"Francis."

It's a name that almost hurts to say, if only because of the distance it put between them. He man who had once been Matthew's older brother looks resigned and tired, but still silently allows Mathew it to his spotless apartment. Mathew studies the delicate glass decorations artistically litter the apartment, a piece of Francis that never changed.

Matthew's been alone for a long time before he's come to live with Francis, and sometimes he still feels that way. He likes the new "Big brother" that Francis introduced, and he likes to watch how Francis and Arthur bicker together, he likes the clash of the French and English accent, and he likes the way the too-neat flat seems more livable when Arthr visits. To a child like Mathew, the fragile decorations he can't touch or play with are pointless and taunting, and the house seems empty and strange, even when he snuggles close to Francis, but Mathew doesn't tell Francis that. Mathew wants Francis to think he's happy, because Mathew knows that makes Francis happy too.

Especially these days, when Francis seems to lose his smile more and more and watch Mathew with that complicated expression that Mathew hates so very much.

Francis doesn't break the silence as he leads Mathew into his sitting room, and Mathew knows that Francis is waiting for him to break the silence first. So Mathew does.

"Thank you."

It's something he really doesn't want to say, not when he still stings from their own broken relationship, but Mathew is someone who pays his dues. Francis betrays his emotions briefly, his eyes widening, but just as quickly covers them with a small smile, and Mathew thinks that maybe it was Francis that he learned to smile like that from.

"De rien."

Francis returns the sentiment with the expected answer, but Mathew knows that isn't it. Francis knows this too, and the pair play a silent game to see who will speak first, and Mathew is determined not to lose. Francis surrenders first.

"Mathieu, I know that we do not 'ave the best relationship, and that you blame me for it."

He halts, and if it weren't for the strange pause in the sentence structure, Mathew might have thought that was the end of his sentence. But he waited, and after a moment, Francis continued, gazing out the window instead of at Mathew, and Mathew realized with a shock that the so-called "Relationship expert" was nervous.

"But please believe me when I say never wanted to give you up."

Mathew protests against his will, before he even fully registers the words Francis spoke. "Didn't want to" give Mathew up? Who was it who chose to? Mathew knows he was never consulted on the matter.

"You-"

Mathew starts, furiously, but Francis cuts him off.

"I know! I realize now that I was foolish, but at the time, I too, was younger, and I thought I was doing what was best for you!"

Finally, Francis makes eye-contact, and Mathew flinches by cause he recognizes the clear but desperate look in Francis's eyes as though he sincerely needs to communicate his feelings. It's a familiar look that Mathew saw only a few days ago, his twin's clear and desperate gaze meeting his own, à need for the other to understand. Matthew's sure he'd wrn this expression himself at that point. He wonders what expression he's wearing now.

Francis continues, soflty but earnestly.

"I.. I wasn't confident, I didn't think I could do more for you than Art'ur, and I.. I thought you'd be happier wit' Alfred."

It's such a ludicrous and weak excuse that Mathew wants to snort derisively, but he can't, because a part of him understands what Francis means.

Matthew's hesitant when he finally ventures out of the bedroom - his new bedroom, he's told - but his head aching and his stomach growling drives him to find Arthur. Mathew's done nothing but cry for the past two days, when what he thought was a sleepover at "big brother Arthur's" was revealed to be a "forever stay." The things Mathew used to like about Arthur upset him now, from his strange way of cooking to his strange and sharp accent, to his way if standing or even his smile.

Mathew doesn't want to see Arthur's smile like sharing an inside joke, or to eat Arthur's dry crumbly scones, or hear his brisk English tone instead of Francis's flowing French. He wants Francis's fluffy pastries and Francis gently and soft smile. But Francis doesn't want Mathew anymore and Mathew doesn't know hat to do bout that, and that's why Matthew's been crying. He isn't expecting anyone when he ventures outside his room, Arthur's learned to let him alone after he discovered his presence only made the wails louder.

