Hello, I'm TheOtaku2 and this is the revised version of my first proper story on this site. There really won't be much changed from before. Apart from a new ending. Enjoy!

Ludwig turned the key in the lock of the apartment he shared with his brother. Stumbling in, he placed the shopping bags onto the counter. "Bruder, ich bin zu Hause," He called.

Silence.

"...Bruder?" Normally Gilbert would answer immediately, over the sounds of the videogames he so enjoyed to be immersed in. But lately, Gilbert had seemed...distant.

Ludwig walked down the hall and rapped his knuckles on Gilbert's bedroom door. Upon opening it, he saw it was empty and lightless. The living room and his own room were empty too. Finally, getting nervous, the tall German swung open the bathroom door, flicking on the switch.

A pale body was illuminated by the bright light. Dark, crimson liquid pooled.

"Gilbert…?"

Three Months Later

12th February, 2014

So, here goes diary entry number sieben… I wish I knew what to say.

A page, to me, is like a blank canvas. It is art. But lately, since therapy started, it's become a chore. I feel...annoyed that I have to write this, that I have to document my feelings to assure people I'm improving.

I am starting to calm down. I mean, I still….sometimes...cut. Verdammt, I know Bonnefoy's gonna be pissed about that. I did convince him I'd stopped.

I should be fine. I'm fucking awesome, so why do I have to do these sessions? Yeah, I know you'll read this, Bonnefoy. Fuck you. Slamming the pen down onto the wooden desk, Gilbert Beilschmidt gritted his teeth, dragging his pale fingers through his layered white hair. He couldn't continue this. His next session was in an hour, and he hadn't properly finished his weekly entry.

Gilbert took a few shuddering breaths. He watched in horror as his sleeves slipped down his arms, revealing brand new cuts, recently scabbed over. He pushed the sleeves up again with a wince, standing and grabbing his car keys and diary.

The room was plain, with no plaques or boarders; the familiar smell of dry paint and fancy perfume hung tangibly in the air; Gilbert's throat was dry and he gazed into the cream carpet rather than at his French therapist sitting opposite him: Francis Bonnefoy.

"Good afternoon, Gilbert," Francis began, a pleasant smile glowing behind his platinum locks. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm alright," Mumbled the German as he completed the well-known action of passing his diary to him.

"Bon, merci," Francis carefully leafed to the most recent entry, reading it thoroughly with an unreadable expression.

Cautious glacial eyes locked with Gilbert's unusually ruby ones. "You have not expressed clear emotions, Gilbert," Francis closed the book. "Well, apart from your obvious dislike of me." He turned serious. "Would you like to end our sessions?" A shrug. "Nein, I need to...Get fixed." That caused Francis's plucked eyebrows to raise. "Do you believe you are broken?"

"I….I don't feel complete." Gilbert hated admitting he was weak, not himself, but he'd come to accept that things weren't going to change otherwise.

"...Well, I will do all I can to help you feel complete again. Now, I'd like to discuss a particular sentence you wrote."

"Toll, shoot." The therapist steepled his slender digits. "You compared writing to an art form. Do you like to draw, or paint?" Gilbert thought about this for a moment. "I tried to draw und paint, als ich junger war. But….Vater didn't like to see me doing it."

"Have you any idea why that was?"

Nein, I have no fucking clue why that bastard was so shitty to me. "He probably believed it wasn't a very masculine thing to do. Call me Billy Elliott." Francis crossed his legs, his crimson suit creasing. "That is something we can work with. What if you tried to rekindle your passion for art? Perhaps that could bring back another piece of you, supposing we are continuing with the broken metaphor?"

"Ja, let's. But I can't...it's...difficult for me to just pick up a pencil or paint brush."

"So go to a place where you won't be the only one doing it," Upon seeing the German's confused face, Francis explained, "you know, an art class."

Gilbert sat up a little straighter. "Oh. Right. That….could be ok, I guess." His therapist smiled. "I will arrange one for you, and then phone to check the date, time, et cetera. Will that be ok, Gilbert?"

"Ja. Danke."

"Is there anything else you'd like to talk about today? Anything urgent?"

"Nein."

Gilbert stood to leave, his baggy commando trousers hanging on his thin hips, his oversized white hoody insulating him.

"Gilbert, one last thing." He turned, expectant. The Frenchman's expression was clearly one of concern as he got up to return his diary. "About the cutting….you do know your limit, oui?"

He blinked once. "I know my current tolerance." With that, he left quietly.

Valentine's day. Bonnefoy had sent him to an art class on fucking Valentine's Day, of all the days in the year!

