A Locked Room Mystery

by AuthorReinvented

Two months ago, Alfred had gone into his room and never came out. Two months later, Mathew is still no closer to knowing why.

1. Chapter 1- Mathew

Two months ago, Alfred had gone in his room and never came out. Two months later, and Mathew was still no closer to knowing why.

"Al?" Mathew shifted in front of his brothers door, hoping for an answer he knew he wouldn't get. Alfred never answered. "I brought your dinner? I'll just leave it here, okay, so just grab it when you're ready. Please?"

Meeting the expected silence, Mathew sunk down, back against the door, setting the tray beside him. If he was lucky, Alfred would eat today.

"Just starve him out."That was the solution Mathew's father had offered, condescending and frustrated, "He'll come out when he's hungry enough."

Except Alfred didn't come out, and on the third morning of Arthur's plan, Mathew put his foot down. He couldn't stand to see his brother starve - or, not see him, and have him starve, in this case. So Mathew brought food to Alfred's door, knocking for an answer he wouldn't get, rebeliously glaring at Arthur when he caught Mathew breaking the rules. Arthur, perhaps because he really was worried, or perhaps realizing Mathew wasn't in a mood to be trifled with, had said nothing at all.

So Mathew left the plate, and later that day, the plate he'd brought for his brother was empty outside the door. Arthur's reaction was a snort and a callous comment -"So he'll eat the food but won't contribute to the household?" -but Mathew's first thought was relief. At the very least, the empty plate proved Alfred was alive, the only contact he'd gotten from him for three days.

And now it had been two months. Alfred didn't respond to the knocks, not ever. Sometimes he didn't even eat. His room had an attached bathroom, so he didn't even need to leave his room for that. Arthur had tried to catch him opening his door to take the food before, waiting up all night in front of the door, setting up a camera, but somehow Alfred's sixth sense always seemed to warn him, and if Arthur was there, Alfred didn't eat.

Sometimes, Mathew would sit with his back against Alfred's door, breathing as quietly as he could, listening for even a slight rustle from inside, for proof his brother was still there. On the rare occasions, when the silence really was too much to bear, Mathew would talk. He used to talk more, telling Alfred to take his time, that whenever Alfred was ready he'd be there, sometimes asking for Alfred to please, explain, asking what he could do to help, what happened, to just give Mathew a sign he heard him.

But no answer ever came, and one day Mathew thought of something. What if the reason Alfred didn't respond was because of him. What if it was his fault? He and his twin got along just as often as they didn't, and they had their fair share of arguments, and Mathew had said more than a couple nasty things to his brother in the heat of arguments, but he'd always apologized after and they made up. How foolish was he to think those words would go away just like that? Or maybe it was something he did, a thoughtless action on his own behalf that hurt his brother, and Mathew didn't even notice?

Or maybe it was an accumulation of many things, things Mathew said and did, things Arthur said and did, things from school, things Mathew failed to see or understand how they hurt him.

When he realized this, somehow the words wouldn't come to Mathew anymore. The only words he could think to say were "I'm sorry". Sorry for whst he said or did. Sorry for not noticing whatever happened. Sorry for not being able to do enough, not knowing what to do. But what if he was wrong? What if he thoughtless apologies made Alfred feel guilty, and made it worse? What if he was right? What if his empty apologies without even knowing the reason made it worse? What if he hurt Alfred worse?

When he thought of this, Mathew couldn't say anything at all. But he also couldn't forsake his brother, couldn't abandon the trips to Alfred's door, couldn't bear not to check in, to assure himself his brother really was still there, still alive. So in the end, Mathew never spoke to Alfred except to tell him about food.

He wondered if what he was doing was right. Maybe he should have taken Arthur's approach, heavy-handed, forced Alfred to come out. Arthur had even threatened to remove Alfred's door, but Mathew had stopped him, scarred Alfred might do something rash if he felt cornered. Mathew was still scared Alfred might do something rash if he was cornered. That was why Mathew was unable to progress past this point, unable to do anything but bring his brother food, and sit silently against the door, listening for a sign of life.

