Unrequited

. . .

The slamming of the apartment next door signals that he's home. Matthew Williams lies underneath his covers, having no choice but to listen to the cheesy pick-up lines and giggling.

There are two possible scenarios for what's happening next door:

1) Alfred got a new best friend who happens to be a girl.

2) Alfred has managed to convince some girl to sleep with him.

Thump. More giggling. A moan.

(You know the answer.)

Matthew slips his hands over his ears and closes his eyes so that he doesn't hear what's happening next and so that the tears don't escape his eyes.

. . .

"H-Hey, Al?" he said, playing with the hem of his hoodie anxiously.

His best friend looked up. "What is it, Mattie?"

"I think I love you."

. . .

"I don't know what you see in him," Arthur says flippantly, turning to the next page of his book. "He's rambunctious and loud and irritating. I can't imagine what fantasies you have about dating that beast."

Matthew tears his eyes away from the sight of Alfred flirting with the librarian. "To me, he's spontaneous and energetic and endearing," he says, voice soft. "I fantasize about him throwing pebbles at my window and then telling me that he's changed his mind and he reciprocates my feelings after all."

At that, Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder. "I just don't want you to get hurt." The sharp edge to his voice has softened and his eyes are genuinely concerned.

"It's too late for that," Matthew rasps.

His gaze flickers upwards to his object of affection.

Alfred doesn't give him the attention that he longs for.

But someone else does, even though Matthew fails to notice the set of ruby eyes watching him intently from behind.

. . .

"You...what?" Alfred blinked. He gave the other blond a blank stare for moment, before bursting into chuckles. "Good one, Mattie!"

Matthew's heart pounded loudly in his ears. "I'm n-not joking, Al..."

. . .

"Edgar Allan Poe was a great writer," Arthur says indignantly from over the line. "Stop spewing blasphemy, love."

Matthew blushes pink at the endearment; even though Arthur calls him frequently, he's still not quite used to it. "I'm not spewing blasphemy, I'm-"

Thunk.

He cuts himself off, looking quizzically towards his bedroom window. He wonders what that could possibly be and-

Thunk.

It's definitely not his imagination. "Hold on a second, Arthur," he says into his phone, and rises from his desk. He draws back his curtains and looks down, heart drumming faintly. Is it Alfred? he can't help but wonder.

No. No, it's not. Instead, it's a silver-haired boy with red eyes that gleam with something akin to mirth. "I heard you wanted someone to throw pebbles at your bedroom window?"

Matthew doesn't know whether to be awed or freaked out. He chooses the former. "I-I'll talk to you tomorrow, Arthur," he says hastily into the phone. Then he hangs up, already hurrying to the front lobby to greet the stranger.

. . .

"Oh." Alfred's chuckles died down slowly. "Oh," he repeated, and Matthew felt himself getting increasingly anxious. He watched as Alfred pressed his lips together, seemingly debating on what to say next.

"Th-That's cool with me, Mattie, but... I don't exactly..." Alfred made several vague hand gestures before giving up with a sigh. "I don't really like you that way, you know?"

. . .

His smile is contagious and his eyes are exquisite. His name is Gilbert Beilschmidt and in the first hour that Matthew knows him, he comes off as someone unintentionally sweet. "I thought I was going to have to climb a thirty-foot wall to get to your window or something," he says with an abashed laugh. "Thank god that you live in an apartment that's somewhat close to the ground."

Matthew chuckles, cheeks warming at the other's words. "Y-You didn't have to..."

They're sitting on the floor of his apartment, just an hour prior to Matthew letting Gilbert in. He still can't believe that anyone would ever do something like this for him.

Gilbert shrugs. "I heard you talking to your friend at the library," he says. "You looked all sad and shit, so I thought, why not?"

"I appreciate it," Matthew replies with a small smile. "People usually don't give me the time of day."

"Really?" Gilbert looks amused. The next thing he says becomes the sweetest thing that Matthew's ever heard: "They don't know what they're missing out on, then."

. . .

"Th-That's all right." He felt horribly constricted, throat tightening, lip trembling. He was afraid he'd start to cry.

Alfred smiled. "We can still be friends, though!" he exclaimed, and then patted the younger blond on the shoulder. Matthew didn't respond for the longest of times, just standing there, gazing blankly ahead. "You okay, Mattie?" Alfred asked, looking worried now.

It was enough to snap Matthew out of his reverie. "Friends," he repeated, and stopped there. What else could he say?

If Alfred noticed the dejected tone, he didn't say anything about it. "I knew you'd understand, Matt!"

. . .

Thump.

The sudden noise cuts into their conversation. Gilbert glances at Matthew first, but when the Canadian refuses to meet his eyes, he turns to the wall, quizzical. "...Does that happen a lot?"

Matthew doesn't answer for a few seconds. "Just ignore it," he mumbles.

Following the initial thump, there's some footsteps and the creaking of a bed. Matthew shuts his eyes for a moment.

"You okay, Mattie?"

"You okay, Mattie?"

"Of course," Matthew answers.

