A/N: Sorry for the delay. ;___; I was on vacation with my family.
I'm falling apart, tearing at these seams that are supposed to keep me together.
"Mattie, what's with the long face, huh? You haven't even touched your food."
It's only been two weeks. I'm surprised that I'm not dead yet.
The curly blond fidgeted in his seat, glancing up at the older man from his plate. Alfred had cooked dinner for dinner tonight. For the first time in days.
There was something on his mind. Definitely. Alfred could see it in the child's eyes. The blue eyed man did his best to smile. It had been a few hours since Matthew had gone oddly silent. It bugged the crap out of Alfred.
"If somethin's wrong, jus' say so Mattie." He smiled, getting up to put his dish in the sink. He had been eating a bit more. But it was only in front of Matthew of course.
"I'm fine, really. Just…tired."
Matthew was not a very believable liar. But being the oblivious person Alfred was, he hadn't noticed the depressing atmosphere—even though he was the cause of it.
With a soft smile he patted his brother's blond tussle of hair. "What's the matter, Matt? You know you can talk to me. Always."
The young boy hesitated.
"What's wrong is you, Alfred."
The blond froze and stared down at his younger brother.
"D-Don't be silly, kiddo! M'fine!" He chuckled, feigning a smile.
It was inevitable. The happy act always used to work for him. He couldn't even pretend to be normal right now. It wasn't like it as any use to begin with, though. Matthew understood everything his brother was going through—to a certain extent, of course.
"…Alfred. Big brother. I can't handle this anymore," the boy finally choked out, staring at his hands that he had balled into fists. "You're breaking apart and I can't fix you. Nobody can. I…I can't get you out of this one, Al. I just….I just can't."
I thought I was doing fine. At least, that's what I wished. I've been lying to myself this whole time. I'm still a wreck.
"Mattie…Matthew, I'm sorry."
A lost cause.
"You're doing the best you can…so please, don't feel so bad. M'fine. I-I promise. You're helping me out more than you know." Alfred hoped that would calm the now hyperventilating amethyst eyed child.
It didn't.
With a soft sigh the taller blond walked to the kitchen table, crouching down to move Matthew's hair out of his wet eyes.
"A hero wipes the tears away, yes? I love you, Mattie. Stop crying." Alfred crooned as he used his thumbs to wipe his brother's tears away.
He felt two scrawny arms wrap around his neck.
"I l-love you too, big brother. So p-please, don't leave me…" Matthew pleaded, referring to the dangerous path of destruction Alfred was walking down. "Arthur will come back. H-He wouldn't leave us this way…"
The American smiled.
If only it was that easy.
"Well, there's something I've been wanting to do."
Anything to make you happy, Matt.
The smaller boy nodded, wiping his face clean with his shirt sleeve. "W-What is it?"
Alfred chuckled, helping Matthew to the glass sliding door that led outside to the backyard. "A friend once told me, if you leave your door or window open, the thing you've lost will return."
Matthew smiled and laughed softly. "I see. Well, let's leave it open, then. Arthur will come back."
The blond pretended as if hearing his love's name didn't kill him inside. He forced a wide smile even though it felt as if he had been stabbed repeatedly in the heart. "Of course." And the thought of Arthur coming back so easily felt as if someone was twisting the knife in the wound.
Letting Matthew slide the door open, the two stood in the doorway and watched the sun go down. The time had flied by.
"C'mon, you. Let's go to bed."
"Stay in my room, okay?"
"…alright, alright." Alfred chuckled, tossing the smaller boy over his shoulder and walking up the stairs.
He was weak. But Matthew was something he didn't mind carrying.
His broken heart, on the other hand, was a different story.
----
It was late.
Very late.
He had been sleeping just fine until Matthew had shifted in his arms, waking Alfred from his dreamless sleep. As many times as he tried to turn and get comfortable again, the blond had to sit up. He checked the clock that was hanging on the wall.
4:27.
How wonderful.
This behavior was somewhat normal for him now; waking p extremely early, unable to go back to sleep.
Alfred wriggled out of the smaller child's grasp ad sat at the edge of the small bed for awhile, simply staring. His eyes trailed over his brother's room and ended up fixated on the mirror. There were bags under his eyes. The blue color had faded long ago to a dull gray. He was thinner than before. He looked weak. He felt weak.
There was a flash of white behind him in the mirror near the doorway. Puzzled, the American stood, waited for a light headed feeling to pass and left the room, heading downstairs.
Writing it off as his imagination, Alfred dragged himself into the kitchen. The sun was barely starting to rise. Making a cup of coffee he glanced at the door.
Still open.
It had been only a few minutes when the coffee had disappeared from his cup. He didn't know what to do with himself. There were still three hours before Matthew would even wake up. From the pain tearing through his chest he guessed that making another cup of coffee was out of the question.
Alfred yawned, his eyes roaming around the kitchen. The sliding door was closed.
Hm? When did I close that?
The blond shrugged it off, assuming he had closed the door earlier. With an exhausted sigh he held his face in his hands, and closed his eyes.
He was going insane.
Something soft brushed against his shoulder, yet he never moved, praying for the pain in his chest to go numb.
Then there was a hesitant pat on the American's shoulder.
"Mattie, please go back to sleep."
It was silent, and just before the other was going to speak, Alfred turned.
But the eyes that met his were green.