A/N: Another oneshot when I should be working on Parenthood. Sorry, I was just in the mood to write some Canada angst~

Crack

(sounds the breaking of a heart)

. . .

Heart beating wildly in his chest and almost about to faint(maybe he will; don't heroes save fainting damsels?): these are the two feelings that Matthew Williams gets when he sees him. And it's wrong, it's immoral, it's every syllable for disgusting, but that's never stopped Matthew from loving him. From loving Alfred, his brother, his self-proclaimed hero, his rock, his support, his everything, really, and it's sort of sad that Alfred doesn't notice the longing look Matthew sends his way and the lingering seconds the smaller blond spends when their hands brush against each other.

It's wrong.

Immoral.

Disgusting.

According to Matthew, it's euphoria.

And it's also pain and sadness and nights when he feels on the verge of breaking, just caressing the blade of the knife softly. Studying his reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking in the sunken eyes, the hollow cheeks.

(Thump. Thump.)

He wonders sometimes that if he disappears, would the others finally notice? He wonders if the pain is worth it, if the space next to him on the bed(Alfred's spot, it used to be) will eventually feel less cold and less lonely. He wonders when those striking blue eyes would finally land on him, Matthew, the one who's always been there, and crinkle in a smile and come closer as lips ask him to play catch. And Matthew will say yes, because it is worth the bruises he's going to get later.

Then later on, when Alfred would complain that Matthew's too slow and go off to find Arthur instead, Matthew would smile, because it is worth it. Alfred will see, someday, and until then, Matthew will a stiff upper lip, head raised high, and goddamn it, he will not cry, not cry over something like this.

Because even if Alfred isn't aware, Matthew's faithfully his forever and ever.

. . .

The waiting does pay off; Gilbert invites everyone to his house, one night. There's beer, and pretty soon, they're all drunk with a particularly smashed Arthur in the corner, yelling at Francis. Matthew's talking to Lars when Alfred comes stumbling over, practically falling into the Canadian's lap, and plants a sloppy kiss on his lips. When Alfred pulls away, blue irises meet indigo, and he asks if he wants to go home with him.

"Okay." The word comes out in a breathy rush and Matthew knows what he's doing is wrong, but Alfred's smothering his neck in kisses on their way to the American's house, and Matthew stops fighting, because for once, he should be allowed to be selfish, right?

"Relax," Alfred murmurs against his skin. Calloused fingers run up Matthew's chest and he quivers at the chills it sends down his spine. He's anything but relaxed.

Matthew's half naked and under Alfred on the bed when he hears Alfred repeat, "Relax, Arthur."

(Thump, thump, thump-

Inhale. Exhale.

Breathe.)

He jerks out of his brother's grasp and manages to find his shirt on the mess they made on the floor with pillows. Then he tears out of the room and down the hall, not really seeing, not really thinking, only with one sole idea on his mind: to get away.

The anger and humiliation only catches up to Matthew when he reaches his own house, chest heaving as he both sucks in much needed air and dry sobbing all the while.

(Thump.

Thump.)

There's literally a truck outside on the front curb when Matthew wakes in the morning. There's a banner on its side declaring it worked for a florist and Matthew's heart races as he considers the brief possibility of Alfred sending flowers as an apology. Then he berates himself, though that doesn't stop him from hoping.

But the flowers are tulips and the man that gets out from the driver's seat with a big grin is Lars, and Matthew, for a second, remembers that today is the Tulip Festival. And for a second, he feels slightly better, because this is at least one person who remembers him.

Nonetheless, when Lars holds out his annual bouquet of tulips, the tears escape and sooner or later, out in the broad daylight, Matthew is sobbing.

. . .

Matthew finds his glasses waiting for him on the hood of his car after a meeting, along with a note. He unsticks the paper and reads it:

Hey Mattie,

I found your glasses on my bedside drawer for some reason. I think you forgot them during one of your earlier visits, but it's okay! The hero's returning it to you!

Love,

Al

Fingers clenched, digging into the note and wrinkling it, Matthew nearly tears it in half in anxiety. He looks at the smiley face that Alfred had drawn at the bottom and then picks up his glasses. He honestly hadn't noticed their disappearance until that moment.

. . .

Matthew doesn't think he'll ever notice. But that's not stopping him from hoping sending longing looks his way and leaning into his touch whenever Alfred slings an arm around his shoulders. He won't stop feeling these feelings and he'll be painfully aware that they're wrong. It was euphoria to him and it was also the slim sliver of a lifeline that was keeping Matthew connected. So, Matthew will wait.

After all, he's faithfully Alfred's.

(Thump.)

Forever,

(Thump.)

and ever.

(Cra-ack.)