He'd tried, tried investigating Alfred friends at school, his own family, asking if anyone noticed anything off, if anyone knew what happened, searching for anything that could have been a sign, a thread to pull. But in the end, he'd found nothing. Everyone who knew Alfred said Alfred had been completely normal the last time they saw him, bright, cheerful, a little too loud but unbothered and carefree. For all appearances, Alfred went from perfectly fine to self-isolation in the span of a few hours with no warning or sign as to why.

Now everything was falling apart. Alfred's friends weren't coming by as often, daily visits now bi-weekly. Arthur had given up on being angry and seemed to have settled on pretending Alfred didn't exist, a petty kind of "If he won't interact with me, I won't interact with him"attitude. The school was threatening expulsion, months of homework undone, attendence ruined, the grace period granted by the school for "mental health issues" now long passed. And Mathew was crumbling inside too. He was lost, without knowing where to go or what to do, how to progress from this stalemate.

Maybe, he thought,I'm the problem. Because I'm here, Alfred won't come out.But what if he was wrong? What if he stopped coming, and Alfred thought he was abandoned? What he stopped coming, and Alfred starved to death, or something worse, alone in his room? Mathew lacked the courage to change his actions.

He leaned his head back against the door, lips parting. He was so close, so close to saying those forbidden words.

"I'm sorry."

But he mustn't. He didn't dare. So Mathew swallowed back his heavy words, and stood up, stretching his sore back from leaning against the door, and left just as quietly as he came. He couldn't help Alfred, it was apparent after all this time. At least, he couldn't help him directly. So Mathew did what little he could.

"Stop picking at your food!" Arthur snapped at him during dinner, "Eat properly!"

The words were on the edge of his tongue-"I'm sorry, I'm just not really hungry" -but Mathew bit those words back too. He remembered too clearly how Arthur had reacted the last time he said that.

"Really?Must you also be that way? It's not hard enough on me that Alfred is being like that, now you are going to starve yourself too?"

And his own, hurried excuse.

"No! It's just I ate a lot of snacks earlier! I promise I'll finish my food properly from now on!"

Somehow Mathew's appetite felt like it had only waned since then, but Mathew didn't dare leave any food behind. Alfred wasn't okay, so Mathew needed to be. Mathew needed to be twice as good so his father didn't get too frustrated and blow up at Alfred. So Alfred could have time to recover. So Mathew ate every bite, even though it left his stomach feeling bloated and tight.

Mathew cleaned up properly, did the dishes properly, excused himself to do his homework properly. Except his homework was already done, unbeknownst to Arthur. Mathew wasn't doing his homework now, but Alfreds. So Alfred could still have a school to go back to, still have a familiar place with his friends, still graduate with his friends, so that there was one less thing to push his brother over the edge, Mathew did his brothers homework. Mathew studied his brothers past essays to try and copy Alfred's signature phrases, rewrote essays he'd already written from what he hoped sounded like Alfred's perspective, tried to mimic Alfred's mistakes so he wouldn't be found out, and submitted his brother's homework.

There was nothing Mathew could do about presentations and oral exams, but he did his best at everything else. Even if it kept him up late into the early hours of the day. Even if it meant Mathew aqquired a lingering weariness that he could never quite shake, and the occasional splitting headache. Mathew could do it anyways, for Alfred. It was just temporary, after all, until Alfred could get back on his feet. Alfred wouldn't stay in his room forever, so Mathew had to be strong for his twin,so he could greet his twin back into his life when Alfred finally opened that door.

Mathew's nose dripped, and he raised his hand to wipe it with his sleeve, and his sleeve came away red. Mathew hurriedly scooted his chair back from his desk, tilting his head back. He couldn't afford to bleed on this paper, he didn't have the mental strength to rewrite it if it got ruined. It was due tomorrow, he still had a page to write, but...

