A/N: Has it been a month already? o_o I'm so sorry. Graduation in two weeks and college preparations is taking up my time. Anyway, I've got this story figured out :)) I just need time (and focus) so that I could write everything.

I'm no good with romance... haven't loved someone romantically (and it would be quite a while before I do) so pardon me for this seemingly unrealistic happenings (everything I know, I learned from manga and novels). xD

I don't know if you're still reading this part but to sort of make my writing process worthwhile, I wouldn't be uploading the next chapter unless this one gets at least three (3) reviews (oh c'mon, i know at least five people are still reading this o_o). It's not so bad, is it? I mean, anonymous reviews are even welcomed.

And I would just like to say thank you for all of your feed backs. You might not know how much it means to me to have people read my story (and some even taking their time to review). I appreciate each and every sentence you write. Sometimes, when I have another episode of Im-so-worthless-I-should-go-die-in-a-hole, I look at this and say: nah, not until I finish this. So thank you, thank you, thank you.

So yeah... let's get on with this.

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.

o0o0o

Gilbert was evenly concentrating on the pile of papers in front of him. They were neatly organized and contrary to popular belief, the albino man liked to keep his things in line. He has been staying in one of his brother's unused apartments, making an effort to move out storage boxes to and fro the place to make it tolerable for living (which was no easy task either though the younger Beilschmidt had been organized with his things as well to begin with). His clothes were neatly stacked inside the closet and several bottles of sunblock also lined the cabinet.

He was presently looking through the profiles of people Matthew had interacted with during his time in his old high school. Honestly, there weren't much people on the list. Just a few he talks to on a regular basis and a few people who remember him.

"None of them seems the type," he murmured to himself. But then again, he'd dealt with sweet ladies who had stabbed their kids or husbands to death. He set them down and pushed against the table to move further before stretching his limbs. There were other stacks of files he has to return to but Matthew's case was most important for now.

The man has proven himself dangerous. The murder three nights ago was definitely his doing.

The victim was a twenty four year old male who, according to the Finn and the Swede, was talking to Matthew minutes before the murder. The saddest part was that he'd been nice to Matthew. He had offered to accompany the latter to wait outside because the stuffy room was making him worse. The Canadian had only pushed him away because he was too drunk and didn't want to get up on his feet. At first, Ivan had assumed that Matthew was just too nice that's why he thought that way and that the man was indeed trying to pick him up only that Matthew's claim of the man's sincerity was later proven when it was found out that he came with his fiancé whom he was to marry in two months had he not died.

"We were looking forward to so much." The woman sobbed through and through grieving for what could have been her family.

After all these years of working, Gilbert was still and probably always will be touchy with the subject of death.

He spent the rest of the time comforting her. Though there was one thing she said that unnerved him. It didn't fit what Matthew's friends had said. And once again, he felt that he had not moved a single step forward with Matthew's situation.

"… but he never left my side the whole night except for when he went to the rest room…"

The silence of the apartment was wracking him further. He pinched the bridged of his nose and tried to make sense of the awful situation. He stood up and decided to tune up the stereo.

The soft classical piano music rang throughout the room, playing Beethoven's famous Ode to Joy. The albino hummed together with the tune as he grabbed a pair of new shirt.

He let the cold water relax his muscles as he tried to clear his mind even for just a few minutes.

He could vividly remember the first time Matthew told them of the admirer. He was a junior in high school and roughly three years after moving out of his and Francis's shared apartment. He had been as white as a sheet as he held out an envelope to the detective duo.

o0o0o

"Da. I'm going to take today and tomorrow off. No one is to contact me, understood? I've spoken to Ludwig, da. Anything that needs taking care of, I'll deal with when I get back…"

Matthew faintly processed what the older man was saying while he was in one of his in-and-out-of-consciousness episode. Something cold was on his forehead and his throat felt dry and raw. He vaguely remembers the incidents that led him to this state. It didn't take long for the Canadian to fall into slumber once again.

o0o0o

Ivan was very surprised to find out that Matthew was the emotional type when sick and, not to mention, clingy. Well, it's not like he minded at all. In fact, it was a bit amusing, really. He was in Matthew's bed standing in for a pillow. Matthew had his arm around Ivan's mid-torso and Ivan, all the same, had wrapped his arm around the latter while using his other limb to hold a book.

"As it was, we always misunderstood ourselves, and rarely understood others," he read. "Experience was of no ethical value. It was merely the name men gave to their mistakes. [1]" Ivan was not much of a wide reader. His study was filled with books mostly about business transactions, laws, and occasionally those that had pretty covers he collected. But ever since Matthew came, he had adopted a new time-killer.

