Alfred shows up the next morning at 6 am sharp, which is shocking, because Alfred's not the type to show up on time to anything, let alone something so early in the morning. Mathew's heart sinks when he opens the door and sees his twin standing there, shoulders squared and stance firm. A part of him was hoping Alfred would forget or change his mind, but he should have known better. No one is more stubborn than Alfred when he puts his mind to it.
"Morning." Alfred greets and his tense tone does nothing to reassure Mathew.
"Arthur just got out of the shower, he's just getting dressed."
For a moment they both just stand there awkwardly, and finally, Alfred does a shuffle and gives Mathew a pointed look, and Mathew remembers to move aside so his twin can enter. Alfred doesn't bother to kick his shoes off, something that would have driven Dad crazy, and Mathew suspects Alfred is doing it on purpose. The house still feels too silent and empty, even with Alfred back. Alfred walks down the hall and looks around like he's trying to recognize the place he grew up in.
"What happened to all the stuff?"
Alfred's looking at a shelf on the kitchen wall, one that used to hold clumsily made clay sculptures and pictures and trinkets. Now there's only a few picture frames, one with cracked glass in the frame, two with no glass at all and even the remaining frame is hot-glues back together for one of them. Mathew winces.
Those had been to go when Arthur was yelling and shouting.
"Um..."
Alfred fixes him with another sharp look when Mathew hesitates, and instead of answering Mathew makes a vague gesture to indicate something breaking, then tilts his head towards the garbage. His silent description does not make Alfred any less upset at the news.
"Are you serious? I made that bowl in preschool!" He turns to glare back at the now-empty shelf with resentment. "What about the father's Day mug you made? Or the -" He cuts himself off suddenly, and Mathew can see his jaw working like he's trying not to cry. Mathew knows why.
Those things, those dumb trinkets and clumsy crafts, those weren't just things, they were memories. And Arthur threw them all away. Mathew remembers the hot, tight feeling in his throat when he'd picked up the pieces of what used to represent their family and threw them away. He doesn't try to calm Alfred down. Finally Alfred clenches his jaw and turns away from the shelf, scanning the kitchen with new eyes. Mathew sees when he notices what has been upsetting Mathew. The dust on the dining table, like it hadn't be used in a long time. A lack of personal items, no backpacks left on chair to "get later", no paperwork of Arthur's stacked on the table, no small items scattered on the countertop. Alfred's brow wrinkles, but he doesn't say anything, just opens the laundry door and peaks in, and Mathew doesn't need to look to know what Alfred's seeing. He did laundry just yesterday, but Arthur's is still piled, neatly folded, in a basket on the dry, untouched. It a bit of a mess, because Mathew's still not sure how to do laundry, and there's a bleach-ruined shirt in the trash from when Mathew messed up. Alfred closes the door much more quietly than he usually closes doors, like hes putting a conscious effort not to slam the door.
Alfred moves on into the living room, now with an air of grimness. He visibly grimaces when he walks in, and Mathew looks to see what has upset his brother. There shouldn't be anything, no one even uses this room anymore- Ah. There, flung over one of the armchairs is Mathew's sweater after he'd thrown it off last night after he smoked his last joint- oh. Alfred sniffs the air and makes a gagging noise. Mathew winces. He's used to the smell by now, he didn't think it was so thick. Alfred spins to look at him and Mathew suddenly finds an interest in a spot on the wall, a small indent that wasn't there before (Did that happen when Arthur threw something?) , it's strange he's never noticed it before...
"Mattie...?" Alfred's tone has a strange mix of plantative and exasperated.
At that moment a stair creaks, and Mathew jumps at the opportunity for distraction.
"Arthur!"
Mathew rushes to meet his Dad before Arthur grabs his bag and leaves them both floundering alone. And suddenly he's standing at the bottom of the stairs , looking up at his Dad, and Arthur's eyes are bloodshot with dark circles, contrasting strongly with his pale skin, and Arthur looks sick and Mathew feels a growing guilt in his stomach. He shouldn't have let Alfred come, Arthur is sick and -
"Er, Good morning, Mathew?"
Arthur offers the first morning greeting Mathew has heard in weeks in a tentative tone, like he's asking a question, and Mathew can't remember what he wanted to say anymore, and to his horror his eyes are burning with the feeling of tears welling up, and he can't let himself cry, not in front of Arthur.
His throat tightens as he tries to work out something to say.
"Y-yeah. Um, Good morning to you too?"
His voice cracks when he returns the greeting, and Mathew's never felt more fragile. Why now? He's been doing just fine for months on his own, why now? Why in front of Arthur? Mathew really wants a joint right now.
"Um, can we talk?"
And Arthur flinches away from Mathew at those words, like he'd rather do anything else, and Mathew's heart falls, and keeps falling, like its going to sink right through his stomach and into the floorboards below.
"I've got to go to work."
Arthur says the words half like an excuse, half like an admonishment, and even though Mathew knows it's true, he can't shake the feeling that the reason he's barely seen his father recently wasn't coincidence, but planned. He feels dizzy for some reason, and takes a step back, wobbling slightly. Someone catches him from behind, and Alfred's voice has a hard line in it when he speaks over Mathew's shoulder.
"Call in sick. We're going to talk, and you're going to listen this time."
And Mathew could almost throw up at the tension between them as Arthur sees Alfred for the first time since he left, and Alfred glares back like he's trying to show with every inch of his body that Arthur doesn't own him anymore. And Mathew hurriedly turns and bolts for the kitchen muttering something incoherent about tea as the tears hes trying so hard to hold back start to escape. Behind him, he hears Arthur's tone turn steely.
"What are you doing here?'
Alfred snorts.
"What, I'm not allowed to visit my family?"
"You were the one who said you're never coming back!"
Mathew remembers that. Alfred's always been hot-headed, neither him nor Arthur had taken him seriously when he first said that. But Alfred really hadn't come back, and it had been months and what was Mathew supposed to think?
"Someone had to take care of my baby brother, since apparently you can't be bothered to care about us."
Something flares inside Mathew, remnants of an old argument -I was only born an hour earlier!- and a sense of betrayal of a newer argument. "You said you wouldn't do anything to upset him on purpose!" Mathew hates himself in that moment. it's his fault, he shouldn't have brought Alfred here. He shouldn't be here.
"Mathew is doing fine!"
"Yeah? What would you know?"
"More than you, at least! I didn't abandon him and his family, I've been here this whole time!"
"Then why'd he ask me for help?"
And something snaps inside. He didn't ask Alfred for help! In fact, he'd done everything in his power to prevent Alfred "helping!" And Arthur doesn't know anything! How could he, all he does is drink himself to death and avoid everything! Mathew's hands are shaking and he somehow ends up slamming the teacup he's holding down instead of placing it, and It shatters on impact, the handle breaking off in his hand, and suddenly Mathew can't be there anymore. Can't listen to one more fight in that house while he fades into the background and pretends he doesn't exist. Can't swallow his feelings down one more time. Can't be there anymore.
Twin voices call out his name in concern from the hall, and Alfred appears at the door frame.
"Mathew?"
And Mathew turns and bolts for the door, not even stopping to grab a sweater or shoes, slamming the door behind him and suddenly he's free and he understands Alfred a bit more because he never wants to go back ever again. He just wants to run until none of his problems can ever catch him again.
So he does.