Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia

Author's Notes

Thoughts/ Flashbacks

Notes/ Letters

"Talking"

Simple enough, no?

Alright, so this is a short fic dedicated to England/Canada which doesn't get enough love.

I swear, I'll get onto Hot as Ice once I'm done with this three-shot! That doesn't guarentee an update TODAY, but I swear, I'll get back to working on it (it's in the half-finished stage, which really is half-incomplete by pessimistic labeling).

Facebook-Status Update:Matthew Williams

Matthew Williams changed his relationship status from In a relationship with Arthur Kirkland to single.

GilberttheAwesomeBeilschmidt likes this.

Comments:

-hollllly shit, Mattie, srsly? when did this happen? And when are you available?

-So smooth, Gilbert.

-Yeah, shut up, Gilbert, he just got dumped, not cool! Plus, I heard Artie cheated on him, so good 4 u, Mattie, 4 dumpin that cheating Brit.

-Who said he was the dumper and not the dumpee?

-Well duh, Art was the one dumped, he's the one who cheated!

-Good for you, mattie, I always knew you deserved better!

-hey matt, you wanna talk?

Facebook-Status Update: Arthur Kirkland

Arthur Kirkland changed his relationship status from In a relationship with Matthew Williams to single.

GilberttheAwesomeBeilschmidt , Francis Bonnefoy, Hero Alfred (Superman) Jones, Kiku Honda, and Elizaveta Hedervary like this.

Comments:

-Serves you right, douche.

-teach you to cheat.

-mattie's like the nicest guy ever, why?

-and with the frog, no less...

-Call me? XOXOXO

-Francis, you truly are disgusting and I can't believe you don't even feel bad about tearing a relationship apart!

-ha,,, it wasn't his fault, it was Artie's, he's the cheater here, rite?

-u guys are so stupid.

-u r the 1 who can't stay out of people's business.

-Are you kidding me? You're the one who's commenting on someone's relationship instead of getting one of your own.

-Buuuurrrrrnnn.

-Shut up, Gilbert, you're the one who's been panting after Matthew for god-knows how long, so there.

-Well I didn't act on it, since Matthew was taken! But now he's not, so I've got a chance...

-Hey, you guys?

-Oh Arthur, you're showing you're ugly face... kind of. Over Facebook. But you know, it's nice to know you're still alive and not dying of shame... or herpes.

-Are you implying something?

-No, Francis, I'm not... unless I'm right.

-SHUT UP ALL YOU WANKERS! GET OFF MY DAMN PROFILE AND GOSSIP ON TWITTER OR SOMETHING!

Arthur Kirkland

BritishSuperiorWit

on Twitter . com

My boyfriend broke up with me. It was my fault. I'm sorry, Mattie.

Please leave a message at the beat.

[Please let me explain. Just-just answer the phone and we'll talk, please?]

[Mattie? Are you there? Well, Alfred, uh, mentioned in passing that you were-uh, not busy at the moment and I'd really like to-uh, explain myself-]

[That does it! Matthew Williams, you owe me an explanation! You can't just end all communication with me and tell me to sod off-!]

[Okay, I apologize, that most certainly was not fair. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, what else can I say? It's my fault, all my fault and I'm really... really lonely and confused and... depressed and I really miss you and I just want to talk to you, face-to-face. Remember? We used to do that and complain like old men about how the younger generation and how the young men and women of today couldn't last a single day without their cell phones and- call ended due to excessive length]

[Okay, Matthew, this is getting ridiculous. You don't call, you don't write, you don't even look at me when we pass one another in the hall! Please, I can't stand the thought of our relationship ending so...badly. I hate seeing you and knowing I hurt you and knowing I might've blown the best thing that ever happened to me and I want to let you know that I-I'm so sorry and I really miss you.]

Text-Subject:asshole!

To:Matthieu103

not u! That scum Art! did u c art's facebook page? he's in a relationship w/ tht frggy cheese Bonnefoy.

Told u he was a dick. Lame ass cheats on my bro then gos 4 that whore. i told u not callin back was the #1 thing 2 do.

From: McDonald'sIsGod

Text-Subject:asshole!

To:McDonald'sIsGod

With Francis? Yes, I did, Alfred. Francis posted an album of pictures of Arthur and declared his love. His status updates for the past few days have been about the same thing. Namely, Arthur Kirkland.

From: Matthieu103

Text-Subject:RE:asshole!

To:Matthieu103

UR not jealous r u? Cuz they r douches and u deserve better, bro. HEEEEYYYYY, u r not thinking of calling him, r u?

From: McDonald'sIsGod

Text-Subject:RE:asshole!

To:McDonald'sIsGod

I feel bad for ignoring him. I know you thought it was the best thing to do, but he called so many times and his friends would constantly ask me to just talk to him and that he felt so bad and was so sorry. To be honest, I would've called him back if you had let me.

