IV. Raven

Matthew didn't know how long he ran for, or how far he got, feet pounding heavily against the sidewalk, heart beating erratically, but when he finally stopped, Arthur's car was nowhere to be seen in the distance. His breathing was labored and his vision was blurred around the edges, some spots of white clouding it further.

He honestly hadn't meant to do something so rash. The urge to run had come almost instinctively, like a rabbit would bolt when it was faced with a hungry wolf.

But Matthew wasn't a helpless animal, and Arthur wasn't a predator. Despite all of the warnings everyone had given him since seventh grade, that Arthur was dangerous, Arthur couldn't be trusted, Arthur was crazy, he had never been able to bring himself to think of his former best friend as anything bad. Arthur, who loved tea and loved Shakespeare even more, who used to protect him from older kids, who helped him overcome his stutter, was always so well-intentioned.

So what had Matthew run?

Hands trembling, the Canadian slumped down in an empty bench. Several people glanced over to give him almost sympathetic walks, but they walked on.

That kiss - it scared him. No, it terrified him, to the point where he felt like a younger version of himself again, who still stuttered, who still had a tendency to cry even when he was in middle school, who seldom went through a night without having nightmares of his mom crawling out from her grave and into his bedroom, rotting hands clutching that yard stick that she always used on him.

He'd known about how Arthur felt since his confession. But the kiss implied that he still felt that way, and it surprised Matthew. Four years had passed since that unforgettable incident; so Arthur's feelings never changed since then? The question wasn't a great comfort.

It hadn't been the kiss itself that scared him so much. Rather, it was the fact that, for a second, he...liked it.

The thought made his cheeks burn. He folded his long legs and buried his face into his knees for the sake of hiding his face from passerbys.

When Arthur first confessed to him four years ago, Matthew had been severely confused. Even though they'd been best friends for quite a while, he never really figured out exactly what Arthur meant to him.

He didn't like jumping into things without being completely sure first. So when he softly explained that he didn't like Arthur in the way, it was because he had thought - and convinced himself - that the emerald-eyed boy was just a brother to him. He wasn't so sure now.

God... he thought, his head throbbing painfully. Whether it was a sign of an oncoming headache or simply just because he was thinking too much, he wasn't sure. Standing, Matthew took out his cell phone and checked the time.

It was 4:37.

(Below the time, a small box informed him that he had two missed calls, both from Alfred - he tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling that bloomed in his stomach from seeing his boyfriend's name.)

At least it wasn't too late yet.

Matthew glanced around and tried to figure out exactly where he was. He recognized several shops and, of course, the coffeehouse they'd visited was a dead giveaway. Arthur had taken them to the little city they loved to visit when they were younger.

A sense of nostalgia overcame Matthew. His heart rate was slowing, little by little, but not as fast as he would have liked.

Before he knew it, he was walking down the sidewalk, gazing around wonderingly at his surroundings.

This place didn't really change much, did it?

The sudden ringing of his phone brought him back from the surreality of things. He looked down, almost dumbly, at the lit-up screen of his phone. The caller ID displayed his older brother's name.

It was then that he remembered: Oh, did I forget to tell him and Papa where I was?

The phone stopped ringing, stayed still for a few seconds, before starting right back up. It was Francis again.

Trying to suppress the feeling of guilt that crowded his mind, he answered the call and greeted: "Hello?"

"Matthew?" His brother's accented voice sounded slightly crackly through the receiver. "Where are you at?"

"Hi, Francis." How was he supposed to explain his situation? He'd gone with the same boy who gave him a shiner, plus practically broke his cheek, several years ago? Oh, don't worry, Francis, we just had coffee and talked for a bit! "I was with some friends," he lied instead. He was glad they were talking over the phone; he was an awful liar when he was face-to-face with someone.

"Oh, I see," Francis said, much to his relief. "With Alfred?" Matthew knew his brother was just being casual, but the question sent his pulse racing.

Alfred.

God, what was he going to tell him? "No, Al was too busy with...homework." As soon as the sentence left his lips, he immediately regretted it. Alfred rarely missed plans to do homework, of all things. Before Francis could have a chance to be skeptic, Matthew continued: "Um, do you think you can pick me up?" He didn't want to ask Alfred and risk a confrontation. He also didn't want to try and find Arthur again, not until he'd sorted his feelings out. (He didn't think he'd be able to even maintain eye contact.)

"Of course, but why?" Francis sounded worried.

