hey look an update in the same week its christmas

Idk if there are actually any cafes across from Big Ben, but you know what? This is a high school au, lets also make this 'there's a cafe directly across from the Big Ben' au. Also Opa's (Gilbert and Ludwig's grandfather (Germania)) opinion of the British aren't mine and should be taken lightly and not as an offense to them.

Matthew's been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes, and hasn't moved. Tapping his fingers lightly against the table of the cafe that was directly across from the Big Ben clock tower (with tourists milling about and snapping pictures, ugh. Maybe it was just him being used to it, but he didn't find it so impressive) he awaited Gilbert. Matthew wasn't sure what to feel. Scared? Angry? Worried? The only thing he felt right now was numbness.

Because, there was a possibility that that voice was right. The snide, nasty voice that's been muttering ideas, planting seeds of doubt might actually be right about Gilbert.

The coffee he ordered hasn't been touched at all. He doesn't even know why he ordered it. He has about as much appetite as a dead slug.

His phone suddenly dinged, and Matthew hastily put in his password, only to see it was Alfred who had texted him.

(1:02) MATTIE ARE YOU OK?! ARE YOU DYING?! IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?!

(1:03) Relax, Al, I'm okay.

(1:04) Oh well in that case FUCK YOU i stepped on fucking GLASS BAREFOOT maybe CLEAN UP NEXT TIME and i didn't know where you had gone so i was really worried. :(

(1:05) You should probably tell Jack that you cut your foot.

(1:06) Nah artie handled it he's here rn. :D

(1:06) Good. That should keep you occupied for a while.

(1:07) If you know what I mean ;) ;) ;)

(1:08) Alfred, despite what she says, I don't think our mother would condone you having sex on the couch. Some people eat there, you know.

(1:09) Omg mattie what are you suggesting we were just going to play mario kart. I'm so gonna beat artie at rainbow road this time. You'll see.

(1:10) Text me when you've chalked up to your 107th loss in a row.

(1:10) Hahaha. :D

(1:11) Fuck you. And your eyebrows. :D

(1:12) ? Leave my eyebrows out of this please, they are perfectly innocent.

(1:13) Sorry mattie bro, i'm so used to saying that to artie. :P

The barrage of texts ended, and Matthew, no longer distracted, was brought painfully back to the unknown present, where he was currently waiting for someone who he's known for a little more than two and a half months, and been dating for less.

When he put it that way, it sounded ridiculous.

I barely know him, Matthew realized, and I hardly see him. This isn't dating. This is...This is…

But what it was, Matthew didn't know.

1:30 came and went, and Matthew was ready to go home, into his warm bed and try to go to sleep, to forget any of this had ever happened, when he saw a familiar bright pink scarf.

It wasn't cheerfully draped across Gilbert's shoulders like last time, but instead flung haphazardly around his neck, as if it had been a last minute decision he didn't really care for. He had his head bowed and his hands stuck in his pockets, and Matthew immediately stood up to greet him.

There was silence for a few moments, and when Gilbert looked up, it took all of Matthew's willpower not say 'holy shit.'

When people were sick, they got pale. But not Gilbert. Perhaps it was because he was as pale as he could be, but his skin looked...Grayish, as well as his hair, which lay nearly flat on his head. Purplish black circles ringed his eyes, which were wide open and full of energy. But bad energy, very bad energy.

"Matthew," Gilbert said, and Matthew realized how much it hurt to be greeted like this, rather than the 'Birdie' he had become so accustomed to. Gilbert gripped Matthew's forearm, and for a moment, Matthew was afraid that the albino would faint. Slowly reaching up and placing his hands on Gilbert's shoulders, Matthew steadied his boyfriend, looking him in the eye.

"Calm down," Matthew said lightly, and his voice was quiet, but it was as soothing as he could make it. Seeing Gilbert like this kindled a hope in Matthew's gut. Maybe it wasn't as bad as Gilbert was making it out to be, because Gilbert overreacted to things, Matthew knew, and maybe Gilbert had done something not at all bad.

But this hope was quickly extinguished, as Gilbert sank himself into Matthew's chest, shoulders slumped. No, no, no, this was so unnatural, Gilbert wasn't like this, he was loud and funny and obnoxious and he wasn't quiet, and he didn't get scared, and he-

It took Matthew a moment to realize that Gilbert was crying silently.

They're standing in the middle of a crowded London street, with people all around, but Matthew knows that they need some privacy. Lightly gripping Gilbert's shoulder, Matthew steered him out of the street and into a backhand alley some ways off that didn't reek too badly or have any evil-looking cats prowling within.

