III. Canary
When Arthur opened his door on a specific August morning, he wasn't expecting to find Matthew sitting on his porch steps. True, they would wait for each other every morning, but they usually met up at the bus stop.
Upon hearing the door opening, the twelve-year-old jumped up and nearly ran into Arthur. "A-Are you ready?" His eyes, which were now half hidden behind round, wiry glasses, gleamed with panic.
"It's just school." Arthur shrugged, shouting goodbye to his mother before shutting the front door behind him.
"Y-Yeah, b-but aren't you sc-scared that y-you'll get lost?" Matthew's stuttering had somewhat improved over the years, but in anxious situations, it always came back full-force. "And wh-what if the older k-k-kids try t-to beat y-you up!"
Clearly, the Canadian had been watching too many movies.
"What did you watch last night?" Arthur asked disapprovingly.
Matthew flushed. Knowing he couldn't lie to his best friend - that, and he was a bad liar in general - he mumbled something inaudible under his breath.
Arthur didn't quite catch it, but it was probably one of those slice-of-life movies, where the stereotypical victim gets picked on by the stereotypical bullies. Honestly, couldn't those Americans think of something better? "If they try to beat you up, I'll kick their arses," he said seriously, shouldering his backpack.
They both began walking towards the bus stop. Matthew giggled next to him. "Y-You can't hurt a-anyone w-with words, Artie."
Arthur would normally blanch at the nickname, but coming from Matthew, it sounded…endearing. "Then you've never seen me," he retaliated, which only resulted in more giggling from Matthew.
When they stepped on the bus, about half of the seats were already filled. Most of the older kids sat in the back, while more of the younger-looking ones inhabited the front. Matthew chose a seat in the second row to the front, and Arthur slipped in next to him. The bus ride was, thankfully, uneventful. Matthew ranted on nervously while Arthur tried his best to reassure him. Eventually, it got to a point where Arthur snapped, "Everything'll be fine, Matthew!" and the younger boy, eyes becoming wet, mumbled an apology before resorting to staring out the window.
Arthur sighed and patted his friend's shoulder, a little awkwardly. "Just…trust me, all right?"
"O-O-Okay." Matthew leaned his head against the cool window, but shot Arthur a trying smile through the reflective glass.
True to Arthur's word, they managed to survive their first day of middle school. Matthew had almost wailed when he found out that they only had three classes together; Arthur shushed him, hissing, "Act your age, for the Queen's sake!"
"W-We don't h-h-have a queen," Matthew sniffled, but furiously rubbed at his eyes the moment Arthur turned away.
At the end of the school day, they got off the bus and walked home together.
Neither could hardly wait until the weekend; those two days have never seemed so inviting.
. . .
"You agreed to do what?" His boyfriend's bright blue eyes were bulging almost comically, tone incredulous. "He's crazy. Plus, I thought we were going to see a movie together."
Matthew had tried to mentally prepare himself for this - he had known it was coming - but it seemed that he'd forgotten all of his preparation. Maybe he shouldn't have told Alfred after all.
"He's not crazy, and we can always see a movie sometime else," he defended, albeit weakly. "I would know, Al. I was his best friend throughout elementary, and part of middle school."
The teacher had assigned them a worksheet to do until the end of class, but, evidently, Alfred and Matthew weren't working on that.
"Yeah, but is he still the same guy that he was back then?" For once, Alfred had a valid point. Matthew pictured a twelve-year-old Arthur, wearing a white button-up, sweater vest, slacks, and suede shoes. Everyone always seemed to make fun of him, but Matthew had never minded the way his best friend dressed.
He mentally compared that image to the current, sixteen-year-old Arthur, who was almost never seen without his grungy attire of graphic t-shirts, tattered jeans, and old Vans. His hair, usually so kempt, was now usually in tousled spikes.
Matthew missed the Arthur that would let him curl up next to him and read Shakespeare out loud, voice soothing to his ears.
"I just miss my best friend, Al." Matthew bemoaned himself inwardly as he heard his own voice crack halfway through.
