A/N: Hey guys! I am very very pleased with this story stat right now, but alas! I not-so-accidentally broke my laptop. (I kinda hit it hard when I learned that 7gb of music (aka ALL my music files) was accidentally deleted by my classmate whom i lent my usb... just imagine, four years of effort in compiling that, gone within one night - and no, sadly, I have no backup for that.)

The only thing I managed to keep is the unedited version and very incomplete file of this story. Though fixing my device might not take longer than three days or such (not really sure), there might be no updates within next week. So sorry! Bear with me please.

Lastly, I just want to inform you that this fic won't be long... probably ten thousand words at most. So yeah... just hang in there.

Edit (07/11/12)

I am fucking devastated. I feel like half of me just died. I cried so many hours. I. Lost. Everything.
The files I've had for more than ten years... GONE. POOF. DISAPPEARED FOREVER. I'm not getting into details of what happened except for the fact that I was too fucking nice to everyone and such a productive member of my group that we have been using meine device from the start. And I don't use back-up drives (more like... I have none) GAAHH! Anyway, because all my files are RIP (thank God I had this somewhere else T^T) I would have to rewrite A LOT... and it would take a while. And it's just so sad that this wasn't the only thing I was working on. I'll try my best to post at least once every week.

Sorry for posting this stupid rant here...

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters...

Matthew needed to get away. With the help of Detective Bonnefoy, he ends up living with Ivan Braginski who wants nothing to do with his mess, but later accepts the boy's presence. When "he" finds Matthew and threatens to take him away, what would Ivan do to keep his new found joy? AU. RusCan.

EDITED

Weeks later, Matthew found work. On Mondays and Tuesdays, he stays at the library from three to eight sitting at the front desk and managing the books being returned. On Thursdays, he sorts the piles into their right section and, more often than not, he finds himself helping the goers look for their books. It was a perfect job for him. He enjoys being surrounded by printed words and it didn't get in the way of his studies.

School was going pleasant as well. He met several people who he was in good terms with. There was the Italian twin in their last year of college whose family also owned the famous Vargas restaurant in town. Feliciano was the younger and friendlier between the two. He never forgets to invite Matthew out even though the latter refuses more often than not. Lovino, on the other hand, though rude and often uses offending language, helps him in getting around the town. Matthew might be one of the few people who Lovino treats normally. Then there's Antonio who doesn't hide the fact that he likes (really, really likes) the older twin. He was the most cheerful person in their odd little group and his demeanour is a little like Alfred's. Although brilliant in his studies, the curly brown haired man can never seem to say the right thing in certain (awkward or tension-filled) situations.

Occasionally, Matthew would eat out with the Nordic duo, Berwald and Tino. Both worked for the little sweets shop just across the street from the library. Berwald is a blonde tall guy with glasses whose eyes always look like they're shooting daggers. In reality, he is a gentle and sweet bear with amazing baking abilities. Tino was about five or six inches shorter than Berwald. He has lighter shade of purple doe eyes and golden locks of hair. Matthew and Tino shared a passion for reading making them get along well. On their days off, they would spend an hour or two sitting in the park and sharing books. Berwald would also be there to make sure both get the best pastries for a nice picnic… and to make sure they actually eat and not just spend the whole day blabbering about their favourite authors and such.

Contrary to the warmth his newfound friends are giving, Ivan's cold treatment was worse.

He need not the man to tell him verbally that he was unwelcomed; he was smart enough to feel the hostility the Russian was giving off whenever they would pass each other accidentally in the spacious house.

From time to time, Francis would call and update him on things back in America. Alfred had called once. His voice was still a little hoarse but the light and life in it was back.

"Mattie! I miss you! Nobody's telling me where you are. Why can't I see you? I was really frightened when you weren't there when I opened my eyes…" He talked and talked and talked until Mrs. Jones told him that he had to rest.

Matthew had always been a good listener. People came to him when they needed someone to talk to and well, Matthew liked how he seemed…needed by this people when he listens. Once when he was much, much younger, before his life with the Jones, he sat with a man in the park two blocks away from where he lived. The man was young, probably in his early twenties. He was wearing a dishevelled suit, his eyes puffy, and dried tear tracks running down his cheeks. His mood matched their cold airy surroundings. Later, he would tell the boy how his fiancée who he's been with for three years cheated on him- with his boss, how he unfairly lost his job and he needed it because with his mother was sick and no one else was going to provide for her. It was a sad, sad story. Matthew cried with him, when he left, he had hugged Matthew and uttered thanks.

"But I don't think you should give up, Mister. Because in the end, you know, I think, things will work out. As long as we do what we can. Well, that's what my Momma used to tell me… back when… uhm… she actually talked to me."

Though there were days that he wants to tell Alfred to stop talking, he never did. Instead, he let half his mind to wander off. But right then, at that moment of relief, he never wanted for that voice to be silent.

"I'm sorry Mattie if Alfred bothered you. That boy just doesn't get the concept of time zones." Mrs. Jones laughed at the end of the other line. "Are you fine there? Are you getting enough rest?"

"Yes, Auntie," Matthew said as he tried to stop the tears from falling, "tell Alfred that I miss him too, that I'm sorry I wasn't there when he woke up, that I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…." He continued to murmur. Mrs. Jones cooed and, in a fake strict, tone told him, "Now, young man, this isn't your fault. Remember that. None of this was ever your fault."

And those tears fell down from his eyes, trailing down his cheeks and chin.

oOooOooOooOo

It was three nights later that he heard a crashing sound downstairs. Matthew had just gotten out of the shower. Of course, being a worry wart, the first thing he thought of was that robbers broke inside. If he though about it, there was a large Russian man inside the house – the very same man who owned place, he need not to worry.

