Nobody noticed Matthew Jones-Williams. They only saw Alfred, who acted like he was God's gift to the world. When Alfred was next to him, he absorbed all the attention and drowned Matthew out with his shining light. When Matthew was a kid he didn't mind so much. He looked up to his brother, the picture-perfect poster boy everyone else saw him as. But as he grew older, he grew more tired.
Nobody talked to Matthew, only Alfred. Why bother with Alfred's weird parasitic shadow? It's not like he was his shadow on purpose. Matthew just couldn't compete and snatch the spotlight from his golden brother. Even his parents couldn't share their love evenly, they only had eyes for Alfred. Nobody wanted to be his friend when the much more interesting Alfred was in the picture. Everyone was more than happy to let Matthew fade into the background and forget he was in the room. Forget Alfred had a brother and, was it a running joke that they forgot his name? There's no way everyone could forget his name. Seriously, Matthew was a common name. It would be impossible for so many people to have such severe memory problems. They had to think they were being funny, but he knew they weren't. Every time someone stared at him blankly he knew they forgot - or just didn't listen in the first place. Time and time again proved he wasn't worth listening to! The resentment inside him bubbled and boiled, but never spilled. Only ever blistering his insides while his outside stayed as pleasant as ever, just as he was expected to be.
What hurt was his own twin brother forgot him from time to time. He never forgot his name... Only that he existed. They were twins for fucks sake! Alfred must be so used to thinking he's the main character and the world revolves around him that sometimes he forgets he had a sibling that was pushed into the shadows.
Soon Matthew learnt that with the shadows, came darkness.
Matthew never meant to start, but once he did he knew he could never stop. It was a day like any other that changed the trajectory of his life forever.
He was so frustrated with the world. One he was born into yet didn't belong in. He wasn't to blame for his problems, he tried his best to claw his way into Alfred's world and be on the same level as him and have people love him the same but it was just never gonna happen. Clearly, he was marked from birth. Whatever the mark was, he couldn't see it but everyone else could. A sign that tipped them off that he just wasn't worth it.
Whenever the frustration wrapped around his throat and squeezed until he was lightheaded, he'd calm himself by walking through a nearby forest. He took a switchblade and headed along a walking trail leading into a dense area of woodland. Nature always made him feel better and so did assaulting trees by carving pictures into them. Sometimes he'd draw cutesy little things, he'd gotten very good at drawing polar bears. Sometimes as a child, he'd only be recognised and identified by the polar bear plush he carried.
Other times, when he didn't have the patience for drawings, he'd write words. The typical words you'd see in graffiti on the sides of urban buildings. Words that spoke for him, about his resentment at the hand he was dealt with in life. Words that could never come from his quiet, restrained and polite mouth.
Today, he eloquently stabbed the tree and created as many slash marks as he could. He'd never do it to his bare skin but it was so satisfying seeing the lines of lighter, fresh bark almost glow when exposed between the dark and rough surface. He couldn't hate himself for what the world did to him. Why punish himself for how others treated him? His skin would stay unblemished and he would punish the trees.
He stepped back from the tree to admire his artwork as he let out a big breath. Striking and slashing were quite physically demanding once he got into it. He was more bottled up than he thought. He didn't have anyone to share his emotions with so he bottled them up and created art on trees that didn't deserve it either. Now that he'd taken his frustration out he was calm enough to return home.
He was following the trail home when he saw someone coming the opposite way, It was a nice day out but he hadn't seen anyone else on his mission to deface a tree, so Matthew was rudely reminded that his private destressor activity could've been interrupted at any given time. As the figure grew closer, Matthew's sour resentment slowly returned as he recognised who it was. It was his cousin Arthur, who just like anyone and everyone else, often forgot he existed. Matthew was bitterly convinced that sometimes it was willful. As his frustration returned he curled his hands tightly in his pockets. Guess he'd find out, Arthur wasn't far away and he was looking away from Matthew. As he came closer Matthew's heart tugged when he realised he was right. Arthur was trying not to look at him. His nails cut into his palm. Seriously? Matthew was always nice to him! Even when Alfred and Arthur were fighting and on turbulent terms, Matthew tried to stick with him. Only to be brushed off when Arthur apparently only cared for Alfred. Always Alfred. Leaving Matthew behind to wonder what he was missing, what everyone else had that he didn't.