Mathew's head spun. Maybe he should take a break, it wasn't like it was only once or twice Alfred had submitted work late, they wouldn't suspect anything even if it was one day late. But no, Alfred was already on thin ice with the school, he couldnt afford even one more demerit. Mathew's head was still spinning, and his eyes burned from studying. Maybe, just a short nap. He'd finish the last page later, or tomorrow morning.

Mathew didn't even remember hitting the bed, he just woke up in it to his alarm going off the next morning. Oh no! Alfred's paper wasn't done, he hadn't even changed before bed last night, he needed a shower but there was no way he'd have time for it, why didn't he set an alarm for his nap last night? But there was no time to berate himself, Mathew rolled out of bed, straightening his glasses and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom to check his face.

He looked a little pale, but that was probably just because he woke up. His hair was a mess, but Mathew ran his fingers through it to give it some semblance of tidiness, and after a quick glance at his clothes, he decided thst, though wrinkled, they were clean enough to wear another day. He substituted a healthy amount of axe deodorant for a shower, and mouthwash for brushing his teeth. Mathew checked the time again. If he was fast and effecient, he could finish the last page of Alfred's essay before he left and add in the footnotes on the bus. He'd have to skip breakfast, but Arthur wasn't up yet, so Mathew wouldn't get in trouble. He'd grab lunch at the cafeteria. Yeah, that would work.

With his day planned, Mathew was able to de-stress enough to finish the homework, mostly, and still catch the bus on time.

"Are you seriously doing homework on the busagain?"

Mathew's best friend, Carlos, complained from next to Mathew on the bus, but Mathew only muttered a brief apology, not able to spare the attention to respond properly. Mathew felt bad for his friend, he knew he'd been blowing them all off recently, not just Carlos, but family came first. After all, it was just temporary, and Alfred would come out soon, and Mathew could find out and fix whatever he did wrong and everything would be okay again.

It had to be.

Carlos gave up on Mathew with a grunt, and the next time Mathew looked up, finally putting away the completed paper intoo his backpack, the bus was pulling into the school and everyone was ushered of and on to their classes in such a rush he didn't get the chance to speak to his friend. Mathew struggled through school, developing a rather large headache halfway through the morning that made concentration even harder. He almost forgot to put his name on his assignment and remembered just before turning it in.

At lunch he was too queasy to eat, and instead he guzzle a Gatorade in the hopes it would get him through the day. By the end of the day, Mathew was operating in a daze, and several classmates and friends and even teachers told him he didn't look well and to rest when he got home. Mathew thought he told them he would, probably. He didn't remember catching the bus, but he suddenly found himself at home regardless. Mathew wasn't stupid, he could tell the signs of overworking himself and knew he needed rest, but he couldn't rest yet.

He hadn't brought Alfred breakfast that morning, and though he'd provided his twin variety of snacks at various points, he knew Alfred must be starving. He had to make Alfred's dinner before Arthur got back or it would set him off again. Then, and only then, Mathew would rest. His plan to cook quickly went out the window when a sudden wave a dizziness hit him and he almost fell over trying to turn on the stove. Never mind. Alfred would have to have a sandwich - or two, knowing his brother's appetite- instead.

It took all Mathew's energy to focus enough to slap together two sandwiches - he wasn't even sure what he put on the-and to bring them and a glass of milk safely to Alfred's door.

"Hey, Al. I brought you something to eat. Sorry I forgot breakfast, it was a wild morning, my alarm didn't go off and..." Mathew trailed off, realizing there was no point to his faint excuses, and finished lamely, "anyways, there's milk too so don't leave it too long. I'll just leave it here."

He should sit there, back against the door, and listen for a sound or acknowledgement, but Mathew was finding it hard enough to stay standing and conscious right then, and if he fell asleep in front of Alfred's door, Alfred wouldn't eat. Still, Mathew didn't dare break his tradition without warning his brother. If Alfred took Mathew's sudden absence in a bad way...