Alfred, afraid that the rather delicate blond would start tearing up, softened his tone and tried again: "I'm just worried, Matt."
"You don't think I can defend myself?"
"Dude, I see the way you play hockey. I know you can defend yourself. But, Arthur..."
"Arthur's fine." Matthew put a hand on Alfred's forearm, trying to soothe him. "I think we both just want to talk. With luck, maybe we'll resolve some things, and then it wouldn't be so awkward between us anymore." He sounded hopeful.
Alfred watched as Matthew's eyes clouded distantly and felt torn. He knew that Arthur Kirkland was most definitely not healthy - not after he had almost killed Matthew in seventh grade...
He didn't know why the school board didn't do anything more than suspend Arthur for three days. He was back in school before Matthew's bruises even started to fade.
Yet Matthew - Matthew clearly didn't realize this. In a way, Alfred could relate; if he did something awful to Matthew, he'd want to try and resolve it so that they would at least be on speaking terms again. And it was completely in Matthew's character to want to do something like this.
The dismissal bell rung all of the sudden, a shrill, high-pitched noise that signaled their freedom from school.
Alfred made a decision. "If he tries anything," he began solemnly as they filed out of the classroom, "you run and hide in the nearest place possible, then call me. Got it?"
The smile that lit up Matthew's face almost completely assured Alfred that things would go smoothly. "Will do," the Canadian replied, giving a mock salute.
(Almost.)
. . .
Arthur pulled the door shut, all the while trying to dig his keys out from his pocket. He had inserted the key and started the ignition when there was a knock from outside.
Matthew's face appeared on the other side of the glass. He motioned at the passenger door and Arthur, a little dumbfounded, unlocked the doors. He watched as Matthew hurried to get inside.
It was when Matthew clicked his seat belt on and hauled his bag into his lap that Arthur uttered, "I didn't think you'd come."
"Why wouldn't I?" Matthew gave him a sideways glance, expression a mixture of bemusement and hurt.
"...Just a feeling." Arthur's eyes flickered to the front doors of the school. He wondered if Alfred was standing there somewhere, watching. Making sure that Matthew was safe.
It would be no use soon. They were going to a place that Alfred didn't know about, much less knew how to get to.
"You can put your bag in the backseat," Arthur said as he maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. "Saves space."
Matthew acquiesced, lugging the object over with minimal effort. "Where are we going?" he asked once he was settled back in his seat. Arthur thought that he sounded odd, until he realized that there was a hint of fear in Matthew's voice.
Was Matthew afraid of him?
"To a place I'm sure you'll remember," he said, not looking at the other boy.
Matthew seemed content with that answer - if he wasn't, he didn't say anything. They made minimal chatter on the fifteen-minute drive. Matthew started to sit up in his seat and look attentively out the window when they began to pass through a bout of familiar houses.
"Here?" the Canadian said softly, traces of fondness in his voice.
"A little bit farther," Arthur replied, easing the car through the exit. From peripheral vision, he saw Matthew lean slightly in his seat as he watched the sight fade away into the rear view mirror.
"Our bus stop," Matthew said, alerting Arthur's attention.
He slowed the car, making sure there weren't any others on the road, before looking over to where Matthew was pointing. It was, indeed, their old bus stop. He knew the sight by heart and could never forget the rock that jutted out from the ground awkwardly, a few feet away. It was where Matthew had one day gotten through a single sentence without stuttering.
Arthur didn't say anything and continued driving. As Matthew eased back into his seat, he caught the barest hints of a smile playing on the boy's lips.
It made Arthur start to regret what he was going to do.
. . .
The coffeehouse was empty except for them and the bored-looking waiter standing behind the counter. Despite the many open seats, Arthur led them to a booth in the farther corner. He never did like being out in the open, visible for anyone and everyone to see.
"Do you remember when we first came here, we got kicked out?" Arthur mused, folding his fingers together under his chin.
Matthew laughed. "Don't say that out loud, they might hear you."