The two teens stood there in silence, staring at one another. Gilbert's eyes were now dry, but oddly sharp and clear, as if he were seeing everything clearly for the first time. Finally, Matthew spoke.

"There's something we need to talk about?" He phrased it as a question, and yet Gilbert suddenly looked sicker than he had before. He nodded rapidly, arms crossed across his chest, and Matthew leaned against the wall, trying to make understanding of anything. He had to clear a few things up, first, before they delved into things. Taking a deep breath, Matthew started off with,

"Is it...A bad thing?"

Gilbert's voice sounded hoarse as he said, "Yeah. It is."

Matthew nodded, closing his eyes, "How bad?"

He couldn't see Gilbert's expression as he said, "Very. Very bad."

There was more silence, and Matthew felt as if he were being shoved down a very, very tight tube to be compacted into a square.

"What did you do, Gilbert?" Matthew opened his eyes, trying to make his voice sound as caressing, as understanding, as possible, to soothe Gilbert and calm his nerves. Gilbert looked up at Matthew, and seemed to notice that they were only inches away from each other, because he suddenly took a few steps back.

"I did something really bad, Birdie," Gilbert said, and though his voice was still hoarse, it sounded stronger than before, "And sometimes, I have attacks. And I don't know when they're coming."

Matthew nodded, having a mild understanding of what he was talking about. It's not like he could control when his lungs decided to spasm out.

"And it's all because of a bad thing I did, Birdie," Gilbert's voice is going faster and faster, "And it's the reason why Roderich broke up with me, and it's the reason why I only have two friends, and it's the reason why I'm so-goddamn-protective-of-"

Gilbert turned and began retching, but to Matthew's immense relief, Gilbert seemed to have nothing in his system to throw up. Then he thought that maybe that was a bad thing.

Gilbert straightened up again, and continued,

"It's the reason for a lot of things. But I did something really bad," Gilbert suddenly leaned into Matthew, shoulders drawing up to his ears, "And you're going to get hurt if you stay around me, because everyone else has."

"That's...Not right," Matthew said. He had wanted to say That's completely and utterly stupid, but with Gilbert's state of emotion right now he wasn't sure he could manage it. Maybe if Gilbert would get to the point already, he'd know what to think.

Oh, stop being so selfish, he chided himself, this is obviously hard enough on Gil, I should be considerate right now.

"What did you do, Gilbert?" Matthew asked, lightly brushing a bit of hair that had fallen into the albino's eyes. Patience, patience, patience is what is needed right now.

"I've killed people, Birdie," Gilbert said, and Matthew felt his heart stop for a moment. He hoped, for a fleeting second, that Gilbert was joking, playing a sick joke on Matthew, but there's a dead serious look in Gilbert's eyes, and Matthew found himself asking,

"But...Why…?"

Gilbert looked sickly again, and turned to retch once more, only this time, he did cough up what looked like the remains milk and bread. This time, instead of straightening up, Gilbert fell to his knees, and coughed,

"That's why we should...Break up, or I should disappear, or, or…"

There was retching again, but he stuffed his own fingers down his throat to cough it up and get it over with. Matthew watched, horrified, legs numb, heart pounding. This didn't make any sense. No way that Gilbert could have killed anybody, no way, no one.

"What do you...You killed people?" Matthew slid down to the floor with Gilbert, feeling far away, distant. This was one of the worst things he could have imagined Gilbert saying-but never, did he actually expect-he could hardly comprehend-

"Yeah," Gilbert sounded like he was about to cry again, "Yeah, my mom and dad."

"But…" Matthew shook his head, trying to clear it of the dense fog forming in his mind, trying to make sense of something, "But they died in a car crash, right?..."

"They did," Gilbert muttered, before looking at Matthew, "A car crash I caused."

Mr. and Mrs. Beilschmidt were quite frankly, rich.

This wasn't an exaggeration of any sorts, it was, true fact, that they were rich. Their sons currently attended a highly expensive private school, where Ludwig quickly rose to become the favorite of all teachers who had him, while Gilbert constantly got himself in trouble.

But, his parents were away so much, Gilbert didn't even care if he got in trouble. A letter would simply be sent to his house, where it would be piled with the rest of the mail that nobody had bothered checking. Gilbert had grown to not care what his parents did or thought, and yet, it did matter to him what Ludwig thought.

It was three years in a row now that they had missed Ludwig's birthday, and Gilbert wasn't going to have it.

"Come on," Roderich muttered as Gilbert quickly buckled his pants, a shit-eating grin on his face, "I'll never be able to meet your parents at this rate."

