August 14th, 1763.

Tail coats and hoop dresses filled the large, open room as they slowly moved from person to person. Quiet whispers and soft music, some of it intentional and some of it not, expanded to create an intricate dance all of its own. A single man in the centre of it all was moving from conversation to conversation with an ease that most would have struggled with. Those brief conversations were filled with passionate smiles and flirtatious winks as the man handed out his affections to every woman in sight. They giggled and blushed for those few precious moments and the men accompanying them tried not to glare at their host for the evening.

Matthew followed a few feet behind this man but he faded from most people's minds soon after they were introduced.

He couldn't fault them for not being as interested in him as they were in the more charismatic man he was following. Not when Matthew wasn't paying them the slightest bit of attention either. Even his older brother, who had always easily attracted people's gazes, was more interested in introducing his precious little brother to all of these people than he was in seeing if said people were even remotely interested. Matthew was more of a treasured toy than he was an actual person these days.

Interested or not, Matthew let himself be led to a short, gruff-looking man who glared and grumbled at all who passed his way with piercing green eyes. He'd learned he couldn't stop Francis when he was like this over the past few months. If he tried, he would face another inevitable argument later that night. They weren't the more pleasant of experiences, to say the least.

"Monsieur Kirkland, it's certainly a pleasure to see you here," Francis smiled while mischief danced in his eyes. As if he was the only one privy to some joke, "I didn't think you would accept my invitation after the last time we attended the same party."

"Yes, well, I decided it would be for the best if I stayed away from the drink tonight lest the situation repeat itself. I don't wish that disgrace and embarrassment on both of us again," Mr. Kirkland replied, looking rather abashed, "Though you don't seem rather concerned at the prospect."

"Oh? You are much more of a pleasure to be around once you've had a few drink in you. Not that anyone here would be aware of that." Even Francis had a sense of self preservation however, as he quickly motioned to Matthew who stood silently to the side, "I don't believe you've had the opportunity to meet my younger brother-"

"And I don't believe he's incapable of introducing himself, frog! He has a mouth on him and I don't doubt you'd have him hidden away if he were a mute."

Mr. Kirkland turned his gaze to Matthew expectantly but he only stared back in surprise. Francis looked shocked at the comment as well and an image of distaste passed over the older man's face but he took a small step backwards. Matthew let his eyes flicker between Mr. Kirkland and his brother, hesitating for a brief moment before he took a small, careful step forward to fill the empty space.

A few moments passed as he searched for the right words and Francis stared at him expectantly. "I'm Matthew Williams, Francis's half-brother. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland, Francis has mentioned you a few times."

Mr. Kirkland snorted. "And I'm certain none of it should be repeated in current company, polite or not. Regardless, it's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Williams. As my own relative seems incapable of intro- Alfred, stop flirting! There wasn't any lack of women in the colonies and there's no need for you to do more now."

The blond man chatting amiably a foot away turned slightly at the address. For a moment, Matthew thought he was going to simply turn back but then the two women he'd been speaking with laughed softly to each other before they turned and wandered off to find another to talk to. They didn't look back even as this… Alfred stared after them but when he looked back at them, there wasn't a hint of disappointment on his features.

"Sorry, Art! They wanted me to go on a stroll with them through the gardens. I wasn't about to tell them to find someone else. Not pretty girls like that. And you do have the nicest gardens, Mr. Bonnefoy. They sure beat Art's at any rate," Alfred said, beaming.

Francis eyed the newcomer suspiciously. "Of course they are. I wouldn't stand for anything less."

"Introduce yourself already, prat. You look like a fool," Mr. Kirkland snapped.

"Oh, yes, right. I'm Alfred F. Jones, Art's cousin. Just moved in with him a few weeks back, actually."

Mr. Jones's eyes settled on Matthew then, their gazes interlocking for a brief moment before Matthew quickly looked away. Francis and Mr. Kirkland had started arguing about gardens but Matthew had already tuned out his surroundings. Including Mr. Jones who wasn't about to settle for that. The blond took a step towards him, blue eyes sparkling with purpose, and reached for one of his gloved hands.