Matthew was always polite to everyone, even if they ignored him. He knew Arthur was raised to be polite, and here he couldn't even give him a small smile or wave as they crossed paths. The rubber band that had been wound up inside him, holding him together and restraining him finally snapped. Suddenly his mind was clear and he felt like he could move with ease as his limbs were like liquid.
Why should he punish himself for how others treated him?
Suddenly he wanted Arthur to come closer. He wanted him to pay.
Matthew kept his face blank when Arthur was right in front of him, but his heart was contorted in anger. His older cousin kept his eyes right ahead, pretending he didn't see. Fucking suit yourself.
Matthew ripped his fist from his pocket and flicked open the blade. He struck his arm forward and jammed it into Arthur's neck. It was then Arthur finally saw him. His eyes widened and locked onto Matthew's in what could only be fear, but Matthew saw respect. He yanked the blade out and Arthur's hands scrambled for his neck as he coughed and choked. But Matthew wasn't done. He plunged the knife forward into his chest, over and over. Slick blood was pouring down Arthur's front and pooling between them. It ran down Matthew's hand to his elbow and smeared on his shirt as he pulled his arm back to thrust again.
He wasn't really in his body. Distantly Matthew knew he was trembling and shouting. His movements were erratic as he laid into Arthur about everything he did wrong, every grievance he had with him because Matthew apparently just wasn't enough for him. Blood ran from Arthur's mouth as he tried to speak and choked. Too bad Matthew would never know what he was trying to say, but it was too late.
Matthew jumped back when Arthur collapsed backwards and continued writhing as his uncoordinated hands uselessly trembled over his injuries. Matthew was breathing heavily. His mouth was dry and he didn't know what to say as Arthur spasmed and dark blood spurted. He held the switchblade tightly as his eyes locked onto Arthur's. His cousin was staring, his eyes were glossy and Matthew couldn't decipher what his look meant. But he didn't like it. Matthew started breathing faster. Arthur was going to die and he killed him. He swallowed and shoved the knife back into his pocket, he needed to keep his mind clear.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Matthew said as he looked around. Nobody to witness, perfect.
Arthur had lost all his colour and he only twitched occasionally as his breathing became shallow and he fought for breath. People took so much longer to die in real life than in his brother's stupid beloved movies. It would have to be something Matthew kept in mind. But it was too late for Arthur to be saved and he was unable to communicate should anyone come across him. He needed to leave now before he risked getting caught. With one last look at Arthur, whose weak eyes fought to stay open and stay on him, Matthew turned around and left him behind.
He took his time getting home as the events replayed in his head. They came in bits and pieces as the stress kept interrupting the playback. He had to be sure he had no loose ends. His heart was thumping as he took every precaution to avoid being seen. He was covered in a thick layer of blood. Just one witness would be too many and he would be done for.
When Matthew finally stumbled back into his own backyard, he cautiously approached the house and put his ear to the door before opening it. Unsurprisingly yet thankfully, his social butterfly brother wasn't there. Not that he was expecting him to. Now he had to get rid of the evidence. His stomach churned at the thought of getting caught. He didn't want to get caught. Not now, not when he was finally alive!
Hastily, he stripped everything off his body and shoved it in the washing machine. Everything, he was wearing, shoes included. He couldn't be too careful. The air was cold on his bare skin as he poured in twice the amount of washing powder and slammed the door shut.
But he didn't stop there. He turned on the shower as hot as he could tolerate and stepped in, scrubbing until the water flowing down the drain was clear again and his skin was raw. He grabbed the soap and scrubbed the switchblade until he could see his reflection.
When he got out of the shower, he felt strangely empowered. Like he was a new person and he washed off the impressions of others. He looked in the mirror, and no longer saw Alfred's shadow. For once, he saw Matthew.
Alfred might get lost in his own world and forget about Matthew, but he never forgot who always cooked. Seriously, people only remembered him when they needed him. Why was it always Matthew who cooked and provided? Sometimes it just felt like he was put on this earth to serve his brother.