From: Matthieu103

Text-Subject:RE:RE:asshole!

To:Matthieu103

Wich is exacly y i didn't. and sorry? ha! he's got his tongue down froggy's throat now, so isn't it obvious he wasn't that srry?

From: McDonald'sIsGod

Text-Subject:RE:RE:asshole!

To:Matthieu103

Mattie? Matt?

From: McDonald'sIsGod

Text-Subject:RE:RE:asshole!

To: Matthieu103

Mattiiiiiiiiieeeee! so srry, i didn't mean it like that! just that he is a douche n u desrve some1 better n i am coming over rite now 2 make sure u don't fall 4 his tricks again.

From: McDonald'sIsGod

Facebook-Status Update: Arthur Kirkland

Arthur Kirkland changed his relationship status from single to In a relationship with Francis Bonnefoy.

Comments: (176)

View previous comments

-YOU STUPID SONUVABITCH!

-Chill out, Al.

-Yeah, man, I liek totes heard that Arthur tried 2 apologize, but matthew was like NOT rspndng, so it's not like Arthur's fault their rltnship ended badly. matt's like shunning him, so whatevs!

-shut up, Feliks, even if it's true, that's not something you can say

-duddddde, y not? it's not like matthew's on FB anymoresssss!

-U R ALL ASSHOLES AND JACKASSES FOR BEING SO DAMN INSENSITIVE!

-Again, calm down, Alfred. You know the stuff you post on FB lasts forever.

-I DON'T CARE AND I WILL NOT! You broke Mattie's heart, don't you even care?

Dial tone...

Calling...

...

...

Click.

"Alfred, now listen here-"

"Oh, it's you, you asshole-"

"Shut up, you bloody twat and sod off, I want to talk to Mattie!"

"Too bad, 'cause if your thick fatass head hasn't caught on yet, he dumped your ass and doesn't want to talk to you."

"I know. You think I don't? I called him every day after he saw me... with Francis, but he wouldn't answer-"

"I wonder why? You insufferable-"

"Shut it! Fine, if he doesn't want to talk to me, then tell him this for me: I'm sorry things ended badly and he should just move on."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm bloody not, why?"

"Because you-you actually... argggghhh, you're such a jackass! You think he's still enamored with you? You think he's crying and moping and all sad 'cause you cheated on him? Well he's not! He knows you're a-a jerkass! I told him! I told him and told him that you were no good-!"

"Shut it, you bag of shite, I don't care what you think of me! And he's clearly still moping. He hasn't been on FB or Twitter for months now and he never comes out of his room, according to his friends..."

"How the hell would you know, creeper?"

"I am not a creep! His friends are... were our friends, so they would know, because he never does anything with anyone anymore and even if... things aren't exactly 'peachy' with us anymore, I don't want to see him miserable..."

First Person POV: Matthew Williams

So Here I Am, A Few Years Later

So yeah, that was pretty much my life four years back.

Things were pretty hectic. I felt like utter crap and I couldn't leave my room for fear of running into him, or worse, Francis.

Francis, who'd spent all his life, starting the moment he'd first seen him in freshmen year, doggedly following Arthur's footsteps, always looking for an opening to slide into. Looking for a weak spot to hammer a wedge between what he wanted and what kept him from it. And at the time, during sophomore year, Arthur was what he wanted and I was what was in the way.

God, I don't hold grudges, I really don't.

But thinking about Francis just makes me feel like crap. I mean who wouldn't feel like crap next to him?

He was-is talented, an excellent actor as well as artist. He could make amazing artwork, effortlessly it seemed, and he was always good at spouting nonsensical art babble, the kind of stuff that appealed to rich men and women who could afford million dollar masterpieces. From what I heard, he painted this "amazing" canvas and titled it "The Depth of My Soul." He painted it baby blue and claimed that it represented the sky because, quote-on-quote, "The sky is see-through, yet deeper than we can possibly imagine. This represents my feelings and my heart because my soul and all of its complexities run deep, yet is see-through, like the sky, to those who love it."

Some classy, emotional shit there, right?

But I'm not jealous. I just feel like shit next to him. That's different. I don't wish to be him, I just wish he'd go away.

Amazing artist, an exuberant, over-the-top actor who never faltered in front of crowds, never shied away from verbal presentations and never kept his thoughts to himself. Bold and vivacious and charming, he never failed to get what he wanted. Not only did he have amazing talent, but he had charm as well. He had the guts and the desire, the ambition and the drive.

In the end, though, the only thing I really envied was his boyfriend, the boy I'd fallen in love with what seems like ages ago, Arthur Kirkland.

But times change. You get on with it.

