#these would all be utterly inexcusable from my mouth EXCEPT for them.

[gummiix]

I reserve gooey pet names for my CATS only. and also some very specific favorite characters

[wallwriterstuff]

When You’re Lost, I’ll Leave My Gaslight On ||Yandere!Alec Volturi x Female Reader||

A request by @tiger-khans-blog Part 1: Obsession  Part 3: These Violent Delights 

Warnings: Yandere!Alec, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships and implied non-con later on. This is possibly one of the darkest fics I have ever written so please be aware if controlling behaviour, gaslighting etc. is triggering to you, do not read this fic. 

The following link will take you to a Citizen’s Advice Page that have resources regarding Domestic abuse and violence. They detail various organisations offering support, refuge and advice for both women and men in abusive situations, however these only apply to the UK.

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/

I am from the UK and therefore am not sure about what resources may be available internationally, however I know many of you are from places outwith the UK. If you have any resources you know of that would be useful or helpful to add here then please do! You can reblog this post with link in or message me a link to have me edit it into the original. I will post this link and any that get added in all three parts of this fic that I post.

Words: 4,436 

Summary:  Alec’s actions earned him some time in the dungeons of Volterra, and he really seems to be trying his best to behave himself the second time around. However, as your relationship with him blossoms, you find yourself growing more and more insecure, unsure if things are really as they seem to be. Your descent into madness seems much slower than Alice’s fall down the rabbit hole. 

Bella didn’t even write to you. Nor did Alice or Edward, or Emmet or Jasper. Only Carlisle had bothered to contact you, expressing his deepest regret you had gotten tangled up in all of this and his promise to speak to Aro on your behalf. Carlisle’s efforts had granted you your own quarters on the opposite side of the castle, smaller and far less grand than the ones you had woken up in but entirely yours to decorate how you pleased; at least, that was what Felix and Demetri had decided. The silence from back home was bad enough but on top of that you had to come to terms with the fact you were now forced to live with vampires who had little to no respect for human life, one of which had a mental gift she had loved to use on you as punishment for turning her brother against her as she put it.

To say you were depressed would have been an understatement.

It felt beyond impossible to consider feeling anything remotely positive when nothing seemed to go right for you. The secretaries who brought you food were the only interaction you had for the first few days and they were mostly too afraid to stick around and talk to you after hearing you were Alec’s mate. You had been utterly and entirely alone. Unbeknownst to you, this was a test, one you failed miserably, and after they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you by day 4 of your stay with them Felix and Demetri had taken it upon themselves to visit you. They were quite patient, letting you stay as far from them as you wanted while they invaded what had become your safe space, those unblinking red eyes taking in the sparse walls and boring, plain wood desk and doors. It was then that Felix had spoken up about decorating and Demetri has enthusiastically agreed this was a wonderful idea.

Felix, it turned out, was quite the talented artist. Looking at the brute you’d never imagined he could hold a pencil without snapping it in half, but he had drawn up the most beautiful sketches you could imagine as you told them what your bedroom back home had looked like, and how you had wanted to decorate it with your father. They had let you cry again at that point and looking back on it it was rather amusing to watch the two immortals – who physically had lacked the ability to tear up for over a millennia now – share a panic stricken look and throw tissues at you. By the end of the week, they had come back to your room with everything they would need for their DIY project and helped you start painting your room. You had been a little overwhelmed at their kindness, but both had waved it off as nothing and whenever they got the chance over the next week, they had helped you decorate.

You had shared music tastes, let Demetri try to interest you in poetry (even if he had failed dramatically) and even sat to watch a movie with them once while you had lunch. Still, it didn’t feel like home, just an escape from an abysmal reality.

“You know, he will be freed tomorrow.” Felix said quietly. You were in the middle of stringing up some fairy lights around the canopy of your bed when the news rendered you immobile. You barely remembered to breathe until Demetri very gently touched your waist and helped you down from your bed before you fell.

“I don’t want him to be.” You whispered, eyes ducking away from theirs. Alec had been their friend for far longer after all and the confession was cruel. Demetri sighed slightly.

“We have visited him once or twice, spoken to him. He truly does feel awful about what happened.” He promised you. It was very obvious on your face you didn’t believe him, and even if you did you were certain Alec’s behaviour was not normal, it didn’t eradicate your fear to know he wished it never happened when it seemed like he had had no control over it in the first place. If he couldn’t control it, it could very well happen again. Felix watched you carefully as you sat back against the headboard, curling your knees to your chest.

“Why…why was he like that? Is it – I mean could he…will he be like that again?” you swallowed, mouth a little dry as your heart fluttered in your chest. You felt sick, suddenly no longer curious about whatever dinner the new secretary might bring. Gianna had stopped showing up two days ago and you didn’t need to ask to know why. They shared a side long look, Felix going back to putting together the bookshelf you had repainted with him. It was a bit of a pattern, that Demetri handled your more sensitive questions – Felix just didn’t have the tact or patience for them.

“You remember our discussion on the transformation process? How we are frozen at the stage of growth we are at when we turn?” he questioned, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “Alec was turned no older than you are now, just 16, you know yourself from growing up I’m sure what a volatile time that can be. It is not that Alec wishes to scare you, just that the violence of his feelings is something he will have to learn to control.”

“The violence of his feelings?” you asked warily. Demetri hummed, head tilting.

“We feel emotion far more intensely than you, little human. Our bodies are frozen but heightened, so that we might experience everything to the fullest extent and therefore miss out on nothing. Alec is essentially a teenager seeing the girl he has a rather potent crush on for the first time, the mate pull was both entirely unexpected and strong. He admitted himself he had no way of controlling his own actions but he has meditated and spoken to master Marcus for help since. He really does not wish to put you through that again.” Demetri assured you.

“You have to give the boy some reprieve, he wasn’t exactly having fun either. Alec prides himself on his self-control, your appearance tossed it right out of the window.” Felix pointed out. You hung your head, brows furrowed. It sounded an awful lot to you like they were defending the inexcusable behaviour. He’s just a boy, he couldn’t control it, it’s not his fault…well, it didn’t change the fact it had hurt you. It had traumatised you really, so much so that even when you replayed Demetri’s words in your head in an effort to help calm yourself you still found no sleep that night knowing Alec would be at your door tomorrow.

Except he wasn’t.

He didn’t come the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that, and you hated that you were beginning to wonder if he was ever coming at all. Was this a new, peculiar kind of torture? Making you wait for him? Every knock at the door made you jump the first day or two but after that you slowly began to unwind, your heavy heart coming to the conclusion he maybe wasn’t coming back, that he felt it better to stay away from you. You almost passed out when he finally did show up at your door, standing behind Demetri as still as stone and looking jut as perfect as any sculpture could. It really wasn’t fair the boy was so pretty. Demetri gave you a warm smile.

“Good evening Y/N, do you mind if we come in little human?” he asked. You hesitated. Did you want Alec in your safe space? Your room was your sanctuary, decorated how you liked with no trace of Alec inside it as of yet. He seemed to notice your hesitation and you were surprised to see just how much anguish it brought him.

“If you prefer, we could take a walk around the Gardens? Demetri says you haven’t left your room much.” Alec said. His voice was softer now, no longer did it have the rough edge to it it had held in the throne room. You swallowed thickly, slowly nodding your head, and moved to get your shoes from by the door. Alec inhaled sharply as the shirt you were wearing rode up slightly. His arms had left to sizable bruises on your torso and he had obviously seen them. You weren’t expecting him to look so torn up about it. Demetri glanced between you both, his eyes knowing.

“I would suggest a jumper, the evenings can be somewhat chillier.” He advised. You nodded, crossing to your closet. Once you were ready, you shut the door firmly behind you and stuck close to Demetri’s side, much to Alec’s obvious ire, but the boy kept himself in check with remarkable discipline that gave you hope he could maybe be better.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice strained. Your hair fell, covering your eyes until you pushed it back with a quick nod.

“I’m okay. How are you?” the small talk was entirely forced and thoroughly unpleasant, but Demetri stood firm between you two, absorbing it all. You were more than a little grateful.

“I have…been better,” Alec confessed, “Demetri explained the…difficulty, I’m having in being around you?” he asked. The strain in his voice was growing more obvious again now but one look from Demetri forced him to settle as you shuddered, memory flashing to the violent grip his arms had on you. If he noticed your hand subconsciously go to your bruised flesh, he didn’t comment on it.

“He told me you couldn’t control your feelings.” You said quietly. Alec huffed, eyes flashing with irritation.

“It’s as upsetting to me as it is to you, to think a mere human would make me so…so…” he trailed off, trying to choose the right word. You prompted him, curious to see what he would choose. “Obsessed.” He settled for the word with such a flat tone you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around yourself, mind reeling. It wasn’t a good word. It wasn’t your preferred word. Carlisle and Esme had been mates, hadn’t they? Rosalie and Emmett? Alice and Jasper? They had proven to you if nothing else that mates should be loving, kind. It was a relationship based on mutual attraction and desire, caring, not one person’s obsession with another. It was an unhealthy word.

“Why don’t you tell Alec of our trip to the market the other week?” Demetri hedged. He was clearly acting as chaperone today as you headed out into the fading sunlight. The Gardens of Castello Volterra were magnificent, kept tidy and neat and bursting with colour. A massive expanse of green dotted with vibrant hues of flowerbeds and glorious leafy sculptures in shapes you could recognise. Horses, chess pieces. Your answers were short, quiet, and Alec seemed to have moments he was incredibly open and vulnerable before he became a little more robotic, his control slipping when he found his emotions getting the best of him again. The amount of effort he put into his composure really astounded you, and by the time you were half-way around the Walled Garden you were actually starting to feel a little bit bad. Clearly your presence really did make him suffer.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He admitted finally, fists clenched at his sides. With a sharp exhale, Alec turned to you, ruby red eyes darkening as soon as they made contact with your own Y/E/C.

“Alec-“

“Y/N, I have tortured myself over the way I behaved towards you. I am truly sorry I ever laid a hand on you. I hope that as I work on controlling myself around you, you work on being able to forgive me for that.” Alec cut Demetri off, his body rigid with tension and eyes flickering to the very slight gap left between you and the tracker as you moved closer out of instinct to the person you trusted most out of the two of them. His nostrils flared, seemingly annoyed by it.

“I…can try. But you need to promise me Alec, promise me you won’t hurt me like that ever again.” You said. Truthfully you were intrigued by him. Demetri had told you you would also feel the mate pull eventually, though not as strongly as Alec did, and your curiosity to know more about the witch twin was the start of a very deep dark hole you were about to fall into. The air turned almost ominous, like that strange moment between hearing thunder and waiting to see if there would be lightning.

“I won’t make you promises I can’t keep.” Alec’s voice was all that was left of him, as he was gone by the time you blinked again. Demetri sighed slightly, though he tried to perk up his expression when he realised you were looking helplessly to him for answers.

“Well, that went rather well, do you not agree?” he asked. What had Alec meant? He had done so well today. Clearly he was getting the hang of controlling his emotions, he could be less of a threat. You had rather liked the sweeter side of Alec you had glimpsed today, the side that told you about how Jane had planted the peonies and had chased Felix quite literally out of the city when he accidentally trampled on them once, just to hear you laugh. You liked the side of Alec that had quietly complimented the way your hair reflected the dying light while you stood and admired another topiary.

