Warning: There are a few mentions of self harm

Matthew takes a deep breath before slowly moving to pack up his meeting paperwork. It takes him a few deep breaths before he can even begin to try and grasp the paper directly in front of him. He shuts his eyes tight and focuses on breathing, on clenching his hand and releasing the pressure. He puts his hands on the table and pushes up as hard as he can to stand on his wobbling legs. He takes a few more deep breaths before he is able to grip the papers tight enough to put it inside his briefcase. He shuts the lid with a small click.

His feet drag as he walks outside, the sun making him cringe. The small brown case in his hand feels ten times heavier than it normally is. He's having trouble breathing. He brings his hand up to his chest and clenches at the tight material encasing his body. He pauses in his steps and stumbles back to lean against his knees. Breathe, he tells himself. He counts up to four as he breathes in, then holds it for just a second, before releasing it for eight counts. He repeats the process twice before he feels he can stand upright again.

He hugs his briefcase to his chest, his knuckles turning white from his hold on the edges. He counts his steps. Two steps for every sidewalk square. Twenty-nine steps from the meeting hall. Forty-seven to the cab waiting for him. Three breaths before he can tell the driver to take him to the airport. He shuts his eyes tight as the car moves recklessly through the streets to a small airport on the edges of the city. He mindlessly plays with the handle on his briefcase, flicking it up and down and up and down.

This had been one of the worst meetings Matthew thinks he's ever been to. He lolls his head to the side to stare blankly out of the window. The trees of the Colorado pass him by. Alfred's land is very pretty, and normally he would watch with awe at the sights his brother held, but he can't do it right now. Can't do it today. His breathing has calmed down, reduced to a hollow motion. He feels the tears well up in his eyes and shuts them to get rid of them.

The meeting hadn't been much different from any other. A standard every country meeting to discuss issue their bosses didn't feel the need to go over. His prime minister has told him before though that they just shuffle off their representatives so the real politicians can do work. He had laughed at the statement before, but now he can't really feel anything.

Matthew had done his best to talk during the conference. He spoke loudly, louder than usual, but still no one seemed to hear him. He couldn't count the number of times someone interrupted him in the middle of a sentence, the number of times someone had either accidentally sat on him or hit him while he walked by. He could feel his heart clench in his chest at the recollection of his father figure Francis walking right past him without so much as a passing glance.

The car lurches to a stop. Matthew thunks his head back and reaches for the door handle. His body feels heavy as he exits the vehicle. He thanks the driver politely, but they don't seem to hear him. He feels another needle go through his heart. He turns to the small private jet supplied to him by his government as the cab speeds off. It takes him ten minutes to climb up the six steps into the plane. After every step it seems like he can't breathe. He collapses into his seat.

The meeting replays in his mind. He brings his hands up to his face and digs his palms into his eyes to keep the tears from coming out. His head tortures him with the memory of all the moments where he could have spoke louder, said something different, gained someone's attention. He grits his teeth, trying to keep himself together. The plane rocks beneath him and takes off into the sky. Matthew feels like his body hasn't left the ground. He feels heavy and so alone. No one had talked to him today. No one had seen him.

Matthew shakes in his seat. His breathing becoming more ragged. He feels so weak and pathetic and invisible. He's used to feeling invisible almost feels it's more normal to be unseen. There usually is at least someone who acknowledges his presence at the meetings. Maybe Alfred, or Gilbert, or Francis. One time even Feliciano said hi to him from across the hallway. No one did that today. It's not the first time that's happened. Today though, something felt wrong about today, like he had become twice as invisible in the course of an hour.

His choked back sobs and gasps for breath are the only thing heard in his tiny private jet. He is all alone. He leans back his head as a few tears manage to break out from his hands covering his face. He tries desperately to convince himself that it's all okay. That this day is just like every other. That he can get through it. His pleas to himself do not work as well as he hopes they will. He can still feel the crushing pain in his chest of being ignored. It's not the first time this has happened, he tells himself. That thought doesn't help, making his chest hurt more.

He pulls his legs up into the chair and hugs them to his chest, burying his head low. He shakes as the tears fall. His mind replays all the moments of the meeting, of past meetings, of past moments, where he hadn't been seen, been ignored, been pushed aside. He can feel the weight on his heart and the tears are pricking at his eyes as they soak into his arms.

