"Sir?"

He doesn't respond, instead staring up at the building that is somehow miraculously still standing.

"Do a patrol around the block," he orders absently, "I'll be right back." He ignores the mild protests behind him and enters the building. The lobby is completely trashed, the front desk is missing one half and the postboxes had most of their doors torn out and strewn across the floor.

The lift isn't working obviously. Any more of a miracle and it'd be outright suspicious that out of all the buildings around town, this one in particular is still mostly intact. Taking the stairs isn't as hard as he remembers it being (maybe all that hellish training was for a reason after all).

Quicker than expected he finds himself on the fourth floor, the carpeted hallway stretching out before him. He ignores every door, even those that are painfully familiar to him, but one. It's locked, of course. He definitely doesn't have the key anymore. He pushes a bit against it to see how much it gives, then rears back and lands a solid kick on the outer edge, breaking it open.

The gust of air from his sudden entrance lifts up a cloud of dust, which he grimaces at. Well, it's been a while, it was bound not to be... quite pristine. Once the dust settles somewhat he steps into the apartment and the first thing he sees are the photos, absolutely everywhere, on every wall. They're big and loud and a painful reminder of simpler times.

The second thing that catches his eye is movement. His own movement, reflected in a mirror, two mirrors, ten mirrors, so many mirrors all around him and he can see himself and his jaw and his eye and his frown lines and age and hunching posture and sagging hair and he sees it all right next to pictures and photos of his old self.

Pictures and mirrors and photos and mirrors and the difference is so clear, so achingly, agonizingly clear. Half of these faces are him and half are not and reality hurts hurts hurts hurts huRTS

His fingers hurt too, they're red red red dripping down his arms and glass and diamond dust flying in the air and the walls are quite suddenly bare and everywhere he steps there's splintered wood and torn paper and broken glass going crunch crunch crunch like the bones in his face in his jaw the bones wouldn't hold anymore and they crunched when they moved ah wait no it's all metal now

There's glass daggers cutting into his feet, his ankles, his knees, hips, chest, face his face hiS FaCE

Matthew woke with a start, hand flying to his face, as if to check for cuts. It came away clean, no blood, no glass, no pain anywhere. His other hand was wrapped around something and he only had to tilt his head down to see it was Matt, curled up into his side and sleeping peacefully. Matt's head rested on his chest, a hand lying beside it in a loose fist.

Matthew drank in the sight of him. The thin delicate fingers, the tussled coppery hair, his long curled eyelashes, the sunkissed freckles that spread out from his cheeks to the rest of him, soft pink lips parted in peaceful breathing.

He'd looked like this once upon a time, he'd been this man. So unmarked, so young.

Beautiful.

And while he'd attempted to pretend to be looking into a mirror when he looked at his face, it was harder and harder with each passing day. The self-deceit wasn't the problem, he was worryingly good at that.

The problem was that Matthew wasn't Matt, no matter how much he wanted to be.

The more time he spent with his younger counterpart, the more he came to realize just how different they really were. Matt was everything Matthew wanted to be, but he was also his own person.

Fifteen years was a long, long time. A lot could change. Had changed.

And yet surprisingly, instead of spurring on bitterness and resentment, the more separate the concepts of Matthew and Matt became in his head, the more he loved seeing that soft freckled skin and that dazzling grin and those sparkling blue eyes.

He wasn't new to the concept of narcissism, obviously. He wondered if that was what this was, or if this was something else entirely.

Matt was soft and bright and beautiful in a way that he rarely ever got to experience in the past few years. It was mesmerizing, warmed him from the inside, chased away those dark voices that poisoned his mind with bitterness and self-loathing.

The world had seemed so bright the past few days.

Absently, Matthew noticed that his heart-rate had gone back down to normal. His arm wrapped a bit tighter around Matt without his consent, but not without his approval.

His head leaned down until he could bury his face in Matt's hair, inhaling deeply. Dragon fruit shampoo, coconut conditioner, and the strange addition of sunflowers from somewhere unidentifiable. His hair was soft, the body beside him was warm as it curled a bit closer to his side.