He was in the middle of serving soup when Alfred jumped up from his lazy position on the couch in front of the TV as his obnoxious phone rang at full blast. The ringtone made Matthew jerk with the pot and grimace as some soup hit the previously clean counter.
Alfred apparently didn't see the urgency in answering the demanding sound, leisurely reaching for his phone and checking the caller-
"Shit!" He darted outside before Matthew could ask. Not that Alfred was guaranteed to answer him.
Whatever. Matthew held his tongue, served the portions and put the rest away. Whatever program Alfred was watching was almost finished and the news was going to start soon. They usually watched the news as they ate dinner with minimal interest, but today Matthew was looking forward to it.
Matthew had just put the bowls down and sat on the couch when Alfred came stumbling back in, looking like shit. His hair was a mess as he kept running his fingers through it and his eyes were glassy with tears. He slumped on the couch and shoved his glasses up his forehead as he dug his palms into his eyes. Matthew frowned as he balanced his bowl on his knees.
"What's wrong?" He asked as he pushed Alfred's bowl in front of his brother.
"Huh? Oh, Mattie." He rubbed his eyes clear and gave Matthew a smile that caused his concern to wane and his frustration to resurface. Alfred was always so full of himself, he always gave that smile when he decided that something wasn't worth worrying Matthew about. Because Matthew was weak and fragile, right? He was something to protect. That meant something to lie to and keep out of the loop because he wasn't important enough to be told the truth. Because above all, Alfred has deluded himself into thinking he has to be a hero.
"It's nothing, Mattie," Alfred grabbed the bowl of soup and started scoffing. "Thanks for dinner though!"
In the past, a concerned Matthew would pry, try to share his brother's burden only to be pushed away. Now, Matthew just let it go.
"Okay," he whispered and sipped at his own soup. He could tell that something was eating up his brother right beside him, but he wasn't a mind reader. He wasn't going to bend over backwards trying to guess either. Alfred could keep his secrets for all he cared.
When the news started with their top story, Alfred reacted like he'd been burnt and split soup down his face.
"Top story tonight, the shocking murder of a 25-year-old local man, his body found on a scenic walking trail with twenty-three stab wounds on the neck and torso a little past three in the afternoon by a jogger-"
Alfred choked down a broken sob as he carelessly dumped his bowl down and he ran out of the room. Matthew shouldn't feel surprised that what he did was on the news the same day. But he felt a little guilty because of Alfred's dramatic reaction, he was always close to Arthur so of course he'd be... wait. Arthur's name wasn't mentioned. How does Alfred know? Matthew's sharp mind quickly put together the pieces as he sighed and reached for his brother's forgotten phone on the table. He knew his brother's passcode so he let himself in. He didn't need to search for long when a text popped up saying 'sorry for your loss'.
He dropped Alfred's phone face down on the table. A fury burned inside him. Of course, Alfred was told and people sent him their condolences. But Alfred's shadow? Why bother with Matthew? If Matthew didn't already know about Arthur's passing, he would've never found out! Maybe the family would forget to tell him, but Alfred was going to actively keep it from him! He grit his teeth in an uncharacteristic show of something beyond placid emotion. The TV kept running in the background.
"Anyone with information is being asked to come forward."
At least that suggested they didn't have any leads and he was probably in the clear. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Matthew was detached from the possibility that he could get caught. Somehow he was completely sure that it would never happen. As if he'd be considered a suspect when nobody remembered he was a person.
However, something stirred inside him. Suddenly he realised why people committed heinous crimes without a smidge of remorse. They were proud. What he did was broadcast all over the city, maybe even the country! It was the first time anything he did got attention! He was ecstatic even though he knew how wrong it was, but didn't care. He accomplished something and someone took notice. He had made a difference. He was going to ride this wave as far as it took him.
The first whispers of addiction had planted their seeds, it was only a matter of time before the roots grew.
Author's note:
I really hate how often Matthew is swept aside in fics and only in the background to make Alfred's life more interesting. And I hate how he's characterised as a weak nervous wreck without reason and how he's hurt/fridged to get to Alfred. Like come on why does the fandom willingly shove him into a tiny box just because there's louder characters? Why is he always in the shadows?
Also, everyone is a caricature of themselves or at least how they mostly get presented in fanon. Consider it commentary or something.