As Matthew worked for the local library, he often brought home sets of borrowed books and Ivan would sometimes borrow them from him. On days when they have nothing else to talk about, their conversation usually ends up being about the novels they've just gotten.

From serious philosophical books, scientific articles, and biographies, the pair had also read and discussed less serious reads like Sarah Dessen's works (no matter how much the older male had insisted on it's girlishness) or adult romance fictions like those of Laurenston's. They've enjoyed Poe's and Rilke's poems and sometimes quoted Shakespeare's work (to both men's surprise).

Day offs were spent cooking –or at least trying to- together and then seeing an old movie or two that the Canadian would rent. There were days when Gilbert would join and those days were lesser good days for Ivan.

More and more, he finds himself attracted to his housemate. A little crush? Maybe. There was no way Ivan will let himself indulge further. Thus, when he catches himself being too comfortable he would opt to excuse himself, using work as a reason, and confusing Matthew unintentionally.

But as days passed, his attempts not to get attached are also getting harder and harder to maintain. More and more, he finds it unbearable to keep from the younger blond.

Ivan gently pushed away the hair on Matthew's face. The latter had managed to reach Ivan's chest, now using it as a pillow, and resting peacefully. He could feel the steady heartbeat of the younger man against his own. He couldn't help but ran his fingers through the blond's hair, gently repeating the action over and over. Doing so, he continued to read, unawares of other's stirring.

It felt so good that Matthew let out a satisfied hum. Ivan put the book on the nightstand before turning to his side, deciding it would be more comfortable for the both of them and letting Matthew's head fall to his arm. The younger male's eyes opened, still in a haze, and his lips curved in a shy smile. He raised his hands and traced a line on the side of Ivan's face. "Weird," he murmured before moving closer to Ivan, nose almost touching. Stunned, the Russian was frozen in his place. In a blink of an eye, Matthew's lips were against his. It was light and soft but they definitely touched. It lasted for not more than a second before the sick boy moved his head away. He cuddled closer to him and fell into another sound sleep.

Matthew had also been more open since he'd been sick. To Ivan, it was worse than seeing the blond drunk. For one, he becomes more talkative. He'd talk about anything and everything under the sun. He'd rant about his cousin, friends, work, climate change, animal cruelty, pancakes, orca whales, pasta, tomatoes, how Lovino should just let Antonio have it, or Berwald's cakes, or about France's and Gilbert's secret stash of porn in their apartment that they thought he didn't know about, and so on and so forth.

"Aww man, he doesn't usually get sick, but when he does he's worse than a whiny girl high on crack." Gilbert said laughing once after finally calming the said boy and leaving him to rest. Ivan's musings weren't far from that. "Franny and I used to fight over who's gonna be his pillow for that night. We both wanted to stay by him just in case he blurts out something funny. Those were precious times."

"Da. But it's really good that he's able to express himself even if it's like this."

Gilbert sat beside Ivan on the back porch of the Russian's home. A bottle and two shot glasses were between them, untouched.

"Say, Gilbert, is Matthew touchy when sick?" Ivan asked trying to keep his voice even.

"Absolutely!" Gilbert answered. "He's only been sick once when he was staying with us, but I remember it lasted for three days and in those three days only one of us could report to work. Matthew would cling to and beg for us so much that we felt like we really couldn't leave the kid. He was what then? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Ah yes, I have noticed. But does he do anything else besides that when sick?"

Gilbert looked at Ivan as if trying to read behind the question. He wasn't a sought out detective for nothing. He looked at the Russian with a teasing smile.

"I'll tell you what Ivan—" he grabs the glass and opens the bottle then pours a little "–that kid likes you." Surprise wasn't what Ivan would deem his feelings were right then. Perhaps, for an uncertain amount of time, they had both been instinctively sending each other hidden messages. From their gesture, looks, and reactions, maybe words were the only missing confirmation.
"But, hey, it doesn't mean I like you for him. Don't get me wrong, I think you're an admirable person, especially for your age – you're very successful and all that pleasant stuff," Gilbert said, "But I just can't figure you out completely. Me and him and Franny go all the way back, we watch out for each other. I just don't know if you're right for him, you know? Heck, do you even like him back?"
Ivan, at that instant, was speechless. It wasn't because he didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to say it.

I do like Mattie. I like him more than I thought I could. But I might not be the best for him.

o0o0o

It wasn't a dream. When Matthew grasped what he just did, his usually pale complexion would turn into a pinkish hue.

