When Arthur does come back, Mathew almost doesn't notice. When he does register the click of a door shutting, it's not the front door, but the door to Arthur's bedroom.
Mathew jumps to grab Arthur a snack, a homemade scone that Mathew made himself, not really anything like Arthur's scones are, but Mathew hopes that Arthur's comfort food will bring Arthur back, even for a moment. He's already set a cup of tea, probably rather warm by now, next to Arthur's bed. Mathew knows Arthur's habits like clockwork, and it's easy to predict when he'll be home.
It takes Mathew longer than he would have liked to butter the scone, the effects of the drug making it hard for him to focus as his mind races. By the time Mathew makes it up the stairs and to Arthur's room with the plate, the light is already out.
"Arthur?" Mathew calls gently as he enters the bedroom. "You should eat something."
His foot connects with something that rolls away with a clatter.
"So it's alcohol today."
Mathew glances around the dark room, skipping over the empty alcohol bottles and hesitating on the still form on the bed, before settling on the empty teacup on the nightstand.
"At least he drank the tea."
Mathew sets the plate with the buttered scone on the nightstand next to the teacup, swallowing hard as something hard and bitter starts to form in his throat. Once more he calls gently towards the still form on the bed.
"Arthur?"
Still no reaction. The lump in Mathew's throat solidifies into a ball of something hot and sharp. A wave of rising anger.
"Why?"
No matter what he seems to do, no matter how hard he tries, Mathew can't seem to reach Arthur. It always feels like this; Mathew standing and calling out to an unresponsive Arthur. It makes Mathew angry. He's always hiding his emotions, burying them. Mathew is hurt and angry that Alfred left too, but he can't let himself react the way he wants to, because Arthur was hurt worse than him. He needs to support Arthur.
But Mathew is tired of holding back, and Arthur is unconscious. He won't hear anything Mathew says now. So Mathew lets the anger spill out in the form of words.
"Can't you see me?" Mathew finally says what he's been wanting to say ever since Alfred left. "Am I invisible?"
The words don't come out angry. They come out raw, broken, sad, and frustrated, but even to Mathew they don't seem to deliver the anger he's feeling. Mathew continues speaking anyways.
"I'm here, Arthur!" Mathew can hear a pleading in his own tone as he talks. "I didn't leave."
"Not like Alfred." Mathew doesn't say that part. There's some things he can't say, even if Arthur is unconscious. He forces himself to finish saying what he desperately wants to communicate to Arthur.
"You're not alone!" He moves closer to the bed, wishing that Arthur would feel his presence.
"I'm not alone."
The words are technically true, but still sound ridiculous to Mathew, standing there pouring out his heart to someone who can't even hear him. He may as well be talking to himself. He says the next words in a much softer tone.
"So why does it feel like I am?"
Now Mathew really is talking to himself. The form on the bed is so still that it doesn't even look like Arthur is breathing. Mathew remembers how Arthur looked before heading up to bed. Pale and wane. Exhausted. What is Mathew doing, venting his anger on someone who feels much worse than him? It's pathetic. Mathew sinks gently onto the edge of Arthur's bed, and reaches out one hand to smooth the hair from Arthur's forehead.
"I'm sorry Arthur."
And he means it. Mathew has never felt more sorry or pathetic before. He sighs, a hopeless sigh, and then stands up.
"I can't be your strength like Alfred was," he adds to his apology, reaching for the empty teacup on the nightstand, "This is all I can do."
And with that last despairing statement, Mathew takes the teacup and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
The form in the bed shifts and Arthur lets out a muffled sob, but Mathew doesn't hear him.
Mathew barely has time to gently deposit the teacup into the sink before he chokes on the lump in his throat, hot and suffocating, and finds to his horror that the tears are forcing their way out against his will. This time, Mathew can't stop them. Even though Arthur is fast asleep, Mathew still tries to muffle his sobs.
It feels stifling, and even the haziness of the marijuana can't suppress the suffocating feeling. Sometimes Mathew thinks it makes it worse, like there's a hole inside him that cant be filled with any kind of snack. It makes him feel trapped. Mathew stands up suddenly, desperately, wiping the tears away on his sleeves. He needs to get out of there, he needs to leave the stifling house and go outside, go anywhere but here. But he can't.
"I have to be here when Arthur wakes up."
But Arthur is asleep, and Mathew knows from experience that the alcohol will keep him asleep until tomorrow. A thought grows in Mathew's mind, a perfect excuse.
"It's fine as long as I'm back before he wakes up."
And with that, Mathew is moving before he can talk himself out of it, striding down the hall towards the door, slipping on his sneakers and wiping his nose on the hem of his sleeve. Mathew doesn't even care that his face is blotched from crying or that his eyes are still red and swollen. He yanks the door open with desperation and freezes.
There's a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man on the doorstep, his fist raised as though about to knock, his face quickly changing from an expression of shock to concern. He is a mirror image of Mathew, even down to his expression.
"Alfred." Mathew isn't happy at all to see his twin brother who had left the family.
"Mathew." Alfred responds, in an awkwardly polite tone. "I wanted to talk to Arthur, can I come in?"
"No!" Mathew cries out a bit too fast, a bit too sharp, and Alfred's sharp eyes look like they can see right through Mathew, his face morphing into a deeper concern.
Mathew quickly covers his mistake. "Arthur's asleep. He's not feeling too well."
Alfred's eyes search Mathew's pale face, and Mathew knows he looks like he was crying. Alfred's eyes quickly drop to note the slight tremble to Mathew's fingers, before flicking back up to Mathew's face. Alfred frowns, then speaks in a voice full of concern.
"Mattie, are you okay? Did Arthur say something to you?"
Mathew almost laughs.
"No, I'm fine. Arthur didn't say anything to me."
"That's the problem." Mathew leaves that part unsaid. Alfred doesn't seem convinced, but lets it go.
"You're going out?" He notes, and Mathew understands the real question Alfred is asking.
"No, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere in particular. Why don't we go talk somewhere else?"
Mathew needs to get him away from Arthur. Alfred doesn't argue.
"Sure. There's a McDonald's close by."
Ah. Mathew briefly falters, recognizing the true meaning behind Alfred's casual offer. Mathew wonders if it means that Alfred's forgiven him for taking Arthur's side when Alfred wanted to leave. Alfred hadn't spoken to Mathew for weeks after that, once he'd finished yelling. Even once he stopped yelling, it still felt like he was to Mathew, the silent treatment sounding louder than the shouts. Mathew thinks he'd prefer either to the awkwardness between the twins now. Maybe that's why he agrees to go. Mathew tells himself it's just the lingering effect of the pot, and that he's only going because he's suddenly starving. His stomach twists.
"OK."