"I.. I really need a nap, so I'm gonna go, okay? Just... Take care of yourself, AL."

Mathew woke up from a deep slumber on his bedroom floor, with his father standing over him, half-exasperated, half-concerned.

"Mathew? Are you sleeping on the floor for a reason? And why you left a mess all over the counter?"

Mathew's whole body and mind protested him wakingr, demanding he go back to sleep, but Mathew fought the urge, taking a second to process his father's words, and then yawning so large it felt like his face was splitting before he was able to answer.

" Sorry," Mathew mumbled, slurring his words, "school just took a lot out of me today, I'm exhausted."

True to his words, his eyelids were refusing to stay open.

Arthur said something else Mathew couldn't process, then grabbed Mathew under the arm to support him chidimg him gently as he guided Mathew.

"At least sleep on the bed, not the floor, lad. There you go, just go ahead and sleep, Mathew."

And Mathew fell asleep the moment he hit the bed. He slept long past his alarm, into the late hours of morning. When he first woke, Mathew panicked. He was late! He couldn't be late! He had to be the good one, he had to be perfect enough to offset Alfred's absence until his brother finally felt better enough to come out! Then, he felt guilt. Alfred must be starving, maybe he thought Mathew was abandoning him, that his twin didn't care enough to bring him food anymore, that Mathew, like Arthur, had given up on him.

A moment later, Mathew remembered the date. It was just luck that it happened to be the weekend, no school today. At least that was one thing he wasn't late for. Mathew still felt groggy from sleep, but forsook his shower until after breakfast. He hadn't eaten since...when? Yesterday he slept through dinner and didn't eat lunch...had he eaten breakfast? No, he'd been in too much of a rush.

Arthur was nowhere to be seen when Mathew made his way to the kitchen, his father was probably working in his study or something. He paid it no mind and began to whip up the easiest pancake recipe he knew. Maybe Alfred would think he'd just taken a while because he was cooking. Alfred was helpless in the kitchen, though he was a pro at the barbeque, so he probably didn't realize how easy pancakes were to make. Once he'd made enough for two heaping stacks, Mathew drizzled them both in an insane amount of maple syrup and made his way to Alfred's room, balancing both plates and cutlery precariously.

"Al?"

Somehow, Mathew always lost all his courage in front of that door. It was only a simple wooden door, but recently it may as well have been titanium when Mathew faced it. He tentively pushed out the words.

"I.. I brought breakfast. It's pancakes.. You like those, right?"

Alfred had always told him 'Mattie, your pancakes are the BOMB!'

"I don't know if you're awake yet, but I'll just leave them here... Eat them when you're hungry if you can..."

And just like always, Mathew ran out of words. He wished he knew the right words to say, the right way to comfort Alfred in his solitude, or at least the courage to say anything at all. But like always, Mathew didn't dare say anything else, and just quietly set down the plate in front of Alfred's door. The sandwich plate hadn't yet resurfaced, Mathew noted. Maybe Alfred was still sleeping. Maybe he could say those words he was so desperate to say, the apology he couldn't let Alfred hear...

But no, what if Alfred was awake? What if his brother heard, what if Mathew's stupid self-satisfying words sent his brother intona downward spiral? Mathew would rather never speak again then cause that to happen. So Mathew just silently retreated to his room to est his pancakes alone.

A long time ago, the family used to eat together, but between Arthur's work and school, the times stopped matching up, and then Alfred... It was more comfortable if Mathew ate alone, these days. Mathew pushed those thoughts away, trying to focus on his pancakes. Somehow, even the copious amounts of syrupy sweetness didn't taste as good as it used to to Mathew. He should do his homework, get his mind off his thoughts and get a Headstart. But somehow, Mathew couldn't make himself act on his thoughts.

