Alfred has waited years for this. He has rehearsed line after line of what he would say given the opportunity. He has replayed every possible scenario like a film in his mind, waiting, hoping, praying for this moment to finally arrive, and now that it has, he doesn't have the slightest idea of what he should do.
His first impulse when Matthew walks through the door is to embrace him—hug him tight and not let go until he can ensure he has made up for all that lost time that went by without hugs. He takes a half-step forward, lifts his arm partially, but he can't manage to put his arm around his brother. Brother—the word itself sounds foreign to his ears nowadays.
Matthew just stands there in the foyer, doe-eyed and timid in the polite sort of way Alfred always remembered him being. They're almost the same height, have the same hair color, the same clean-shaven face and wiry glasses. And yet, despite all of the similarities they share, Matthew still seems like a stranger.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. They were supposed to have their tearful reunion and frolic happily off into the rest of their lives. Alfred didn't expect to be rendered speechless. How can he be afraid to say a word to his own sibling? What is wrong with him?
"Alfred," Matthew says very softly, edging his way closer. "I-It's been a while."
Alfred lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and frowns. "You could say that again."
Arthur seems to know he's struggling because a cordial smile ghosts over his face as he gestures to the living room. "Please, Matthew, have a seat. I'll set the kettle for some tea."
"Thank you."
Alfred follows them, stoop-shouldered as he sits in a chair across from his brother. Soon after, Arthur wanders off into the kitchen, leaving the two of them perfectly alone to drown in the heavy silence.
"So," Alfred begins, uneasily. "How are you?"
Matthew ventures a little smile and shrugs his shoulders. "I'm well."
"What happened? I mean... after the sickness, and Mom..."
"To be honest, I'm not really sure. I woke up in a hospital a week later, and after that, I was taken to a temporary foster home. From then on, I jumped from home to home until recently. I have a place in Philadelphia. It isn't much, but it's better than having to rely on people who I can't always trust," Matthew explains. "But it's good to know that you're okay. You have a home and... And a new life."
Alfred feels his throat constrict. "Y-Yeah. I was lucky, that's for sure. It's good to know you're okay, too. I always thought about you," he mutters with a blush. "I wanted to find you. I didn't even know if you were alive, and I-I..."
To his surprise, it is Matthew who finally breaks the wall between them and pulls him into a hug. "Better late than never, right?" he jokes weakly, arms around Alfred's shoulders. "I've missed my brother."
"I've missed you, too... Oh my God, Mattie, I've missed you more than you could ever know. H-How did you even find me all the way out here? I was looking for you, and I—"
"You mean, Arthur didn't tell you?"
"Tell you what?"
"He sent me a letter—sent everyone named Matthew Jones a letter. There must be hundreds of people named Matthew Jones in the country. He wasn't sure if it was me, and I was going to send him a reply to say he had the right guy, but I thought it'd just be better to show up in person."
Arthur found him? Since when had he been sending all of those letters?
"Mattie, could you give me one second? I'll be right back. I've just got to check something."
"Of course, no problem."
Hastily, Alfred rises from his chair and makes a dash for the stairs. He doesn't stop running until he reaches Arthur's office and bursts through the door, finally realizing why the man has been more busy than usual as of late. On his desk, are dozens of envelopes stacked on top of one another, each addressed to various individuals named Matthew Jones. There's ink all over the place, scattered papers, broken pencils—it's an absolute pigsty that's completely uncharacteristic of his guardian.
He lets the sight sink in and feels it permeate his bones, and once he's been standing there long enough, he rushes back to the living room, and enters just as Arthur brings out the tea.
And Alfred knows now that the man truly does care. He has cared all this time, put himself through all of this trouble, and his efforts have not been in vain.
For a good moment, Alfred just stares at Arthur in disbelief, gaping at him. If the man notices, he doesn't say anything, and continues being a good host instead. He offers Matthew something to eat, but Matthew politely declines, and then they're all together in the same room again.
"Hey, Matt? How about we go out for a walk, and I'll show you around town?" Alfred suggests, recovering from his daze. He'll confront Arthur about all of this later. The day is still young.
"Sure."
They finish the tea, and Matthew thanks Arthur for his hospitality before they leave.
Once they're out the door, talking comes a little more naturally.
"I was at the bakery this morning to get something for lunch," Matthew mentions, adjusting the strap of his backpack, which he apparently carries with him everywhere, since he didn't want to leave it at the house.
"Oh, that explains why my neighbor thought she saw me earlier," Alfred laughs, piecing together this morning's string of events. "She was pretty upset because she thought I was giving her the cold shoulder."
"Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault," Alfred assures, leading the way to the river. "Things must not have been easy for you, huh? Constantly having to change homes all the time sounds rough."
Matthew gives a sheepish shake of the head, painfully modest. "It could have been worse. Arthur seems like a nice person. Are you happy living with him?"