"We went to the city, but we got separated, and now I don't know where to find them," Matthew blurted, really glad that this was taking place over the phone.

He could imagine the frown on his older brother's face. "I see." There was a pause, and Matthew baited his breath. Francis bought the lie. "Where are you at?"

Matthew gave him the name printed on the nearest street sign. After Francis told him he'd be there to pick him up within a few minutes, he ended the call.

When Francis arrived, he said nothing of where he was, of the all-too familiar stores, of the memories that came rushing back.

Matthew silently thanked him for that.

. . .

The next day, Matthew woke up earlier than usual. Briefly, he entertained the idea of feigning sickness so he could stay home, but that would probably make Alfred even more worried. He got dressed and ate breakfast and was halfway out the door when he heard a car behind him. He slowed subconsciously, waiting for it to pass, but it never did.

"Are you planning on walkin' the whole way to school, or what?" The sound of Alfred's voice immediately made his stomach drop. He stopped walking as the car pulled up beside him. He watched Alfred lean over and open the passenger side door for him. "Hop in."

Seeing that it was practically impossible to avoid this, Matthew bit back a sigh before complying and getting in. After he shut the door, Alfred began to drive again. "How'd it go?" he queried. "With Arthur, I mean." He didn't sound too serious yet, or maybe that was just because LMFAO was playing on the radio.

Just answer as calmly as possible, Matthew tried to tell himself. "Fine," he said stiffly, and then mentally kicked himself. So much for being calm.

"Well, it looked like you were trying to avoid me back there, and you don't look very fine," Alfred said. He stopped at a red light and shifted in his seat so that he was half-facing Matthew. "What happened? Did he try to force you into anything?"

"No, or otherwise I would have called you, like I said I would." Matthew couldn't prevent the weary tone from creeping into his voice. "It went well. My...backpack's with him, though..." He mumbled the last sentence, hoping that Alfred wouldn't hear him over the radio.

No luck. Alfred clicked the radio off, but said nothing. Matthew didn't miss the way his hand tightened on the steering wheel.

"Why?"

Matthew thought over his answer carefully, then decided the truth would be good enough. "I forgot to take it out of his car when he dropped me off at home."

"Oh." Alfred looked visibly relieved, and Matthew felt so, too. The last thing he wanted was for Alfred to be pissed at him. "I'm sorry if I sounded harsh or anything, but I just don't want you getting hurt, Mattie..."

"I know, Al," Matthew said quietly, resting his head against the seat and closing his eyes. "I know."

"When are you gonna get it from him?"

"I'll probably have him drop it off."

He realized how much he's been lying, lately.

. . .

He refused to look at Arthur for the whole school day. When he did gather enough courage to spare him some glances, Arthur was always looking straight ahead, back ramrod-straight, eyes vacant. His right hand was wrapped in a bandage, and Matthew felt a faint sense of worry.

When the dismissal bell finally rang, Matthew stayed back to wait for Alfred as his boyfriend finished writing his essay. The day had been rough - he was forced to take notes on new sheets of paper due to his missing things - but at least it was over.

He was waiting out in the empty hallway when he heard Arthur: "I still have your backpack."

Taking a deep breath, Matthew turned around. Upon noticing that it wasn't anywhere in sight, he asked: "Where is it?"

It took a while for Arthur to respond. Emerald green orbs seemed to bore into Matthew's soul, yet they looked so...empty. Apathetic. "It's back at my car." Another pause. "I think...I think you should come get it. So you don't fall behind with schoolwork."

Without another word, the older boy spun around his heels and began walking towards the parking lot, taking even, deliberate steps. Matthew glanced at the still-closed classroom door and silently willed Alfred to finish and come out already. He dismayed when the door stayed shut.

"Matthew?"

The voice sent chills down his spine. He turned. Arthur was standing unnaturally at the end of the hallway, a lone figure in front of the double doors that led outside.

"Are you coming?"

Even though they were several feet away from each other, Matthew could feel those eyes on him, so calm and so maddening at the same time.

"Are you coming?"

He wanted to say no.

"Are you coming?"

Matthew sent one last desperate glance at the closed door before his feet started carrying him to Arthur.

. . .

There were only three or four cars left in the back, including Arthur's. Matthew stopped, looking around. Where was he? He'd just been following him a few seconds ago...

"A-A-Arthur?" he called out uncertainly, the anxiety getting to him and making him stutter.

He'd just turned to go back inside when a cloth was pressed against his mouth and the world went dark.