Stop moping. Stop hiding inside your room, dreading to see him, see his new boyfriend, see all the friends you used to hang out with when you were both still in a relationship, still happy. I admit, I haven't kept in touch with any of those friends. It's too depressing and honestly, I'm not going to fight with Arthur over who they belong to. I would never win. And as Alfred always says, I'm a real pushover. I really am. I backed off, hands raised in surrender.

The cute, shy guy over there?

He's sensitive. A pushover. Easy.

He's a loner too. If you want a temporary friend, go be nice to him. He's a starter friend. You get him as a friend so you don't look lame and friendless and by the time you get more friends, you know that he, with his infinitely loner tendencies, will be pushed away. If he doesn't, then whatever. But if he does, well who cares? He's too quiet to bother your crowd or he'll quietly exit your crowd. Easy.

Shhh, here he comes. He looks so sad. But oh well, he'll get over it. He's a nice guy and hurting his feelings wasn't in the plan, but he's not really interesting enough to be a cool friend. It's really his own fault. Shhh, he's looking. Don't look at him and maybe he'll ignore you. Maybe he'll forget about you if you pretend he doesn't exist.

I guess I'm just a "starter." You know, a boyfriend to experiment with, someone so dull that you can easily figure out what it is you want out of a relationship, who you want. I'm disposable fodder. We're everywhere. Date us, then dump us nicely, telling us we can still be friends with you, then move on and find that interesting someone, that special person.

I guess I'm okay with that. I know what it is I want in a relationship now too.

Well, that's not true.

What's true, however, is that I've been single. And the way things look, I think it'll stay that way.

But don't worry, I don't really mind.

I don't like crowds or audiences. I don't like talking as much as I like reading. I don't mind listening rather than speaking. People seem to find this off-putting, so they assume I like being alone and shy away from me.

In high school, kids tend to like the talkative types, those who keep an engaging conversation going. I'm not good with that stuff. I run out of things to say and stutter and eventually mumbled to myself and lapse back into complete silence.

Hell, who am I kidding?

That's how the world is. If you don't or can't speak loud enough, they ignore you.

Which makes sense. And is sensible. Logical. Practical. Why strain your ears to hear those who can't be heard?

I sigh, rubbing my eyes, and wishing I could escape that creeping sense of hopelessness. You know, a regular Tuesday night. It was getting late, or at least, by my standards; it was about ten p.m.

My eyes were beginning to itch and sting tiredly, but I wasn't ready to soothe them yet. I still had an essay to write for college. Granted, it wasn't really something to complain about, since it was probably the easiest one I'd had so far. For one thing, it didn't involve studying various textbooks and walking to the library and checking out every book that might even remotely contain a fact on your subject or worse, surfing the web. This one just involved... formulating basic subjective theories and supporting objective evidence with logical assumptions and interpretations based on your personal ad hominem opinions.

Damn, I really hate college.

I like writing. Well, I kind of like it. I like that feeling you get after you're done writing. It's a wonderful sense of accomplishment, even if it's for something as dumb as a grade.

Did I just say grades are dumb? I meant that-that it's not as... significant an accomplishment as, say...

Okay, grades aren't technically dumb, just not necessarily accomplishments. Grades are only important because they can be used to get you into a job that will, hopefully be productive and then, you can get something significant done. You know, something important. Ok, not necessarily important...

You know what?

Here, plain and simple:

An A+ on a History paper is nice.

But say you're a chemical engineer in charge of computer designing and programming and after a month say you're done with a difficult, complex project that not just anyone could do. Now that feeling must be the best feeling of the world, not just accomplishment, but the feeling that you did something productive for someone else, that you have some worth to the world.

That's why I think high schoolers are so insecure. 'Cause they're not doing anything significant and they feel like having a lot of friends and being popular and in the center of attention makes them significant.

Hey, don't I make a great psychologist?

No? Oh well, not really something I'm very interested in anyway.

Aahhhh, if only I could sleep...But no, I can't sleep, not yet. I want to finish this so that tomorrow I'm not angsting over it when I'm at Elizaveta Hedervary's party.

I have to get all my work done before I can even consider doing something that's not work. Otherwise I can't stop thinking about the work I have to get done. I actually want to get homework and studying done, because I know that when I do, the little stress ball in my chest nagging me to get my work done will vanish and I'll feel that fake sense of accomplishment. Well, until I get the next assignment. But you know, that's college, work and persevere until it's over. Relax until you get more work. Then... repeat.

As for the party... well, I didn't want to go.

I really didn't. But Elizaveta pressured me. For almost a year, she'd pestered me and prodded me and worked me (I had the misfortune of sharing a few classes with her) until I was too exhausted with her pleas and persistent badgering to continue saying no.

Point one for peer pressure.

But who's counting? I've given in to my classmates more times than I can count.

My cellphone rang.

I glanced at my bag, my eyes burning with exhaustion. I fumbled for the zipper and pushed my hand into the pocket, searching blindly for my phone. I found it and put it between my cheek and shoulder, going back to my essay.