A month passed this way before you finally felt comfortable enough to be around Alec on your own. He had really tried hard to become a better man for you and it showed. His smiles were more natural and he found it easier to relax in your presence, no more uptight Alec that left you wandering when he would snap. Felix and Demetri had continued to chaperone your dates for all that time until you finally asked one night if you might be allowed to be with Alec on your own for a little bit. Demetri had enthusiastically agreed, both Guards seemingly happy you were finally letting their friend have his chance. Alec seemed to sense your nerves when you appeared in the library, where you’d both agreed to meet for an hour to two to test the waters. He was more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed while he listened to some far-off birdsong you couldn’t hear, or so you imagined.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.” He admitted. You smiled slightly, pulling your sketchbook from your bag as you sat on the opposite sofa to him.

“I said I would,” You reminded him. Alec smiled slightly, head bobbing in agreement. “What are you reading?” you asked. Alec glanced to the book beside him.

“The Picture of Dorian Gray, though I confess myself bored of it. Wilde has never been my preferred author.” Alec answered, sitting up and eyeing your sketchbook with interest. You didn’t notice, too busy flipping through your pages to find the sketch you were working on now. The lines were already drawn, you had just wanted to finish your shading today.

“How is Jane?” you asked. You wanted to chase away the silence and figured it would be a nice way to maybe broach the topic that she had avoided you like the plague. Alec didn’t answer you and when you looked up to see why you saw his eyes fixated on your sketch, nothing but awe painting his face. You flushed a deep shade of red.

“Beautiful and talented, little human.” He breathed. You were fairly sure you weren’t supposed to hear, but it only made your blush darken. It was nothing worthy of a spot in the Louvre, just a sketch of the view from the fountain in the plaza looking down one of Volterra’s many alleyways. You tucked some hair behind your ear with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “I started it the other day, when Demetri took me to that café I told you about? Where they do those really nice pastries?” As if a switch had been flipped Alec’s face shut off, all expression wiped away and an impassive mask replacing it. It had happened so fast you were unsure anything other than apathy had ever painted his face in the first place.

“Demetri takes you out often.” He noted. There was nothing his tone or his face to give away his feelings about that, but a strong sense of foreboding settled in your gut. You shut your sketchbook, knowing deep in your chest that the damage was already done. The atmosphere in the room had changed drastically, becoming charged and electric, like it was filled with current just waiting to frazzle and consume you whole.

“Yeah…it’s nice to get out of the castle, and it’s not like I’m a prison so why shouldn’t I see the city I’ve got to live in now?” you rambled ever so slightly, voice wavering a bit, but Alec’s expression changed so quickly you were sure he was trying to give you whiplash. With a laugh he nodded his head.

“Of course.” He made no further comment and you descended into silence again until it was time to leave, your sketchbook long abandoned and your eyes fixed on him, waiting for his mood to shift again. He was perfectly respectable in every other way however, his silence easy to brush off as nothing when he kissed your knuckles chivalrously after walking you back to your room. He still hadn’t set foot in it yet despite his obvious intrigue, waiting for you to invite him in personally. When the door closed behind you, you released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. The whole evening had gone far better than expected even with the few minor road bumps. In fact, Alec’s mood seemed to do an entire 180 compared to how he had been when you first met. He was pleasant, charming even. That was where the problem started.

One night, he bought you flowers and a pastry from your favourite café, remembering the exact kind you liked and bringing it to your door so you could enjoy a walk with him in the Gardens once more, watching the stars come out. You’d passed Felix in the corridor and waved but the giant had hurried by as though he hadn’t seen you. A few days after that Alec had promised to take you out to the markets, but the weather had been too bright for him apparently even though you had argued it was overcast enough that the chances of him exposing himself were slim to none. He had come to your room with new sketching pencils that night, an apology gift to make it up to you, he said.

It had become a theme though, you noticed. Alec would promise to take you somewhere, and then he would find one way or another to weasel his way out of taking you out.

“I never promised you anything, I said we might, your imaging things.” He would dismiss it the same way every time and always follow up with a nice gesture that made you feel bad for questioning him on it. He really did feel guilty about you not getting to go out, didn’t he? It wasn’t just that though either, it was Demetri and Felix’s absence in your life that had grown concerning. You were conscious you hadn’t seen your friends for quite some time, Alec always claiming they were busy with guard duty or some other task, yet when you caught Demetri in the corridor once he had brushed you off with the enough regret in his eyes that it made you question Alec’s entire story.

“But they always found time to at least say hello to me before, so why-“

“Y/N, my love I don’t wish to upset you, but do you really think they were ever your friends?” Alec asked. You blinked, frowning in confusion.

“Of course they’re my friends! We decorated my room together and they helped us get to know each other. I just don’t get why they aren’t around anymore.” You huffed. Alec ran his hand down your arm gently, your skin tingling at the ice-cold contact. He had slowly started to incorporate physical affection into your relationship, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t thrilled with the little touches. It was a far cry from the rough embrace he had given you nearly two months ago.

“They were fulfilling a duty tesoro, you required a room and at the Masters request they built you one, and do you really think one little human can go unguarded in this place? They were your sentries, not your friends.” His expression was so sympathetic you wondered how you couldn’t not believe him, and he’d held you to him as you cried over their obvious betrayal. As weeks dragged into another month though your anxiety only grew, and it didn’t make sense. Things between you and Alec were really good. He had much more control now and he was affectionate and sweet, always giving you little gifts and making time in his day to see you even if no one else would, but something was just…wrong. You were sure you were going mad.

You wrote home frequently to the Cullen’s so they could pass letters on to Bella, but those letters sometimes went missing and despite being sure you wrote them, Alec assured you you hadn’t and he had never seen them materialise. As sweet as he was Alec always put down your clumsy little accidents to you being human to, laughing when you tripped into his arms or holding his breath as he cleaned up scrapes for you with that dreaded little saying of his.

“You’re only human Y/N.” he chuckled, as he carefully placed a band aid around the finger you had accidentally cut while cooking yourself dinner. You sighed dejectedly.

“I wish you’d stop saying that.” You admitted. It felt like you weren’t good enough. Your human needs were a bother to him, that much was clear. He always had to take time to make sure you had something to eat when he really just wanted to spend his free hours with you. Most of the time when he was free you were asleep and you could only imagine how boring it must be for him to have to spend so much time alone when you were across the castle, sleeping peacefully. Bathroom breaks were another thing that gave you almost nauseating anxiety now to, and you’d scrubbed your body pink on multiple occasions wondering if your personal hygiene was assaulting his nose or not after a day or two without showering.

You needed to clear your head, you decided, so a trip to your café was in order. Alec wouldn’t be able to take you you knew, not with the sun as bright as it was right then. It would fade quickly given the late time of year but you left a note just in case Alec wondered across your empty room. It felt good, to get fresh air and to sit in a window seat, watching the world go by without a care as sweet pastry melted in your mouth. You had brought a book with you to enjoy to, a fantasy world to escape to for a little bit before your old anxieties came crawling back in. Though your relationship with Alec was as yet undefined, you felt like you were to blame for that due to your inferior status. After all, what could you possible bring to a relationship with him that would make him want to call you his mate? You were only human after all.

“Now what are you doing here little human?” Demetri’s voice startled you so much you dropped your book to the tabletop with a gasp. Heart fluttering, you couldn’t help but laugh breathless, if only to ease the tension.

“Demetri, god you scared the hell out of me.” You swallowed, not liking the way he was frowning at you.

“Well you can consider us even then.” He said, arms folding across his chest. You felt a lot like you were a child being scolded in that moment.

“What?” you asked.

“You heard me. You cannot just leave the castle Y/N, not without telling someone or at least leaving a note. There was an uproar when Alec found you gone, we thought something had happened to you.” He chided. Your frown deepened.

“But I did leave a note, I taped it to my door so Alec would see.” You protested. Demetri’s eyebrows rose.

“Not according to Alec. He found no note and I did not see anything resembling one when I came to your room to see what the fuss was about. Come on, you have had your fun. A harmless misunderstanding it may be but you will be in for a scolding from the Masters.” he sighed, holding a hand to help you out of your chair. Your stomach twisted. You were going to have to see the Masters because you’d gone out for coffee? How had Alec missed your note? You were sure you had left it on the door for him! You remembered the schluuuuck sound of sticky tape and everything as you taped it up!

“But Demetri, I swear I left a note.” You said, packing away your things as your good mood crumbled. Demetri was quiet for a moment.

“Perhaps you did and it was overlooked, either way you have scared us all enough for one day.” He took your bag from you like the gentleman he was, escorting you back to the castle. You were so sure you had left that note for Alec, as sure as you were about your own name, but what if you hadn’t? You resolved to steel your nerves for now, take your scolding and ensure you left one next time. Hell, next time you would even tell the secretary to go and tell Alec in the throne room just to be safe. You weren’t going to worry your mate like this again, it wasn’t going to become a pattern.

How wrong you were.

[feynavaley]

Hetalia Fanfiction – White Lies Ch 4

Summary: After sustaining serious injuries, Canada struggles with his resolution of keeping America from a truth that would only hurt him. But America isn’t so easy to fool, and with other nations getting involved as well, Canada’s well-meant lie might end up worsening the situation. (Sequel of “Overheated”)

Finally the last chapter! I thank everybody for your interactions with this story, it really means a lot. <3 

No particular warnings except for one:  I wrote the last half of this instead of sleeping. Literally. I stayed up until 7:30 to finish writing this, and had to be at Uni for 9. Fun times. There are likely some mistakes, and I will come back in a few days to correct them, but my procrastinating both writing this and studying while pretending to do the other thing (and having my mind actually occupied in what I’m not doing) was getting so bad that I just needed to get this out, so I can finally concentrate properly. I hope you can forgive me. The full chapter is under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app.

AO3 | FFN | First | Previous | List

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Chapter Four

There was no space for any thought in Alfred’s mind, no space for rationality. With the blood roaring in his ears, the only thing he could concentrate on was Cuba’s horrified features. He wasn’t even truly seeing them – all he could see was Matthew’s pasty face, the dark bruise decorating his cheekbone, the way his eyelids fluttered over his unfocused eyes, struggling to stay open. And all that damage had been caused by the man that stood in front of him, paralyzed.

Alfred wanted to see him bleed. He wanted to feel his flesh bruise under his fists, he wanted to see Cuba collapse on his knees, begging for mercy, moaning in pain until the sound would make Alfred forget Matthew’s agonized whimpers. He heard a sharp cry somewhere but didn’t pay any heed to it, already projected in the anticipation of his fist hitting Cuba’s face.

It never happened.

Something crashed against Alfred’s side, knocking the wind out of him. He found himself on the floor, pinned down by a heavier body, staring at Germany’s stern face.

“What do you think you’re doing, America?!” Germany growled.

Alfred didn’t answer, his eyes roaming behind Germany’s frame until they fell on Cuba’s figure. The coward was motionless, frozen in the same place he had been before, pale and wide-eyed. Alfred hated that. He utterly despised that lost expression, Cuba had no right to feel confused, not when Alfred’s little brother was lying on a bed because of him, in so much pain that he could barely breathe.

