That tiny smile, the eyes that speak of pain that contradicts the polite smile, the gentle and resigned way of speaking, Arthur knows them all too well. It's been a long time since Arthur first realized that was how Mathew hid his true emotions, and even longer since Arthur last saw them. Its painful, but Arthur can only blame himself, because he knows when the last time he saw Matthew's true feelings was, and he's the one who stole it from him.
Mathew hesitates instead of taking the torch Arthur is offering him.
"Arthur?"
There's a tremble to his tiny tone as his gaze wavers between Arthur's face and the building behind Arthur, and there's a fear in his eyes that matches the tone, a fear that Arthur's never seen before. He knows that Mathew doesn't want to do this. He knows Mathew is scared to hurt Alfred, and somehow that makes the anger inside him flare up even more. Mathew hadn't done anything to help when Alfred tried to throw Arthur away and leave, but now, when Arthur was asking for Matthew's help in chasing him back, Mathew was shrinking away.
"He hurt you 't you want to get him back?"
Arthur know's he being manipulative, that Mathew was only burned because Arthur forced him to play with fire. But he's too angry to care. Mathew looks close to tears, casting a pleading gaze to Arthur, and Arthur can read the message there clearly.
"Please don't make me do this."
But Arthur knows a secret about Mathew, something Mathew doesn't know he knows. He knows that Mathew is afraid of being thrown away, abandoned, like when Francis gave him up to Arthur, and Arthur's just bitter enough to not care about exploiting that weakness. He shifts his expression in such away that Matthew's follows, a different kind of fear shining in his eyes, and hesitantly, Mathew reaches for the torch.
"No!"
The cry comes from the top of the hill, and Arthur loses Mathew to the one who always steal what he loves away from him. From little things like dumping his tea away, to unbearable things like taking his heart away and breaking it, Alfred always takes what Arthur loves, and now, he's taking even Mathew, the one thing Arthur has left. Arthur knows from the look on Matthew's face that it's pointless. Mathew can no longer be manipulated into lighting the fire.
So Arthur does it himself.
He regrets it instantly. Alfred looks like a lost child, his wounded and searching gaze reminding Arthur so strongly of the little brother he had so long ago, gaze wavering between Arthur, the fire, and his twin. Mathew is looking only at Alfred, but his hands are shaking, and though he doesn't seem to realize it, Arthur can see the tears streaming down Mathews face. It stings in his chest, and Arthur suddenly wonders if he's doing something wrong. He closes his eyes and turns away, remebering the better was of being left behind.
No, Arthur decides. He's not wrong.
Arthur wishes he hadn't ignore his intuition at that time, that he'd never done any of that, or, at the least that he'd stopped there. It'd been a long time after that since he saw Mathew smile again, and when he did it wasn't the same as before. Arthur had chosen to drown his loss in liquor and drink away his sorrows and mental health problems after he failed. Mathew had tended to him.
Arthur wishes he'd noticed earlier. He wishes he hadn't ordered Mathew to come, that he hadn't manipulated the boy. But he had, and now Arthur and Mathew are both paying the consequences. Arthur knows that Mathew broke that day, and that it was his fault. That's why, when Arthur says the words, he expects the response he receives, though it doesn't make it less painful.
Mathew, I love you."
The words he longs to say are so incredibly simply, yet so hard to get out. That's why Arthur chooses to hide behind the guise of alcohol, to have an excuse to fallback on. It's pathetic he knows, hiding for fear of a broken heart when he was the one who broke Matthew's years ago, but he still chooses to do this. He knows as soon as he sees Matthew's soft, pitiful look what the answer will be.
"Thanks, Arthur," Mathew says the words sweetly with a small smile, but there's no sincerity in his response. "I love you too."
And Arthur knows right then and there that it's hopeless. No matter how many times he says the words, Mathew will never believe him. He lets the words escape anyways.
"Why won't you believe me?"
