I love Mattie, really I do, but I just can't seem to give him a happy love life.

I don't own Hetalia.

I hope you enjoy!

Matthew had another black eye. He thinks he can cover it with foundation, but Alfred isn't stupid. If he couldn't tell if something was wrong with his twin, he should have those nine months of womb-sharing revoked. But Matthew never says anything and he's always smiling with Alfred, so he'll stay silent until his brother is ready to speak up.

Matthew doesn't speak up much anymore. He and Arthur used to discuss literature, their book of the week, at visits, but now Matthew doesn't have much to contribute. He hasn't finished a book in nearly two months. Matthew wasn't stupid, and Arthur certainly wasn't, but for him to quit reading was… Well… it was his choice in the end.

Matthew wasn't eating much. To Francis, that was a sin; a blasphemy; an insult! H made the most delicious food in the entire whole-wide world. Matthew himself had said that (even if he'd been just four). But for Matthew to pass up a plate of fluffy, creamy pastries or decline an array of maple-flavoured treats was just… Wrong.

Something was wrong with his baby and he'd be damned if he let it continue. After his latest visit, Francis made a mental note to have a nice chat with Alfred.

~0~

"He's had some kind of injury every single time we've met up for coffee for the past two months," Alfred confirmed.

"He's not read a single book since Rowling's release. It's not like him, not like him at all."

Francis nodded grimly. "I've noticed changes in mon Ange as well. There is something happening to him and I can't help but feel –"

"It's Ismael," Alfred cut in hotly. "Everything was fine until Mattie started going out with him!"

Arthur set a hand on his son's shoulder. "You can't possibly be suggesting that, could you? Matthew wouldn't—"

"He most definitely would. We all know Mattie's too shy for his own good. That right there is ample breeding ground for someone to sma—"

"Don't finish that Alfred!" Francis snapped. The two other blonds jumped. "I refuse to think someone would do that to my sweet, sweet Ange."

Alfred grumbled. "Well, he's my twin and I'm not going to sit here one more minute not doing a thing. I'm going to meet this Ismael and get to the bottom of things."

Francis and Arthur nodded.

"Let us think things through first, lad. Then when we have a plan of attack, we'll be ready to confront Ismael without him becoming suspicious.

~0~

Alfred was sitting in the back of a popular café with Ismael. He'd called ahead to meet and the Cuban immigrant had agreed, not having anything better to do with his time.

"It's nice to get away from the nagging," Alfred commented laughingly. "Yong-Soo won't shut up sometimes."

"Same with Matthew. No offense, Al, but your brother just needs to learn when to shut it," Ismael grumbled into his iced coffee.

Alfred chuckled. "Nah, Mattie always was a chatterbox. Kind of annoying."

"Never listens either."

"Tell me about it. It's like you gotta smack the sense into him."

"One good one will get him to listen for an entire day. You've gotta re-wire him the next morning, if you know what I mean."

Alfred chuckled again. "Yeah, I do."

Ismael sat back in his seat. "Is this all you wanted? To waste time talking about annoyances? 'Cuz I've got to check on Matthew – make sure he's done the chores. He's been slacking lately."

The two clapped arms and parted ways. Alfred hurried to the men's room to empty his stomach.

~0~

Francis's part of the plan involved cake. Particularly, cake mix. If he could somehow get some on Matthew's face, he'd have the perfect ruse to wipe that and the make-up off in hopes to expose any bruising.

Matthew was sat at a stool near the bar counter as he watched his Papa measure out ingredients.

"So how has mon petit been? I hear he has been captured by a dark-skinned islander."

Matthew nodded quietly. "Ismael," he said softly.

"Ah! I heard Alfred met him the other day as well. He seems to like him. Does this mean we'll be seeing this Ismael around soon?"

Matthew shrugged.

The kitchen was quiet for a moment until a loud pop! sounded and flour and sugar and salt covered the majority of every surface – including Francis and Matthew.

"Papa!" Matthew had shouted as he heard the popping sound.

Francis picked out a small firecracker and huffed. "Alfred said he'd forgotten something last he came. Come here mon Mathieu, let us get his flour washed off.

Francis forced a damp rag across Matthew's face after a small and subdued struggle for the opposite. And just as he'd planned, a dark purple splotch showed through the flour and creamy foundation as Francis cleaned Matthew's face.

He didn't gasp – one, for he was already expecting something horrible and two, so he wouldn't upset Matthew more than he would most likely become.

~0~

"H-He hasn't done anything! Nothing too bad. I mean, we all have to sacrifice and change for relationships to work, right?" Matthew smiled softly, sadly.

"Not right, Mattie! What kind of sacrifice is getting slapped around?"

"It's not like that, Al, honest."

"Then why do you have a black eye right this minute?" he asked tersely.

Matthew fingered the puffy, bruised skin around his eye. It hurt faintly, but not too bad. Nothing like when he'd gotten it.

"Ismael just got a little rough. It was my fault anyway."

No! Don't you say that! Him punching you is not your fault. Mattie… Don't you understand? Ismael is just using you. And when he doesn't get his way, he slaps you around until he does."

Matthew frowned minutely. "He just… Has a hard time – expressing himself. It'll get better."

"Yeah, as soon as you dump him!"

"I couldn't do that! He really is a nice person. You haven't gotten to meet the real him yet."

Alfred held his brother's gaze for a moment. He sighed.

"Fine. But Mattie, if he ever goes too far, you can always come to me. I don't like seeing you like this. You aren't you right now."

~0~

Matthew cradled his arm. It was broken, he was definitely sure of that. He'd heard a snap of bone as Ismael had twisted it awkwardly.

He was so stupid. Of course Ismael would be angry. He'd neglected to fix supper when the Cuban had specifically told him to do so.

Now Ismael was gone, left for his cousin's house for tamales and Matthew was staring at the phone on the wall.

It would be so easy to dial Al's number, but that would also mean admitting—

Matthew's cell phone began ringing.

The blond broke his trance and dug the cell out of his pocket carefully. It was Alfred.

He could let it go to voicemail or ignore the call…

"H-Hello?"

"Hiyah, Mattie! I just wanted to tell you the great news!"

"O-Oh?"

"Yong-Soo got us tickets to visit South Korea!"

Matthew smiled fondly. "That's nice, Al. I'm sure you two will have a wonderful time."

Alfred laughed over the phone. "You're coming too, of course! We have three tickets."

"A-Al?" Matthew asked after a few minutes of tense silence.

"Yeah, Mattie?" Alfred answered seriously.

"My arm is broken," he whispered.

Matthew heard a growl and then, "Damn him! I'm coming over right now, Mattie. And I'm taking you to the hospital."

"T-Thank you."

~0~

"And how exactly did you break your arm, Mr. Bonnefoy?" the doctor asked. She glanced cautiously at Alfred for a brief second.

Matthew mumbled and fidgeted.

"Could you speak up, dear?"

"His boyfriend did it," Alfred piped up.

The elderly doctor glanced at Matthew. "I'm guessing Mr. Boyfriend isn't here?"

"H-He left afterwards, to his cousin's for dinner." Matthew bobbed his head, a rush of shame washing over him.

"I'm obligated to ask this, but has he been violent towards you before, Matthew?" Any other broken bones or even just a simple bruise?"

Matthew caught his brother's eye, looking for assurance. Was it okay, was it right to tell this woman?

"Y-Yes," he said softly.

The doctor nodded. "Could you give a list, dear? Maybe dates as well?"

So Matthew very hesitantly gave the doctor-woman a list of most of the black eyes and bruised ribs Ismael had ever given him.