“Let me go!” he snarled, trying to squirm, but Germany’s hold on his arms was too strong and the rest of his heavy body was expertly positioned to hold him in place.

Alfred mentally cursed the lack of attention that had resulted in that predicament.

Germany’s frown deepened.

“If you think I’m going to let you hurt anybody you’re wrong, America. This kind of conduct is inexcusable. I want an explanation, right. Now.”

America gritted his teeth.

“I’m going to give you all the explanations you want,” he hissed, “After you’ve let me go and murder that fucking son of a bitch!”

His words were accompanied by some thrashing, but Germany tightened his hold, his muscles tensing with the effort.

Cuba had yet to move, he was staring at the void with unfocused his eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You’re not murdering anybody,” retorted Germany.

Drops of perspiration started blossoming on his face as he struggled to restrain Alfred’s strength.

At that point, the targets of Alfred’s rage became two. He had nothing against Germany, but the other nation was keeping him from his objective, and Alfred had no more restraint. There was only one thought that occupied his mind, he could hear Matthew’s pained whimpers in tune with his thundering heart, his brother’s bruised skin was imprinted in front of his eyes. All he could think about was revenge.

Narrowing his eyes, Alfred tried to calculate his odds. His arms and legs were effectively pinned, and Germany’s strength perfectly matched his, but his head was free. Would head-butting Germany make him loosen his hold? He had nothing to lose….

Suddenly, the tense silence was shattered by a panicked gasp.

“Luddy! W—what’s going on?!”

Alfred turned his head to see Italy standing at the end of the corridor, wide-eyed and fidgeting with his hands.

“W—why are you holding down America? What—”

“He tried to attack Cuba. I don’t know why. Feliciano, I need you to get somebody strong enough to help me.”

Knowing that it was his only chance, Alfred opened his mouth to explain himself, but Italy preceded him.

“Cuba?!” he asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise, “What… Luddy, don’t hurt America! He’s probably thinking that Cuba hurt Canada!”

“What?!”

Germany turned his head sharply towards the two standing nations, while Alfred was so surprised that he had even stopped struggling. How on earth did Italy know?

“Is it true?” Germany barked.

Those words finally seemed to wrench Cuba out of his trance. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“I… I don’t remember hurting Canada.” His voice was shaky. “But I don’t remember anything about Friday night, actually… so, I don’t remember not hurting Canada, either. I… I might have hurt him. I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

An angry wail seeped through America’s lips as he resumed his thrashing, desperately trying to get Germany off him, any thread of rationality gone from his mind.

“Sorry?! Is this all you have to say, bastard?! ‘Sorry’ isn’t going to heal him! You piece of shit let me—”

“AMERICA!”

At Germany’s shout, Alfred brought his attention back to the nation restraining him.

“Let me go,” he growled, “You heard what he said, you know why I need to do this. Just let go of me!”

Germany only heightened his efforts to restrain him, his features tightening.

“I heard it. And he will have to answer for it, but violence is never the right answer, America! You need to calm down!”

America tossed his head from side to side, gritting his teeth.

“I WILL CALM DOWN AFTER I’VE TORN THAT SON OF A BITCH INTO SHREDS! I—”

“What the fuck is going on here!”

The new voice had Alfred stop for a moment, his eyes running to the source of the noise.

Romano was standing next to Italy, his expression a mixture of surprise and annoyance. His eyes roamed over the scene, widening when they took in America and Germany’s poses, and a still shell-shocked Cuba.

“Lovi, he—” Italy started, but before he could go on Romano hissed something in Italian – something not nice, judging from Italy’s subsequent gasp.

“Well, I guess that the culprit has been found,” he declared then, flatly. “Are you the one who decided it would be a good idea to beat Canada to a bloody pulp?”

Cuba raised his hands in front of him.

“Hey, I never thought it was ‘a good idea’! I was drunk, I didn’t mean to hurt anybody! Not Canada, especially…”

Alfred didn’t know how Romano was aware of what had transpired. It almost looked like everybody knew, at that point, but he realized that he didn’t care. All he could care about was the fact that Cuba was still standing, unharmed, while Matthew could hardly muster the necessary strength to sit up on his own.

“Let me go,” he snarled again at Germany, “Just get off me!”

“And what do you think you’re doing, you fucking dumbass?!”

Alfred needed a moment to realize that Romano’s words were directed at him. He scowled at the Italian.

“I,” he enunciated slowly, trying to gather the strength to free himself from Germany’s hold, “Am. Going. To. MURDER. HIM!”

Italy and Cuba started, but Romano merely scoffed, apparently unperturbed by the display of rage.

“Oh, yes. I see. Because this would solve everything,” he stated, his tone dripping sarcasm.

Alfred gritted his teeth, the frustration was building up behind his temples.

“You have seen Mattie, haven’t you?” he hissed. It was the only reason he could think for Romano to be aware of the situation. “You’ve seen what this son of a bitch did to him! Do you really think I can let this slide?! Would you, if it were Feliciano lying on a bed?!”

Romano huffed.

“That’s not the point, dumbass. I’ve seen your little brother, yes. I would gladly lend you a hand teaching this fucker a good lesson. But believe me when I say that this is the last thing your brother wants.”

Alfred felt like he was about to burst, he couldn’t contain his thundering heart any longer.

“BUT HE HURT HIM! I DON’T CARE WHAT MATTHEW—”

And suddenly, Francis’s disapproving glare danced in front of his eyes, mirrored in Romano’s hard eyes. ‘Are you really thinking about what’s the best for Matthieu?’

Alfred felt himself deflating. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he went limp in Germany’s hold, closing his eyes.

‘I’m an idiot.’

Once again, he had forgotten about his little brother’s needs, putting his own ego and thirst for revenge first. Matthew didn’t like violence, nor did he like the concept of a futile revenge. He would have been so upset if Alfred had actually carried out what he wanted… Alfred still wanted to do it. There was nothing that he wanted more than feeling his hands curl around Cuba’s neck. But once again, the only result would be hurting Matthew. And Alfred couldn’t do it – not another time.

He took some deep breaths, forcing his thundering heart to slow down.

“You’re right,” he admitted as he finally opened his eyes again. “Matthew wouldn’t want this.”

Romano gave him a solemn nod in response, while next to him, Italy exhaled, his tight features finally relaxing. Germany’s muscles were still tensed, but he was looking at Alfred with questioning eyes.

“You can let me go,” Alfred said, forcing himself to keep his voice neutral. “I won’t do anything.”

Germany seemed to believe him. After a harsh nod, he got up and helped Alfred to his feet.

“I want to know exactly what happened,” he declared then, folding his arms across his chest, his eyebrows knitted over his stern eyes.

They all turned to Cuba. The man shrugged, running a hand through his hair – Alfred had to use every inch of his will not to jump at him, his temper inflamed by such a careless gesture.

‘Mattie. Think about Mattie.’

“I—I don’t really know what happened,” Cuba began in a shaky voice, “I’ve already told you, I was drunk, I don’t remember anything about Friday night. I remember a bit of the party, and next thing I know, I was waking up in the corridor. I don’t have the slightest idea of what has happened in between, so I cannot claim I wasn’t the culprit… I might have actually hurt Canada. I’m really sorry… is he badly hurt?”

‘Sorry’ wasn’t even close to enough for what Cuba had done. Alfred’s blood boiled seeing how Cuba looked sincerely regretful, but not nearly as crushed as he should be. He should be begging for mercy, instead, he thought that a simple apology was enough. America wanted to wring his neck.

‘Mattie. You mustn’t hurt Mattie.’

Alfred clenched tightly his fists, but managed not to raise them.

“Oh, let’s see…” he hissed, his voice dripping venom, his eyes digging holes in Cuba’s waxen face. “Why, yes, he is. Broken ribs. Broken ankle. A concussion. Dislocated shoulder. His stomach is so badly bruised that he will probably need an IV because he’s in too much pain to eat. AND IF YOU THINK THAT A ‘SORRY’ IS GOING TO MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER WELL I’VE GOT BAD NEWS FOR YOU, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHI—”

“AMERICA!”

Germany had raised one arm, ready to restrain him. Italy was staring at him, his eyes wide with fear, Romano was frowning. Alfred forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Sorry. I’m good,” he murmured to Germany, before turning his attention back to Cuba.

The nation, Alfred noticed with a mixture of surprise and outrage, looked shocked, his eyes wide on his too pale face, his hands trembling. Cuba opened his mouth, but no sound went past his lips. He had to swallow visibly before being able to talk.

“Oh God, I’m… I’m so sorry, I have no words to express how sorry I am, something like this never happened before, it was never this bad, I’m so, terribly sorry, I—”

“Before?” Feliciano echoed in a breathless gasp, “Does it mean that this isn’t the first time it happened?!”

Alfred had to use every inch of his self-control not to jump at Cuba right there and then. He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw started hurting. Of course it wasn’t the first time, of course it had been him also that summer, even if Cuba being the culprit had never even crossed America’s mind. And maybe, there had been other times before, times he had missed? His stomach was churning at the thought of Matthew having to take care of himself alone, and at the same time, he could feel the blood pound in his ears in front of Cuba’s apparent nonchalance.

“Why didn’t I hear about this before?” Germany barked, “This is serious! We cannot just let an attack on another nation slide!”

Alfred resorted to a solemn nod, too afraid of what he could have said otherwise. Cuba seemed to falter.

“Uh, but it wasn’t that bad,” he muttered, “I’m not proud of it, far from it. I’ve been trying to work on my temper, but it’s never easy… Canada understands this. He’s never been truly angry at me… I guess that he didn’t want to get me in trouble.”

Alfred couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his rage raising with each of Cuba’s words. This was exactly what he had feared.

“How do you dare?!” he spat out, seething. “How do you dare taking advantage of Mattie this way?! He’s short of an angel, and with the patience of one, too… and this is how you repay him?! By beating him to a pulp, because you know that he’s going to forgive you anyway?! YOU GODDAMN FUCKER I—”

Alfred was ready to lunge himself at Cuba, the sound of the blood roaring in his ears blocking out any rational thought. Matthew, Romano, Francis… none of them mattered anymore. The only thing he could think about was Matthew's bruised skin, his pained whimpers, the brute in front of him that still refused to take any responsibility...

"America, you need to calm down!"

Germany's voice, along with the hand firmly clasped on his shoulder, jerked Alfred back to reality. The red wave of rage simmered down.

‘Mattie. Think about Mattie.’

Alfred straightened up, forcing his clenched fists to relax. Romano and Italy were staring at him with wide eyes, unlike Cuba, who seemed to have slightly recovered from the previous shock and was now scowling.

"So now it's all my fault, uh? I already said that I am sorry! And I'm trying really hard so that it doesn't happen again! But none of this would have happened if you weren't such an obnoxious, self-conceited bastard! If you didn't keep poking your nose where it doesn't belong and bullying and ruining other nations in the name of your skewed idea of 'freedom', Canada would be fine!"

America saw red at those words, his blood boiled with outrage. An inhuman growl bubbled up his throat, all he could think about was the way Cuba's chubby face would feel under his fists – but Germany's strong hold kept him still, reminding him of what he had promised.