"I doubt they'd still recognize us." Matthew, Arthur noted, had changed remarkably since seventh grade: his rounded, almost feminine facial structure had matured into angled cheekbones and a slightly more pointed chin. He hadn't lost his "innocent" air about him, although Arthur knew that Matthew could also go quite far into the opposite side of the spectrum.
Arthur was aware of how he'd changed himself. It had some perks - people didn't bother him as much as they used to in middle school. He knew that they still whispered about him as he'd pass them by in the hallway, but no one was ever brave enough to say anything to his face. Alfred was probably the only one who got close to actually confronting him, but even then, he could always see a brief flicker of uncertainty in the American's eyes.
A young woman with bright red hair came to take their order. Matthew ordered, unsurprisingly, a stack of pancakes with extra syrup and strawberries. Arthur ordered a simple mug of coffee.
"I'm surprised you didn't get tea," Matthew commented mildly as the waitress walked away.
"I'm surprised you didn't order more than just three pancakes," Arthur returned.
Matthew smiled and grabbed a piece of napkin from the center of the table. He took out a pen from his coat pocket and began to scribble something silently.
As Arthur watched, it dawned on the Englishman how much he actually missed the younger boy. It surprised him; a sort of apathy had settled itself over his emotions within the past few years, blanketing them and making him numb. It was the first time he felt something in so long.
It was, in a way, nice.
It made him feel...alive again.
A sharp ringing interrupted the silence. Matthew jolted suddenly, the pen clattering out of his hand. "Sorry," he mumbled as he pulled his cell phone out from his pocket. He glanced down at the caller ID, frowned. Arthur watched, mildly curious, as he pressed a button and the ringing stop.
"Sorry about that," Matthew said sheepishly, putting the small device away. "Al's just..."
"Overbearing," Arthur finished for him, although felt a twinge of regret when Matthew slumped in his seat.
"He thinks you're going to-" He broke off, clearing his throat. "N-Never mind that. The food's here."
His pancakes were set down in front of him, and a steaming mug of coffee was put in front of Arthur. The waitress asked if they wanted anyone else, but Matthew didn't answer, looking awkwardly down at his lap, and neither did Arthur, simply observing the boy in front of him. Finally, the woman left and they were alone again.
Arthur drank. He waited patiently for Matthew to finish. He knew better than to bring up the subject again - he had gotten quite far, after all. He didn't want to lose all of Matthew's trust again; then he would have to start over, back to square one.
As they walked back to the car later, Arthur said quietly, "I didn't mean to do it."
Matthew shot him a wary glance.
"I don't know what came over me. One minute you were speaking to me, and then I was standing over you..." Arthur took a slow step towards him, trying to catch his eyes. "I've always had trouble with my anger, you know?"
A soft laugh escaped Matthew's lips. "I know," he affirmed. He didn't turn to face Arthur.
"You know I never wanted to hurt you, Matthew," Arthur said, and this time he could hear himself start to sound pleading. "And I still don't, today." He reached forward with both arms, drawing the Canadian close with one hand and using the other to tilt his chin towards him. "I just want my friend back."
He leaned forward and, with gentleness that he didn't know he possessed, pressed his lips against Matthew's.
One - two - three seconds passed before Matthew's hands came up against his chest and he was pushed back, bumping into the side of his car. Matthew's eyes were wide, cheeks florid, and mouth agape.
"Matthew-"
Matthew took a shaky step backwards. "A-A-Arthur, I c-can't-" Another step. "I'm s-s-sorry." He turned and ran, stumbling in his steps.
Arthur was left standing there. Slowly, he looked down at himself, at his hands.
Was Matthew that afraid of him?
Was he really that awful...?
He turned and slammed his fist against the window of his car, thus shattering the delicate glass.
Ignoring the blood dripping down his arm and knotting his fingers into his own hair, yanking at the strands harshly, he slid down and cried.
a/n: So yeah, there's obviously some history between Matthew and Arthur. Shit shall hit the fan by the next chapter, methinks. Or, that might have happened a while ago...
OH, and I finally figured out a schedule for updating this. I'll be putting up new chapters on Mondays and Fridays, or possibly earlier, depending on how much time I have. Yay for not abandoning this story~ ; w ;