Both Francis and Mr. Kirkland paused their heated conversation as they noticed what was happening. Even Matthew stared down at Mr. Jones in disbelief, lips gently parted as he tried to process the sight in front of him. But Mr. Jones wasn't looking at him, gaze fixed on Matthew's thin wrists. Just as his lips were firmly pressed against the soft leather.

(And Matthew found himself wishing for the first time in his life that he was a woman, simply so he could return the public affections of this strange man.)

Those lips lingered there a moment longer than necessary but Matthew couldn't gather the courage to pull away. That would have been the proper thing to do. But instead, he silently wished he'd left his gloves upstairs for the night, so Mr. Jones's lips would be pressed against his bare skin instead. He was more than grateful that he could keep such thoughts to himself.

Already, those who could see them were whispering to each other. Francis quickly stepped in between them, biting anxiously at the inside of his cheek. Matthew's stomach dropped. This wasn't for his own benefit. It couldn't be, so long as Francis's own reputation was at stake.

Such relations between men were unspoken of. Much more suited to a back alleyway than a place of prestige.

"Alfred!"

The look in Mr. Kirkland's eyes promised pain and death, likely through the act of wrapping his fingers around his cousin's slim throat. The only reason he didn't was to keep up appearances in front of those who could damn his every move.

"I hope you'll forgive Alfred's entirely inappropriate behaviour. He lived in the colonies up until recently and I have no doubt he learned this wretchedness from those disgusting inbreds over there," Mr. Kirkland addressed Matthew as he tugged Mr. Jones back onto his feet.

"I don't need to be defended, Mr. Kirkland," Matthew said, glancing briefly over at Mr. Jones, "His actions didn't offend me and if they had, I would have done something about it."

"There wasn't?"

"Really?" Mr. Jones echoed.

"If I were really offended then I would've had a fit and then ran back to my room to pout for the rest of the night. However, I see no more reason to act like a spoiled child in response to an innocent gesture than I do to respond to a degrading comment about my home," he confirmed.

A wide smile slowly spread across Mr. Jones's handsome features as he radiated excitement. Matthew couldn't hold back a small smile of his own at the sight of it as they shared some sort of understanding. Something he didn't really understand but felt nonetheless.

"It appears you're not the only one to has to apologize tonight, Monsieur Kirkland. Mathieu's strange sense of humour comes up at the most inconvenient times. Isn't that right, cherie?" Francis added, his eyebrows set in disapprovement.

Matthew opened his mouth to retort when something familiar caught his eye. A tall woman stood off to the side, wringing her wrists, and was accompanied by an even taller man who smiled darkly at all who looked their way as they whispered to each other. Matthew could feel himself relaxing at the sight of them. Now thoroughly distracted, he was blind to the small exchange between the three men around him.

He'd hoped they would make it but seeing them standing there felt a dream come true.

"A joke, of course. I'm sorry but I have to leave. A couple of friends of mine just arrived and I've been wanting to see them since they told me they'd be coming. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Jones," Matthew delayed a moment before he looked over at Mr. Jones again, "We really didn't get nearly enough time to chat."

"Hopefully another time then, before Art and I head back over the Channel," Mr. Jones agreed.

"That would be wonderful."

Letting out a small breath of relief, he turned and headed towards the couple talking quietly to themselves in the corner. Once the party was over and done with, he would definitely be in for a stern talking to about his behaviour but that had become as commonplace as these elaborate parties were. Normally, the argument would be a demand for Matthew to be more outgoing and talkative. That wouldn't be the case this time around. At the very least, Francis's memory was on the shorter side.

His thoughts turned back to Mr. Jones. No matter what he'd felt a few minutes before, such things were unacceptable.

October 3rd, 2014.

Al stared at the rickety stairs in the middle of the upstairs hallway. Arthur hadn't said a word about cleaning up the attic when he'd talked to him a few minutes before.