"Matthew speaking."

"YO YO YO!"

I jumped at the volume. Ouch. My ears ringing, I sighed, bracing myself for Alfred's normal drivel.

Because you know now, it was my best buddy and tormentor on the phone.

Third Person POV: Matthew

"It's Al!"

"I know."

"Dude, you missed out! You should've joined a fraternity like me! You'd be partying all night with booze and friends!"

"That's more your scene than mine," Matthew said with amusement, hammering out a few weak, redundant sentences with fancy, unnecessary semantics. "Besides, I'm not comfortable with the whole fraternity thing anyway."

"But the membership fees are a lot lower than that apartment you're paying for."

"But I have a job," Matthew countered. "And I'm doing pretty well. I'm not behind... well, not yet. It helps that my roommate splits the cost with me. And I'm saving up all the extra dollars not needed for the room to pay off my student loans before interest starts to pile up too high..."

"I thought you got a scholarship?" Alfred asked, sounding bemused.

"I did, but it was only a partial scholarship, Al." Ha, a scholarship. Practically nonexistent for people like him. But enough scrounging around for every possible option to lighten the cost did pay off. Somewhat. A little. But every little bit counted and his financial situation wasn't dire and hopefully wouldn't be by graduation.

"What? They give partial scholarships? I thought there was either a scholarship or no scholarship, not this partial stuff," Alfred said. Matthew snickered at how hopelessly oblivious he sounded.

"No, they don't. Not everyone gets full scholarships for football either."

"Nope! I knew that!" Alfred said triumphantly. "I know 'cause I'm the best and since not everyone's the best, it makes sense that not everyone would get a full scholarship like me."

"Not quite an eloquent sentence, but whatever," Matthew responded. He squeezed his shoulder and winced at how tight his muscles were clenched. "So were you invited to Elizaveta's party?"

"Hell yeah, buddy! I don't get how she could afford to throw one, though."

"Rich older boyfriend. Maybe twenty-six. Very, very rich. And very in love, I guess you could say. She has him wrapped around her finger."

"Seriously? Does he pay for her college tuition? And books? Does she live with him? Is she twenty-one?"

"Twenty, legally an adult here, so they're relationship is legal... and he's not that in love with her... no, I'm just messing with you," Matthew assured his best friend since kindergarten. "She doesn't use him like a trophy wife or sugar daddy or whatever they're called... except when it comes to throwing parties of course. It's at his place. It's pretty big, but mostly it's just for her vast array of friends, not random freeloaders."

"So you're going?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Okay." Alfred sounded rather disappointed, like he was hoping Matthew wouldn't be going. Which immediately set off a warning alert in his mind.

"Why so sad?"

"Sad? Not sad at all. So did you, uh, catch that game on Saturday? You know, the Colts versus the-"

"You know I don't follow that stuff. Why so disappointed? Why don't you think I should come?" Matthew said, prepared to drill him. But oh damn, now the conversation was going on longer than he'd planned and that was no good. He still had things to write. Maybe, though, maybe he could finish it off in the morning? Not ideal, but it wasn't like he was procrastinating. Besides, the essay was due in a week, so maybe he could finish it off on Monday...

"I didn't say you shouldn't! I think you'll have fun. I'm glad in fact! Hey, remember Gilbert? He's going to be there-" Alfred said suggestively, making smoochy noices into the phone. So juvenile. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Al, I know, he's always messaging me or calling me or texting me."

"Well maybe it's time to respond," Alfred said. "Get out some more, kid! I can practically see your pale introvert complexion from here! You need to get out more! When was the last time your candy ass got laid?"

Matthew spluttered, somewhat offended, somewhat amused, somewhat annoyed. "Excuse me? Candy ass? What does that mean?"

"Uh, that you're gay, clearly a bottom, and you're good in bed?" Alfred suggested.

"I-well," Matthew tilted his head, thinking about it. Hmm, no, not quite. The first definitely. The second? Depended on the other person. And the third? Well, he hadn't been really getting around recently.

"Hey, did Gilbert ever tap that?"

"Hm?"

Alfred repeated his question in a sly, mischevious tone and Matthew could imagine his shit-eating grin. '

"Well..."

"OH MY GOD!" Alfred shrieked into the phone. "You totally did! Oh my god, I need the deats!"

"What? Oh hell no! Why would you want to know?" Matthew cringed. "I'm not getting into my sexual experiences, not at this time at night and not with you."

"No, get into your sexual experiences with Gilly-bert, at the party, or maybe after the party," Alfred purred, and Matthew could practically hear him wiggling his hips.

"I forgot, are you gay?" Matthew asked sarcastically.

"Only once," Alfred said matter-of-factly and his friend coughed embarrassedly, his cheeks coloring as he remembered the incident his friend was refering to.

"You said you'd never mention that again!"