Why did he have to be the invisible one? Why did no one see him? What did he do wrong? What happened to make it so no one remembered who he was, who he is, what he's done? Why is it always him who always has to tell people who he is? Why is it always him who is always forgotten?

Matthew holds tight to himself as the sobs come harder. It's so hard for him to breath. He digs his hands into his hair and tugs at the strands. He sits up slightly, to move his arms to his stomach instead. He drags his nails softly against the skin on his wrist. The meticulous motion helps break him out of his depressive daze. He concentrates on the way his nails feel grazing against the skin, the patterns he traces.

Matthew has learned his lesson. Hurting himself doesn't help the pain. It kills the mental sadness for just a moment, but the physical pain only lasts a second before the emotions come flooding back to him. He looks down to his arms and rolls up the sleeves. He blinks his eyes to see past the tears. His scars have since healed thanks to his regenerative abilities, but he knows every mark he has ever made. He clenches his eyes shut at the ghosts of his past. He hates that he had been reduced to such a state of self harm. He vowed never again to let himself get to such a position. He made motions for his government to talk to troubled teens and educate children about the risk and harms and to talk to someone about their problems. Never again would he allow someone to feel the way he did.

Does. This pain doesn't resurface often. He is able to control it. Today is just an off day. A regularly scheduled bad day that happens and makes him want to curl up into a ball and do nothing for weeks on end. These days take a lot out his mental health, and it takes more to be able to get back to a stable point. He sits by himself and wallows in his own misery before he can even think about taking care of himself, let alone his people.

He tries hard to keep himself in check, from making too much noise. He bursts out into tears twice more before losing enough energy to fall asleep. The plane landing jostles him awake two hours later. His grip on his briefcase is loose as he exits the jet in a tired stupor. He trudges to the small black car waiting for him in the back of the parking lot. He slides into the front seat and drops his head onto the steering wheel. He can still feel the tears streaks on his face. He drives five miles under the speed limit, pissing off plently of people behind him. He doesn't trust himself to go much faster, especially since he can feel another wave of tears threatening to blur his vision.

He's shaking hard as he pulls to a stop in his driveway. He reach for the door handle and fails twice before he is able to stumble out of the car. He drops to his knees on the front of his porch, crying once again. It shouldn't hurt this much, he tells himself. But it does and he can feel the ache in his chest threatening to cave in. He reaches up, groping for the door handle. With a soft click the door opens and swings forward. He practically crawls inside his small cabin.

The padding of feet is heard before he feels the body rush into him. Kumajiro lets out a whine, curling up into Matthew's arms. He bawls harder at the bear's comforting actions, burying his face into the soft fur. He remains in the doorway, not having the energy to move from his collapsed position. Kumajiro nuzzles against him, pawing at his legs gently.

Ever since he and his bear connected and became companions to take care of the nation of Canada together, Kumajiro has been able to sense his moods and react to the situations around them. Someone once tried to mug Matthew, but Kumajiro snarled something fierce at the attacker, promptly scaring the man. Matthew relys on his bear to be there for him and come to him. He's the one that never forgets he is there.

"It hurts so much Kuma," he whispers into the bears white fur, letting out another cry. Kumajiro whimpers at his owners words. Matthew pushes off the ground and carries his bear to the couch. He curls up with his companion and crys. It's not the first time he's cried into his friend's fur, he knows it won't be the last. Kumajiro has accepted his role as caretaker when Matthew is too emotionally drained to do it for himself. He brings his owner water cups and packages of food, grunting and demanding food until Matthew eats. Matthew is eternally grateful for such a friend.

"Why don't they see me Kuma?" he asks quietly into the empty room. Kumajiro paws at him, licking at the tear spots on his face. Matthew manages a weak smile at the bears attempts to cheer him up. He hugs Kumajiro tight to him and the bear nuzzles back. Matthew knows he'll be better sooner or later, but the pain is still fresh now, and still hurts more than he would like to admit.