Mathew was tired, mentally and emotionally worn out, and he knew he couldn't focus on homework right now. He could do it later, or tomorrow. Just for a bit, Mathew wanted to rest, to take his mind off everything. Maybe he'd go out, hang out with Carlos or Lars for a bit. His friends deserved it, Mathew knew he'd been kind of blowing them off lately, frowning in the responsibility of two people's homework.

Or that was his plan until he walked into the kitchen to put his plate in the dishwasher and saw his Father leaning against the sink with a we-need-to-talk scowl on his tired face. Mathew's heart sunk. Arthur's talks were never good, and Mathew's head spun as he tried to figure out which transgression Arthur wanted to address this time. Recently Mathew had been doing a lot of things his father didn't like, feeding Alfred, staying up late into the night, lower grades in school. It was hard to narrow down which one Arthur was upset about this time.

"Good Morning, Dad?"

Mathew ventured tentively, and Arthur's frown grew deeper.

"Sit."

Mathew fell, rather than sat, in the directed seat, legs turning to jelly under his father's quiet wrath. Mathew, unlike Alfred, didn't often earn his father's ire, but that just made him all the weaker under it, and when Arthur's rage was quiet instead of loud it was even worse. Mathew felt like he was wilting in his chair. Arthur remained standing, seeming to tower over Mathew.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

Arthur's last offered grace, a chance to come clean and perhaps lessen his punishment. And usually, Mathew would take it, knowing his sins were already uncovered. But Mathew had been doing a lot of things he shouldn't recently, and he didn't dare confess to one for fear it wasn't the one his father discovered. Mathew nodded his head mutely, focusing his gaze on his father's worn slippers instead of his face. Was Arthur disappointed in him, for refusing to admit his crimes? Or did he just make his father angrier? Or maybe, was Arthur hurt, that Mathew would still deny it even to his face?

Mathew was scared to know the answer. Arthur sighed, deeply, and moved, and a chair scraped the floor as Arthur pulled it out and sat down heavily. Mathew kept looking at the tile floor where his father had been standing a few minutes ago. For a few painful minutes that probably felt much longer than they were, there was nothing but a heavy silence. Finally, seeing as Mathew was refusing to break it, Arthur spoke.

"The school called."

Mathew flinched. Was it about his grades? Or did they find out about the extra homework he'd been turning in on behalf of Alfred? When Mathew still stayed silent, Arthur pressed on.

"They called last night. Said you didn't seem well, that you were out of it all day."

Mathew also breathed a sigh of relief. It was just his health, nothing important. He risked a peak at his father. Arthur still looked solemn, a stone expression thst gave nothing away.

"I stayed up too late studying." Mathew offered weakly. "I was just a bit sleep- deprived."

"I'm sure." Arthur's words were cold as Ice and Mathew tensed back up under the weight of his words. "Your teacher called again this morning. Funny thing, seems you turned in an essay with Alfred's name, yesterday."

Mathew was practically stone, petrified.

"In fact," Arthur continued in his cold, flat tone, " you turned intwodifferent essays with Alfred's name."

It was over. Mathew knew even without hearing the rest thst his father knew everything. The reason for Mathew's sleepless nights, the reason his grades had been dropping, how Alfred was somehow still keeping up with a school he wasn't attending. Even so, Mathew didn't have a single word he could say in his defense.

"Turns out, your teacher assumed you gave him the wrong one, so he went to give Alfred's assignment to Alfred's teacher, and then they discovered Alfred's assignment was already turned in." Arthur's voice could have frozen hellfire. "That's when they found out how similar the essays were. In fact, it was like they were written by the same person. Like all his homework over the last few months was written by a different person."

Mathew felt cold sweat trickle down his back. His father had never been this angry at him before, he could feel it in his bones, goosebumps on his arms and ice running through his veins. Arthur dealt the final blow like he was dropping a bomb.

"It almost seemed like you had been doing Alfred's homework and turning it in for him, Mathew."

Mathew struggled to breath properly, he shouldn't over react here, his father was already unstable with Alfred, if Mathew pushed him over the edge...