"What do you mean by this?" Lovino scoffed in his place, the frown etched on his face so deep that it almost managed to look frightening. "This is the biggest fucking bullshit I've ever heard. Never mind that there is something called talking problems out, which concept is clearly foreign to you, no matter how fucking annoying America may be, this will never, ever give you the right to attack his little brother! Canada has nothing to do with America’s politics, how could you even think—"

"Hey now, this isn't what happened!" Cuba interrupted him, raising his hands. "Do you think so lowly of me? I would never purposefully hurt Canada, we're friends, no matter who his family is! It's just... He and America look so much alike... Okay, I have to admit that you see the differences once you know them well, but do you have any idea of just how hard it can be to tell them apart? Especially when I'm that angry..."

America felt like he had just been punched. The air was knocked out of his lungs, he tried to open his mouth to speak, but he could find no words.

"And how does this make anything better?" he vaguely heard Germany ask in a stern voice, but he couldn't concentrate on his words.

All he could think about was Matthew's injuries, his fear, his denial to talk... Everything was suddenly falling into place with sickening clarity. Matthew, sweet little Matthew... Once again, he was hurt because of him. Alfred felt sick.

A sudden swear from Romano abruptly brought him back to reality. The young man was looking at Cuba with widened eyes, and an equally shocked-looking Italy had grabbed his left arm.

"So this is why... Cazzo. Makes sense now..."

Alfred didn't know what he was talking about, because nothing made sense. And at the same time, it did, taking into account Matthew's personality.

"You..." he wheezed out, bringing his attention back to Cuba.

The man was glowering at him.

"Do you see it, now? It's all your fault," he remarked, "I would never hurt Canada if it weren't for you."

Alfred didn't agree with him. No matter what he did, he should be the one bearing the consequences, not his little brother... And Cuba was still responsible for his actions.

"Your reasons don't matter," Germany retorted sharply, "Attacking another nation is still inexcusable, no matter how you look at it. The fact that Canada is innocent makes it worse, but it would have been wrong even if you had hit your intended target."

But at the same time, there was a part of truth in Cuba's words. "Your actions have consequences, Alfred!"  Arthur would constantly tell him, "And no, it doesn't matter if you think you can deal with them! You don't live in a bubble, you bloody git! Other people are going to be affected too, whether you meant it or not!" Alfred had had countless of times before to realize how right Arthur was. And at the same time, in his arrogance, he still messed up. He could feel the bile rise to the back of his throat, his hands were trembling.

'Mattie... Oh, Jesus, Mattie, I'm so sorry..."

"But Matthew agrees with me!" Cuba defended himself before turning again to America. "He never blamed me, he told me he understood... And you didn't even listen to him when he tried to tell you!"

Alfred's heart stopped at those words.

"W—what? But he never talked to me about this!"

At the same time, his mind was frantically running through all the conversations with his little brother, trying to remember if he had ever dismissed him. The last two times, Matthew had vehemently tried to hide everything (so that Alfred wouldn't feel bad? It would be just like him...) but what if things had been different before? The realization of how possible it was sank in his stomach with the weight of a rock. It wouldn't be the first time he didn't listen to Matthew...

Alfred’s head was spinning, Cuba's eyes were judging him triumphantly. Alfred still wanted to hit him for what he had done to Matthew, yet, at the same time, he couldn't be in that place for any longer, he could barely breathe, the walls of his throat were closing off.

"Hey now, this isn't what happened!" Romano had started saying. He shrugged off Italy's hold to step closer to Alfred. "Canada..."

But Alfred couldn't concentrate on his words. All he could see was Matthew's pained face, his desperate denial. Why…

He turned to Germany.

"I can trust you to take this from here, right?"

He couldn't bear to look at Cuba anymore. Not when Matthew had lied to him like that, not when he still needed explanations...

"Of course," Germany answered with a sharp nod, "Go to your brother."

Alfred could read the pity in his eyes. He flew from them, ignoring Romano's voice calling him back.

All he could think about was Matthew, Matthew, Matthew... Matthew that he had unknowingly hurt once again. Matthew who had lied to him, maybe because he was tired of not being heard, or maybe because he was so selfless that he didn't want Alfred to blame himself. He didn't know what would be worse. Alfred had hardly ever felt that bad, his stomach was coiled in protest, his ears were ringing.

He almost ran the length of the corridor, so desperate he was to reach his little brother. Absolution or damnation, it didn't matter what he would get. He needed answers.

******

The first thing Matthew was aware of, as he started resurfacing from the murky depths of unconsciousness, was that there was something missing.

The second was pain, such an all-consuming pain that it tore a moan from his lips. His head was throbbing viciously, and breathing was agony – every single movement of his ribs was accompanied by stabs of pain that diffused to his entire abdomen. His stomach was hurting too, a dull, omnipresent pulsing often intensified by spasms that brought the acrid bile to the back of his throat.

The pain was probably what had woken him in in the first place, Matthew could vaguely recall it as a sensation at the back of his mind during his restless sleep, and now it felt infinitely worse. There was also something else, however, something that was very important and soothing and should have been there...

A cool hand touched Matthew's forehead, brushing back his sweaty bangs.

"Matthieu, mon tresor?" called Francis's familiar voice, "Are you awake, mon petit?"

Matthew groaned in answer as the previous days started coming back to him. He struggled to open his eyes, he had to blink several times before he managed to get his surrounding into focus. Somehow, he was feeling even worse than he had before falling asleep – and that would surely raise questions, unless he managed to hide it properly.

"Matthew?" Arthur’s smooth voice joined Francis's one, and so did his hand, a gentle touch on Matthew's palm. "How are you feeling, love?"

Finally, the blurred blotches of colour above Matthew rearranged into his caretakers' faces. Both looked paler and messier than usual, he noticed with a pang of guilt, and faint bags could be clearly seen under their eyes.

"Not so bad," he answered. His voice came out feeble and scratchy, his mouth felt dry.

At the same time, Matthew finally realized what was the important thing that was missing: his brother's warm body supporting him. He could recall falling asleep like that, leaning against Alfred, feeling so safe in spite of everything, with his brother's arms loosely wrapped around him. They had reminded him to be strong, helped him bear the pain. Now, all he could feel were pillows under his back – softer, but not nearly as soothing as his older brother.

"Where's Al?" he asked groggily before he could even realize what he was saying, a sudden spike of panic invading his brain – what if Alfred was angry again and he had left?

Neither Arthur nor Francis changed expression, however, which meant that there was nothing wrong.

"He went to get us some breakfast, he'll be back soon," Arthur explained.

"And you should get something to eat too, before taking your painkillers," added Francis, brushing Matthew’s cheek.

The painkillers sounded fine – heavenly, even. Eating didn't. The mere thought made Matthew suddenly aware of how much his stomach was still twisting in agony, churning with nausea.

"I'd rather not eat," he mumbled, "Can I just have some water?"

'And painkillers, please. Or a blow to the head, either is fine.' But he couldn't say that, not after the way Arthur's and Francis's features darkened at his words.

In spite of his visible uneasiness, Arthur took a glass of water and helped Matthew drink it without saying a single word.

"You need to eat something, mon petit," Francis said as soon as Matthew was finished, and his mind less hazy thanks to the water. "You hardly ate anything yesterday... And you need to gain back your strength to heal."

Francis was right, of course. The two spoonsful of honey he had had the previous evening had only temporary given Matthew some energy back, as of now, his head was spinning even if he was simply lying down. There was absolutely no way he was going to eat without throwing up, however, his stomach was hurting too much, and it pained him how much concern that was causing to Arthur and Francis.

"It wouldn't do any good to force him to eat," Arthur declared surprisingly, "If he were to throw up, it would be even worse."

"But he needs to eat," Francis retorted, his fingers absentmindedly threading through Matthew's hair.

"He needs nutrients, not to throw up," Arthur corrected him, frowning. "I think he needs an IV."

Matthew's stomach clenched at that – at another evidence of how much trouble and concern he was causing.

Good job, Matthew Williams. A+ in 'adding other useless concerns to people who already have far too much on their plate'...

And that was even without trying to find an excuse for how he has ended up in that situation in the first place, at least that inquiry had been put on hold... But Matthew was starting to dread when the time would come. He was less and less certain that he could produce a believable excuse.

"We'll do something about it as soon as Alfred comes back," decided Arthur, "It shouldn't take much at this point... And don't even try to protest, poppet, you need that IV."

Matthew hadn't been about to. For how much he didn't want to be a burden, he had come to realize that protesting only made things worse in the long run, enhancing everybody's worries. The fact that he actually kind of enjoyed how much everybody actually cared for him only produced another sharp stab of guilt that made his stomach churn, but it wasn't the moment to worry about that.

"Yes, this is probably for the best." Francis sighed, shaking his head. "Do you already have something here in the hotel?"

"I think so," Arthur mumbled without turning, preoccupied with something on the side table. Matthew realized that he was probably preparing his medications. "I'll go with Alfred as soon as he's back... I wonder what's keeping him."

As if on cue, the door suddenly swung open with such violence that it slammed against the wall, startling the three occupants of the room.

Matthew immediately turned to his brother, his lips curled into a slight smile – partly to reassure Alfred that he was fine, partly because he was earnestly happy for his presence.

The blood ran cold in his veins when his eyes fell on the other nation.

There was nothing of the cheerfulness Matthew had been expecting on Alfred's face, not even a slight hint. His features were ghostly pale, his eyes wide, bright with such an intense mixture of pain and anguish that they stole Matthew's breath away.  Alfred said nothing, he was simply standing in the doorway, panting slightly, one hand against the door’s frame as if to support himself.

"Alfred!" Francis gasped as Arthur reached the younger nation with quick strides.

"Alfred, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Matthew couldn't talk. He could barely breathe, his brother's eyes were fixed on him, freezing him with the amount of emotion they were expressing.

"Mattie," Alfred said in the end, his voice so full of despair that Matthew wanted to cry, "Matthew, why didn't you tell me?"

Matthew's heart missed a beat. He opened and closed his mouth, almost gasping for air.

He knows.

Matthew desperately wanted to deny it, but he could read the truth in Alfred's anguished features. He had failed, and Alfred was paying the price for his being so pathetic.

"What was to tell?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"Cuba," Alfred ground out, uttering the name like a curse. Matthew felt the bile rise to the back of his throat. "It was Cuba."

The air went still for a moment. Even Francis's fingers on Matthew's hair stopped moving. In a corner of his mind, Matthew was aware that it was his turn to talk – to explain, to try to mediate – but he was frozen on the spot. He could barely breathe, he couldn't find a single word to say. All he could think about was how he had completely, utterly failed.

"Come again?" Arthur asked at last, wide-eyed, shattering the silence.

Alfred took a shaky breath – and Matthew could see the way his hands were trembling, his eyes were far too bright with unshed tears, and it was all so, so wrong...

"It was Cuba. And the other time, too. You know, when I found Matthew all bruised this summer. And plenty of times before, apparently." Alfred's voice was trembling.

"What?!" Francis gasped before turning back to Matthew, his eyes widened in surprise. "But this is... Matthieu, I thought you and Cuba were friends!”

Everybody was looking at Matthew now, various grades of worry etched in their features. Matthew swallowed painfully.

