A/N - I'd like to say I'm sorry for writing this in second person, but honestly when I started writing the first chapter a few months ago it seemed natural to type it out like this. I wasn't sure if I was to pick up this story again either, but here I am. Maybe when I'm done (or if it gets that bad) I'll redo it in third or first (tell me which one you'd prefer), but for now I'll just go with the flow of things. Thank you :D
"Are you sure you want to do this, Matthieu?" His look was stern, yet held sorrow knowing you wouldn't be changing your mind. He still tried as he flattened down your shirt, smoothing out all the wrinkles though there weren't any left.
You sighed. Of course you felt a bit down to be leaving him, leaving home, but you felt it was time. "Y-yes, Papa."
"But you don't sound too sure of yourself with that stutter of yours, no?"
"Dad!" A familiar voice made your head turn to the stairs, away from your father's sorrowful expression. "You know he's been planning this for a year now. I think he's ready."
There stood Alfred, your twin; with such serious look on his face it was almost laughable. You remembered times when you were younger that when you were being bullied, Alfred would swoop in like the superhero he was (and wanted to be). He was so confident, but he was no match for them. The thing that always surprised you the most is that he would protect you like that, even if it meant him getting bullied as well. He never feigned seriousness, and when he was serious, he was serious.
Francis (otherwise known as your father) looked back from Alfred to you. "But… maybe just one more day, Matthieu? You're only twenty-"
"See you later, Mattie!" Francis was cut off as Alfred grasped your shoulders and forced you into one of his hugs. Sure it hurt, but it showed he cared for you at least. Your smile was small against his chest, even if you felt like you were suffocating.
But then you heard a sniff.
"Mon petit… Alfred? Are you crying?" Francis asked wearily from behind his son's tall frame, placing a hand for comfort on Alfred's shoulder.
"N-no! That w-would be *sniff*… totally… *sniff*… uncool of me…" His grip on you was unbearable as you struggled against his chest for air. You would be touched if you didn't feel like death was watching you from behind your back.
"Alfred! Mon dieu! Let go of Matthieu! "
As you were released you looked up to your twin to see him wiping tears from his eyes, placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose when he was finished. And he called you a crybaby! But then again, maybe you both were. There was a grin sprawled across his lips and his jet blue eyes were stunningly bright.
"Miss you, Matty."
"Oh hush, Alfred, quit being so dramatic. I'm sure he will," Francis crossed his arms for a moment then turned to you, kissing both your cheeks. "Now, Matthieu, I expect you to visit Alfred and I often."
"I wouldn't say that too soon, Dad, I'm the next one out of here!"
"Alfred!"
You shook your head as they bickered and scooped your luggage up from the floor. Today, you, Mathew Williams Bonnefoy, were moving out into a house of your own. Well, it was more of an apartment; but it was fit for one, comfortable for two, and was the cheapest out of the rest. Most likely it was because it didn't have an elevator. It also probably didn't help you were living on the top floor either, but you didn't mind walking up all those stairs.
The bickering had seized and you stared up at them with determination. "Wish me luck."
And you were out.
You sat at the bus stop patiently watching people go by. It wasn't necessarily the best of days outside; it was humid and the news suggested a slight chance of a thunderstorm to role by at one point this afternoon, but even then you felt ecstatic.
Boarding the crowded bus you held onto the railing and imagined what life all by yourself might be like. Alfred said things would get lonely, but as long as you had friends you would be fine. You never were good at making friends since you always preferred to stay quiet, but of course that didn't mean you were incapable of it. Back when you were five and your only friends were Alfred and Kumajirou (was that his name?) you hated to meet other children. Your father had insisted or sometimes had to force you to speak with the other students at your school.
"Mon dieu, Matthieu, they won't bite, now please go speak to them!"
"N-no, papa! I don't need anybody but Alfred and Kimojira!"
"Please, Matthieu, you can't even remember the poor bear's name, now come, go speak with that girl over there. She seems like she would be a wonderful friend!" Your father insisted, lightly pushing on your back and urging you to speak with the girl who stood by herself. You thought for a moment.
"Are y-you sure?"
A relieved sigh was heard from Francis as he placed his hand on your head and kneeled down to your level. "I'm positive Matthieu, now just be yourself. Go on."
Hesitantly, you took small steps towards the pretty girl with short blonde hair and a yellow headband propped on the top of her head. You held Kumajirou (or whatever the soft bear's name was) in your arms tightly, feeling its white, flawless fur against your face.
"B-bonjour," you said quietly to the girl, your voice barley auditable to yourself. She looked around for a moment, seemingly looking straight through you.
"Hello? Who's there?" she asked with a frantic look on her face, eyes filled with uncertainty.
"It's me! R-right here! M-my name is Mathew?" You seem to be as unsure as she, but finally after a few moments of staring at you, her eyes go wide.
"Oh my! I didn't even see you…" She looks down, expression scrunched with sadness. "I'm sorry!"
Before you can even react to what was happening, she's flying off, tears trailing down her face. You turn around to your father who was watching the whole time, looking thoughtfully at the girl who had just ran off. After a moment he walks up to you, kisses your forehead, and whispers something in French you didn't remember and probably never will.
That memory was one of the earliest ones from your childhood. It was the first of many where you wouldn't be realized, forgotten as if you never existed. Even your family forgot you were there, even if it were your birthday. It hurt at first, so much, but it didn't faze you now. At least not so much.
Flashback over and you're brought back to present time, looking down. You feel empty. Not because of the memory… Perhaps you were missing something? Then it hits you like a brick. Your bag! You find a burly man quickly jogging off of the bus with said bag, and you didn't hesitate to run after him.
"H-hey!" You shout quietly after the thief. "Stop!"
He was too far ahead of you now, so you stopped and sighed, holding your head in your hands. This is a good start.
Where were you, anyway?
No phone, no money, nothing but the clothes on your back, you start walking back to the bus stop, feeling tears sting your eyes.
"Hey, this is your bag, right?"
You find yourself staring into deep red eyes. And you find yourself staring. And staring… and staring…
"Hallo?" The red-eyed man questions, waving a hand in front of your face. "You could at least say thanks." He drops the bag in front of your feet and starts walking away. It takes you a moment to realize what just happened.
"Wait!" You find yourself chasing after him. "U-uh, sorry, I was just distracted…"
He turns around and looks down at you, a small smirk on his lips. "Is that so?" His voice drips of a German accent (you're sure that's what it was), and you feel warmth spreading across your cheeks. His hair was a white. It took you a moment to notice that he must have been an albino. He was also pretty attractive.
"Y-yeah. W-well, thank you f-for saving my bag." You grip your luggage a little harder and turn on your heel, heading back to the bus stop. That's when you feel a hand grab your forearm. A small squeak escapes your lips and you here a chuckle behind you.
"You know, you're pretty cute."
You feel your face burn with embarrassment. Surprisingly, you didn't find yourself weirded out by the stranger's outright comment or even the abrupt contact. "I-is that so?" Is all you can manage, still facing away from the (very) attractive albino man.
He releases his grip on your arm, sputtering just a little as he notices what he's done. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound creepy or anything," he sounds as unsure as you, and after a moment you turn to see him looking away with a faint blush on his cheeks (or so you imagine). "Well, anyway, the names Gilbert."
A hand shoots out in front of you to shake. With a gentle smile, you timidly grasp his hand, shaking it gratefully.
"I'm Mathew."