"Am I wrong, Mathew?"

And Mathew knew it was past the point of no return, too late for lies. So the son confessed his sins before his father, words trembling pitifully on his lips.

"You're not."

And with those simple words, Arthur finally exploded.

"Why would you do such a stupid thing, Mathew! You're ruining your own hard work, damaging your reputation, you might end up getting expelled, do you realize that? Do you even understand what a stupid,stupidthing you did?"

Mathew shrank under his father's rage. His father was on his feet again, and his anger felt like it made him taller. Arthur's voice reached a crescendo, so loud, so angry.

"And for what?Alfred?Are you going to do everything for him whenever he throws a tantrum? Will you wipe his arse for him if he refused too? Do you think he even cares? Do you think he'd be proud of you if he knew? You're not doing something good, you're not some hero, you're just- I didn't raise you to be like this. How could you do this to me, Mathew? It's bad enough Alfred is acting out, and now you?"

And Mathew should have been feeling angry, or indignant, but all he felt was empty, like something inside was shriveling up. His father didn't understand. Arthur could never understand. It wasn't like Mathew was trying to be a hero or was proud of himself, he knew what he was doing was wrong, but even so... How could he give up on Alfred? Alfred wasn't just his brother and his twin, he was Mathew's best friend, they'd been together since they were born. Arthur would never be able to understand.

Maybe that's why Mathew didn't even try to explain.

"I'm sorry."

And he was. If Mathew had done something different, supported Alfred more, noticed sooner, if he knew the right words to say to make Alfred feel more confident, maybe things wouldn't have gotten to this point. Mathew wasn't arrogant enough to think he was the sole reason for Alfred's sudden shut down, but he also wasn't arrogant enough to think he had nothing to do with it. Whatever had brought Alfred down emotionally was a group effort, and unlike his father, Mathew wouldn't ignore his part. So yes, Mathew was sorry, but not for plagiarizing his own work and lying to the school and his father.

Maybe Arthur sensed that.

"Sorry? Mathew, do you even -" Arthur sighed, suddenly turning on his heel and pacing back and forth,muttering under his breath, "Sorry? You'resorry?"

And all Mathew could do were repeat those words, no defense or excuse to give.

"I'm really sorry, Dad."

And Arthur suddenly stopped pacing, falling back into his chair like all his anger had drained out of him and left nothing but exhaustion.

"This is my fault. I should have noticed... I've failed as a parent."

Mathew wanted to protest, 'No, Dad, it's not your fault!'but he couldn't. Maybe it wasn't Arthur's fault Mathew chose to pretend to be Alfred and submit his homework. Maybe it wasn't Arthur's fault that Alfred suddenly went into his room and refused to leave. But it was Arthur who lost his temper and cursed and swore and scolded Alfred when his twin refused to leave his room. It was Arthur who gave up on Alfred instead of trying to help him, who stubbornly insisted it was a temper tantrum instead of admitting Alfred needed help. Maybe it wasn't Arthur's fault that their lives were all falling apart, but he hadn't tried to fix it either.

Instead, Mathew muttered words weakly at his clasped hands on his lap.

"It was my choice to do that, Dad. Not yours."

Both he and Arthur were equally useless trash within the family, but at least Mathew was trash that could recognize his own trashiness. Arthur sighed again, deeply, and Mathew knew his father had his head buried in his hands even without looking. For a few long seconds, there was tense silence again. Then, finally Arthur spoke again, wearily.

"I appreciate your apology, Mathew, but you know I still have to punish you, right?"

From the start Mathew had never expected to escape punishment. He nodded stiffly at his lap again.

Arthur groaned in response.

"You gave me no choice, Mathew. You're grounded."

