Mathew barely notices when he's pushed away from the room, gently but firmly, and the door is shut behind him. Mathew feels like his blood has turned to ice. The words wont stop ringing in his head.
I wish I was dead!
This is his fault. Because he'd been selfish, because he'd made things worse, Francis- his thoughts are cut off by the sound of a door creaking open, and suddenly Mathew remembers his sisters. There's and urgent feeling growing in his chest, an conviction that they cant know. He finds himself striding to cut Lucille off as she steps into the halway, pasting an expression of mild irritation on his face, the one he wears when Alfred starts teasing him. Its easier to pretend than he thought, much easier than facing his own emotions right now.
"What's going on?"
Lucille asks sleeping, rubbing her eyes. Mathew tries for a exasperated tone as he easily lies.
"Antonio apparently had a dream that Papa replaced him with someone else as a best friend and now he's kicking up a fuss."
Mathew sighs, sticking his trembling hands into his pockets to hide them.
"Just ignore them or they'll get back to sleep."
He chides, and Lucille takes a step back towards the bedroom, studying Mathews face through her sleepy eyes.
"I thought -"
She hesitates, and Mathew knows what she was going to say. I thought something happened to Papa. She's right, of course, but Mathew refuses to tell her that. He decides to tell a little bit of the truth when he answers, he knows Lucille has seen how pale he looks at the least.
"Yeah, me too."
That answer seems to satisfy her and he sees her relax, biting back a yawn and stepping back into the room and nodding to him before closing the door. Almost instantly he wishes she hadn't, because he's all alone and there's nothing to distract him from the thoughts he's trying to avoid. There's a sharp pain in his chest, so bad it feels like he's having a heart attack, and suddenly he finds it hard to breathe. Distantly, he realizes he having a panic attack, and he knows he has to get away from there, he cant break down, now in front of his sisters. Not so close to Francis.
He doesn't know how he found his way outside into the garden, he's barely aware of the wet grass seeping into his clothes and turning his hands wet. Every breath feels like its going to be his last, he's choking, his chest is tight and sharp, and it occurs to Mathew that maybe he's actually dying. Mathew's thoughts seemed detached from his situation. He knows he cant die, that its selfish. His sisters need him. Alfred needs him. He wants to think that Arthur and Francis needs him too.
Mathew doesn't want to die. Vaguely, he becomes aware of a hand on his back, a voice calling him urgently from the distance.
"-tie! Mattie!"
There's a familiar scent he recognizes from growing up, from stolen sweaters, from leaning on each other when they're tired. There's a familiar voice, speaking in an unfamiliar tone, Half coaxing, half soothing with an undertone of urgency. Slowly, Mathew begins to hear the words.
"Breathe, Mattie. Im here, I've got you."
The hand on his back is tapping, an even, steady beat, and desperately, Mathew tries to slow his breaths to match it. It seems like forever, but finally, Mathew can breath again, a little heavily, but no longer in desperate gasps. It takes longer for the dizziness to fade. The arms around him dont pull away, the hand doesn't stop tapping. After what seems like hours, what might have been hours, Mathew makes himself move, just enough to meet his brother's face.
"Al."
He barely chokes out the special nickname only used by him as he's filled with a wonder and awe. He doesn't understand how Alfred could be there, how he was able to arrive just when Mathew needed him most, saving him like the hero Alfred always bragged of being when they grew up. Alfred responded in kind.
"Mattie."
Rather than releasing him, Alfred's grip tightens. Mathew prefers it that way. Alfred continues to speak, his tone raw and earnest.
"Its okay, Mattie. Im here."
Alfred is rocking, ever so slightly, like Mathew is a child, and just this once, Mathew lets him. Alfred probes further.
"Mattie, what's wrong? Let me help you!"
Alfred is pleading in a way Alfred doesn't normally speak, and Mathew is still scared and shaking from his panic attack, he's still scared of what Francis said. Mathew doesn't want to hold his tears back anymore. Suddenly he's sobbing into Alfred's hoodie, and somewhere in the back of his mind Mathew realizes its Alfred's favorite hoodie, and Alfred is going to be so mad, but the greater part of his mind is turned off, his only thought to cry until the lump in his throat and the pain in his chest is gone. Alfred waits patiently for Mathew to stop.
When the tears finally start to slow, Mathew's head feels stuffy, his nose is running and he feels exhausted. Its better than he's felt in a long time. He extracts himself from Alfred's arms and meets his eyes, flushing a little from his shameful actions.
"Sorry I ruined your sweater."
He offers shakily, and Alfred almost looks annoyed that Mathew cares about it.
"Forget that! What's happened? You weren't this bad when you came to visit Arthur!"
Arthur. With that name, suddenly Mathew is angry. He'd gone to Arthur to ask - no, beg - for his help, and Arthur had turned him away because of his stupid pride. He'd even flown all the way there because Arthur wouldn't pick up the stupid phone, because, even after all these years, Arthur refused to save his number. Because Arthur still saw him as 'the one who chose Francis'. Mathew is seething, furious now, and he spits the words at Alfred he would never usually say.
Mathew always wants to be the nice one, he likes getting along with people, he likes to see their faces light up if he compliments them, but right now, Mathew finds himself wanting the opposite. He wants to see Arthur's face crumple in defeat, he wants Arthur to feel the way he did when Arthur refused to help. But Arthur isn't there, just Alfred. Mathew is secretly grateful that Arthur isn't there, that he won't hear Mathew's nasty thoughts, even as he snarls the venomous words.
"I hate Arthur! He's so absorbed in his stupid pride and can never admit when he's wrong, and always needs to get the upper hand!"
Mathew refuses to call Arthur "Dad" right now. Alfred's jaw drops with shock at Mathew's harsh words, but Mathew isn't done.
"That's why he and Papa split up! Because Arthur's head was so far up his derrière that he couldn't apologize! He's selfish and controlling and hateful and-"
Mathew takes a deep breath before delivering the last blow, hatred petering out into heartbreak.
" - its his fault that Papa is dying!"
Behind Mathew, there's a gasp.