"Trust me, Roddy, you don't want to," Gilbert said, before opening the closet door and stepping out. Roderich followed, tucking his shirt back into his pants like the poser he was. He could look as neat as he wanted on the outside, but Gilbert knew for a fact that the fucking aristocrat was a slob.

"Have a happy Christmas," Gilbert told Roderich as he stepped out of the house.

"You too."

Ushering Roderich out of the house had been the easy part. Greeting his parents, was not.

Mom and Dad Beilschmidt weren't very nice people. It was best not to ask where they made their fortune from, but no matter how they made it or how rude they were, Gilbert knew it hurt his brother every time they didn't show up for his birthday.

"Let's go pick up Ludwig from practice," Mrs. Beilschmidt said to her husband after all hello's were said, "Dinner will be ready soon."

"Right," Mr. Beilschmidt said back. Gilbert found it weird to address them as Mom and Dad, as they had a lack of actual experience in being his mom and dad. Maybe the first few glorious years of his life they had been capable and responsible parents, but moving to Britain seemed to have hardened them. As Opa would say, the British were tea-drinking cunts who'd give you the time of day along with a lowkey insult to your mother. At least Opa was honest and blunt.

The car was, of course, expensive. Gilbert would like to say that he remember everything, but the only things that really stood out sharply in his memory were the moments before, during, and after the whole incident.

"So," Gilbert said about halfway on the ride to the practice field. His parents were only going to pick Ludwig up and take them out to dinner before disappearing next morning, as always. What an excellent Christmas.

"So, boy?" Mr. Beilschmidt asked, gaze flickering towards Gilbert's. Gilbert gave a false smile back, knowing if he at least seemed polite he'd at least make some impact upon his father.

"Luddy's birthday was a couple of weeks ago."

"Ah, it was?" Mrs. Beilschmidt asked absently as she checked her phone, and Gilbert was used to this behavior, but as always when it came to Luddy, he was highly sensitive and protective.

"Yeah, his fifteenth," Gilbert said casually leaning forward. He never wore a seatbelt back then, but now wore one religiously, "He really missed you guys."

"I'm sure he did," Mr. Beilschmidt said, though his voice was robotic and a practiced tone. Or it might have been his casual tone. There was no difference, really.

Gilbert groaned inwardly at his fucking cliche life-uncaring rich parents. He was sure that there were definitely rich parents out there that cared for their children lovingly and kindly, but his parents didn't fit that mold. He only assumed that it had to do with both of them growing up rough on the streets and now, they were rolling in money, and were desperate to never going back to that lifestyle again.

But no matter the excuse, it would never make up for missing Ludwig's birthday again.

"It'd be great if you two, you know, took your heads out of your asses for once and actually attended one of them," Gilbert said with a shrug, smiling for real at the spark of annoyance in Mr. Beilschmidt's eyes, "You've missed a bunch of important birthdays, man. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...And we're never going to forget his eighth birthday, that one too."

"We're busy, honey," Mrs. Beilscmidt sighed, "With work and everything...Maintaining our jobs."

"Yeah, but...It's Luddy," Gilbert said angrily, "Your kid, you know."

The car rumbled as they slowed in front of a red light. Gilbert could feel his anger boiling beneath his skin, as always. His quick temper would surely get in trouble, but for now, he felt like giving his parents the talking to they deserved.

Marko and Olivette Beilschmidt weren't good people or good parents, but they should at least make an effort. Ludwig and Gilbert didn't ask them to have them as their parents. Ludwig deserved better.

"Son, business is a delicate matter," Mr. Beilschmidt explained as the cars began moving forward again, "And we can't just attend birthday part-"

"You should," Gilbert leaned forward so he was closer to his father, "You should actually give a shit for once, you know. He wanted to see you, old man. He got best in the year last year, did you know that? Of course you didn't. And the awesome me got a boyfriend, too. Bet you didn't know that, either."

"A boyfriend?" Mrs. Beilschmidt asked, raising an eyebrow, "What's his name?"

"Roderich Edelstein, and he's done a damn good job of taking care of me, better than you two have," Gilbert said. There was really nothing new to this discussion. The same topics were brought up in the same heated tones, only this time, Gilbert's anger had been brewing for a long, long time, and it wasn't for himself.

If his parents didn't want to parent, they should just die already, or at least let them live on their own so they don't ever have to see them again. These were, of course, your typical thoughts for your angsting seventeen year old teenage son, but Gilbert didn't know how much he'd regret everything until later on.

"Anyways, please get your heads out of your asses, in case you haven't noticed, they're not hats," Gilbert said, and his tone hardened, "Maybe you should consider that being there for your son is more important than throwing cash around in Amsterdam, or Monte Carlo, or wherever you're going to this time."

