How had it come to this?

A stiff atmosphere, an unusual stillness from Alfred, pressure in Carlos's heavy gaze, a tension you'd need a saw to cut through. And Mathew, the center of it all, trying to swallow down a story he couldn't tell.

"Arthur's just not been himself lately, I guess," Mathew finally mumbles an excuse, "It just makes me uneasy, I guess."

He's repeating things, and he inwardly curses himself for letting his nervous tic show. He doesn't have to look at Alfred to feel the anger rolling off him when Alfred speaks.

"That's not what I heard."

Mathew risks a glance at Alfred, then Carlos, trying to gauge how much was said. This time, it's Carlos who avoids his gaze, and Mathew's heart sinks. There was no way Carlos could have told Alfred everything, there wasn't enough time, and Mathew hadn't even updated his best friend yet. Which means - He almost chokes at the realization- Carlos probably only told him the stuff from the beginning, which was worse, actually. Mathew knows how his hot-headed brother would take that. Carlos drives in the stake.

"Tell him about the yelling and throwing things, Matt."

Mathew suddenly develops an interest in picking apart his donut, appetite gone.

"It's not... He's not... He doesn't do that anymore!"

Mathew hates this situation. He doesn't want to talk about it, Alfred doesn't need to know. He's afraid that Alfred will flip out and drag Mathew back home and assault Arthur, either verbally or physically... Or both. He's worried Alfred will make Arthur worse, and Something terrible will happen. But more than that, Mathew doesn't want Alfred to think it's his fault.

He doesn't think Alfred was wrong by leaving, though Mathew still wishes he hadn't.

"Ignoring you isn't any better!"

Carlos challenges, and Mathew stiffens.

"What?"

Alfred demands, tone colder than ice, and Mathew hurries to explain before Carlos makes it even worse.

"He's not ignoring me! He's just... Withdrawn." He wide-eyed Alfred nervously, trying to gauge his brother's emotions. "Arthur's just... He's not himself I guess."

Finally, Alfred makes his move, practically radiating danger.

"Mathew, you tell me everything, and don't you dare try to hide anything or I swear to god I'll go rip the truth out of Arthur himself right this moment!"

Mathew flinches again despite himself. Alfred must have learned that way of talking from Arthur, or at least he was doing a damn good impression of him. And more importantly, he's successfully cornered Mathew. He can't have Alfred confront Arthur, not if he doesn't want their household to experience World War III. It wouldn't be a good outcome for any of them.

Mathew fidgets, trying to find the words. Having already reduced his donut to crumbs, Mathew moves on to shredding his napkin, determinedly avoiding facing his brother. Finally, Alfred starts to get up and Mathew can't delay it any further.

"Alright! Just... I'm trying to think!"

Where does he even start? From the beginning, right after Alfred left? From earlier that day? From that first load of musty and molding laundry he found forgotten?

"I don't know where to start."

His voice sounds tired and defeated.

"Start with the drinking."

Carlos advises, and Alfred twitches at the new information.

"Drinking? Like, Alcohol?"

Whether he's ready or not, Mathew has no choice but to speak now.

"It's just... Arthur... Doesn't handle rejection well, you know?"

It wasn't a secret in their family, they'd seen it in action plenty of times. Arthur tended to get angry first, then mopey. And Alfred knew that too.

"Then it's my fault?"

"No!" Mathew rejects the very notion, "It's just Arthur! He's just... He's just like that, you know?"

He's not sure if he's grateful or worried about Carlo's tactful silence, leaning back again his seat like he's pretending he's not there.

"So it is my fault."

Alfred knows Mathew well enough that even if he tries to hide it, Alfred can guess the rest of the story.

"Let me guess: Arthur got mad I left so he threw a tantrum, that's where the yelling and throwing things came in. And I bet now he's sulking, and that's probably where the drinking comes in. Am I right?"

And with only a couple simple sentences, Alfred's figured out everything Mathew was trying to hide. With it all revealed, Mathew gives up, and finally tells him everything.

"Yeah." Mathew abandons the napkin strip and throws himself against the back of the booth, gazing emptily at the ceiling tiles. "And I know, he's always like this, but it's still..."

He sighs, heavily.

"It started with just yelling and throwing things, but I've never seen him this mad before. It was seriously scary, Al. I didn't even... I just kinda avoided him... It made me kinda nervous."

It wasn't just nervous, or uneasy, but Mathew doesn't know the right word for the off-balanced feeling Arthur's tantrum had left him with.

"Then it was the booze. Just, every day, it's whiskey and beer or sleeping pills. Just... It's like he's just completely checked out."

Finally, for the first time all evening, Mathew faces Alfred properly, twisting in his seat.

"It's like living with a ghost, Al, and I don't know what to do."

Alfred seems calmer, to Mathew's surprise, less like a bomb about to explode, and more like the brother Mathew knows. His eyes are still too-sharp though, an intensity Alfred usually keeps hidden.

"And the drugs?" Alfred presses, "What's with that?"

Mathew doesn't even remember the first time, or the reason why. It was with Carlos, he was the one who offered Mathew his first joint, but Alfred doesn't need to know that. Carlos isn't a bad guy, he was just trying to help, and Alfred already hates him enough as it is. Instead, Mathew shrugs with a vague excuse.

"Guess I thought I'd try living as a ghost too."

Well, not that it helped. Mathew lets his gaze drift back to his ruined donut and now-cold coffee. It feels ridiculous now, for him having made such a big deal about it before. In the end, it's just like Alfred said; Arthur is throwing a tantrum and Mathew is over-reacting. Arthur has done it before tons of times, after all, and he always bounced back and was fine.

Except...

Mathew's heart twists when he thinks of his home. The empty fridge, the dusty table and the empty alcohol bottles that litter the floor. The little white pills Arthur sometimes takes. The fear he can't shake that one day Arthur will take too many and not wake up. And the helplessness he feels in the face of it. He leans back in his seat, frustrated at his own inability to regulate his own emotions.

"Mattie..."

Alfred sounds like his brother again, the Alfred he grew up with. Trying to comfort, but not knowing how, an older brother that would rather try to beat up the thing upsetting Mathew than comfort him. An older brother who never learned how to properly comfort someone. Somehow that in itself is comforting to Mathew anyways.

"It's fine, I was just..."

Mathew doesn't know the words to describe the situation. A part of him wants to just brush it off - never mind, I'm just being dramatic - but there's a larger part of him that's too scared to brush it off. A part of him that still hopes his older brother will have the answers, like he always has. Mathew goes back to shredding his napkin, giving him something else to focus on.

"You probably think I'm overreacting."

A test, though he's not sure what he's testing. Carlos inhales sharply, leaning forwards, but Alfred doesn't give him the chance to say whatever he'd been about to say.

"No. I don't."

Mathew starts, physically flinching with the shock, and seeks out Alfred's face with wide eyes. "You don't?"

Alfred sighs, sharply. "Listen, we both know how Arthur gets, he's been this way almost our whole lives. And you know that too." Mathew starts to wilt, but Alfred presses on. "And I know how you are too, and I've never seen you...like this." Alfred punctuates his sentence with a wave. "If it's bad enough to get you this upset, then it must be bad bad."

Mathew feels a swell of emotions in him, but he's not sure if it's hope or trepidation. Something has finally changed, Mathew just isn't sure whether it's for the better, or for worse. He swallows, suddenly parched.

"So what now?"

Alfred snorts like Mathew said something ridiculous.

"I have to go see Arthur, of course."