't look up. He can't. He's never felt more insignificant, more useless and small. Mathew crouched down facing him, so close he can feel his twins breath, feel the shift of the fabric as Mathew holds out his hand.

"I never gave you an answer."

Alfred's head shoots up, and the eyes he sees are still pained and deep, but they're clearer than before. Mathew tries his best to offer Alfred a smile.

"If the offer's still open, I'd like to be your brother again."