"Once again, business is a delicate matter," Mr. Beilschmidt's tone turned snide, "And the sordid affairs of a boy's birthday party don't concern-"

"Fuck you, old man!" Gilbert growled, shooting forward to throttle him (this was actually quite normal). He's done this before. Actually gotten his hands to close around his father's neck in anger, to hear his father shout at him angrily, his mother give an irritated sigh, and maybe (if he was there) hear Ludwig's cry of anguish. He's done this before, and it's almost a routine. Lose his temper, attempt to throttle his father, get grounded for a week and sulk around. Apologize and actually feel bad for a couple of hours, before getting over it.

Only this time, something was different. His mother's voice rose, high-pitched and tinny, and the car gave a low sound, and his father's eyes widened, and Gilbert lurched forward and would have slammed his head against the dashboard, had his father not thrown his arm out and Gilbert collided with it. Mr. Beilschmidt himself was launched forward from the impact, his lack of seatbelt causing his body to rocket into the driver's wheel, cutting into his chest, ribcage collapsing. Mrs. Beilschmidt, with a seatbelt, was killed instantly from the glass that pierced her neck. Gilbert Beilschmidt, protected by his father, only sustained minor injuries to his lower back and his head.

Gilbert stopped telling his story here, and before Matthew knew it, was crying quietly.

"I killed them, Birdie," He whispered, "I killed them, and I wasn't ready to talk about it, and I yelled at Roderich every time he tried, and that's why he broke up with me, and I only have two friends because I've scared everyone else off, and I'm so fucking damn protective of Ludwig because he's the only friend I've got left."

Matthew stared at Gilbert, eyes wide, before shaking his head, not sure what to feel. Only one thought, however, entered his mind.

"It's not your fault, Gilbert, you didn't...You didn't kill them, okay?"

"It is my fault!" Gilbert said angrily, "I wished they were dead, actually went to strangle my dad, and I distracted him, and then we got in a fucking car crash and my mom died!"

"What happened to your dad, then?" Matthew asked, "Didn't he die too?"

Gilbert's eyes found Matthew's, and Matthew had the strangest feeling as if he were being turned inside out.

"Yeah," Gilbert finally said after a while, "He was in the ICU for about a week or so. I could visit him, my injuries weren't too bad. Lungs collapsed. Pressure from the steering wheel. Couldn't breathe."

Matthew suddenly envisioned himself in Mr. Beilschmidt's place, a faceless blond stranger feeling the same pressing weight on his chest that Matthew did, and he suddenly realized why Gilbert had freaked out that night he himself had felt his chest hurting.

"He died of that, didn't he?" Matthew asked Gilbert. Gilbert didn't reply. His head was hung low and his knees were drawn to his chest. Matthew suddenly became aware of the fact that it was nearly three, and it was cold and the sound of traffic was echoing throughout. He scooted closer to Gilbert, not sure what to say, except,

"You didn't kill your parents, Gilbert."
"I did," Gilbert said, but his voice sounded weaker this time, "And everyone else was affected by it, Birdie, and that's why I need to break up with you."

Matthew shook his head vehemently, "No, Gilbert. Stop being stupid. You didn't kill your parents. You didn't put a gun up to their heads or poison them or anything. Everybody else was affected by it only because you didn't open up and tell anyone about how you feel."

"I don't need any therapist recommendations, thanks," Gilbert growled, "Roderich does that enough. You know me, the awesome me, has a fear of the dark and cars because of this?"

"I...The dark?" Matthew blinked.

Gilbert looked up at Matthew, his eyes clouded and hazed.

"I was conscious when the ambulance came. But I couldn't see anything. It was all just...Black. But I could hear people screaming and I could my dad breathing, except my dad didn't sound like he was breathing, and I could hear myself saying my mom's name, but she never replied back," Gilbert shook his head, shoulders hunching, "I was afraid because I didn't know what was going on, I couldn't see for myself what was happening. It's stupid. But I did kill my parents, Birdie, and that's why you should get away from me."

"Don't be-"

But Gilbert had stood up, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. Matthew became very aware, now, of everything that had happened, and everything that Gilbert had said, and the fucking stupidity of the entire situation, and -

"Just for now," Gilbert's voice said, and for a moment it seemed to lack everything-tone, emotion, hell, it even seemed to lack his German accent, "I think I should stay away from you."

He left, leaving Matthew feeling confused, lost, and angry.

God damn it Gilbert.

in the end gilbert's trauma is just the result of him being a dramatic fuck

or maybe he killed his parents on purpose and he lied to matthew

who knows certainly not me, the author

oh wait