The tears eventually stop, and Matthew is exhausted, wanting nothing more than to just sleep for hours. He rubs half heartedly at his face, the other hand making circles against Kumajiro's fur. He practices his breathing pattern, working to get air flowing naturally through his system once again. This sad spell didn't last as long as some of the others he had before, but it's long enough to make him dizzy when he stands up to get himself a glass of water. Kumajiro nestles his head into the crook of his neck as he walks to the kitchen. Matthew can feel the bear's happiness at his movements. He rests his head against Kumajiro's.

With a cold bottle of water resting against the side of his head, Matthew makes his way back into his living room. He takes small sips and pets Kumajiro's head. More slow tears spill out of his eyes, and he lets them fall. If he tries to hold them back, they build up and become much worse. Kumajiro paws at his leg, and Matthew obediently takes a drink. He closes his eyes once again, not wanting to be awake any longer. He breathes softly in his solitude.

"HEY Matthew! So hey! I was thinking we coul-" Matthew's eyes crack open to the sudden voice in his hidden away cabin. Alfred stands in his doorway, one hand on the door handle, the other carrying a bag of groceries. His mouth is open and he's blinking his eyes at the sight of Matthew. Matthew gulps as he realizes what he looks like. His eyes are red, and tears are coming down his face. Kumajiro whines and growls at the intruder to his home. They stare at each other for a few tense seconds before Matthew sniffles, breaking the silence.

Alfred shuts the door with a kick of his foot and drops the bag in his hand to the ground. He makes a beeline for the couch and immediately wraps his arms around Matthew hugging him as tight as he can without squishing him. Kumajiro wiggles his way out from between the two of them, moving to rest his head against Matthew's leg. Matthew can feel Alfred shaking.

"Mattie what's wrong?" Alfred is quiet as he asks the question, rubbing a small circles against Matthew's back. Matthew tears up at the action, at the words. He lifts his arms and clings to his brother, openly sobbing into his shoulder. Matthew briefly wonders if it's possible to run out of tears, because he really wishes he could. Alfred shifts their positions to sit on the couch with him. Matthew doesn't let him go, shaking as Alfred cradles him close.

"It's okay Mattie. It's okay. I'm here. Your hero is here. It's alright. Everything will be alright," Alfred whispers into Matthew hair. Matthew wants to believe him.

It takes him a few minutes to compose himself, and when he does, Kumajiro pushes at his thigh, nudging his bottle of water to him. Matthew lets out a shaky laugh and obeys the bear. Alfred is still looking at him with a stern expression. Matthew lets out a deep breath, and explains as best he can, softly, why he cried, how he feels so invisible and alone. He flushes up with tears again, but Alfred holds him tight. Matthew lets him play the hero.

"Dang Mattie, why didn't you tell me sooner?" Alfred rubs at the back of his head, a puzzled expression on his face. Matthew shrugs. He knows that Alfred won't entirely understand his situation, but the fact he's willing to try is more than enough.

Alfred pouts, then makes a grab for his wrists. He pulls back the sleeves and Matthew inhales sharply at the action. Alfred turns his wrists over and over again, glaring at them. He releases a sigh and gives Matthew a sad face.

"You weren't gunna.. you know.. right?" Matthew shakes his head. Alfred had seen his scars once and nearly begged him to not do it again. It's part of the reason Matthew stopped in the first place. He won't do it again. He knows that's not the answer. Alfred lets out a relieved breath, then pulls Matthew back into a tight hug. Matthew returns his brothers embrace.

"Next time come talk to me, yell at me, throw a brick something, just don't.. you don't have to be alone ya know?" Alfred stumbles a bit over his words but they make Matthew laugh anyway. He pulls away and rubs at his face to get rid of the last of his tear streaks. Kumajiro growls and Matthew pets him, taking a drink of water. Alfred jumps up from his seat to pick up his dropped bag. He reaches inside and pulls out a plastic rectangle case.

"Okay so, I have a new tag team video game, and you know I would never play a game like this without you, but if you're not up for it then we could wait and-"

"That sounds great Alfred," Matthew smiles at his brother, which causes Alfred to break out into megawatt smile. He skips over to hand Matthew the game, then makes his way into the kitchen. Matthew can hear him rummaging around as he works to set the game up. A beep and a few clinks and Alfred comes back and hands Matthew a steaming mug. He scoffs at the drink, knowing exactly what it is. That doesn't stop him from blowing on, then taking a small sip of the maple flavored coffee. Alfred runs away once again to return with a pile of blankets that makes Matthew think he gathered every blanket in the house.