Gilbert swallowed thickly as he approached the Arts & Crafts centre, his large feet dragging on the ground. He was so unsure about this. What if they didn't like him? What if he found himself unable to socialize? What if they saw the cuts on his forearms?

Bonny probably thinks I'll meet someone. Fuck, he's so stupid! Firstly, I don't need a partner, and secondly, these classes are full to the brim with couples on days like this anyway!

The anger weighed on his shoulders like a crouched tiger, it's claws digging into his neck and making his muscles tense.

His knee-high buckled army boots clunked on the spiral stairs to the room he'd been told to go to: Room A3. He'd tried with his appearance today - long-sleeved black Tee, tattered navy waistcoat, cloudy grey frayed skinny jeans and naturally his boots. He'd even tried to style his hair, so that his fringe didn't cover one side of his face and made him look more approachable. As for his red eyes….the blue contacts he'd put in turned his irises purple, so he knew they couldn't look stranger.

Opening the door tentatively, he scanned the room to see who else was there. A table with a vase of flowers, a polar bear teddy, and a glass of water. There were several easels set up around the room with different vantage points. There were also other tables at which couples sat and did separate drawings.

"Guten Morgen," A pleasant-looking brunette came up to Gilbert. She wore fancy clothes covered by a messy apron, and her spectacles gave her that businesswoman kind of look. Gilbert thought she was German at first, but her dialect indicated she was Austrian.

"Morgen," He mumbled, shaking her paint-covered hand.

"Sprechen Sie Englisch? Ich habe Englisch Teilnehmer so muss ich Englisch sprechen. "

"Ja, I can speak English." He offered a small smile, which she returned. "Gut. You'll need to find an easel overlooking the specific object you'd like to draw today, ok?"

Nodding, the albino moved away from her, trying not to catch the eyes of curious couples. A burly man wearing a scarf looked at him with burning purple eyes - he decided to avoid his vicinity, and chose an easel allowing him to focus on drawing the glass of water. The chatter died down as the instructor decided that most of the people who'd signed up were here. She closed the door of the art room.

"Now, good morning, everybody," She rubbed her hands together. "My name is Sophia Edelstein, welcome to art class. Now, today we will be drawing either these objects on the table, or…." Gilbert's ears picked up another sound: someone was knocking on the door. Quiet, but definitely there. He looked at the others in the room, waiting for someone to let them in, but after several moments nobody had moved.

Ignoring Sophia's words, he marched across the room and yanked the door open, to see a shocked face staring back at him. The younger man on the other side of the door pulled his hands towards his body, as if intimidated by Gilbert's appearance. Gilbert saw he had shoulder-length wavy blonde hair, with one curl spiralling out of the other strands. The man's silver-rimmed glasses slid down his nose; he pushed them up with a thin finger. Trying not to scare him further, Gilbert stepped aside to let him in.

"T-thank you," Mumbled the blonde as he shuffled in.

When the German turned around he noticed the entire class had been watching him, and were now watching the blushing boy scramble to an easel.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you knocking," Sophia said to him as he passed, to which he replied with a sympathetic nod. Normally Gilbert would've savoured the attention from people, but today he wanted to be invisible. Silently, he moved back to his place, which was right next to the newcomer's.

They had been instructed to paint or draw what was in front of them, but to make it depict their current emotions too.

Gilbert realised he had no pencil; before he could go ask for one a pale hand held one out in front of him. He took it, looking at the young blonde's violet eyes. "Danke."

"S'ok. Thanks for...noticing me." Gilbert got a good look at him: he wore a white hoodie with a red maple leaf in the middle, and light blue loose-fitting jeans with sneakers. The younger turned back to his canvas, gently pinching his paintbrush between his fingers.

Taking a calming breath, Gilbert touched pencil to paper. The scratching sound it made comforted him, and the dusty trails of graphite left on the paper looked to him like jigsaw pieces, all fitting together to solve a problem.

Having drawn the basic outline, Gilbert paused to glance at the blonde's work. He was painting the polar-bear teddy, and rather beautifully, too. The way the light had been painted caught the bear's fur and tinted it purple, green and gold. The deep black eyes had perfect captured reflections in them, and the paws were spotted with delicate pink pads.

"It's wunderbar…" The blonde looked up from his canvas, instantly blushing. "O-oh, y-you really think so?"

"Ja, I like the way you've painted it. So many different colours you'd never normally see."

Looking down and dipping the paintbrush into the water pot, the blonde man said, "...I do. I see these kinds of things all the time. I seem to pick up on what most people ignore."

Gilbert tilted his head. "You do it well. Ah! Sorry, my name is…" He extended a ghostly pale hand, "Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Warily shaking the German's hand, the blonde replied, "N-nice to meet you, Gilbert. I'm Matthew Williams." Matthew...Why do I feel like I've heard of him before?