Maybe that's why he's so surprised to see the figure camped outside his door with a drawing pad that he forgets to cry. The child with blonde hair and blue eyes and a face to match his own pops up to his feet facing Mathew. He holds out a pudgy childish hand hand to Mathew, excluding confidence that the brother he doesn't even remember won't deny him.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones!" He announces proudly. "I'm gonna be your best friend!"

In the face of such a solid announcement, Mathew can't even think to do anything other than hiccup, and introduce himself to his new self-proclaimed best friend. Alfred seems rather like he expected that and happily grabs Matthew's hand and hauls him downstairs to eat scones and jam without ever giving Mathew the chance to react. In fact, Mathews halfway through his second scone and a glass of milk before he remebers that he's upset, and at that point it feels a little foolish to cry about it.

And just maybe, Mathew feels that Arthur's messy house strewn with toy soldiers and Alfred's belongings feels just a little more like home than Francis's pretty but untouchable apartment.

Remembering, Mathew can't réfute Francis. Maybe he really was happier growing up with Alfred and Arthur than he would have been growing up alone with Francis. As an adult, Mathew knows why Francis wouldn't ask a confused and lonely child his opinion. But there's still one thing Mathew can't forgive Francis for.

"I.. Don't care about that, I don't know if you were right, or wrong, or what would have happened!"

He shoots the words at Francis like blow darts, but there's no poison in Matthew's words right now, just honest and painful feelings, and Francis looks both taken aback and confused.

"Then, Why?"

It's a silly stupid question with an answer that couldn't be more obvious to Mathew, but Francis, the supposed "love expert" is clueless and confused in the face of Matthew's response, and that irks Mathew as he responds.

"You can say that you abandoned me for my sake, that you thought I'd be happier with Arthur, or Al, but that doesn't answer anything. I just.."

Mathew clenche and unclenches his hands, remembering painful days in the past.

"Why didn't you ever come to visit me?"

Matthew's formed a habit of sitting by the window in the from of Arthur's house, where he can see anyone who approaches the house. Alfred, though he's looking for a different person, seems to understand Mathew, and Happily sits and waits there too, often filling the time with stories of pirates and hero's and adventures galore. And every time, eventually, the person who Alfred is waiting for comes home, gathers the twins in his arms and hugs them, scolding them for their mess, complimenting their drawings or schoolwork, thanking the nanny who watched them and paying her. But the person Mathew waited for never came.

No, that wasn't it. Mathew knew he came, he saw him often at a distance, talking to Francis at the edge of the property, or heard his voice over the phone when Arthur answered with annoyance. But Francis never came to see Mathew, never asked to talk to Mathew.

And eventually, one day, Mathew stopped looking. Even then, Francis never came.

"I used to wait for you." Mathew admits in a quiet and tired voice he finds he's using quite a lot these days, "I used to sit at the window and wait fr you to come down the driveway to visit. When you called I'd wait behind Arthur for him to turn around and say you wanted to speak to me. Everytime, I waited, it you never came, never asked for me. Not once."

Mathew is watching Francis out of the corner of his eye as he speaks, and he can see his ex-brother's reactions clearly. Francis sags like the weight of the sky suddenly fell on his shoulders, hands flying up to meet his drooping head. Matthew's heart sinks. So Francis hadn't wanted him either. Mathew wondered why everyone chose Alfred over Mathew, if he was missing something important. He could name a thousand traits Alfred had that Mathew didn't, but Alfred had denied that.

To Alfred, at least, Mathew was the perfect one, and he didn't know what to do about that. Mathew didn't want to be "perfect" to anyone. He hated the hopelessness and frustration thst a perfect person caused, the feeling of insecurity, and disgust at his own insecurities. Instead, Mathew just wished that everyone else could see just a bit of the good that Alfred apparently saw in him. Maybe that way, he'd have been chosen, that someone, either Francis or Arthur, would have wanted him. Matthew's heart was so twisted and hard and painful that Mathew was shocked it still worked, but their was no denying the painful throb in his chest.

Slowly, Francis raised his head and spoke in an emotional voice, though Mathew couldn't identify which emotions Francis spoke with.

"Desolé, Mathieu. I was scared."