After what felt like an eternity, he reluctantly disentangled himself from his bedmate, walking into the bathroom to go through his newly reinstated elaborate morning routine.

He felt strange today. All floaty and reflexive and introspective. The world around him seemed clearer and yet further away.

Once done, he walked towards the kitchen, quickly bypassing the sleeping man on the couch without really looking at him. Just his luck though, that if he managed to avoid one, another would take his place.

Edd was sitting at the table in the kitchen, blearily shoveling some colorfully bland cereal into his mouth.

"Mornin'." he greeted sleepily, and Matthew gave a little wave and a small smile back. This seemed to be enough, and also not horrifying which was a plus, for Edd as he turned back to his sugary sustenance.

Matthew opened the freezer. Ah, they were already running low. He'd have to talk to Matt about doubling the supply. He pulled out one of the few remaining popsicles and popped it into his mouth as he started heating up a pan, pulling out two eggs from the fridge.

"If I knew you were gonna make breakfast I wouldn't have made myself cereal." he heard the groggy whine from behind him and couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"Do you still want some?" he asked, turning to look at Edd's miffed visage.

Edd responded by standing from his seat, taking his bowl and dumping its dry contents into the garbage. Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Since when do you eat cereal dry?"

Edd's cheeks flushed in mild embarrassment as he opened the cupboard to take out two plates in an obvious ploy to avoid any sort of eye contact. "I didn't notice until the third bite."

Matthew gave a rather unrefined snort and opened the fridge once again, pulling out two more eggs and some bacon. They coexisted in companionable silence while he cooked. At some point Edd started humming a random tune and Matthew found himself swaying slightly to its inconsistent rhythm.

It struck him suddenly how achingly familiar this whole situation was to him. His movements stuttered to a stop for just a second. Ah, the eggs were done. As was the bacon. His popsicle was long gone.

Shoving the contents of the pan onto the two awaiting plates, he discarded the hot utensil in the sink and sat down to eat. However, he couldn't help but sneak glances at Edd, sitting in front of him. His face was slack in delight, chewing slowly. A familiar sight, warm soft memories crawling their way back into the forefront of his mind.

He pushed them back but they slipped through anyway, and he couldn't help but compare the young man before him to the sweet memories of years prior and finding him entirely more fitted to the role than the actual man he'd spent them with.

Fifteen years were a long, long time. A lot could change.

Neither Matthew nor Edward had changed for the better.

Matt and Edd seemed like ideals of sweet times long past to him right now, and it was as painful as it was nice. Edd still had that smile, full of mischief, he still had that knack for cheering people up with his mere presence, still had that spark of hope in his eyes.

Matthew ate slowly, taking his time and enjoying the sight of Edd, so delighted and carefree. There was no bad blood between him and this Edd, no sense of betrayal, no bitterness, no anger. It was nice. Nostalgic.

Warm.

He could maybe, possibly remember why exactly he had felt his heart swell every time he had laid eyes on the man.

Eventually Edd finished up and thanked him with a blinding smile.

Ow, his heart.

Matthew finished up as well and after quickly washing the few dishes, made his way out of the kitchen.

Blue eyes met tired brown. He froze mid-step. Edward was awake.

Edward also looked exceedingly uncomfortable as he seemed to gather his courage to say something. Matthew willed himself to unfreeze and slowly moved away from the sofa.

"Wait!"

Ahhhhh dammit.

He turned his head expectantly and watched as Edward sighed, shoulders hunched in a defensive posture.

"I- can we- can we talk?"

'About what?' he wanted to ask, but he knew exactly what. He turned back to the other man, nodding numbly.

"Alright."

AN:

i said less edward. im a filthy, filthy liar. next up MOAR edward

hahahahahhaha am i being subtle with matthew? i think not. did i PLAN to ship it like this? not completely. am i loving it anyway? kinda yeah.

ringo will... come up... eventually... i didnt totally forget him... noooooo how dare you accuse me of such sacrilege

(hey psssst! i think comments may be an addiction. or maybe its just validation. comment to enable this idiot addict with no self-esteem thanks)