Mathew wasn't surprised. He wouldn't be surprised if he was grounded until he died, considering his father's anger. He was lucky his father didn't believe in corporal punishment, otherwise he'd probably get beaten. He'd never seen his father this mad at him before, after all, Mathew wasn't usually the type to get into trouble. At the very least, being grounded wasn't as painful to Mathew as it was to Alfred anyways. He'd always been more of an introvert, and it wasn't like he was spending that much time with his friends recently either. He'd probably be bored out of his mind from the lack of internet, but he'd survive. He'd just read books or do a puzzle or something. All in all he almost felt lucky that he'd landed such a light punishment.

"I understand."

Mathew accepted his punishment in a small voice, and Arthur laid out the rules.

"This means unless you're at school - we still don't know if you'll even be allowed back, by the way- or doing chores, you're not to leave your room. No having friends over, no going out, no phone or electronics."

As expected. Mathew just nodded silently. But Arthur wasn't done yet.

"And no Alfred."

Mathew jerked his head up in shock. What did that even mean? He sought his father's face with wide eyes, and Arthur explained, calmly.

"You're not to hang out outside his door, speak to him, bring him his meals, and definitelynotto do his homework. Do you understand?"

No, Mathew didn't understand! Putting aside his own emotions, was Arthur trying to kill his brother?

"That's not fair!" It was Mathew's turn to explode, all the anger and indignation he'd lacked earlier suddenly overflowing. "If Al doesn't eat he'll starve!"

Arthur's eyes took on a hard glint.

"I said,do you understand?"

"No!" Mathew lept to his feet, suddenly hot with righteous fury. "I don't care if you punish me, I was the one who fucked up, but don't kill my twin to get back at me!"

Arthur also rose to his feet, anger returning to his face. Arthur wasn't used to Mathew talking back to him. Mathew was supposed to be the obedient one, the 'good' child. And normally he would be, but not this time. There was too much at stake.

"If Alfred is hungry, he can come downstairs and get his own food."

Mathew was shaking now, barely suppressing his anger.

"You know he won't!"

And Arthur raised his chin, sharply.

"Then he can starve. You will get your punishment and Alfred will get his."

And something inside Mathew exploded.

"How could you even say that? Do you even hear yourself speak? In the first place, if you weren't always like this Alfred would probably be better now! Maybe he's refusing to come out of his room because he can't even stand to see you, ever think of that?"

"Mathew."

Arthur warned dangerously, but Mathew was nowhere close to done. All the feeling he'd been keeping bottled up from the beginning were coming out now, pain and hurt and resentment all pouting onto Arthur, and Mathew was so angry he didn't even care if it was deserved or not.

"No! You always do this! You only listen to what you want to hear and don't care what we want to say! Well, you know what? I'm going to say it anyways! I'm not like you,Arthur,and unlike you, I'm not giving up on Alfred because he's suddenly inconveniencing me and not doing exactly what I want him to! Unlike you, I actually care!"

"Mathew."

Arthur warned again, but Mathew bulldozed on.

"You said it was all your fault and you failed as a parent, and you know what? It might not be your fault, but you were right about the second part! You did fail as a parent! Not just me, but you failed Alfred too! And just because I-"

Whatever Mathew had been about to say was lost in the aftermath of the sting of Arthur's hand hitting his face. Mathew stumbled, frozen in shock, cheek stinging. There was no way, Arthur didn't believe in corporal punishment, and yet.. Mathew's father had just slapped him across the face. Hard. Mathew could only stare at his father in wide-eyed shock and hurt. And Arthur recoiled with matching wide and shocked eyes of his own, like he couldn't believe his own action. Like he couldn't believe he'd hit his own son.

Then Mathew saw the regret and guilt hit, his father's eyes filling with pain and his face crumpling like he was about to cry. And Mathew could have played into it, playing on his father's guilt to paint him as even more of a villian, he would have, if he was just a bit more spiteful. But Mathew didn't. Because he was only just then processing his own vicious and nasty words he spat towards his father, and it was leaving a gross and bitter feeling in his chest. Mathew was still hurt and and angry and resentful that he was hit, but he was also grateful, because Mathew didn't know what else he might have said if Arthur hadn't slapped him, and if had said anything more, he wasn't sure it could be fixed.

