The image of Matthew's smile was still in his mind as Ismael woke from the dream he just had. His cheeks were damp with tears and could feel Alfred clinging to him in his sleep. Moving gently so he wouldn't wake, the Cuban got out of bed and started to get dressed, not even thinking about what he was doing.

It wasn't until Alfred faintly heard the door close that he opened his eyes and saw that Ismael wasn't there anymore. The bed was still warm, so he knew that he definitely just heard the other man leave his house. Still, it hurt him somewhere deep inside that the Cuban had just left him without saying anything or waking him up, even though he had an idea of where he went. Not that he would ever admit that.

Getting out of the bed, he slipped on his clothes after washing off the dried cum on his stomach with a grimace. Grabbing the first thing in the fridge that looked edible, he left the house and went to where Matthew was buried. Sure enough, he could see Ismael there, crouching near the tombstone with tears trailing paths down his dark skin.

Because it was winter, Ismael couldn't find a maple leaf. He had moved some of the snow at the bottom of the tomb stone so he could put Matthew's picture there. He glanced up when he heard snow crunching, but looked back down as he saw that it was Alfred.

Watching him for a few seconds, Alfred went over beside Ismael and crouched next to him. "I heard you leave. Here's a scarf." He stated, holding out the article. "I noticed you didn't wear one and I knew you'd be out here for a while."

Sighing, Ismael took the scarf but just held it in his hands, not putting it on. "Why is it always you?" It was a rhetorical question, obviously, because neither of them could answer it. It was always Alfred, coming when he least wanted him and when he most needed him. It was like some god up there enjoyed putting two people together that would hate each other for ever, but who needed each other, needed to cling to that hate because that was the only thing they had left. But... maybe they could eventually learn to... put up with each other.

With a shrug, Alfred looked down to the small clearing and the picture. "Is this why you wanted one?" He asked, ignoring the other question. Before Ismael could answer, he brushed the rest of the snow off the tombstone and went back to crouching in front of it.

"Not necessarily. I look at it a lot, not just when I'm here." He must look at it a hundred times a day, not to mention the other two pictures that were in his house. He kept looking at it, a little disappointed that his alone time was disturbed.

Nodding, Alfred continued to stare at the grave before looking back to Ismael. "Here, I'll put it on you if you aren't going to." He murmured, holding his hand out for the scarf. Who cared now if it seemed to be an action from a lover if they could never truly like or hate each other properly?

Dropping the piece of fabric, Ismael felt it being draped around his neck. He was cold, of course, but he just didn't feel it besides the numbness creeping into his body. Matthew had always liked the snow. Last year they had made a snow man together in the park, and then they both destroyed it together.

Once he was done, Alfred could tell that the other man was quite cold, but didn't want to show it. "Are you ready to go back home or do you want me to leave?" The American asked, looking into Ismael's clouded eyes.

He was about to respond when a gust of wind came up, taking the picture with it. Launching after it, Ismael ran to catch it. He couldn't just let it go! Jumping, he caught it before falling on the ground. Letting out a sigh of relief, he curled slightly, protecting the picture with his body.

Getting up to hover over his 'friend', Alfred offered a hand to help him up. "You could have just taken another photo you know." He said casually, brushing the snow off Ismael with a small, cold-induced blush.

Shaking his head, Ismael slipped the picture safely back into his pocket. "No, they wouldn't be the same." He said quietly, looking away. Then he walked back to the grave, and without turning around he muttered, "You should leave now."

Looking back to the grave one more time, he nodded and walked away in silence. There was no need for him to stay around Ismael, not after the painful moment they shared last night. Not only did it hurt to pretend to be with Matthew, but it hurt Alfred to know that someone whom had loved his brother so much was now in pain, pining after what he could never have. Just as Matt pined after him...