There's a lot of words that haven't been said. There's some he wants to say, but doesn't know how to, some he doesn't want to say but knows he has too, and even more that he doesn't want to say and never will. He knows it's not just him, but also Arthur is the same. Arthur looks tired, and though the smell of alcohol lingers, for once, Arthur chooses not to use it as a safety net, and Mathew knows that Arthur is sober by the look in his eyes. Its a little frightening.
Arthur is taking a stand, and Mathew knows that whatever he hears tonight will be the truth, no matter how unpleasant or painful. Arthur is taking away his safety net, but he's taking away Matthew's too. Neither of them can blame Arthur's words on Alcohol anymore, and Mathew feels like their fragile relationship is on the verge of breaking. He doesn't know if they can build a new one after this one breaks, but he knows regardless, that there is no saving their current relationship.
He both wants to destroy it, and is scared to destroy it. But Arthur's last order had been for Mathew to do what he wants, not what's most comfortable, and Mathew, obedient to the end, obeys. Besides, he can't really call their relationship comfortable anymore. It's long since stagnated past that point, and it's rotted to the core. So, for the first time, Mathew chooses to take the first step and crack the faux-comfort between them. He doesn't start with what he wants to say the most though. Instead, he starts with the words he wants to say the least.
"Arthur,"
Mathew breaks the silence, and Arthur flinches, but doesn't respond, looking almost relieved that it was Mathew who spoke first.
"I.. always stood behind you, Arthur, you know that."
I've always supported you. I didn't do it because I thought you were right. A lot of times I thought you were wrong. But I still supported you anyways. You know that Arthur, what I did.. Everything I did... For you."
Arthur won't meet Matthew's eyes, but Mathew doesn't think he could meet Arthur's either as he continues, choking on the lump in his throat.
"I wish I hadn't."
The confession tears from his throat like a plug being pulled, ridiculously difficult yet incredibly satisfying. Mathew doesn't look at Arthur. He knows Arthur is looking at him. Mathew chuckles mirthlessly.
"I know you already know this. You heard everything after all, but I still thought I should tell you."
A deep breath, steadying, and Mathew doesn't know which of the pair took it.
"I'm not the nice person you say I am. I'm selfish and jealous, and angry, but I wanted you to keep saying nice things about me, I wanted to be praised, so I pretended to be good. I hurt Alfred, I hurt Francis, and I.. I know I hurt you too. But Arthur, I-"
Mathew remembers a blaze of fire, high and hot, and the ragged gasps of his twin behind him as they both saw the sight before him.
" - I never wanted to bring Alfred back. I never wanted to hurt him. "
He chokes on his final words, and Arthur lets out a whine as though he was punched in the stomach. There's so much more to say, but Matthew's tongue is turned to cement and he can't seem to say anything past the heavy lump in his throat. Arthur takes up the metaphorical baton, his voice breaking as he speaks.
"I know. I always did."
The confession hurts more than Mathew expected, like a shot in his chest. He'd thought he was ready, that he could face anything. He'd been foolish. Mathew had thought it wouldnt hurt, no more than it had already been hurting for years. After all, he'd always known that Arthur hadn't cared how he felt, that Arthur only wanted his way. Mathew was used to it. It was okay. But it was different in the end.
Arthur knew that Mathew hated it, and still made Mathew do it. It was different than not bothering to care about how Mathew felt. Knowing that Arthur knew made the dull ache so much worse. Mathew feels like he's suffocating, struggling to breathe, despite the freshness of the air, and the words escape that he doesn't want to ask, a question he doesn't want to know the answer to.
"How could you?"
It's a broken whisper of a cry, fragile and broken like a shattered glass, and Arthur doesn't try to touch the shards. Mathew wonders if Arthur won't answer because he knows that Mathew doesn't want to hear the answer, or if it's because he doesn't want to tell Mathew the answer. Instead, Arthur responds in tone so close to Mathew's, a pleading apology.
"I'm sorry."
It's not enough. Mathew wonders if it would hurt this much if anyone did it, or if it hurts like this because it's Arthur. Because the person Mathew loves the most doesn't love him at all. It hurt even more with that knowledge, and Mathew finally understands heartbreak. Because Arthur can't love him, he never did, not if he treated Mathew like that. If Alfred was right, and Arthur does somehow love Mathew, Mathew knows its a love he can't accept.
Arthur's love must be different than Matthew's, because Matthew's "love" means that he wants the person he loves to be happy, no matter what, he doesn't want him to get hurt. Mathew never wants to hurt the one he loves, but he's learning it's unavoidable. Matthew's heart is breaking, and everything that seemed possible earlier that morning seems like a lie. After all, Arthur doesn't love him and Mathew can't do anything to change that.
Mathew realizes Arthur is watching his face a moment too late, but this time he can't seem to force his small but polite smile. Arthur's face crumples in a way that makes Mathew cringe to know he put it there, and the tears in Matthew's eyes make it look like Arthur is crying. But no, Matthew's eyes are dry, and Arthur really is crying, a display Mathew hasn't seen since they failed to bring Alfred back, a heaving sob with shaking shoulders and twitching fingers.
"I'm sorry," Arthur repeats, his tone choked, "Im sorry. I didn't care for you... Didn't love you like I should have. And now... Now it's too late."
There's a sense of déjà vu in Arthur's words, a familiarity of hearing words he's already heard before, and Mathew suddenly remembers when he last heard those words.
"I'm such a fool!"
Arthur curses himself into his cup of scotch, and Mathew isn't even sure if Arthur knows he's there or not.
"Why? Didn't I love him properly? So why-?"
Arthur looks down at the handcarved toy soldier he's rolling in his other hand, the one not occupied by a glass of scotch, and Mathew recognizes it as one of the set Arthur had carved for Alfred, apparently his brother's first gift after Arthur took him in. It's a memory of a time they can't get back, and not just Arthur, but both Mathew and Alfred too, everyone knows it. Arthur says these delicate words less gently.
"I didn't treat him right and now it's too late. It's all my fault."
And Mathew can't say a word to refute him, because he knows Arthur is right. Alfred is gone, and it's too late to fix anything. Mathew knows that their relationships with Alfred are both over.
But Mathew had been wrong. Arthur and Alfred still talked, still hung out, Arthur even visited Alfred at his house, and vice-versa. Mathew had drank coffee with Alfred just earlier. Arthur had been wrong. It hadn't been too late. Mathew thinks that maybe, just maybe, Arthur's wrong this time too. Mathew wonders if he can somehow rebuild his relationship with Arthur after letting it crumble to pieces, if he can be as strong as Alfred long enough to bear through the pain and forgive. He wants Arthur to be wrong. He hopes its not too late.
Maybe, that's why, even after everything, Mathew still chooses to say the words he used to want to say, so desparately, even though he loathed to say them now.
Matthew's still hoping as his makes the confession, even though he knows nothing will come of it.
"Arthur, I love you."