"To someone else, not to you," he replied. "By the way, Mr. Insecure, you are not bad in bed, if that's what you're worried about. Besides, Gilbert's so hung over you that I imagine even if you suck in bed he won't care. He's been wanting to get into your pants since junior high."

"I'm not into him. He's nice and all and I like him, but not like that," Matthew said, repeating what he'd repeated to various people ranging from Elizaveta who'd asked for kinky pictures to Gilbert himself who would pout and sometimes go off to cry somewhere. Then he felt bad.

Gilbert had been rather obsessed with him for a long time. A very long time. Six years. Maybe longer. They'd been friends for a very, very long time and Matthew had "friend-zoned" him a long time ago. Poor Gilbert had never quite made that transition from friend to love interest and every day he was suffering for it.

Matthew felt horrible for rejecting each and every time he asked, but what could he say? For two of those years (freshmen and sophomore), he'd been dating someone else and the other four, he'd been either too young, naive or innocent, take your pick (seventh and eighth grade) or too hurt by the first real relationship he'd ever had to even consider dating his second closest friend (the rest of his lonely high school years and two busy college years) besides Alfred.

"Matthew, I hate to be so mean, but dude, you really need to have sex."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're lonely and you need to move on," Alfred said promptly.

"Alfred, we talked about this," Matthew said, finally giving up and snapping his laptop shut. "I'm over it, really! That was a long time ago! I'm not hurt anymore. I'm not that fragile or sensitive. I'm over... Arthur. I just don't really... want a relationship right now."

"But Mattie, I hate that you're so lonely," Alfred said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "It's really depressing. You never were a social butterfly. You kind of need someone to be there for you and since we're not as... geographically close as we used to be, I can't always be there for you, buddy. You really need to find someone else. And the best way to start a relationship? Getting laid."

"I disagree."

"Well, that's too bad. I think you need sex. And personally, I think you'd seriously enjoy it. So when you go to Elizaveta's party, keep that in mind."

Matthew sighed.

Well, Alfred got points for trying at least.

And he did have a point. Not the sex part! He didn't really need sex! Not at all!

But it would be nice.

And just because you don't need something doesn't mean you don't want, yearn for it.

He missed touching. Caressing. Kissing.

Even a simple hug would do. He hadn't hugged anyone for awhile. He enjoyed hugs and he was a generally very huggable guy, a cuddly type, but he didn't like people he didn't know or like very much to touch him.

It had been a while. A long while. He'd been so lonely, for so long. Alfred called and they met occasionally, to watch movies or talk, but the visits were getting far and few between. His dad wasn't really the cuddly type and he was always wrapped up in his job, so his visits were nonexistent. As for his mother, well, she was off in New York City. Something about this new designer she was dating. He couldn't remember who she was chasing now. And the last person he'd had sex, full blown penetration sex with was Alfred.

Sure, he'd given Gilbert a blow job once, something he regreted now, because the poor man's obsession was only fueled further by the action, which had been made with bad, drunken judgment, and that had been years ago, only a year after... he'd broken it off with Arthur. But that didn't count.

Speaking of Arthur, he'd been the last long-term relationship he'd ever had. And after the break-up, well, he'd lost any desire to really participate in their social gatherings until he got to a point where everyone else had backed off, assuming he liked being a loner and only Gilbert doggedly attempted to move their status from friends to boyfriends. Everyone else, however, assumed being alone was what he wanted after a nasty breakup like that. Plus, he had a reputation as an introvert, so to them, the shoe fit.

But it didn't. Quiet didn't equal loner. Shy wasn't the same as anti-social.

Being a loner could be dreadfully and soul-numbingly lonely (duh!) and depressing.

Maybe he needed some change.

Maybe now was the time to break his solitude.

Maybe he needed a new friend.

But then again, Matthew grinned to himself, maybe he just really, really needed to get laid.

Text-Subject:EH's Party

To:FrenchSexypants

Are you too busy to come to Veta's party tomorrow?

From: BritSuprrWit

Text-Subject:EH's Party

To:FrenchSexypants

Frog! Answer me when I text you!

From:BritSuprrWit

Text-Subject:RE:EH's Party

To:BritSuprrWit

M 'fraid i can't make it. 2 much gng on now. will hookup l8r, tho. ;p

From:Frenchsexypants

(No reply)

Arthur had no idea why he was dressed up in nice black pants and a clean, tidy white shirt and heading over to the address Elizaveta Hedervary had texted him earlier. He really didn't.

Did he feel like getting drunk? Hell yes. Did he feel like getting laid? Definitely. Did he want to see all of his old friends and enemies and lovers and classmates?

Hell no.

But he was going anyway.

The first two he could've easily done on his own. Go to a bar. Easy as that.

But the reason he couldn't do so was because that option was no longer as easy as it had been once.