He knows the answer even without being it said. How could Mathew believe him? How could love come from manipulation, the cold and cruel emotional abuse that Arthur made Mathew suffer fo Arthur's own sake? Mathew, as always, pretends Arthur is talking to Alfred, and answers softly, like a tired older brother indulging a little brother's foolishness.
"He does believe you, Arthur, its just that your 'love' means something different than his."
Arthur wonders if this is his retribution for what he did to Mathew. Because he forced Mathew to help him hurt Alfred, because he made Mathew chase Alfred with him to bring it back, because he hurt the one who always stayed by his side, Mathew refuses to acknowledge his feelings. Because Arthur chose to focus on Alfred, and now Mathew does the same. He knows he deserves this, but even so, he whispers the plantative plea.
"And what about your love, Mathew?"
Matthew's face goes stiff and stony, even the small practiced smile looking cold, and Matthew's response is careful and barbed, a warning to Arthur to keep his distance.
"I'll always stand behind you, you know that Arthur. No matter what."
Mathew clearly tells Arthur where he stands, and refuses to move. Arthur hates this situation, the Mathew who coldly stands behind instead of beside him, and the Arthur that trained him to stand there. Arthur hates himself the most.
Arthur feels the same patheticness as when he lost Alfred, and knows that his self-destructive drinking is just as pathetic as it was then, but he doesn't care. His head is alight with a thousand thoughts, and the feeling of intense loss. Yesterday, within just a couple of hours, he'd lost everything. The relationship he'd finally managed to rebuild with Alfred, the lifelong friendship-no, he refuses to admit it as that. The partnership he's built with Francis, and the delicate familial bonds between him and Mathew, all of them are gone.
All that's left is the crushing alone that Arthur tries to fight oof with liquor. He wishes...he doesn't know what he wishes, but he knows it's for something better than all this. He reaches for the whiskey again. It's a Canadian brand, one Mathew would have liked. That only makes it worse. He wonders if he can blame Francis for the situation, but has the sinking suspicion that Francis has done something right, if not for Arthur, than for Mathew.
"None of you will talk to each other. That's why none of you can understand each other."
Arthur hates admitting it just as much as he hates the frenchman's stupid face, but he knows Francis is right. He knows that if Francis hadn't made him listen, he'd never have known. But it still hurts to remeber.
There's a gap between him and Mathew that Arthur doesn't know how to breach, and it's driving him crazy. There's a heated murmur of voices from the kitchen, and though Arthur can't hear what they're saying, he can tell by the tone it's serious, and he can't make himself interrupt it, trapping himself in the empty sitting room, like a child trying to block out their arguing parents. It's a helplessness that Arthur is feeling more and more often these days.
Then the glass door to the room clicks open, and Arthur sees the one face he absolutely doesn't want to see right now, the face that swore it could fix any relationship, but still couldn't fix his relationship with Mathew. The face of a liar and a Frenchman, and that's why Arthur hates him. This is the Frenchman who lied to Mathew. This is the Frenchman who lied to Alfred when he lured him away, and this is the Frenchman who lied to Arthur. Nothing is fixed. Arthur takes out his bitterness at this fact in his tone, openly hostile.
"I'm not in the mood for whatever nonsense you want to say, Francis."
Francis moves with a powerful stride to Arthur's side, undaunted, and grabs Arthur by the arm with a tight grip that makes Arthur raise a hand in retaliation, but he freezes when Francis speaks, in a low and serious tone.
"Then what about listening to what they want to say?"
It's wrong to eavesdrop, Arthur knows that, but he doesn't struggle against Francis as the Frenchman pulls him to just outside the kitchen door, pressing him against the wall with a shush motion. Arthur knows he shouldn't listen, but he's already done so much else wrong, his relationship with them is already fractured. What else could break? So, Arthur listens, and the more he does, the more he hears things he doesn't want to hear.
"I've never been in love with Arthur."
" I thought I could finally have Arthur all to myself. I thought for once he'd only look at me. I blamed anyone I could, everyone. Just not Arthur. Because-"
"Because if it's just that Arthur doesn't see anything in you, then there's nothing you can do."
Arthur realizes that everything has always been his fault.