"He's… He's great. Too great sometimes. I couldn't have picked a better, stodgy Englishman to look after me," Alfred jokes, grinning. "But yeah, he's a good guy. A little stubborn and overly protective sometimes, but good."
"I'm glad."
"Are you happy in Philadelphia now?"
"Happier than I ever was before," Matthew admits with a sigh. "I write for the local paper. Everything's quiet in my neighborhood, just the way I like it to be."
It relieves Alfred to know that his brother is managing. Still, a part of him feels a little wounded and hurt for a reason he can't quite explain. Now that they are both older and are beginning their adult lives, everything feels like it's happened too late—like Alfred has missed his chance to truly rekindle their relationship. Matthew has a life of his own now. He has hopes, dreams, and big plans. The innocence they once shared in their childhood is something they will never be able to get back.
It will never be the same.
They reach the river, and Alfred stands at the very edge of the bank, peeking down at the little fish worming their way in between the rocks. Skipping stones, running between the trees, talking to the drifters, that time Toris got bitten by a snake—all of it happened here, and Matthew wasn't around for any of it.
"None of it was your fault," Matthew suddenly whispers, frightening them both. "I can tell that you feel like you're somehow responsible, like somehow it was your obligation to find me, but it wasn't. It never was, and just because things didn't turn out so great or magical doesn't mean you need to blame yourself."
"I know that."
"No, you don't. Just because I haven't seen you in years doesn't mean I've forgotten what a compulsive liar you are."
Alfred cracks a smile and nods. "You always had a good memory."
"Well, yeah, how else would I be able to blackmail you for all of the stuff you did when we were little?" Matthew laughs quietly, looking out at the rushing, foaming water.
"So, what happens now?"
"Huh?"
"We're going to have to say goodbye again after today, aren't we?" Alfred asks, breath catching in his throat. "You have your whole life set up in Philadelphia, and I'll be going back to school soon. This is it for us."
Matthew makes a disapproving noise and glowers. "Don't say that. We can always visit each other."
"Getting to Philadelphia from here and vice-versa isn't exactly the easiest trip in the world," Alfred notes, hating how sullen he sounds.
"We'll make it work, but let's not talk about that right now. I came here to see you, and we should take advantage of the time we have left. Tell me what you've been up to. Tell me anything, really. I'm missing almost nine years' worth of information."
And so, Alfred tells him, from the first day he went home to Arthur to his continuous adventures with the Beilschmidt brothers, Ivan, Ms. Hedervary, and Francis. He tells him about the raucous walks to school and back with Toris, the long conversations about politics and life with Gilbert, the days spent sitting in the yard or by the river, the lung spasms, running away to Chicago and then New York.
He talks and talks until he doesn't have anything left to say, and Matthew listens intently to it all, nodding, humming, frowning, and occasionally laughing at the collection of tales. When he's finally done, the sun is almost down, and he turns to Matthew, expecting him to take the weight of the conversation and chip in his own anecdotes, only he doesn't.
"Come on, I spent like two hours telling you all of the stuff from my life. Now you have to tell me what happened to you," Alfred urges him, sitting pretzel-styled in the grass.
"My life hasn't been that interesting," Matthew replies truthfully. "I stayed in a few lousy foster homes, and then eventually turned eighteen and got a job so I could live on my own. I wasn't close with any of the families I was put with, but there was nothing wrong with them. They were perfectly ordinary."
"If they were 'perfectly ordinary,' then how come you had to keep changing homes?"
"I had a… dark period. I didn't really want to talk to anyone, and I guess I was too much to handle sometimes. I wasn't a bad or disobedient kid by any means, but I didn't open up to others, and so, a lot of the families I stayed with felt like I was ignoring them or didn't appreciate what they were doing for me, which wasn't true, of course."
"That must've been awful. I'm sorry."
Matthew shakes his head and smiles the gentle smile Alfred has missed. "Don't be. Like I said earlier, it's not your fault… It's getting late."
"You have a long trip back, huh?"
"Yeah, and I have to get back to work."
"Can't you at least spend the night? Arthur wouldn't mind."
"I wouldn't want to impose…"
"Impose?" Alfred repeats in disbelief. "You wouldn't be imposing! You're my brother. Come on, you can leave first thing in the morning. Please?"
Matthew hesitates and shuffles from foot-to-foot in thought, but just when Alfred thinks he's going to decline the offer, he says, "All right. I'll stay for tonight."
"Let me know if I can get you anything else."
"I'm fine, Mr. Kirkland, really."
"Oh, you needn't be so formal. Don't be reluctant to call me if something is amiss."
"Yeah, Mattie, he doesn't bite. I promise," Alfred teases his brother from the doorway of the guestroom. "I'm right down the hall, too, so if you get lonely, you know where to find me."