One couldn't go out and get drunk off their ass and go have random sex with strangers when one had a boyfriend. No matter how busy and distant their boyfriend happened to be.

No, Arthur was not complaining! He cared aboout Francis Bonnefoy. They were high school sweethearts and as much as he enjoyed making the Frenchman cry and as much as the Frenchman enjoyed arguing and bashing his ideas, both of them enjoyed being together. It was nice.

But, Arthur concluded, it simply wasn't working.

He understood, god he understood! that Francis's job was very hectic and rushed, going from place to place for his photo shoots. He understood that being semi-famous and very, very prestigious could distract a person from their significant other. He really did understand, being there himself. Granted, being a young adult author well-known to New York's best seller list was certainly "semi-famous" in its own right. He did command a certain level of respect in his community.

But he did understand that their situations weren't near the same because Francis had a big reputation having built his way up from the very bottom, a pretty face posted on commercials and on posters to a fashion consultant and a showroom designer to an expert known for his experience and personal fashion savvy. While writing might take more skill (yes, he was going there, Francis... which Arthur would tell him if he was ever around anymore), it certainly doesn't get more prestige than someone who dresses up beautiful men and women and parades them about a stage.

But just because he was understanding didn't mean he had to accept the loneliness he now felt because of his sudden constant aloneness with any grace.

It wasn't working.

But he wasn't sure if he was willing to end it yet.

He and Francis had been on and off for a while. Ever since they started it up in high school, they'd been on and off, alternating depending on whether the week was a "Hate" or "Love" week.

Hate weeks: angry words, shouting, possible physical damage.

Love weeks: angry words, shouting, possibly physically damaging sex.

It wasn't quite a stable relationship, but it was so familiar that now Arthur was having trouble coping with the idea of breaking off all that. It was comfortable. Predictably unstable. Predictably desirable.

But now, he didn't get either of that.

When Francis visited, he was either horny or busy. And he was only horny when Arthur was lucky. When he was busy, he spent his time shut in his room thinking up his next costume design or fashion statement. There was one memorable time when they'd been having sex, one of the naughtier, harsher versions that Arthur would be a filthy liar for denying their attraction, and right after collapsing down on top of his lover, Francis had taken only about three seconds of rest before leaping up and locking himself into his private art studio.

A confused and somewhat hurt Arthur had asked if something was wrong. Two hours later, Francis had shown him his new piece of artwork, "The Feisty British Fervor," a mess of bright colors and sour greens and rusty reds and grudging blues.

How adorable. Arthur had smacked his head. Chuckled a little, thinking it was a little cute.

Francis had laughed as well, but at that moment, Arthur's heart began to doubt itself.

He still loved Francis. Without a doubt.

But he wasn't sure if it was as a boyfriend anymore.

Arthur sighed, thumping his head against the steering wheel as he considered his relationship problems. He'd never been good with relationships, never! Not since his first relationship.

He frowned.

His first relationship. Who had he been with?

His eyebrows furrowed and his frown deepened. Why couldn't he remember it? Everything else in his high school years came back, fuzzy but surely, but for some reason, his first love escaped him. The face just wouldn't resurface into his mind.

It had been a guy, he remembered.

And the guy had been... blond?

Maybe it had been Alfred Jones? He remembered Alfred Jones. He'd had a crush on him once, a long time ago, but the man was straight, or at least, claimed to be, even though everyone knew he'd slept with this one guy, this really quiet guy, this... oh bloody hell, why couldn't he remember the damn name or at least the face? A shy guy, very quiet and polite and sensitive. Blond... blond...

...wait, no, not blond. Light brown hair. Cute eyes. Blue... no, violet. And he had glasses, adorable little glasses and a timid smile... damn.

What was his name?

A car horn honked obnoxiously at him.

Arthur jumped in shocked, slamming his foot down on the pedal. His car surprised him by doing what it was made to do and jerking forward far faster than he anticipated. His fingers gripped the wheel like his life depended on it and perhaps it did, for the car behind him was forced to jerk to a stop when he slammed his foot down on the brake in surprise. Now several people were honking at him, probably wondering what was wrong with this spastic idiot.

Arthur didn't return to the thought of his first love until he was safely away from the people whose traffic flow he'd ruined.

And when he did, he made sure to promptly pull over to the side of the road to ponder what felt like a significant detail he'd forgotten, lost, perhaps, at one time.

"Nathan? Martin? Maple?" he suggested outloud to himself. "Maple? Where the hell did I get that? Marty? Mark? Marcus? No, that's not right. Murray? Mackenzie? Matthew?"

Eureka! At that point, he'd just been rattling off what felt right, and finally, the most common name that had come to mind was the right one! Perfect! That was it! Matthew!

Matthew... Matthew...

It had been a very generic name, he remembered. Matthew Jones? Matthew Smith?

No, they didn't sound quite right...

Ah. Matthew Williams.

