As soon as Mathew hears that gasp, he knows he's done something he cant undo. A part of him is still selfishly pleased, now at least Arthur will know how he felt. The rest of Mathew, his real self, is instantly in turmoil. How could he say that? He didn't really hare Arthur, he was just mad at him. The more it sunk in the more horrified Mathew began to feel at what he'd said. He'd felt terrible when he said those things, like he was breaking into a thousand pieces and turning into a stone all at the same time. It was a mix of devastation, fear, and heartbreak. How could he ever wish someone else could feel that way?
He won't let himself look at Arthur's face, he's scared of what he might see. Arthur doesn't say anything, but he seems frozen. Alfred looks at his face and curses.
"Shit."
Arthur begins to move, striding past them and beginning to turn his speed walk into a half-jog. Alfred rises after him, tugging Mathew up with him.
"Dad, Wait!"
Arthur doesn't stop. Alfred turns to chase after him, tugging Mathew's arm, but Mathew grinds in his heels as he remembers something important. Alfred turns to look at him questioningly. Mathew tugs his hand out of Alfred's grip, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"I can't go in like this."
He murmurs pathetically, painfully aware of how he must look right now. Mathew doesn't need a mirror to know his face is blothcy, his nose and eyes are red, and his cheeks and sweater is stained with tears. Alfred looks co fused, so Mathew explains further in an even smaller voice.
"It'll scare Lucille and Michelle."
Alfred looks bewildered.
"Lucille and Michelle are here?"
Mathew wipes his nose on the other side of his sleeve, and uses a clean patch to wipe his face. He feels almost timid as he responds to Alfred's question, the decision that had seemed obvious back then now seeming rather foolish.
" I thought they could help."
He offers meekly, and Alfred's face twists into a frown. Any further discussion is cut by Arthur's shrill voice, not at all sounding as proper or dignified as usual.
"What do you mean I can't see him! If he's dying then I have the right-"
This time, Mathew lets Alfred drag him to the doorway. Gilbert is blocking the entrance, the light from within seeming to form a halo around his white air, a look of frustration and bewilderment on his face as he blocks Arthur's entry.
"Dying? What the hell? He's not dying! Why would you think that?" Gilbert sounds so genuinely confused that Arthur falters, brows knitting together.
"But Mathew -"
Gilbert looks up suddenly and meets Mathew's eyes over Arthur's shoulder, his red eyes seeming to take in Mathew's messy face, slight tremble to his form and the way he's almost leaning on Alfred all in a second.
"Oh."
Gilbert breathes as though everything suddenly makes sense. Both Arthur and Alfred follow Gilbert's gaze to Mathew, looking for answers Mathew wont let himself give. Gilbert sighs, loudly, and mutters a curse under his breath.
"Fine, you can come in, but you can't see Francis."
Arthur opens his mouth as though to protests, and Gilbert's tone grows warning.
"Tony and I just got him to sleep, and he needs his rest. If you can't behave, you can't come in."
Mathew knows he means it. Apparently Arthur does too, because he bites his lip and nods, stiffly. Gilbert mutters something else under his breath, something Mathew is pretty sure would have caused Arthur to wash out his mouth with soap if he said it. Arthur follows Gilbert inside, And Alfred drags Mathew after him. Alfred doesn't follow Arthur to the sitting room, instead, he makes Mathew direct him to the nearest washroom, something Mathew is both grateful and embarrassed about as he washes up. His face looks worse than he thought, even after washing up, but Alfred wont give him time to dwell on it, pulling him after him to the room where the others are.
Gilbert has switched with Antonio when they enter the sitting room, probably because Arthur is better acquainted with Antonio, even if they aren't friends. Antonio is sipping at a coffee while Arthur nurses a tea, and Mathew knows he was waiting for Alfred before Antonio explains. Mathew closes his eyes and tries to disassociate as Antonio explains, feeling Alfred's hand twitch in his, then tighten, then Alfred's whole body leans against him as though to comfort him, to remind him that he's there.
Mathew is dissociating so well, he doesn't even realize when he falls asleep. When he does wake up, the first thing he notices is Alfred, sleeping soundly beside him in the bed, peacefully. The second thing he notices is that Alfred has both pillows and most of the blankets. Also his feet are cold. Its such a nostalgic feeling, a familiar occurrence from when he young, that Mathew forgets why Alfred's in his bed for a moment, and administers his revenge the same way he always used to: by planting his cold feet right on Alfred's bare stomach.
Alfred wakes up with a holler loud enough to wake up any other unfortunate souls who happened to still be sleeping. Mathew smirks at him. Alfred makes sure there's a safe distance between himself and Mathew's cold feet, but there's a look of relief on his face that reminds Mathew instantly of last night. No sooner does he remember, then he's stumbling out of bed, rushing into the hallway despite his cold feet and the pajamas he's belated realizing Alfred must have put on him while he slept.
"Mattie!" Alfred calls, and then with a sigh, chases after. Mathew can here voices talking in subdued tones and follows them to the dining room, screeching to a halt in the doorway as familiar scents hit his nose. Buttery croissants, fruit pastries, crêpes and bacon all fill the air, and Mathew's stomach growls, reminding him that he's hungry, but Mathew doesn't pay attention to that, he's looking towards the kitchen hopefully, eyes searching for the cook.
"Papa?"
The dining room freezes and the chatter instantly halts at Mathew's hopeful question. He feels Alfred walk up beside him, and gently bump his shoulder with his own, a comforting move, not a happy one. Mathew's heart sinks as the cook appears out of the kitchen, balancing a plate of crepes piles high. Lucille peaks around the tray carefully as she deposits it on the table, and Mathew tries not to look disappointed. Michelle looks up from her eggs and notices Mathew, her eyes widening as she sees who's beside him, but Lucille hasn't noticed yet. Alfred announces his arrival by leaning over her shoulder and grabbing a crêpe with his bare hand, rolling it up and shoving it in his mouth.
"Mathieu!"
Lucille gasps in return, scandalized, turning as thought to slap his hand away. Then she freezes.
"You-"
Her eyes widen and her gaze slips to the doorway, and Mathew returns her shocked gaze with amusement. He eyes go back to the blonde in front of her.
"Alfred?"
There's a creak on the floor behind Mathew, and Alfred grins from ear to ear. Mathew feels the presence behind him and skirts into the room, sliding himself into the chair besides Michelle, studiously not looking towards the door. Michelle stiffens next to him and he knows she's noticed the new arrival too. Alfred, ever dramatic, responds proudly to Lucille's shock.
"Not just me!"
There's an awkward cough from the doorway, and Michelle jumps out of her chair with a clatter.
"Dad!"
She cries at the same time as Lucille acknowledged her step-dad.
"Arthur?"
Mathew doesn't need to see Alfred's face to picture the shit-eating grin he's wearing. He peeks up anyways. Just as he's suspected, Alfred's wearing that stupid grin.
Mathew stabs a sausage aggressively.