"Do you come to these classes often?"

Matthew continued painting whilst speaking, "Mm, only when I can afford to. It helps me to...practise painting better."

"And socialise, right?" Matthew swallowed. "...Actually, a lot of people don't notice me. That's why I was glad you opened the door for me- sometimes no one hears me, and the door locks from the inside so I can't get in. I-I've tried t-talking to people before, but…" He trailed off. By his accent, though hardly distinguishable because of his soft voice, Gilbert thought he must be American, or -what was the other one? - Canadian.

The two-hour class progressed, and Gilbert was putting the finishing shading to his drawing when a quiet voice spoke again. "W-why did you draw the glass of water?" Facing Matthew, Gilbert gave a soft smile. "I, uh...The feeling of drawing water...calms me down. It's really difficult to draw at times, but...I like challenges."

Matthew timidly peered at the water more carefully. "What's the reflection you've drawn, in the water? I-is….is that a skull?"

Gilbert blinked - he didn't think it was that easy to decipher. "...Ja."

After the class the two men took their drawings and left the building, still exchanging bits of conversation. The clouds promising rain hung dense in the air. "Seems like a storm is coming," Mumbled Matthew as they crossed the path leading to the car park.

"Mm. Hey, do you live far from here?" Gilbert blurted. Idiot, you sound like a stalker! Matthew clutched his art to his thin chest. "Uhm...No, no not far."

"C-cool." Droplets of cold water began to fall from the sky. "Still, I could give you a lift if you'd like?"

Matthew wasn't sure what to make of this. He'd never talked with a person this long before! Well, besides his brother and fathers. It wasn't a bad feeling, but he was new to it. "W-well, if it's no t-trouble…."

"Nein, no trouble." Gilbert led them to his silver Volkswagen.

The German opened the car door; the timid Canadian slid into the seat and buckled up. As Gilbert sat down and reached for the heater, his sleeve rolled up to reveal three vertical slits along the flesh.

After hearing a soft gasp, Gilbert noticed and yanked the sleeve down, trying not to look at Matthew.

"Y-your…" Offering a friendly smile the albino interrupted, "Hm? Oh, I have a cat, it's vicious. So, uh, where was it you live?" Matthew directed him to his apartment. Climbing steadily out of the car and shielding his painting from the now heavy rain with his hoodie. "T-thank you. A-are you going to another of those classes?"

Gilbert was taken by surprise, he really hadn't thought about it. "I….I might. Are you?" A nod of a blonde-haired head. "You should," Matthew blurted suddenly, his cheeks burning. "I- I mean, y-you're really good at art. The next one's on the 23rd."

Gilbert looked at him, comforted by his words. "Danke. I might see you soon then."

15th February, 2014

Diary entry number acht. So I went to the stupid art class yesterday. It...wasn't too bad, I guess. Managed to get a nice drawing done, if I say so myself. I liked drawing it, it...felt natural. I haven't drawn in years.

I communicated with another human extensively, too, so I can cross that off my bucket list. He's nice, and wirklich shy. He wanted me to go for another class, so….I don't know. I might.

Sighing, Gilbert got up to make some coffee. He called to his blonde brother sitting on the couch, "Hey, Lud, you want coffee?"

"Nein, danke. I'm going out for a bit."

"Oh?" He boiled the water as Ludwig stood. "With...with Feliciano. Is that alright?"

"Ja, of course! Go, I'll be fine." Stepping closer to him, the tall blonde narrowed his glacial eyes. "Are you sure?" I don't like leaving you alone, not after…

"Do you want to take me with you?" Silence. "Thought not. Lud, I'm good. Go and chill for a bit, you can call me if you're worried." I'm worried every single minute you're alone. With a look of defeat, Ludwig grabbed his car keys and left Gilbert to his business. Opening a cutlery drawer, the silver-haired man picked up a blunt dinner knife. No sharp knives or utensils were allowed in his presence- hell, he was lucky Ludwig allowed these knives to be kept.

He looked at his red-eyed reflection in the stainless steel. It reminded him of his drawing, of the skull reflected in the water. His skull. He whispered gently as he cradled the knife between his fingers and thumb, "Hallo, old friend."

Yay, clinical depression! Nah, I'm sure I'll pick up the mood. Probably. Maybe. Correction of any foreign language phrases I use is welcomed.
Translations:

Bruder, ich bin zu Hause - Brother, I am home

Sieben - Seven

Verdammt - Dammit

Bon, merci - Good, thank you

Toll - Great

Als ich junger war - When I was younger

Vater - Father