Shy, sweet, kind, utterly adorable.

Now he remembered his face easily. He'd been a very pretty teenager, Arthur remembered. He wondered where Matthew was suddenly, wondering how he'd gotten off in life. He hadn't see him since...

A dreadful stone dropped in his gut.

Oh yes. That was how his first relationship had ended. He'd cheated on Matthew with Francis.

A filthy cheater. Not a liar or a murderer or a rapist, but a cheater, which might as well be a crime.

He sighed regretfully.

He hadn't meant to hurt the poor boy. He'd loved Matthew, he really did, but with Francis, things had just been so exciting and dirty and primal and he'd felt so exhilarated by Francis, so excited by the danger he presented, and his nymphomaniac tendencies. His teenager years had been very exciting, what with the drugs and alcohol and new "hits" and all the concerts and raves and grope-fests he'd attended. Those years, he'd been practically uncontrollable, wild and delirious with his insane glee, with his youthful desire for that adrenaline high, ecstatic in his own cloud of arousal and indulgence.

And Matthew simply hadn't fit in with that atmosphere.

He was a wonderful kid and a good friend, but... he just wasn't as... interesting as Francis. He was the polite, good kid, the kind of guy you dated when your life was pleasant and satisfying. He wasn't a bad kid, not at all, in fact, Arthur was sure that even to this day Matthew Williams didn't have a mean bone in his body, but he just wasn't what he'd wanted.

He wondered if Matthew would be at the party tonight. Was he still in touch with Elizaveta? He didn't know. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Did he want him to be there?

Yes, Arthur decided. It would be nice to catch up. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.

Text-Subject:Matthew

To:AlHeroJones50

Yo, heard Mattie's cming to the party 2nite. thanx, man!

From:GilBel1918

Text-Subject:Matthew

To:GilBel1918

UR username is girly. N yeah, he's coming. dont screw around w/ him u hear? u hurt his feelings or get drunk n do something dumb, i will prsnlly end u, got it?

From:AlHeroJones50

Text-Subject:RE:Matthew

To:AlHeroJones50

Dude, like never! i luv mattie! would never hurt him. i'm just glad he's coming. i get to see him. i havent seen him in AGES.

From:GilBel1918

Text-Subject:RE:Matthew

To: GilBel1918

yeh, meh b when u 2 get 2gether, u can ahah, get him coming, if u know what i mean... *wink wink, nudge nudge*

From: AlHeroJones50

Text-Subject:RE:RE:Matthew

To: AlHeroJones50

u r as subtle as a dead horse in the middle of the highway.

n i hope so, i rlly do. i luv him so much, but he doesn't like me like dat.

but u know, there was this 1 time...

From:GilBel1918

Text-Subject:RE:RE:Matthew

To: GilBel1918

OMG, he was jus talkin bout dat a sec ago! giv me teh deats!

From:AlHeroJones50

Text-Subject:RE:RE:RE:Matthew

To:AlHeroJones50

HE WAS TALKIN ABOUT ME?!

he is soooooo mine 2nite!

From:GilBel1918

Matthew wasn't really used to the party scene. He'd attended a few, but never one so large and certainly never one in such a formal, regal-looking place. Now he felt like he'd under-dressed, wearing black cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt while everyone else was dressed semi-formally with ties and polished shoes.

But no one was glaring at him or really even looking at him, so no one was really studying his outfit.

Yup, it was just like high school all over again.

He took a long gulp of his beer.

Yup, semi-formal but with beverages for college students, not adults.

Weird, considering their host, who seemed like the stuffy type to serve only wine, but oddly enough, there was a punch bowl besides a few bottles of whine, cans of beer in a box next to that, and a tub of ice filled with multiple alcoholic beverages in easily-opened bottles. Just perfect.

When Matthew had arrived, Elizaveta Hedervary herself had met him at the door and had grabbed his arm and yanked him over to meet Roderich Edelstein, the young man she was dating and the current host. He'd stiffly introduced himself and his home, Edelstein Manor, gravely shaking his hand and announcing that he was very pleased to meet a friend of Veta's.

Elizaveta had told him to lighten up.

"He's not for keeps, but if you like, the three of us could get it on," the nymphomaniac had whispered.

Matthew had gone red as a cherry almost instantly.

"You two could make out for me," she said slightly louder, glancing playfully at Roderich, whose eyes widened almost imperceptibly before narrowing. He'd looked away, out of embarrassment or disdain, Matthew couldn't verify, and his girlfriend giggled.

"Just playing. But seriously, keep an eye out. There are plenty of eligible men here. And cameras in the bedrooms."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He'd been somewhat early, but he always was slightly early, out of habit.

He'd spent his time admiring the chandeliers, drinking more than he probably should've, and thinking that this was definitely different from the wild high school parties Alfred and Gilbert had thrown.