In the end, what he found there instead was worse. Ivan Braginsky was passed out drunk on the floor, several bottles of vodka and other various liquors lay (he was quite sure they used to decorate the cabinet – the similar cabinet which was now void of its contents). Some of them were empty, some half-filled, and others seemed to have just hit the floor directly. The first thing that Matthew's mind processed was that Ivan might be suffering from alcohol poisoning, next, he might be choking on his own vomit and, lastly, shards of broken glass was everywhere.

Hurriedly, the blonde went to the bigger man's side unawares of the sharp glass piece just in front of him. It cut through his socks leaving him to yelp in pain. Blood started to soak the white fabric. At first, he stood frozen and clueless of what to do. It hurts like hell. Soon enough, he knelt and gently touched the shard. It hurts. It hurts. He wanted to cry. Taking it between his thumb and index finger, Matthew made a quick pull. For a few moments, he just breathes in and out, trying to take his mind of the pain. After removing it, he limped towards the Russian.

Luckily for the both of them, there was no serious complications with Ivan, only that he was dead drunk.

With Ivan's build being undeniably larger than Matthew, it had been a Herculean task just trying to lift him up and with his own injury, it became twice as hard. He dragged the inebriated Russian to his room not caring that Ivan specifically told him not to go there. As he walked, trail of fresh blood followed his path.

oOooOooOooOo

It wasn't Ivan's first time to lash out like how he did the night before. What joke would it be if it were? In truth, he had had to change all the bottles in the cabinet at least five times now. He could vividly remember the first time he threw and broke a glass. He was only renting an old and battered apartment then. The thought that he was alone and suddenly got him after a hard long day's work filled with iniquity from his co-workers and weird and silent but accusing stares from strangers. Here, he was different—he was so, so alone. His whole body wracked with sobs; he screamed awful, tormenting howls throughout the night. The following morning, Ivan Braginski buried all juvenility in him and started to climb his way into the top.

In the course of the years, he had managed to help his family in Russia and himself. No longer were they dirt poor, no longer did people taunt.

He was used to waking up on the cold floor surrounded with thrash and, not so often, covered in his sweat and puke. He was used to cleaning up after himself and enduring the unnerving silence as he did so. The Russian male never once supposed that he would wakeup comfortably in his own bed, his dirty clothes taken care of and beside him a glass of water and pills for headache.

Aroma of pancakes met his senses and as if on cue, his stomach growled. He had to do a double take before the facts finally registered in his brain. That boy, Matthew Williams, just took care of his sorry ass last night. He groaned in shame as he stepped into the shower. Matthew had been in his room; his orders were directly disobeyed but he'd let it slip now.

Downstairs, there was no sight of the mess he did. Bottles that were still in good condition lined the cabinet- empty or not. Matthew was setting up the table for two. It was obvious from his heavy eyes that he had stayed up all night cleaning up Ivan's mess. Much to Ivan's surprise, he actually felt a little guilty about it.

It was the first time they sat on the table together after many months of staying under the same house, but breakfast was taken in silence. The only noise was made by the occasional clank made by the silverwares against the plate.

"I'm heading out. Just leave those on the sink and I'll fix 'em later," Matthew said. Ivan was stunned at the softness of the smaller man's voice. It was sadly the first time he ever heard the blonde speak to him. It made him think of how harsh he's been the past few weeks. It seems like the guilt was piling up in just one day with just one act of kindness from the boy.

Just as Matthew was about to leave the room, Ivan noticed the limp in his walk yet paid no serious attention to it.

It wasn't until a little while later when found Matthew's wallet on the counter.

'He'd be walking to and fro then…'

oOooOooOooOo

It was half past seven and Matthew was still not there. Well, Ivan was very much aware that he sometimes gets back late. But it had been the first time he noticed the male's presence or his absence for that matter. Getting out of his cramped library-turned-study room, he decided to do something else now that he was advised (more like ordered) by his boss to take a day or two vacation. His distress must have been seething greatly he couldn't contain it to himself.

The fact was that Ivan Braginski hated losing. And he just did. He didn't get the deal he worked hard for, all those sleepless nights gone to waste. He must admit that the thrill of someone getting in level with him was exciting; the losing part wasn't. It was undeniably and utterly frustrating.

It was so frustrating he did what he did last night.

There was no work left for him at that moment. Beilschmidt made sure of it. So, with nothing else in his mind, he had the chance to get a better look at his place which seemed to be different all of the sudden. Everything was in place yet at the same time gave a different feel. Then Ivan saw it, or rather, saw none of it. The layers of dust that used to cover the few decors and paintings were gone. And visiting various more places of his house, he learned that everything was squeaky clean.

It wasn't that Ivan didn't know how to clean. Living alone for long just gave him the idea that it wouldn't matter anyway. But right then, he thought: having the little lad around wasn't so bad after all.

In the kitchen, he took care of the remaining dishes, intending to at least do something for Matthew.

The time passed by and by the time it struck eight quarter, Ivan started to wonder on Matthew's whereabouts.

To keep his minds off of things, he decided to a hot relaxing shower. That was until he noticed the pile of tissue soaked in blood on his trash bin and the little spots of red on the tiled floor.

oOooOooOooOo

oOooOooOooOo

oOooOooOooOo

REVIEWS WILL BE REALLY, REALLY APPRECIATED. In fact, the only reason I'm going to continue this is because of the five I have. It's good to know that people are actually reading this. But it's also different to know what you guys think of this story. And since this is the only thing I managed to save... it would help to know, you know, that it'd be worth completing this.

Thanks. And sorry for sounding so annoying... (just going through tough times)