"He's the guy that you're in love with, right?" Gilbert's curious look turns almost envious for a second. "What's his name, Alfred?"

Matthew's blood runs cold. "H-How did you- Why d-do you-"

"I kind of heard some other stuff in the library," Gilbert says sheepishly. "But I couldn't help it... I mean, Alfred sounds like a dick." In fear of offending the other, he adds hastily, "I'd be pretty pissed if my roommate had loud sex every other night."

Matthew laughs bitterly. "It's more of every night, actually." His expression is neutral but his eyes are pained; it drives Gilbert to stand and walk over to the wall. Looking up confusedly, Matthew asks, "What are you doing...?"

Gilbert ignores the question. Instead, he slams his fist on the thin wall. "Keep it down over there, jackass!" he shouts.

"G-Gilbert!" Matthew says harshly, voice dropping to a low whisper as if afraid that Alfred would hear him.

There's no reply from the other side save for silence. Gilbert looks satisfied with himself, returning to his original spot on the floor. "You," he begins incredulously, "are in love with that?" and he leans forward and presses his lips against Matthew's softly, chastely.

You love Alfred, a voice nags in the back of his mind, but Matthew doesn't listen to it because he's already kissing back.

. . .

"You picked last night to start inviting friends over?" Alfred gripes the next morning. They're walking down the hall towards the mini coffee shop together. "She up and left me right in the middle of it! And I was left there-"

"I honestly don't care, Alfred," Matthew interrupts. He quickens his pace upon entering the shop, relishing in the way the air smells of coffee. It's refreshing.

The shop is almost deserted, so there's no line. Matthew walks up to the front counter and recites his coffee order to the bored-looking woman behind it.

"Are you getting jealous again?" Alfred sounds weary at that, and Matthew's blood boils. "I thought we've talked about this, Mattie. I don't-"

"No, actually, we haven't!" he snaps. "You assumed that I was all right and went on with your life! You never once looked back at me unless you needed something!" The woman, looking frightened by their exchange, slides Matthew's cup of coffee over to him. The irate blond picks it up swiftly and turns to leave.

"Matthew!" Alfred grabs his wrist and pulls him back.

Matthew stumbles and consequently spills the cup all over the front of his shirt. The scalding liquid sears his skin brutally and he bites his lip hard to stifle a scream. He wants Alfred to leave him alone - like he has for the past year - and at the same time wants him to realize what he's put him through.

"Shit, Matt, if you hadn't tried to walk away from me..."

And Alfred has the audacity to blame him?

Matthew grits his teeth and is reeling to punch his best friend - former best friend? - when a third party joins them. "Everything okay, Mattie?" Gilbert's sleepy voice reaches his ears, and he doesn't think he's ever been more glad to hear anyone. Gilbert's ruby orbs clash with miffed sapphire ones, and Matthew can already feel the impeding fight.

"C-Can we leave?" he whimpers, sounding rather pathetic. His chest is still burning and it's doing nothing to help his developing migraine.

Gilbert looks tempted to say something, but thankfully he doesn't. Taking Matthew's hand he begins pulling him out of the shop. "We can go back to your room and-"

"Oh, so you guys are sharing a room now?" Alfred cuts in sarcastically. "That's great, Mattie. You've finally found someone else to make goo-goo eyes at."

Matthew's eyes sting with tears. "Pl-Please," he whispers brokenly to Gilbert.

"Goo-goo eyes?" Gilbert echoes. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"And like you aren't?" Alfred shoots back. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, right? I've heard about you, and the way you like to sleep with someone, then leave them the next morning. That's what you're gonna do-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"I'm just trying to warn my best friend here."

"If you say one more thing I swear I'm going to-"

"You guys," Matthew pleads. He feels himself getting light-headed and dizzy and he grabs onto Gilbert's forearm-

-he still stumbles.

The world goes black.

. . .

"He's known me for a night and he's known you for way more than that," Gilbert mutters. He stares at the prone blond on the hotel bed, an angel on white sheets. "I love him, but he loves you. And you don't love him back."

Alfred stands on the opposite side of the room, mute. Guilt tugs at his heart and he'll apologize later but for now, there's another situation at hand. He doesn't reply because he's not quite sure of that statement himself.

He wonders why he's never noticed how serene Matthew looks when he's sleeping.

"How about," he begins, throat dry, "we let him choose?"

Choose over what, he doesn't know. But he does know that he doesn't want to lose Matthew.

Gilbert's crimson gaze flicks upwards for a moment.

The agreement is made in silence.

. . .

The sun rises over the horizon, dipping the world in light. Its beams peek through the half-closed curtains of the apartment, illuminating two intertwined figures on the bed.

Indigo eyes flutter open softly.

That morning, Matthew Williams wakes up in Gilbert Beilschmidt's arms.

A/N: Written for an anon who left a review for The Art of Selfishness. I felt bad that I haven't been paying attention to PruCan lately, so I thought I'd write this.

Written in two hours, unedited, unbeta'd. Please pardon any mistakes; I'll edit tomorrow~