Ah yes, Gilbert's party. He'd had beer and drugs and all kinds of illegal shit.

And he'd gotten a blowob from his intoxicated crush.

How bad he felt for leading Gilbert on like that!

He'd apologized profusely, but no matter how much he hurt Gilbert by telling him it was a mistake, there was still a hopeful glint glimmering in his red eyes whenever the albino saw him.

His tenacity and his obstinacy were commendable, but it frustrated and saddened Matthew to think that his friend was pining after someone who couldn't return his feelings.

"Hello Matthew-san."

He glanced up.

"Hello Kiku. God, it's been a long time," he said, giving the Japanese student a half-smile.

"It has," Kiku said in that curt way of his, bowing slightly before proceeding to the punch bowl. Matthew was about to call out a warning (this was Elizaveta, who was infamous for drugging punch bowls), but he didn't because he didn't want to offend her. And she probably wouldn't pull such a childish prank, not now that she was more mature.

Hopefully.

Matthew couldn't really tell anymore. Would she?

She still seemed as perverted as ever, but it was more a knowing-twinkle in her eyes. Back when he and... Arthur had been together, they had been savagely shining with a disturbing light, like she could see what went on behind bedroom doors and it wasn't as rape-tastic as she was imagining, not nearly as kinky or exciting as she wanted it to be, so she could change that. Yes, she could definitely do something about a tame bedroom situation in exchange for a personal video...

Matthew shuddered.

"Kiku, maybe you should stay away from the punch bowl..."

Let's pause at this moment. You see, Matthew's memory of the party isn't completely important.

A lot of it is complete unnecessary and irrelevant to the story.

So to properly portray how he felt during the party and what happened without getting too meticulous and boring and diverging from the important parts, we'll simply count the amount of times Matthew took a long drink from an alcoholic beverage.

One: He took a gulp as more and more people arrived. As the rooms got more crowded, he got more nervous. He'd been out of touch for a while and this many people intimidated him.

Two: When Gilbert arrived, he did his best not the meet the other's eyes, but that tends to be very hard when the object in question has no problem finding you in a crowd.

Three: He took quite a few sips with the albino, who seemed even more hopeful for heartbreak than when he'd last seen him.

Four: When Elizaveta suggested they finish what they'd started earlier (she'd clearly been referencing that blowjob, which she had seen/heard from someone) with a sly wink.

Five: When Alfred arrived with a booming laughter that practically shook the rafters along with several rowdy football-type guys Matthew didn't know.

Six: As Gilbert got more drunk, Matthew found that his head was feeling oddly light and warm and he stopped pushing Gilbert's wandering hands away. Another gulp as he understood where this seemed to be going.

Seven: Another sip as Gilbert wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He didn't shrug him away.

Eight: And another when that hand came to his waist and the albino's white hair nestled into his neck.

Nine: Another gulp. Gilbert's hands got progressively lower every five seconds. He let him. Isn't that why he came here? To get laid? His mind kept nagging him, saying he didn't want to lead Gilbert on, but he took a gulp of beer to shut it up. He was no light-weight, but he hadn't done this for a long time. When was the last time he'd gotten really plastered?

Ten: Gilbert was laughing now, boldly declaring himself king of Canada and fourteen American states. Matthew cheerfully supported the statement, clapping and laughing with glee. The drinks started to stack up in his mind and he felt like he was floating on a pleasant breeze. And then, Gilbert kissed him and he felt like he'd been lifted up and was now basking in the sun's warmth. Objectivity vanished.

Eleven: They were kissing now, but no one noticed because at that time, either you were plastered, nearly there, or passed out exhausted. So much for semi-formal. But hey, it was college. They weren't really adults yet, no matter what the calendar said.

Thirteen: A gulp. Alfred came over, then promptly pivoted on a dime and left the two alone. By now, Matthew's grip on his bottle (where had his cup gone?) and his grip on why he could never, ever be with Gilbert had loosened considerably as well.

Fourteen: The pleasant buzz was now a whirlwind of colorful thoughts and emotions and he felt happy, happier than he'd felt in a long time. He had good friends everywhere, all of them smiling and laughing around him and he had a handsome man hugging, kissing, wanting him. How could things get better?

Fifteen: The answer? They couldn't. So they got worse instead.

Arthur Kirkland suddenly appeared in the crowd of dancing, smiling, drunken used-to-be peers. He held a glass of wine in his hand, but hadn't drank much of it.

The shock and the displeasure hit him like a freight train, leaving his head suddenly rather clear, horrifyingly functional.

Arthur stopped as his eyes caught Matthew's, slightly shocked/amused? to see Gilbert and Matthew very, very close, pressed very, very close to one another and swaying slightly to the music, which had gotten steadily darker and sexier the later it got.

Arthur stared at him, his emotions unreadable.

Another gulp.

Just three chapters, I promise. Don't kill me.