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Chapter Twenty-Three: Winter's Song

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Once Matthew felt Aflred's lips on his own, he was too confused and swept up in the moment, and so he pressed back firmly. After a few moments, the French-Canadian realized what was happening when Alfred tried to slip some tongue into the kiss. He pushed himself back from Alfred and said, "I… uhmm… I'll walk home… bye!"

He dashed to the coat closet and grabbed the red sweater he liked to wear and his gloves, scarf and hat. He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and found Kiku first. He said a quick goodbye to him, seeing him with Ludwig, and then made his way to the door. He saw Feli and dashed over to him, completely not seeing Lovino as he rushed out his goodbye and made his way out of Kiku's house. He had to get home, and it was only a few blocks from Kiku's house to the one he shared with Alfred and Arthur…

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The morning after. Nothing sexual like that, but it certainly felt like something had happened that was naughty. Especially for a certain dazed French-Canadian. Had even slept last night? Violet eyes blinked as the sun shone through his window. Fresh snow was on the ground, and he was cuddled up to his stuffed bear like the apocalypse had happened and they were the only two people alive. Oh, why did Alfred have to go and complicate things?

It's not his fault, Matthew thought, biting his lip. He had been the one to kiss Alfred in the snow when they had met, and that had made an epic domino effect on everybody's loves so far. Matthew blinked and put his glasses on. The world became clear for a moment, and then everything became fuzzy again. Matthew knew he was not drunk, because he had had no alcohol last night… unless Kiku or Feliciano had managed to spike his drink when he wasn't looking. And they wouldn't have. They were far too caught up with their own lives to have done anything to change Matthew's.

He blinked and realized he was crying, and that's why his glasses weren't improving his sight anymore. He took off his glasses as they clouded over with the hotness from his tears and threw them at his feet. He then curled up into a ball and put Kumajirou up to his face to sob into his fake, white fur. He cried like that for a good hour before… was that the smell of pancakes he smelled?

"… and no burning smell, either. Arty's getting good," he said, wiping his tears from his face with the back of his hand. He got up and pushed the blankets off his body, revealing the fact that really, the only thing he had done to get ready for bed was unbutton his shirt and take off his pants.

He grabbed a pair of sweatpants, pulled them on, and opened the door, taking Kumajirou with him like he was really only eight years old instead of a rather child-like adult. Once in the kitchen, though, Kumajirou slipped from his arms and he stepped back. No wonder the pancakes weren't burning: Alfred was making them!

"Morning," Alfred said, seeing him in the doorway, about to run, "Listen, I know you want nothing to do with me… but I have to talk to you…"

Matthew was frozen. He didn't know what to do. So he ignored the American. He picked up his white bear and went past Alfred to the coffee machine to pour himself a cup of coffee. Alfred watched him all the while, flipping the pancake in the pan with a lost puppy expression on his face. "Matthew…"

"I don't want to hear it…" Matthew replied, taking a sip of the coffee.

Alfred was struck dumb. He knew that Matthew had the balls to be cold toward anyone he wished, but to him? Arthur he could understand, but him?! "I thought…"

"You thought nothing."

"I thought it through. I shouldn't have surprised you like that last night," Alfred pushed on. Matthew was still here, and he needed to know that was going on in Alfred's head. In Alfred's heart. "It was wrong and I should have asked, or told you first how much… how much I'm in love with you."

It was Matthew's turn to be struck dumb. He turned to the American as slow as molasses, and nearly dropped the mug of coffee, had Alfred not seen how shocked the French-Canadian was and had moved closer to the other to catch the mug of hot liquid before it could spill.

"Is… this true?" Matthew asked, his voice cracking.

"Yes. I've been in love with you since you kissed me out in the snow…" Alfred replied, a sheepish smile forming on his lips.