He shouldn't have said those things. It wasn't Arthur's fault. He couldn't say he didn't blame his dad at all, but those words Mathew spat weren't meant for Arthur, but for himself. He was the one who'd failed as a brother. He was the one who failed to help Alfred, who failed to fix things. He was the one who had given up on Alfred, not his Dad. Because at least Arthur's anger showed he still cared, he still believed in Alfred. At least Arthur still talked to Alfred, even if he was shouting and cursing. But Mathew was worse. He didn't even believe in Alfred enough to say anything at all, he didn't trust his brother had the courage to face his own words.

It wasn't that Arthur wasn't bad. It was just that Mathew was worse.

Mathew had never felt more pathetic than right then. He'd both attacked his father over his own guilt, and in the process proved his own fears right. Mathew shouldn't say anything at all, because anything he said only made everyone feel worse, himself included. Mathew felt like the fire inside that was just brightly blazing had completely gone out, not even warm embers in the ashes. Athru spoke with a shaking voice, looking like he was afraid of his own self for his actions.

"Mathew, I-"

Mathew cut him off. He didn't deserve those words. Instead he made a confession, his tone as brittle as his emotions.

"I just don't know what to do anymore, Dad."

And Arthur gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish, desperately searching for the right words to say. Mathew didn't give him a chance. He turned and bolted for the stairs, even though he wasn't dismissed. Arthur didn't call him back.

Mathew should have gone to his room, hewasgrounded, after all, and after that stint he just pulled, probably for life. But so what? It wasn't like Arthur could ground him into the afterlife too, so what was one more act of disobedience? So Mathew made his way down the hallway in the opposite direction and fell heavily with his back against Alfred's door. There was a clattering sound as he thudded to the floor, and he noted with a dim sense of releif that the plates from breakfast and last night were sitting outside the door. At least Alfred had eaten, that was good. For a second, Mathew just sat there trying to make sense of his thoughts, thuroughly drained in every way, emotionally, physically, mentally. Finally, Mathew made a choice.

"Hey Al." He began wearily. "I probably won't by as often for a bit. I got grounded." He laughed mirthlessly. "I got caught plagiarizing my essay at school."

Technically, he wasn't lying. He knew Alfred would have heard the fight, there was no way he hadn't, but the one blessing of that house was the thick floors and walls, so Mathew knew that even if Alfred heard raised voices, he probably didn't hear the words clearly. After all, how many times had it been Mathew in his room hiding from the muffled raised voices of his twin arguing with his father? Mathew didn't want Alfred to know the real story. His brother had enough going on, and though Mathew didn't know what his brother's reaction would be, he was sure it wouldn't be good.

Mathew searched for something else to say, and came up empty. Even in a situation like this, Mathew was a coward, much worse than Arthur. For a second he was possessed by an insane urge-just tell him everything you want to say, blurt out your apologies, you've already ruined everything else anyways-but Mathew resolutely locked that thought away. Words were destructive, and his were even more so, he'd already proven that first hand. Instead Mathew stood up slowly, cracking his joints as he did.

"I'd better go, Dad'll get mad.. er... If he finds me here." He took a store away, and then almost against his will, like the sentiment forced its own way out of Mathew's overcrowded heart, "Sorry."

Short and sweet, so short Alfred wouldn't even be able to guess at the amount of reasons behind, an apology that could slip by unnoticed. And Mathew rushed to escape before he said anything else he shouldn't say, rushing into his room and locking the door behind him. Once inside, Mathew sank to the floor, fetal position, overworked with guilt and emotion. He wished he hadn't slept so well or so long last night, because he earnestly wished he could just fall unconscious again and wait till some other time to deal with all his mistakes. Mathew tucked his head between his knees. Sometime later, Arthur came and knocked on the door and called out to him, but Mathew didn't respond. Just today, just this once, he too would hide away in his room like he didn't exist.

.