“He… That’s true,” he said softly, using every inch of his will not to lower his head. “Cuba is my friend. It’s just… he has really a bad temper. So, uh… he kind of beat me up a couple of times. B—but nothing too bad, I mean, and he always apologized so it’s not a big deal, really…”

His voice trailed off before his brothers’ shocked eyes.

“Not a big deal?” Arthur echoed him, his eyebrows raised. He slowly shook his head. “Matthew, do you even hear yourself talking? We had to take you to the hospital. You’re going to be kept on bed rest for a couple of weeks, probably! And this is—”

“Oh, Matthieu!” Francis’s anguished wail interrupted Arthur.

Francis looked almost like he was going to cry, the raw suffering sculpted in his features made Matthew’s stomach coil painfully. But he couldn’t keep thinking about himself, or everything would keep getting worse and worse.

“Ah… this is the first time it was so bad, really,” he clarified quickly, taking advantage of the moment of silence. “It’s just because he was drunk��� and I—I don’t blame him, really, he didn’t mean to… he probably didn’t mean to get drunk, either, like most people in the room, nobody knew that there was vodka in the punch… so, uhm, yeah, this is why I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry, I really am, but I just didn’t want you to get angry at Cuba, you know, he’s actually a really nice guy once you get to know him, so…”

His voice trailed off again. It was a pathetic excuse, and he knew it, but he couldn’t come up with anything better with the way his head was spinning. He could only pray that they would buy it…

Francis emitted a keening wail and took Matthew’s hand, squeezing it, while Arthur took a sharp breath, his forehead knitting.

“Matthew, excuse my French, but this is complete, utter bullshit. Being drunk doesn’t excuse him from his actions, just like—”

“And why are you still lying?” Alfred interrupted Arthur, his voice an octave higher than usual. Matthew’s chest clenched. “Jesus, why? Don’t… Why are you trying to pretend that it was only a casual thing?! Why aren’t you saying… Why didn’t you ever tell me that that fucker was beating you up because he kept mistaking you for me?!”

Matthew’s heart stopped beating for a moment, a lump closed off his throat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even think. His ears were ringing loudly, his head spinning… He wanted to close his eyes, but they were glued to Alfred’s bright, desperate ones.

He knows.

All his struggles, his proud decision… everything had been completely in vain. Alfred was hurting – Matthew could see it in his eyes, in his slumped posture. He was taking it exactly like Matthew had imagined – it was exactly why he hadn’t wanted him to know, but it was a million times worse, now that it was real.

“What?!” “Quoi?”  echoed Arthur and Francis, a mixture of horror and confusion written on their faces.

Matthew and Alfred ignored them – this was something between the two of them only. Matthew didn’t have any idea of what to say, now that everything had been exposed. He didn’t know what lies to tell, and he was still too confused, pained, and dizzy to come up with anything. Truth seemed his only option.

“I won’t apologize for this, Al,” he said softly, “I’m sorry that this hurt you, and on this I’m sincere, but I’m not sorry for what I did. Don’t you see? You knowing doesn’t change anything about what happened. It only hurts you – and maybe even Cuba, too. Yes, I didn’t tell you for fear of what you would do to Cuba, but it isn’t the only reason. I also didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to blame yourself. So, please… please don’t.”

A deep silence fell after Matthew’s words. The boy felt empty, almost as if he were floating. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation – he still felt horrible for the fact Alfred knew, but, at the same time, finally telling the truth seemed to have lifted a considerable weight from his chest. He could even breathe more easily, in spite of the physical pain the action still brought to him.

“Fuck!” Alfred swore loudly, his fist hitting the door with a bang.

Matthew started, then hissed when the movement jarred his ribs. Francis tightened the hold on his hand at that.

“Matthieu…”

“Goddamnit, Mattie, why do you have to be always such a martyr?! I… You don’t have to always shoulder everything, and certainly not if it’s my fault! Jesus, it’s still Cuba’s fault, but I still am the one who irritated him! I… I would have tried to change something if you had told me! I…”

Alfred stopped his rant, seemingly out of breath. His expression had shifted, anger was starting to show in features.

Next to him, Arthur took a deep breath.

“Okay, boys, we really need to have a talk now…”

Alfred ignored him.

“This is all so, so wrong! Why didn’t you tell me the first time?! It could have been solved easily then! And for God’s sake, why are you letting Cuba beat you up?! I know you’re strong enough to fend him off, then why didn’t you do it?!”

Alfred’s angry words reached Matthew like a stab in his chest. ‘You’re pathetic,’ his brother was saying, under the surface of his rage and concern. Matthew was already aware of that, but hearing it so clearly still hurt.

“I’m sorry!” he whimpered, “I just… I didn’t want to get him in trouble, okay? Or you, for what matters.”

Alfred slammed his hand against the door.

“But you’re getting hurt! Do you really think that it matters so little to me? People should get in trouble if you get hurt! Me included. Speak up for once! Why are you always like that?! We worry for you, you know?! Why don’t you ever say what’s on your mind?! You can’t go on like that!”

“ALFRED!”

Arthur physically put himself between his two younger brothers, a hand on Alfred’s arm.

“This. Is. Enough,” he stated sternly, “We need to talk about this, but you need to calm down first. Let’s go outside.”

He all but unceremoniously pushed Alfred out of the room, following him. Matthew managed to catch a glimpse of his brother’s hurt expression, of his too expressive eyes, before the door was slammed shut behind Arthur’s shoulders.

Matthew just kept staring at the point where they had vanished, his chest heavy with regret. Everything was so, so wrong… And it was all, completely his fault. Alfred was angry at him, now. He was aware of how utterly, completely pathetic Matthew was, and at the same time, he was blaming himself for what had happened, there was no hiding it. Alfred’s eyes were so expressive that it was almost a curse, he couldn’t hide any emotion he was feeling. And the depth of his pain was like a knife twisting inside Matthew’s stomach.

Matthew wanted to cry, to call back Alfred, to apologize and somehow made him understand everything, but he was far too drained and weak to do it. Pathetic. All he could do was stare at the door, that was getting blurred. Maybe he was about to faint. Well, that would have been a welcome change.

Only when Francis’s gentle fingers brushed over his cheek, Matthew realized that he was crying.

“Mattieu,” Francis said softly, “How long has this been going on, mon coeur? Oh, I can only guess how much you must have been hurting… Mon pauvre petit…”

Francis’s features were warped by concern, and at the same time, his eyes were soft. Matthew could see that he truly understood what was going on, that he supported him fully. The emotions that had been building up inside him suddenly exploded from the pressuring lump in his throat into a loud sob. A moment later, Matthew was bawling.

The convulse movements of his ribcage made his ribs grate against each other, sending intense sparks of agony reverberating through Matthew’s entire body, and his bruised stomach was protesting with agonized spasm, but he just couldn’t stop. All the emotions that had been piling up inside him poured out with the fat tears rolling down his cheeks, the pain for Cuba’s beating, his anger at Alfred, the regret for causing pain to his brother, and the utter, absolute sense of failure that permeated his whole being.

It took Matthew some time to realize that Francis’s hands were over him, one pressing against his ribcage in a futile attempt to keep him still and breathing shallowly, the other stroking his uninjured cheek.

“Matthieu, Matthieu, you have to calm down,” Francis was saying, panic seeping through his voice. “I know that you’re scared and hurting, mon petit, but you cannot cry this way, you’re too injured, you aren’t getting enough air…”

Matthew realized that Francis was right, his vision was blurred by the tears, but it was turning dark at the corners, and the rush of the blood in his ears made Francis’s voice sound like it came from far away.

He didn’t know how to stop crying, he had no more control of anything, but Francis sounded so scared for him… Matthew had already caused enough trouble, he couldn’t go on like that. Slowly, he managed to turn down his loud sobs to pathetic sniffles. The roaring in his ears started receding, but the violent outburst had drained Matthew of any energy, he couldn’t move a single inch of his body, and the intense pounding in his head was making his stomach churn in complaint.

“Oh, Matthieu…” Francis exhaled, threading his fingers through the boy’s hair.

There was a light shift of the mattress. Matthew raised his head in time to catch a glimpse of Francis contorted features, then a pair of strong, gentle arms enveloped him, pressing his body against Francis’s strong chest.

Matthew didn’t complain. Too drained to utter a single word, he curled against Francis’s familiar weight and buried his head against his shoulder, letting his nostrils be invaded by the smell of cologne and freshly-washed clothes. He kept sniffling against Francis’s shoulder as the young man rubbed his back and stroked his hair. Slowly, Matthew’s breathing evened out, Francis’s soothing gestures lulling him into a drained stupor. Even then, Francis didn’t talk. He just kept holding the younger nation, offering silent comfort with his mere presence.

“I hurt Al,” Matthew stated after a while, his voice dull.

Francis’s arm tightened around him.

“I know, mon coeur. And I know how much you’re hurting with him, you sweet soul… but you see, sometimes it’s inevitable that we hurt each other, even if we have the best intentions.”

Matthew snuggled deeper into his shoulder, desperately begging for comfort. He didn’t deserve it, yet he couldn’t bear anything any longer.

“But this is why I didn’t want to tell Al. I know that he never wanted to hurt me, sometimes he’s careless, but he’s always so caring, he never has bad intentions… I knew that he would feel awful about this, even if it’s not really his fault. This is why I kept it from him. But now he’s hurt even worse because I lied, too.”

Matthew was desperately looking for validation, but he found none. While Francis’s touch kept being tender and his voice gentle, the stern note was unmistakable.

“Oh, mon petit. I see what you did. But I can’t lie to you and say it was the right thing to do, mon coeur. I know that you meant the best, but keeping the truth from Alfred isn’t going to help him, as you saw, it only got worse when he finally found out. He needed to know this, Matthieu. He needed to learn that his actions have consequences and that he had hurt you. Telling him and blaming him are two different things, mon coeur. You could have told him and then helped him deal with it, that would have been the right thing to do.”

Matthew’s lungs were clenched in an icy grip at Francis’s words. He had been so sure that Francis would agree with him… but he didn’t. He had said exactly the same things as Romano. Could it be that it was because they were actually true? He had seen how hurt Alfred had ended up being…

‘But he wouldn’t be hurt if you hadn’t been so pathetic and managed to hide everything like you had planned. He would be none the wiser, and perfectly happy.’

Not to mention the gross misinterpretation that lay in Francis and Romano’s assumption. Matthew desperately wanted to tell him, to explain himself and why he hadn’t actually been wrong.

But he couldn’t. He knew how much Francis cared for him, how much he wanted him to be happy. And his empathy and gentleness came at the price of a big flaw sometimes: those little, white lies that Matthew could recognize so well, since he often found them spilling from his own lips, too. Francis would lie to him, pretending he deserved love and comfort he actually didn’t.

So Matthew simply buried his head against Francis’s shoulder and stayed silent, savouring the man’s comforting warmth and touch.

******

For a moment, Alfred was too stunned to protest at Arthur’s sudden gesture, giving his brother enough time to drag him away from the room and in another corridor.

“What the fuck, man?!” he snapped then, shrugging off his hold, the previous rage still colouring his words. “The conversation wasn’t finished! I need to go back!”

He folded his arms against his chest and squared his shoulders, scowling, but Arthur just glared back at him, apparently unimpressed.