Alfred makes a determined face as he wraps all of them around Matthew's shoulders, completely swallowing him in fabric. Matthew laughs openly at the gesture, his smile bringing a smile to Alfred's face. His brother takes a seat next to him, close enough for their knees to touch. They start to play the new game and Alfred asks him stupid silly questions to get him to talk. The more he says, the better he feels. Kumajiro, sensing the lighted mood, comes over and crawls into Matthew's lap. Matthew answer's his brother's questions, simple conversation being shared between them. Alfred soon gets too into the game, opting to yell and scream at the screen instead of asking questions.

Matthew doesn't mind too much. Mainly because Alfred is yelling at the things that he is doing to mess him up. Both engrossed in the game, the two are standing up and screaming at the game, shoving playfully at each other to try to mess the other up. Alfred falls dramatically to the ground as Matthew wins again.

"Not cool Mattie," Alfred pouts putting his controller onto the ground. Matthew giggles and sits back down into his nest of blankets. Alfred orders him to keep playing, so Matthew does. He plays single player as Alfred makes a mess of the kitchen. Matthew can smell what he's making and he swells up in appreciation at Alfred's care.

"Bon appetit or whatever words are!" Alfred announces as he walks back into the living room, two plates of pancakes in his hands and a bottle of maple syrup under his arm. Matthew laughs and graciously takes the fluffy breakfast treat. They both soak their stacks in syrup before chowing down.

Alfred lays back and pats his stomach. Matthew leans back on his hands, eyes closed in content, a complete opposite of the mood he had earlier.

"Oh yeah, I also got stuff for smores, so we could maybe set up that fire pit thing in your backyard and burn stuff?" Matthew laughs and Alfred's child like excitement about burning. He turns his head to smile down at his brother. Alfred is looking at him hopefully and so Matthew gives in.

"Sure we can," Alfred's eyes light up. "But no twenty foot flames this time." Alfred lets outs a loud laugh pushing lightly at Matthew.

"Aw but Maaaaattieeeeee, those are the best kinds!" Matthew shakes his head firmly at Alfred's whining. He nudges at his plate and Kumajiro comes over and licks off the remaining syrup puddle.

"Not this time Alfred, you almost caught my trees on fire last time," Alfred groans, twisting on the ground dramatically. Matthew picks up their plates, taking them to the kitchen as Alfred jumps from his resting position to run outside. Matthew watches him fumble with the matches before getting a small fire flickering against the soft breeze. Alfred dances around the fire before coming inside to grab the materials for smores. He nabs Matthew's hand, dragging him outside.

They sit outside till two in the morning, making smores and dancing around the fire, singing songs loudly to the woods. Alfred yawns, stretching his arms up over his head. Matthew begins to clean up the wrappers from chocolate when Alfred runs back into the house. He rolls his eyes, following his brother inside. He laughs loudly when he sees Alfred moving pillows into the living room. He throws out the trash before moving to help Alfred make a blanket fort.

After their kingdom is all made, they settle down between the covers, giggling softly to each other. They whisper to each other like kids before a school night, trying not to get caught by a parent. Kumajiro takes his rightful spot on top of Matthew's stomach.

"Tomorrow we should go on a hike," Alfred says in the middle of a yawn. Matthew nods his head, yawning himself. His emotional breakdown catching up to him. Alfred reaches a hand over and puts in Matthew's face. Matthew snickers pushing the hand off.

"Glad you're here Mattie," Alfred yawns again, then begins to snore softly. Matthew smiles to himself under the covers. He runs his fingers over Kumajiro's back. Maybe next time, he'll crash into Alfred's house and stay with him for a while as his sad slump passes. Alfred has a bit of a hero complex, but sometimes he can really be a hero.

"Glad you came to find me Alfred."

AN: Have I ever mentioned how brotherly love gives me life? Because it does.

Disclaimer: Hetalia ain't no belong me