Not accustomed to being the center of attention, Matthew flushes with a hint of embarrassment. He sits down on the bed he'll be sleeping in for the night and says, "Thank you both, again. I'll be all right."
And with that, Alfred and Arthur leave the room, giving Matthew some privacy to get settled in. Arthur turns to make his way into his own bedroom, but Alfred stops him midway in the hallway, blue eyes twinkling.
"Thank you," Alfred murmurs, biting the inside of his cheek. "Y-You gave me a chance at some closure, and for that, I'll always be grateful."
Arthur's brow twitches in surprise, but he recovers within a second and puts a firm hand on Alfred's shoulder. "You're welcome."
"Well, then, goodnight and sleep tight."
"Goodnight, my boy."
"I'm not really a boy anymore, you know," Alfred reminds him.
"Yes, you are. You'll always be a boy to me. Sleep well."
It isn't fair that they should have to part ways like this right after being reunited, and yet, neither of them can do anything about it.
"I'll write to you," Matthew assures as they share a final hug. "You won't have to wait nine years to see me again."
Alfred squeezes him with all of his might, closes his eyes, and begs his brain to remember every single detail of this moment—the way Matthew's arms feel around his waist, the hot sun on their backs, their hoarse, exhausted voices because they spent the whole night talking to each other in the guestroom instead of sleeping. "I'd better not. Promise you won't forget about me?"
"I won't forget about you, dummy."
"All right. Send me a letter as soon as you get home. I want to know how the trip went."
"Okay."
"And you're coming over for Thanksgiving this year, right?"
"Right."
"Okay," Alfred sighs, finally letting his arms fall back to his sides. "Be careful, then. I'll see you soon."
"See you soon."
It is not the last time he will have to let Matthew go.
September 3, 1939
The world stops. Alfred feels it as he walks down the stairs and into the living room, where the radio is blaring, and a silent Arthur is sitting on the couch, head in his hands.
"England and France declare war on Germany after the invasion of Poland," a news anchor announces, and it is as though the whole globe is listening, huddled together in equal horror.
Alfred stares at Arthur as the man lifts his head, and he can see flashes of the Great War already flickering in his green eyes—the trenches, the gunfire, the constant fear of an attack, the squelch of boots stomping against the mud, screaming mothers, politicians delivering their polished speeches, all of it.
"Arthur," Alfred calls to him, voice faltering. "What's happening?"
Arthur shakes his head and stands, one hand still cupped against the side of his face in worry. "Will there ever be peace?"
They both understand the gravity of the event. This will not be a quick or bloodless fight—they'd be naïve to believe so. It is the battle against fascism—a war for the preservation of both democracy and human dignity, and yet, no war is ever dignified.
"It's all right. We're an ocean away," Alfred assures, regaining some of the strength in his voice.
"Yes, but for how long?"
How long, indeed? Everything is left up to chance now. There is no certainty in anything, and it's that lack of certainty that leaves a dark cloud of helplessness hanging over their heads. It is a helplessness they will have to grow accustomed to in time.
Alfred sighs, suddenly losing all of his morning appetite. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it for now. We just have to hope for the best."
Which is easier said than done. It's hard to divert one's attention to anything else, especially as the war becomes a topic of conversation at every dinner table, every store counter, and every street corner.
And to make matters worse, the unthinkable happens the following weekend. The smell of smoke is what sends Alfred and Arthur rushing across town, and when they find its source, they are greeted with the sight of Beilschmidt Sweets consumed in an inferno of unrelenting flames.
Gilbert is outside, screaming profanities as he tries to salvage whatever he can from the ongoing fire, ignoring Ludwig's insistences that he step away from the burning building. A crowd gathers and watches in bewilderment, eyes glowing with the reflections of the orange sparks.
Arthur, meanwhile, snaps out of his momentary stupor and snatches Gilbert's wrist, yanking him back. "Leave it, Gilbert! It doesn't matter!"
"Doesn't matter? That's my store! My entire life!" Gilbert shrieks in response, trying to break free.
"Your safety is more important. Leave it."
Gilbert slams his eyes shut and lets out a pained howl, completely beyond reason as Arthur tosses an arm around his middle and leads him away from the wreckage. His face is covered in soot and grime, and he drops his head against Arthur's shoulder, wailing and groaning as the fire department finally arrives and tries to keep the flames from fanning out.
It is the first of many hate crimes against Germans that Alfred will witness or hear of.
There is, however, a glimmer of salvation. As Arthur makes sure Gilbert doesn't do any harm against himself or others, Ms. Hedervary appears out of the black haze of ashes and broken glass and takes Gilbert by the hand. She tugs him over to her, kisses his cheek, and wraps both arms around his neck, a cold tear splashing onto his jawline.
"Shhh," she coos, brushing his hair back. "It's okay. You're okay."