“Go back to what, yelling at Matthew who is already badly injured, in pain and, honestly, simply feeling like shit?” he replied coldly.

The rage building up in his temples, Alfred opened his mouth to reply, ready to use colourful words at Arthur – and suddenly, his retort sank in. He immediately deflated, his eyes widening, guilt scratching at his insides.

A soft “Oh” seeped through his semi-parted lips. Alfred was the one at fault, how had he ended up yelling at Matthew? Recalling his little brother’s lost, panicked expression, his waxen face and widened lilac eyes made his stomach coil on itself.

Arthur’s feature softened in understanding.

“Come with me,” he said.

While confused, Alfred could do nothing but obey. He felt too drained to protest in any way, his head was spinning as he tried to sort through the memories and emotions. He didn’t understand. He felt horrible for what had happened to Matthew, he had never felt like such a lowly scum, and at the same time… he was also so furious at him.

Not a single word was uttered as Arthur led Alfred through the hotel, walking quickly.

Alfred realized where they were headed only when they stopped in front of a room that was at the ground floor, in a completely different wing from the bedrooms, one with a bigger door and an apparently higher ceiling. He turned to Arthur, hoping for an explanation of some sort, but Arthur preceded him.

“This is the staff's gym. Nobody can get inside aside from them... and few notable exceptions, of course. One of them being me.”

After Arthur had passed a laminated card in front of the reader, the door opened promptly.

“Come inside.”

Alfred followed him, at loss of what to do. The gym wasn't big, but it looked tidy, with a clean blue tatami covering its floor and some equipment neatly positioned against the white wall.

Alfred shot Arthur a quizzical look.

“Uhm, Artie, what? I like gyms, I really do, but, uhm, this isn't really the right moment.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow.

“You're tired, worried and stressed,” he stated bluntly, “This is the reason you yelled at Matthew, in spite of being so worried for him. Listen, you and Matthew need to have a good talk – hell, I need to have a good talk with him, as well. We all do. But you need to calm down first, or you'll accomplish nothing but hurting each other over and over.”

For how much Alfred would have liked to deny it, he knew that Arthur was right, if his behaviour of a few minutes earlier was any indicator. He felt a bit out of place inside the gym, he was still wearing the suit from the previous day, but in that empty room, there was nobody to enforce a dress code.

“Do your worst,” said Arthur.

Alfred didn't answer him, his feet automatically carrying him to the punching bag.

The first moment his knuckles hit the heavy sack, the cool leather against his skin, Alfred felt the tension starting to wear off. He looked with satisfaction at the way the sack swung to a side and prepared himself for a second blow, the rush of adrenaline washing over him like a rejuvenating shower. Not much later, the boy was in full swing, hitting the poor bag with all his strength, the familiar, mechanical motion washing the stress off his tensed shoulders and body.

Alfred didn't even realize when he had started talking, but suddenly, he couldn't stop the words that were pouring out of his mouth.

“…And Jesus, I don't think I've ever felt this guilty in my entire life. It's just... Mattie, you know. He's so sweet and naïve and gentle-hearted that I'm just.... always so afraid of people hurting him. I try to keep an eye on him as much as I can because I know that he's strong but he just... doesn't defend himself and man, this is so scary. And in the end, I've hurt him worse than anybody else. You should have seen Cuba's face, that bastard was just... so satisfied. And I wanted to kill him, and I really did, but he did have a point. Why did I never realize anything?! Why?!”

A more violent swing threatened to tear the punching bag off the ceiling, but it resisted.

“And it's Cuba's fault, but I feel so bad about it. Because I never listen to Mattie. I don't mean to, I just... It happens.”

Kick, punch, kick. Perspiration had started gathering on Alfred's forehead, the heat was rising. He violently tore off the suit's jacket threw it away, not caring where it would land.

“And at the same time, I'm so, so mad at Mattie because why?! Why doesn't he just talk?! He just... goddamnit I'm not a baby! I can deal with the consequences, and I am his older brother, I just... It almost feels like he doesn't take me seriously, and this just... hurts.”

With a corner of his eye, Alfred saw Arthur shift closer to him, but his brother said nothing. He just kept looking, a granitic spectator to the events that were unfolding.

“But it probably isn't even that, is it? I know that Mattie actually trusts me, it's just... he doesn't want to hurt me. He doesn't want to hurt anybody, actually, and that's just... it's terrifying, Arthur! He won't look after himself, and one day he's going to get hurt even worse than this, and he's not even going to complain because that's just how he is, he's so sweet and kind and sensitive and just... I'm angry about this, sometimes. I would want to yell at him and shake him until he realizes that he cannot go on like this, the world isn't a field of flower and he needs to stand up for himself!”

The beam the bag was attached to creaked with the power of Alfred's kick, but he didn't stop.

“But more than angry, I'm so, so worried. God, I'm so worried that sometimes I cannot even think... and this is when I snap and yell at him, I guess. Dealing with anger is easier than dealing with fear, so I end up being horrible when in truth I'm just terrified.”

Alfred suddenly realized that the wetness on his face wasn't just sweat, there were tears streaking his cheeks, and his vision was blurry and out of focus. He still didn't stop – he just couldn't stop.

“And you know what's even worse?! What's worse is that it's my fault. I'm so, so selfish. Like you always tell me. And I hurt him. Every time. I'm supposed to protect him – I want to protect him – and instead, all I do is hurting him! Dismissing him! Over and over! And God, I try! But I. Only. Ruin. Everything!”

With a last powerful kick, the beam creaked in complaint – and then the bag just fell down with a low thud, sprawled uselessly on the ground.

And so did Alfred, utterly exhausted, sobbing loudly. He let gravity take hold of his body and collapsed to his knees, too empty to even try to move.

A moment later, he felt a hand rubbing his back.

“It’s all right,” Arthur said, his voice so sweet that Alfred felt like a child once again. “It’s going to be all right, Alfred. You don’t have to place all the blame on yourself, it isn’t only your fault. Matthew’s decisions are his own, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about them. And as for your carelessness… well, you have always been a bit like that. And I’ve been too harsh on you, many times, I know that you mean no harm, your intentions are good. Which doesn’t mean that you should just do anything you want, of course, but dwelling on the past won’t do anything: you have realized that you were wrong, and this is what truly matters. Now, you can only move forward.”

Alfred had no words to express how much Arthur’s support meant to him. He turned towards Arthur and hid his head against his brother’s shoulder, sobbing even louder. Arthur said nothing, he simply continued holding him, rubbing his back. Like he had done numerous times when Alfred had been a child. Centuries had passed since then, Alfred had grown up, he could take care of himself, yet, abandoning himself to Arthur’s care for once just felt right, an enormous weight being lifted from his shoulders.

When he finally calmed down and detached himself from Arthur’s arms, Alfred offered him a weak smile.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“Crybaby,” replied Arthur, shaking his head, but a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Worry and guilt were still gnawing at Alfred’s stomach, but Arthur’s exercise had helped him immensely, he was sure that he could face Matthew without losing his temper now. Without need for other words, the two nations gathered themselves and walked the way back to the bedroom.

******

Matthew didn’t know for how much time he had been held by Francis when he heard the sound of the door opening.

“It’s all right, mon coeur,” Francis murmured, but Matthew almost ignored him.

He immediately straightened up, hissing at the sudden flash of more intense pain in his abdomen, just in time to see Arthur and Alfred walk through the door.

Arthur looked normal, but Alfred’s hair was tousled and his suit in disarray. The worst thing, however, was his red and puffy eyes, a clear indication of the fact Matthew hadn’t been the only one dealing with a break-down.  In spite of that, Alfred looked more relaxed than he had earlier, and his smile at Matthew, while weak, looked genuine.

“I’m so sorry, Mattie,” he said as he walked across the room, the words spilling from his lips even before he had had time to sit on the bed. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper before. I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know, I was just so worried… you don’t take care of yourself nearly as much as you could, you never complain… I’m always worried that I’m going to find you hurt like it just happened. But more importantly, I cannot have words to express how sorry I am that you have been hurt in my place. I… I swear that I’ll try to be more careful, in the future. A ‘sorry’ isn’t even close to enough for what happened, but I’ll make everything in my power so that this doesn’t happen again.”

The earnestness in Alfred’s voice tugged at Matthew’s chest, invading it with warmth.

“A ‘sorry’ is more than enough,” he retorted softly, “You have been forgiven a long time ago, Al. And…” he had to swallow. The next part was going to be more difficult, but Francis’s hand on his back gave him strength. “And I’m really sorry, too. I trust you, Al. I just… didn’t want to hurt you. I can see how much you care for me, and I know that you would never hurt me intentionally, so I just… thought that lying would be better. I see now that this only made things worse, however. And I am sorry.”

Alfred reached out to ruffle his hair.

“You have to tell me when something’s wrong, Mattie. We’re brothers, we face stuff together. And I promise that I’ll listen. And if I don’t… make me, Mattie. Don’t keep silent.”

In spite of the tenderness in Alfred’s voice, a lump closed off Matthew’s throat. Because Alfred was speaking too softly, guilt was still shining in his eyes. And Matthew couldn’t allow that, no matter how badly it was going to end for him.

“But Al, the point is… it isn’t even your fault. I mean… you know that Cuba mistook me for you, right? You had no way of knowing that, you couldn’t have predicted it. And even if you had… it’s still my fault, not yours. I—it’s not your fault that I’m not recognizable, that people forget about me. That’s all on me. If only I had anything recognizable, unique… this wouldn’t happen.”

Matthew realized with horror that tears had started welling at the corners of his eyes. Worse than that, however, was the silence that enveloped the room, the three sets of horrified eyes glued to Matthew’s figure.

He almost wanted to hit himself – of course it was going to upset them, idiot! – but on the other hand, talking with a concussion wasn’t easy. He should just knock himself out until he was fully healed, at that point. His mind frantically tried to come up with an explanation, something that could make his words look less drastic, but Alfred was quicker.

“Wha— Mattie, what the fuck are you saying?! You… how can you say that you have nothing unique, that this is your fault? You’re so nice, so sweet… you always manage to put everybody at ease! Seriously, Matthew… sure, being loud help being noticed, but… you’re your own person, why would you need to change? Everybody likes you! Yeah, you aren’t always at the centre of attention, and so? You’re yourself. You’re the one everybody thinks about with fondness, I swear that I’ve never heard a single negative word about you!”

Matthew was taken completely by surprise by Alfred’s words. He locked eyes with his brother, unable to hide his confusion.

“…What?”

Matthew knew that Alfred cared for him, but he had been sure that his brother didn’t approve of his personality, that he found him too soft. Not even in wildest dreams he would have imagined Alfred saying something like that about him.

“You heard it, Mattie,” Alfred answered, ruffling his hair. “I have no idea of where you got this from, but believe me, if people don’t remember you it’s their loss and not your fault at all, because you’re awesome. In a different way than I am, of course, but there are a lot of different ways to be awesome! And you cannot let anybody tell you otherwise!”

“Oh…”

Matthew didn’t know what to say, the conversation had taken a completely unexpected turn. His mind was muddled with surprise, he moved his eyes to Arthur and Francis, silently begging for their input.

