The sky was the color of steel, and it was raining. Flower heads bent under the force of the water pounding down on top them, grass flatted to the side, rivers swelled and overran the banks. Dried leaves, in faded shades of crimson and gold, cracked and molded inside of damp hollow logs.

Fall had come, and it was beautiful.

Matthew was cold, and soaking wet, long hair plastered to his cheeks, his dripping shirt hanging off of his body. His arms were raised up to the sky, palms up, head tilted back and eyes closed as cold water ran down his face and into the collar of his shirt.

Alfred and Arthur watched him from the warmth of the house, the fire crackling at their backs and spreading a warm circle of light out onto the carpet. Alfred's dog was curled up in his basket in the corner, nose tucked into tail. His chest rose and fell with his deep even breaths, eyes flickering beneath his eyelids.

The living room was neatly messy, the chaos there with a certain order to the way the blankets and pillows were tossed around willy-nilly. The windows were fogging up, and Alfred wiped them periodically with his shirtsleeve.

The clock struck four; Matthew had been out in the rain for over an hour.

"He'll get sick," Arthur muttered, never looking away from the figure outside. He swirled the brandy around in his cup before taking another sip. "He's crazy to just stand out there."

"Matty likes the rain," Alfred replied, getting up to add another log onto the fire. The flames crackled and popped, and the blonde smiled as he returned to his seat by the window. "Let him just enjoy it, Arthur."

"Hn. I didn't say I was going to go get him. I just said he'll get sick."

"He's already has a cold, and if it gets worse, he can just go to the hospital," Alfred reminded the other, and then they both fell back into silence. The dog huffed and shuffled around on his bed, groaning quietly.

"Francis is coming over later, yes?" Arthur asked after a few more minutes of silence. Alfred shrugged, leaning back against the wall, and said nothing. Silence returned, and broke another minuet later when the front door clicked open and a dripping Matthew stepped inside.

He smiled at the two on the couch as he pulled off his soaking sweatshirt and left it in a heap on the tiled floor, followed by his socks and shoes. Matthew shook his head briefly, sending a spray of water across the room. Alfred's dog raised his head as some of the water hit his head and wagged his tail upon seeing Matthew. He didn't stand, though – he was an old dog, and his joints were tired.

"Go shower, Matty," Alfred commanded, pointing down the hall to Matthew's right. "Your cold's just going to get worse at this rate."

"I know." Matthew's voice was breathy and harsh from a long week of coughing and swallowing painkillers. He turned on his heel and walked away from Arthur and Alfred, vanishing to the right a moment later.

"Sometimes I wonder about him," Arthur murmured into his brandy. The liquid burned his throat as he took another deep gulp.

Alfred snorted. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Arthur." He snuggled back into the couch and shut his eyes. "Mm...I don't want to stand up."

"Too bad, you're still cooking. Unless you'd rather I did...?" Arthur smiled as Alfred's eyes shot open again and the younger scrambled to his feet, ignoring the flicker of annoyance that even now, no one considers his cooking edible.

"I'll go get started now, then," Alfred called over his shoulder as he hurried out of the room and went into the cold and dark kitchen. Arthur laughed softly and set his cup down on the coffee table. Grabbing a blanket and his book, he leaned against the armrest and flipped his book open, losing himself into the world of Harry Potter as Alfred fired up the oven and flipped on light switches and Matthew washed the cold off of him.

Not everything has to be a fight, he reminds himself as he turns a page, and not every thing in life has to be hard.

Later, he'd wonder about that thought when Francis was there and groping Matthew again, and Matthew was blushing while coughing up what sounded like a lung, and Alfred was trying to get Francis off his twin with the use of a frying pan and Alfred's dog had stolen their steak and Arthur had yelled himself hoarse trying to get them to shut up, but for right now there was peace and quiet and life was okay.

Not everything has to end in tragedy.

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Author's Note

it's raining outside, and I'm really cold, and I didn't want to work on the Log story, so you get this piece of plotless shit. Enjoy.