Matthew Williams had kissed Ivan Braginski.

Matthew Williams had kissed Ivan Braginski on the lips.

In his inebriated-like state and with the fact that Ivan's presence wasn't really uncommon in his dreams, he had assumed that it was indeed a part of his fantasies.

It was the first time he had acted in his dream. He had wondered why it had seemed so real, why it felt so real: Ivan's lips against his. The said man didn't even turn away after what he did.

Matthew didn't notice the presence of another coming closer; at least, not until the newcomer mentioned his name, "Matthew." That voice, Mathew couldn't mistake for somebody else. Startled, he tried to hide under the covers. "Ah, I suppose you remember what you did, da?" Matthew tried to pull the blankets tighter around him but was stopped when the other had sat on the edge of his bed and laid hands on the sheet, deliberately stopping him from creating a cocoon off it. "You do remember, don't you?"

Meekly, Matthew nodded his head whilst shutting his eyes tight. He felt movement on the bed: weight being transferred, moving closer. Arms suddenly enclosed him – you couldn't run, he practically hears Ivan's voice saying – and when he opened his eyes, he came face to face with a pair of violet orbs.

"Why?"

The blond let out a small yelp and, if it were still possible, his cheeks went a few shades of red darker.

"Mattie, why?"

Matthew took a few deep breathes, shut his eyes again in refusal to meet Ivan's gaze when he finally tells him.

"I like you. I'm sorry."

Ivan smiles but he doesn't see it.

Instead, inside his mind he was wondering how Gilbert would take it if he moves in with him in his apartment without warning. And it was all because of his pathetic crush.

He feels the arm moving away. Here it comes, he tells himself. The rejection, he means.

Oh, but he was wrong. Ivan moved so that he could touch his cheek.

"What are you so afraid of?"

Matthew took a peek and was puzzled with Ivan's smiling demeanour.

In an instant, the Canadian was trapped under Ivan with the sheets strewn on the floor. And with no warnings, cold lips were on his. He gasped in surprised and Ivan seized that moment to invade his mouth. Tongues danced to Ivan's rhythm and Matthew couldn't stop the hums of pleasure coming from his mouth which fuelled Ivan's desires greater. He had wrapped his arms around the Russians neck and was running hands through the male's hair.

Matthew had never kissed anyone prior to that drunken haze, if it could even be really considered one. But this… this one was sensational. It doesn't even matter anymore if it was some form of hallucination and surely it couldn't be, because he was feeling it and he was in his right mind and this is an amazing feat and he still hasn't woke. They were awake. This is real.

Ivan was kissing him.

Ivan was kissing Matthew Williams.

Ivan lowered his head more to deepen the kiss. He nibbled on the younger's lower lip before attacking Matthew's mouth. His tongue was running all over and the latter not going down without a fight and attempting to do the same.

In the course of the action, Ivan had cupped Matthew's cheeks and his thumb was gently caressing the blond's face.

Ivan wasn't new to this. He'd had his fair share of women and men alike. But this – this was so different, he'd never felt such a burning yen before, never for something, never for someone.

He ached for Matthew.

I shouldn't be doing this.

Maybe he shouldn't, but he didn't care. That voice at the back of his mind would never go away, but he could ignore it for all he cares, because Matthew had said it. He likes him.

He likes him. And he's going to make Matthew fall in love with him, because "like" will not satiate him.

He wasn't sure if it was only caused by the heated moment. Frankly, it didn't matter. For a long time, Ivan hadn't had such a thought: I want him. I want him. I need him.

Maybe he wasn't thinking straight. Maybe they really weren't. Maybe what Gilbert had said got into him, or maybe he just really, really likes Matthew. But he refused to delve further. What was important right then was that Mathew was trapped under him, giving off such sweet reactions that he caused. And by the time Matthew regains his logic, it wouldn't make such a difference because Ivan wouldn't let him go anymore – wouldn't give him up for anyone or anything. He'd be safe beside him. Ivan wouldn't let him let go of his hand.

It was the human need for oxygen that stopped them. They could have gone on if they could.

Ivan took this moment to assess Matthew's teary-eyes, flushed face before leaning closer to his ears and whispering:

"I like you too."

o0o0o

Somewhere not far, Dominique sat tensed under a tree, wearing a hearing device and in his hand was a rectangular phone like object. His eyes burned with fury.

Matthew was his, his, his, his…. How dare he? HOW DARE HE?!

Beside him, Toris was bound in multiple coils of thick wire, face and body beaten black and blue.

[1] Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.