Arthur took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Alfred is right, Matthew. You don’t have to change yourself for others, and anybody not remembering you is nobody’s fault but their own, not yours. You don’t have to look that surprised…”

“Ah, mon petit, where did everything go wrong?” Francis whispered, stroking his cheek.

Matthew was surprised to see regret written in his features, but he couldn’t process it.

“Where did I go wrong,” Arthur muttered, the lines on his face tightening. He looked tired. “Matthew I’m… I’m so sorry. I’ve never told you enough about how amazing you are, have I? I never offered you all the praises you deserved… and this is what I created. I don’t think you can understand how much it pains me to see you like this. You should be proud of yourself, you should know that you’re worth defending.”

Matthew was more and more confused. Alfred wasn’t the best judge of character, so his words, while unexpected, could somehow make sense. But Arthur and Francis… they were older than Alfred, more mature. And if they thought that he was worth praising… they could even be right, maybe.

Matthew’s head was spinning, he didn’t exactly know what to do with the new-found information. He closed his eyes, trying to take the deepest breath he could manage with his injured ribs.

“Mattie?” Alfred asked immediately, ever concerned.

“I’m good. I’m just… it’s a lot to take in.”

“Of course, mon petite,” Francis retorted in a soothing tone, brushing Matthew’s bangs away from his forehead. “Nobody is expecting you to change your way of thinking overnight. But you shouldn’t let anybody put you down. Do you promise me that you will at least consider this, the next time something happens?”

Matthew nodded hesitantly, opening his eyes. Francis’s suggestion didn’t seem bad, actually. The three faces hovering over him relaxed.

For a moment they looked at each other, then the silence was broken by the sudden beeping of Alfred’s phone. The nation yelped in surprise, jumping to his feet as he extracted the device from his pocket.

“Oh! It’s Germany!” he said as he swept on the screen. “Says that he cannot really do anything to punish Cuba – oh, right, I hadn’t told you. He was the one who actually stopped me from basically murdering Cuba.”

Matthew felt a pang of gratitude towards Germany – in spite of everything that had happened, the thought of Cuba being hurt was never going to be something pleasant.

“So, yeah, he just gave him a big lecture. While Romano kept swearing at him in Italian and Spanish, ah, I wish I could have seen it… anyway, he says that Cuba seems to really regret what happened. And he’s going to lay off the alcohol for a while. So, uh…”

His questioning eyes fell on Matthew.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Matthew answered, “I’m not angry at Cuba, really. I know that he didn’t mean to… He’s forgiven, as far as I’m concerned.”

He was probably going to get a text in the following days, with Cuba offering to buy him ice-cream. And Matthew was perfectly fine with that. For how much the beating had hurt, Cuba recognized his actions, and that was all that mattered.

“I don’t like this,” declared Arthur, his lips tightened in a thin line of disapproval. “He may look sincere, but if he hurt you other times…”

“Oh, but he has been doing this less and less, really,” Matthew offered eagerly, “He’s getting better. And he doesn’t enjoy beating me up, he always feels horrible when he does… I think that after this, he’ll try really hard to control himself.”

Nobody aside from Matthew seemed convinced, various degrees of doubt etched on their faces. They didn’t say anything, however, probably realizing that it wasn’t the right moment, not with Matthew still in pain and so badly injured. The boy was sure that they were all going to have a talk with Cuba, but for the time being, he discovered that he didn’t care. On the contrary, the fact that they would do that for him ignited a spark of warmth in his chest.

Matthew closed his eyes, letting the full weight of his body lean against Francis. The man accommodated him, stroking his hair.

The other two immediately went into motion.

“Right! Alfred, he needs an IV!” Matthew could hear Arthur saying, and Alfred answered back something, but his weary and pained body couldn’t keep up with them.

And at the same time, it wasn’t bad. For all the pain he was experiencing, Matthew wasn’t alone, but with the people he considered the closest thing he had to a family, who had just proved how much they cared for him. He couldn’t have asked for anything better.

(total word count: 35,535; chapter: 10,325)

———

Notes:

You may have noticed that I used an ugly ‘Romano swore’ for the Italian part. I don’t know why, but when I went to write that scene I couldn’t bring myself to write down on the screen profanities in Italian, it felt way too much (I almost never swear, in general) I mean, I have no problem in English, but in Italian it’s just… nope. Funny how it works.

Dialogues in italics mean that the characters are talking in a language different from English.

English isn’t my first language, feel free to correct me!

Special thanks to @verymemeingfulart for reblogging the previous chapter!

[journalxxx]

January 17th, 2013

Albeit coded with my most complex cipher, the delicate and personal nature of the events that have occupied my mind for the past hours makes me hesitant to record them in writing. However, my thoughts have been spinning in circles for so long that I think that even the simple process of establishing a chronological and causal narrative order among them could be of some use to me.

First off, something I had genuinely forgotten until this evening. During my travels, I once found myself temporarily detained in the small jail of a local custom house, for reasons which have no bearing on the topic at hand. The cell opposite mine was occupied by two fascinating jellyfish-like creatures, whose appearance strongly resembled that of our Pelagia Noctiluca species here on Earth, except nearly as tall as an average human being and perfectly adapted to terrestrial survival and ambulation. Since my translator had been confiscated by the authorities and we were such fundamentally different organisms, all my attempts at talking with them were unsuccessful, and the three of us spent the long hours of imprisonment without interacting in any meaningful way. That is, until they started interacting with each other.

To this day, I have no idea what they were actually doing. They may have been fighting, or playing, or even simply communicating. What I do know is that their actions were extremely intriguing to watch. Each movement seemed incredibly slow and cautious, almost lazy at times. They kind of drifted towards each other at first, lightly and gradually, as if they were somehow fluctuating in an immaterial sea current. Their thin and lucid tentacles brushed, then slid along each other, and finally tangled and coiled like the strands of a rope, or the superhelix of a protein. Their appendages seemed to meld as they grew closer and, at one point, when their limbs were so deeply tied that they appeared impossible to unravel, their bells flipped sideways and their rims adhered perfectly, creating a roughly spherical shape above their bodies. They stayed like that for quite a while, at least half an hour, squirming and ondulating slightly against each other.

I remember wishing that the room had been more brightly lit, to allow me to observe the phenomenon more clearly, maybe even catch a glimpse of their inner anatomical structures through their translucent tissues. I remember squinting in the darkness to make sense of the dim reflection of the outer light on their skin, trying to gauge whether their position had changed or the situation had evolved. I remember the strange, subtle scent that slowly pervaded the area, something akin to ammonia. I remember most vividly the noises they made, the soft and wet rustling of their fringed tentacles sliding and knotting, the sharp smacking sound of their bells suddenly misaligning, and then quickly sticking back together like powerful suction cups. I remember, not without shame, my interest gradually turning into something other than purely academical, something of much less intellectual nature. I did not question it at the time, nor would I know how to interpret it even now. I can only imagine that something in their attitude, regardless of what their actual intent may have been, must have resonated with my own human schemes of behavioral interpretation. What may have been the most normal and ordinary social interaction in those aliens' society did look to me as... uniquely intimate and suggestive. I wish I could say I only went as far as acknowledging that bizarre interest, and then promptly and discreetly shrugged it off. I did not. I wish I could blame the hours of boredom, or the years of loneliness, but the recent developments warn me to be wary of such simplistic excuses. As much as it pains me to admit it, I did allow that peculiar sight to rouse me beyond reason and dignity, to the point that I couldn't do anything but relieve that troubling pressure as I could, then and there. The creatures didn't seem to notice in any way, nor did the curious incident have any kind of material or moral consequence. It may have indeed remained buried in my memory for another decade or forever, if something deeply different yet somehow similar hadn't sparked its recollection. I have already written about Stan's penchant for indulging in brief and casual dalliances in most of the towns where we happen to dock. It isn't uncommon for him to spend an entire night out once in a while, nor to display unexpected familiarity with the most diverse individuals, in spite of every and any linguistic or cultural barrier. He is as discreet about it as any man with my brother's particular character and brazen sense of humor might be, though I'm glad to say that this habit of his has never caused us troubles or misunderstandings. However, I now find myself incapable of thinking about this matter like I did before, like an innocuous and abstract piece of information about his usual past-times. And once again I can't help but draw the conclusion that I don't know my brother nearly as well as I thought. I didn't notice anything remarkable about the plain diner we went to yesterday evening and, on Stan's suggestion, today as well. Everything from the food, to the furnishing, to the friendly waitress taking our orders looked absolutely nondescript and ordinary. I did notice the abundance of warm smiles and lingering glances the two were trading but, well. I surprised Stan practising cheesy pick-up lines both on his pet axolotl and on a miner copper statue, so I've always thought that flirting comes as natural to him as breathing. I definitely didn't notice anything strange when he excused himself to "take a leak", as he eloquently put it. Therefore, when I went to the bathroom as well a couple of minutes later, I didn't expect in the slightest to catch a glimpse, behind an ajar "Staff Only" door, of him and waitress clutching at each other, his mouth latched on her neck and his hand under her skirt. Paradoxically, the most remarkable aspect of the whole thing was how strangely unremarkable it was, in some ways. They remained mostly quiet for the entire time, save few hushed encouragements and instructions. As strange as it may sound, it looked like they barely moved, once they started properly. They barely even looked at each other, or rather they did, but only at their bodies, cheeky winks and bright smiles unexplicably gone. For some bizarre reason, the incident in the custom house popped in my mind, and, just as inexcusably as that time, I simply observed, instead of discreetly going my way. I left only after they were done, and I finally headed to the bathroom to gather my thoughts for a minute. I must confess that, if I had witnessed such a scene just few months ago, I fear it would have left me completely unimpressed. I probably would have spared it very little thought, and many denigratory judgements. However, I believe - I want to believe - that I have learned something about Stanley since my return, and that's that he is, despite the appearances, a very whole-hearted man. It boggles my mind that he may be so careless and superficial with something that, in the life of every human being, I believe should be treated with at least some modicum of consideration. I may be reaching, but I feel that, just like with the jellyfish aliens, I may be missing some crucial contextual element, something critical to let me understand exactly what the hell have I stumbled into. Otherwise, it just... doesn't make sense to me. For the sake of honesty, I can't omit the fact that, despite all these puzzling and troubling thoughts, the sight didn't leave me unaffected. I did not indulge my 'interest' - for lack of more delicate definition - like the last time, as I also want to believe that I have some modicum of consideration as well, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't consider the idea, however briefly. Whatever the source of this questionable fascination may be, it wasn't remotely slighted by the fact that one of its objects was my own kin. I don't really know what to make of this either. When I got back to the table, Stan was casually picking the last fries from my plate, calm and cheerful as ever. Not a single word or gesture was out of place when we paid, and the amicable looks and smiles were back in their place. Sometimes I forget how much of a good liar my brother is. If his good mood was even a facade. Maybe not. I honestly have no idea. We set sail to our next destination a few hours ago. I never quite noticed how utterly unaffected Stan seems to be by the idea of leaving his occasional acquaintances for good, people whom he must have bonded with to some degree, I suppose. It strikes me as beyond odd, now, though I may be just overthinking it. We're scheduled for almost a full month of navigation before hitting the next port, so I guess I'll have plenty of time to try to make sense of my doubts.

