This is an extremely short snippet as I haven't had enough time for anything more, but I wrote it so I thought I could still publish it. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Summary: Canada is exhausted after a bad day. But maybe, everything isn't as bleak as he thinks.(Canada-centric; America is involved as well.)

Small Stream

The moment the door clicked closed behind him, the smile on his face fell, replaced by a blank expression. It didn't convey anything, not even sadness or disappointment – he was past that. Too tired for it. The weight that pressed down his chest felt more like defeat than anything else.

Matthew let himself fall on the mattress, not reacting to the slight bounce his weight caused. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling and didn't move. He hadn't even taken off his shoes.

It hadn't been a good day.

All the afternoon, he had felt like he was floating. Conversations had carried out all around him – a muffled buzzing, words and noises piling up and intertwining until they no longer made any sense – but they never involved him. Like a small stream making its way around sturdy stones, he had slipped among them without ever disturbing.

Like every day, he had smiled and nodded, eager to please. But nothing ever changed. For the fleetest moments, somebody would sometimes focus his eyes on him. Matthew's heart would be set ablaze – only for the embers of hope to wither into dark coal as the expectation never paid up. He didn't touch them, not truly. Like a ghost walking among men.

Matthew felt like he didn't belong there. His surroundings sometimes became fuzzy and dazed, with a dream-like quality. No matter what he did, he couldn't reach nor change them.

And he was tired.

He was oh so tired, with a bone-deep weariness that kept him pinned down to the bed. Unable even to straighten himself and take off his shoes. He felt like there was no point. Why would it matter if he slept with his shoes on or off, when his entire existence was inconsequential? Why should he keep trying, when all his efforts were met by failures after failures, piling up in a dark mountain that loomed over him, threatening to crumble and bury him under its weight?

He was tired of being disappointed.

All he wished was to close his eyes and let the oblivion of sleep soothe away his pain. The only peace was the absence of feeling – the absence of everything.

The next day, he would wake up and somehow summon enough energy to force his lips into a smile and to try again. But not right then. For a moment, he just wanted to rest.

But of course, not even that respite was granted to him. He lay still on the mattress, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Too numb and exhausted to cry, but apparently, still too alert to fall asleep. The very air around him seemed to press down his chest. Drawing a breath was becoming hard, but he didn't move. There was no point.

A sudden vibration against his thigh made him start. His hand went to retrieve the phone from the pocket in an automatic motion. Before he had consciously decided whether he wanted to read the message or not, the bright screen was in front of his eyes, the notification on display.

"Yo, where r u moping at? Franny's cooking dinner for everybody and Artie's whining. U r the only one missing. Don't leave me here with the old men, it isn't fun without you."

Matthew stared at the message. As the meaning of the words settled in, the room seemed to grow brighter. It was impossible, of course – a phone screen didn't offer that much light. Yet, even the air felt lighter, no longer oppressing.

The weight on his chest vanished all of sudden, leaving him able to expand his lungs fully. Along with the fresh air, energy tingled back to his limbs. He flexed his hands and feet as a small smile slowly blossomed on his lips.

He didn't have to wait until morning. Getting up and trying again was hard, but his brother's words reminded him why it was worth it. Small moments like that were all he needed.

(word count: 661)