Matthew almost wished that Alfred wasn't smart enough to finish making the pancake before telling him this. Then it would burn and Alfred would get away from him to put it out. Arthur would have, at least.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Matthew asked, angry again. He wrenched the cup of coffee away from his American house-mate and turned away from him, cuddling Kumajirou. It was so cute how the French-Canadian was regressing in age suddenly. But the American couldn't smile at Matthew's pose.

"I… you were with Lovino. And I didn't want to screw up our friendship. You're feelings were more important to me than mine… and then you and Lovino broke up and I… couldn't handle being just your house-mate anymore…" Alfred explained, tripping over words and feeling like an idiot.

Matthew slammed the now-empty mug on the counter and balled his hands into fists, squeezing at Kumajirou's paw. At least the bear was stuffed, or he would have cried out in pain. "Idiot! Comment pus-tu?" he yelled, turning toward Alfred, violet eyes blazing.

"What? Anglais, s'il te plait!" Alfred shot back.

"Merde alors, Alfred…" Matthew said, trying to calm himself down. "I… if you would have said something before I started dating Lovino… I would have… I was stupid enough to go out with Lovino, so I would have been stupid enough to date you…" he said, eyes still narrowed.

Aflred looked stung. He rubbed his upper arm with the opposite hand and looked off to the side nervously, "I only found out I truly loved you when Lovino asked you out. And then Ludwig turned Arthur down and it was way to late to tear you two apart…"

Matthew sighed and pulled Kumajirou into his arms again, thinking. Finally, he said, "When I kissed you, it was frost-bite that made me do it. But then… then you started doing all you could to make me comfortable and to help me find myself. I still have gaps in my memories, but thanks to you, I remember my English, and I have friends and a home… And… I love you…"

Alfred looked at him. It was his turn to be shocked. He backed into the stove, accidently putting his hand on the hot pan that was still sizzling there. "SHIT!" he yelled, retracting his hand quickly.

Matthew yelled something in French and rushed to him, taking his hand and checking it. It wasn't too bad, but it was reddening. Matthew pulled Alfred along to the sink and put cold water on the burn, turning off the stove as he patted the hand dry. "Try not to touch anything with that hand for a while, you idiot."

Alfred didn't care, "You… love me?"

Matthew glanced up at him through his pretty (girly) eyelashes and blushed lightly, "I… yes. You have Kiku and Feliciano to thank for that revelation…"

But Alfred was already leaning down, glancing at Matthew's lips before going in fully to touch them with his own. Matthew took a second as he saw Alfred's eyes flick to his lips and glanced at Alfred's before… lips touched, and this time, Matthew didn't feel like running…

Alfred's non-burnt finger's reached up and caressed the French-Canadian's back lightly as he pressed in to the kiss a little harder at ten, maybe twenty-second intervals, until Matthew's breath caught in his throat when he felt the American's tongue flick over his lips. Matthew went to open his mouth…

… When the doorbell rang, and Matthew and Alfred jumped apart, both blushing manically. Matthew started buttoning his buttons, and Alfred went back to his pancakes.

Matthew opened the door and saw a shivering mass in front of him. His little Feliciano was wearing a very light coat and jeans, but his eyes were red from crying, and as soon as the door opened, he squeaked lightly and fell into Matthew's arms, shaking and crying anew. Matthew looked around at the white, powdery snow, put his arms around his Italian friend, and pulled him indoors. He then closed the door and lead Feli to the couch, where they both plopped down, Feliciano sobbing lightly into Mattie's shirt…

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Translations:

Idiot! Comment pus-tu? – "Idiot! How could you?"

Anglais, s'il te plait! – "English, please!"

Merde alors – French equivalent to: "Holy shit."

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Mmmm... some drama with your romance, thanks very much. Feliciano would be what they call a c*ck-blocker these days... except for the fact that he's a crying, shivering mass of Italian angst... I apologize... these stories are never complete without the main character's best friend falling apart, is it?

At least you got you Alfred x Matthew, all right? And you know that there is DEFINITELY more to come from this story, eh?

I still forget. So review so I remember to write this. I want to know what happens next, you know...

Adieu~