[yoosungshoodie]

I Found. | Katakura Kojuro (3)

GENRE: angst CHARACTERS: katakura kojuro, date masamune, mc. WARNINGS: none title inspiration from PART ONE AND PART TWO Author’s Note: 2.2k of words and it took me a while to write this because i have a hard time writing scenes when i’m not quite sure what drives a character. i don’t remember much from masamune’s route so it’s hard to write him because, frankly, i have completely forgotten how his character is like. i feel the need to brush up on kojuro’s characterization too. i had a lot of trouble writing this because i’m terrible at executing a character’s motives which is... my own fault, truthfully. nonetheless, please enjoy this, i worked pretty hard on it! tagging @jemchew and @frywen-babbles because if my memory serves correctly they wanted to be tagged. let me know if you’d like to be tagged too!

“You know what I want for you,” Masamune breathed. “You know this isn’t it.”

“You can’t tell me you’re unhappy with my decision when it works in your favor. And how many times have I said that what I want is irrelevant when it comes to you?” Kojuro spoke in hisses now, words firing from his chest without knowledge from his head and he knows he’s in too deep, he knows he’s foolish and awful for allowing a woman to reach deep inside of himself and unravel him. He knows all of this, and yet he does it—he can keep his temper for war councils that weighed on the lives of families and men but he couldn’t keep his composure over a woman.

Fate did not treat well the people who refused to take part in love’s games.

“She misses you, and I hope you’re greatly aware of that.” It’s all that takes for Kojuro to whirl around eyes wide, mouth half opened. Masamune stared back undaunted.

He said quietly, “I’m aware.”

And truthfully, it was the only thing he could manage. Why, he thought, did it have to be her? Because his heart goes through hoops when he sees her and her voice rings in his ears like gunfire, and he can’t stand it anymore when her destiny wasn’t with him—and he knew it, everyone knew it. The room was utterly quiet. He heard the buzzing of insects and the shuffle of the leaves and quiet murmurs of the wind. He swore that if he listened close enough, he would hear the sound of her voice too. Masamune let out a breath, one he hadn’t meant to push outwards.

“I know well enough… to not get into your affairs,” He begins slowly. “But you’re hurting her.”

“I’m painfully aware of that, you have no need to tell me as if you think I don’t know.” Kojuro responds and Masamune knows very well he’s treading as thin as the ice in the garden pond during their winters. He knew very well what he was doing to her because he felt the same kind of pain she did, in the same silent way.

“I wasn’t asserting that you didn’t know.”

“Then why feel the need to mention it?” Kojuro’s voice gets icy and that’s where they draw the line, when Kojuro’s lips took on the shape of something vulgar and alarming. It had been an expression Masamune had seen before on him when he was very much younger, when he knew he was giving Kojuro more trouble than he needed.

“I wish you would be more honest with yourself… and her.”

Hurt warred furiously against the confines of Kojuro’s chest. “I am being honest with her, and I’m doing what’s good for her, you, and everyone else.”

“Except yourself, right?” Kojuro isn’t sure he’s ever heard Masamune’s voice this quiet before. Kojuro turned over to scan the look over in Masamune’s eyes, lips pursed into a thin line of thought. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he knew how to respond to that.

He couldn’t deceive himself; he knew this was going to go around in circles unless Kojuro had put an end to it. It was a battle not worth winning, Masamune trying to push aside his feelings for the sake of Kojuro’s happiness when Kojuro had been doing the same. Tension bore down upon them like the heat of molten metal. What was the point if they both wanted to bow down from this? And what would become of her?

“You speak as if I have a choice in my say.” It’s there Kojuro’s well grown facade cracks, the mask of maturity that he was woven from years of experience allows itself to bend and splinter before his own hands.

“You know what I want for you,” Masamune breathed. “You know this isn’t it.”

“You can’t tell me you’re unhappy with my decision when it works in your favor. And how many times have I said that what I want is irrelevant when it comes to you?” Kojuro spoke in hisses now, words firing from his chest without knowledge from his head and he knows he’s in too deep, he knows he’s foolish and awful for allowing a woman to reach deep inside of himself and unravel him. He knows all of this, and yet he does it—he can keep his temper for war councils that weighed on the lives of families and men but he couldn’t keep his composure over a woman.

This was inexcusable behavior for even him. He was tired of hearing about how he was hurting her when he had known in his heart for so long, he was tired of being out of control when it came to her because it was true that it was all an act, he was tired of hearing about his choice because he already knew the levity of the choice he was to make. Fate did not treat well the people who refused to take part in love’s games.

“I’m trying to help you, don’t you understand that?” Masamune’s voice no longer resides in whispers and breaths. He’s mustered up a voice that even has Kojuro slightly surprised. “And I don’t understand why you’re not taking it, and why you have to be so difficult—”

“Because you love her.” Kojuro said. “Because you love her, so I believe it’s something you don’t seem to understand. Don’t tell me that you’re unhappy with how this all happened.”

Masamune interjects. “I’m not happy with how this is happening.”

“Do you think I do all of this because I simply want to, and because I do as I please? Because I do all of this for the sake of you, that’s the oath I took when I began protecting you. You know—should know—exactly why I’m doing this. And even if I did want those things, I wouldn’t want it like this.”

“Do you think I want it like this, too? She speaks about you so often that for a time, I thought I could serve as a replacement for you and be there for her, but I couldn’t be your substitute. That’s it, that’s what you missed while you were busy ignoring your feelings and hurting hers for the sake of your pride. That’s the only reason she comes to me so often.”

This was new information to Kojuro. He could hear the hurt in Masamune’s voice.

“What you are failing to understand is that she loves you, and you are hurting her for it.” The room fell into a deafening silence Kojuro didn’t even know was possible. It was as if the insects outdoors knew very well that this was a scene to be evaded and they had known better by now than to intrude. Tension bore down heavily upon him, pressing him as if it wanted him to speak more.

He didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Masamune was the first to speak, voice filled with a tenderness that reeked of apology. Kojuro suddenly couldn’t stand the room any further, even if he’s endured much worse in the likes of running war councils and shaking hands with warlords. You’ve become weak losing your composure like that, he reminds himself. But maybe he had been all along, and he can feel the shame that burrowed down into the slope of his shoulders as he asks to be excused and he is.

He leaves and he finds himself sitting at the river again, the night sky being the only thing to comfort him yet again. Why did it have to be her? He echoed himself as he looked onwards towards the sky. He was right where he started, sitting in darkness and pondering at his own feelings. He wondered if it had anything in common with the fact that he too, was running in circles. Everything was coming in full circle and he still felt the same. His age had no wisdom to lend him yet again, and there’s a disappointment that comes with being unable to move forward and to come to some sensible conclusion that would fix all of this problems. This was much more complicated than war, he thought.

Kojuro finds himself being pulled by the night into sleep, and he follows foolishly like he always does.

“Milord… Milord… Kojuro-sama, please wake up.” A gargled murmur echoes and bounces off his ears. He’s not sure if he’s hearing things right, but he feels rather comfortable for someone who slept in the grass for the night.

It takes him a moment to realize that he wasn’t in the grass, and that what he felt under him was a pillow that cushioned over his head. There’s something—someone, rather—shaking his right arm in a frantic fashion. His eyes flutter open and of course she’s there, brows furrowed and eyes teary as she shook him.

Her breathing halted momentarily when she watched him come to. “You’re awake! What is wrong with you? Sleeping in the dirty grass by the river, who does that? Your bed was not so much as a minute’s walk away and you decide that the grass was a lovely sleeping spot, I was scared that you’d gotten hurt or sick.”

She speaks like a doting mother and he curses himself for thinking that she would be a fantastic mother. He doesn’t want to imagine who’s child she would bear. She’s angry, he knows this, but Kojuro can’t help but allow a laugh to cross his lips when watching her fuss over a wet towel. Her brows crinkle again and he knows he’s in for it

“You,” The words are spoken accusatory as a finger is jabbed in his direction. “Are not allowed to laugh at this. You’ve been ignoring me for so long and then you show up sleeping in soot when the sun rises. I don’t even want to think about your room.”

They both stop breathing. Kojuro knows well so that she masks her sadness at his abandon easily under her beautiful features, pushing it aside for the greater good—his health—in an act of maturity. Maturity that he lacked, so it seemed. He squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment. He could feel his pulse underneath his skin, and it was a discomfort he couldn’t quite seem to quell as the room fell into the same kind of fate.

“Lord Masamune told me something.” Kojuro sat up. He wished he spoke about something else, asked her how the maids were doing, what it was like in the kitchens while he was gone—she always had stories to tell about those—or if she ever got her favorite obi fixed. But his body betrays him and sets him far away from where he wants to be, his voice doesn’t seem to be coming from him anymore because he isn’t himself anymore; who was he?

Who was he, anyways?

“Lord Masamune tells you lots of things. What are we talking about, specifically?” She demanded, eyes glossing over in what he wasn’t sure was ice or fire.

There had been a silence that fell over the room, different from the one he had with Masamune. This was silence had been boiling patiently for weeks, slowly simmering with imaginations of what he would say if this ever happened between daydreams. But those words had only been in the confines of his imagination; and these words were alive and very real. The wind intruded in whispers again and the birds chirped ignorantly outdoors. Leaves dragged across the veranda outside.

“He told me that you love me.”

“That’s what Masamune had to tell you?” She was angry with him, and with a tinge of confusion sweeping over her brows. Kojuro found it somehow comforting that she seemed confused, as if he could find any solace in not being alone in the feeling.

“That’s what he had to tell you for you to figure out, that’s the grand finale? That’s the first thing you want to say to me after refusing to speak to me for so long?”

“He said that you were hurt.”

And she scoffed incredulously, because for all of his knowledge as a strategist he seemed to know nothing about the matters of his own heart.

“Of course I was!” She snapped. “I hear things by mistake and then all of a sudden you’ve decided to cut me out of your life like I don’t matter. You don’t tell me things and then you punish me for finding out, and now you want to confront me about something you’ve overheard when you don’t have any right being in my business; because you made a point to not be involved in it any longer!”

“I didn’t know how you felt.”

“Didn’t know how I felt?” She repeated, and there’s a hollowness to his chest when he hears her repeat his words in such disbelief. “You didn’t ask. You make assumptions for other people and then you assume that’s the right way to go about things, you’re not honest about your own feelings and then you’re dishonest with me. You can't even say your feelings towards me to my face and then you want to confront me about my feelings for you, like you have any right to.”

“I did what I did for Masamune, because I know his feelings towards you.”

“And you don’t know a thing about mine! I’m angry, and I’m angry because I don’t know what you want and I’m just following your orders on your whim. Masamune has feelings for me, you decide I should be with him, you don’t want to talk, we don’t talk! I am not someone you can just make decisions for in this, so stop treating me like I am! I’m not saying that you should fight for me, but what I am saying is that you don’t get to choose what’s good for me and what’s bad for me. I’m saying that I’m done being the last to know and I’m tired of not knowing you or what you want.”

Kojuro’s world pitched violently before him at her words. He took a deep breath. The world straightened.

“So what do you want me to do?” He asked finally.

“Talk to me. Tell me something honest. Tell me something real.”

He paused. Inhaled. Exhaled.

“I love you.”