Mathieu flung the front door open. He was instantly greeted by Francis.

"Bonjour, Mathieu!" Francis exclaimed as he enveloped his son in a hug.

"Bonjour, papa," Mathieu mumbled. Francis let go of him and held him by the shoulders at arm's length, looking him right in the eyes.

"Is something wrong, mon cher?" Francis asked, worry clear in his voice.

Mathieu forced a fake smile onto his face. "No, papa, I'm fine. I just have a lot of homework,"

Francis smiled. "Well, you should get started on that. I have to run a few errands, but Arthur is in his office upstairs," There was a slight threat to this statement. It was as if he was saying "Arthur is upstairs, so don't try anything stupid or life-threatening."

Mathieu nodded. "Of course, papa," He walked down the hall to his room, dropped his book bag on the floor, and waited for the unmistakable sound of a door shutting, signaling that Francis had left. He slipped off his shoes, not wanting to make any noise that would make his father upstairs suspicious. He could recall when he was a young boy, on Christmas morning, him and Alfred would run down the hall to look under the Christmas tree for presents, and the floor would always creak or groan. It was practically an alarm system. He stepped down the hall carefully, calculating his every move before even lifting his foot. Once he stepped into the kitchen, he was home-free. He knew what he was looking for, he just wasn't sure if they had been removed from the house yet. Mathieu stood on his tiptoes and reached for a cabinet door. It swung open, revealing just what he was seeking: painkillers. He took the whole bottle and slipped back to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, rolling the bottle around in his shaky hands. It's for the best, he thought to himself. Soon you'll be out of everyone's way. You're just taking up space, and you're bothering everyone. Just leave. He gulped, and opened the bottle. Should I be doing this? He put the lid back on. Yes, no one wants you. He opened the bottle back up. Alfred wants you, Arthur wants you, Francis wants you. He put the lid back on once more. He felt as though there was an angel and a devil sitting on his shoulders, telling him what to do. They didn't even notice you before this. They don't really care. Mathieu set the bottle on his bedside table, and grabbed a pen and a half-used pad of paper. He wrote out a quick yet meaningful note, and set it on his desk. Just leave, the voice commanded. Mathieu grabbed the bottle and untwisted the cap. Just leave. Just leave. The words echoed in his head, rang in his ears. He poured a handful of pills into his palm, and swallowed them all in one big gulp. Just leave. He laid back on his bed, hands crossed over his chest. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. A single tear rolled down his cheek as his eyes fluttered closed, and the world went black.

"Mathieu?" Arthur called from upstairs. He had been working for three hours and had completely lost track of time. "Mat?" No response. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Why wasn't Mathieu responding? Was he in trouble? Had he tried to harm himself again? Arthur and Francis had made sure to hide or lock away all things that were sharp or capable of cutting. Suddenly, work was the last thing on Arthur's mind. He raced down the stairs, taking two at a time. He knocked on Mathieu's bedroom door, and when he did not get a response, simply barged in. When he first looked at Mathieu, he relaxed a little. He's just sleeping, Arthur thought. But as he stepped closer, he instantly realized he was wrong. Mathieu looked so pale, and when he reached out to feel his cheek, it was as cold as ice.

"Mathieu?" Arthur whispered in disbelief. He pressed two fingers to Mathieu's neck, looking desperately for a pulse. He felt nothing. "Mathieu! No, please!" He set his head on Mathieu's chest, listening for a heart beat, even one so faint you can barely hear it. He heard nothing. "No no no! MATHIEU!" He shouted as he let out a shaky sob. This could not be happening. "Please, don't leave me Mathieu!" His shoulders shook as he sobbed. "No, my son! My little boy!" He held his head in his hands and screamed. Hot tears ran down his face, soaking the front of his shirt. He looked at Mathieu. He had such a peaceful expression, as though he finally got what he wanted. He was finally free.

Arthur stepped into Mathieu's room. It had been a week since he had found him. Arthur came in every day to preserve the memory of his son. He stepped over to Mathieu's bed when a piece of tan-yellow paper caught his eye. He picked up, and began reading.

To whom it may concern,

If you are reading this, then odds are I am dead. I am a waste of people's time. I just want to be out of everyone's way, so I am not a bother. I want you to know that this was my decision, and that it is not your fault. Please, do not be angry with me, and know that I love you.

-Mathieu

Tears clouded Arthur's vision. He put his head in his hands and wept. "Oh, Mathieu," he murmured as tears dripped off his cheeks. "You will never be forgotten again. I promise." And somewhere, far above the earth, Mathieu smiled.

A/N: PLEASE READ ! ok , i want to tell everyone something right now : SUICIDE IS NOT THE ANSWER ! if you are suicidal , please talk to someone . heck , you can even talk to me if you want to ! i honestly know what you're going through ! but please do not attempt suicide , it is not the answer to your problems . thank you for reading ! 3