His imagination was working overtime as it thought about all the things this could mean. Such as some sort of crazy, vengeful spirit hiding out up there, just waiting for him to fall into its trap. He was going to have to spring that trap. Otherwise, Al would be responsible for what it did to Arthur. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he put his hands on an old, wooden step, hesitantly starting to climb up the stairs. The tremors in his shoulders were impossible to hide. His eyes squeezed shut as he peeked his head up through the hole in the ceiling. When nothing happened to him, he cautiously opened his eyes.

"Matt, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you, you know, be at home or something?"

The thin, wiry man sitting on the attic floor jumped at the exclamation and the book in his hand toppled to the floor. Al snickered, no longer worried now that he could see Matt. (Spirits haunting the attic? As if he'd actually been scared thinking about it.) Matt didn't seem as amused with the situation as he glared at Al.

"I have to do a term paper on a family heirloom and it's history but all of ours are still in France with my family there. Papa wasn't too interested in any of them," Matt explained, gingerly picking the book up.

Al was still laughing softly to himself as he hauled himself up the rest of the stairs. "And I bet you're having the time of your life up here, searching through Artie's weird stuff. Dork."

"Like you're one to talk," Matt muttered, long, thin fingers running over the yellowed pages, "Besides, these things are interesting? I know you say Arthur's just a pack rat but some of the things hidden away up here are really cool. He wouldn't have kept them otherwise. Plus, it's amazing to think of people using these things hundreds of years ago."

There was a small smile tugging on Al's lips, even as he rolled his eyes. He'd heard Matt say stuff like this a million different times and if he didn't really understand, it was funny to see Matt get all worked up about it. The floorboards groaned underneath Al's weight as he plodded across the attic and sat down in the large recliner in the corner. Long since used to Al's presence, Matt didn't even glance up from the small, leatherbound book.

"So, what's it about? I don't think Artie mentioned any books being up here, other than old paperbacks," Al asked, his body spreading to fill the entire chair.

"I… think it's a journal," Matt said softly.

"Cool."

Matt hummed in agreement but nothing was able to distract him from something he was interested in, as Al knew from experience. There was nothing he could do except wait for Matt to grow bored with the ratty old thing. Al's fingers tapped restlessly against his knee to an imaginary beat as his gaze swept through the room every few seconds. His video games called for him from downstairs as the urge to go shoot some zombies grew. But that wasn't an option.

(Not to mention, he might be leaving Matt to some treacherous fate at the wisp hands of an evil ghost if he left now. It would do horrible, terrifying things to Matt. He knew it. And Matt was far too pretty and slight to put up much of a fight.)

A light shined in Al's eyes, his body startling at the sight and his head swivelled to look at it. "It" being nothing more than a small, handheld mirror. The sun had broken through the clouds outside and was glaring right at him from the mirror's reflection. Al looked away and pretended nothing had happened. There was a reason why he didn't go up here unless he absolutely had to.

"I don't know what to think about this," Matt said, staring at the book's pages as if that would it reveal its secrets.

"Huh, how come?" Al asked.

Matt frowned and his grip on the leather cover tightened before he wordlessly passed it to Al. The book was worn and smooth with age despite its ratty appearance as someone had obviously taken good care of it over the years. Al could stop himself from feeling the cover's soft leather before he opened it to the first page.

Whoever had written it wrote in an elaborate font that must have taken forever to write out. Pretty but difficult to read without practice. The first words that became looked legible to him were names. Names that he wouldn't have mistaken at any point in his life. Francis. Matthew. Mr. Kirkland. Alfred. Mr. Jones. Mr. Williams. Al's eyes jumped back up to the top of the page and he started from the beginning again, trying his best not to skip a single word. Once he'd gotten to the end of the first page, he looked over at Matt as his best friend stared at him silently.

"Who wrote this?" Al choked out.

Matt looked away, suddenly focused on the floor. "I did, apparently."

August 14th, 1763.

"I'm so glad you were able to make it!" Matthew exclaimed, beaming at his friends, "I wasn't sure if you would, given that last letter you sent."

The quiet conversation between them came to a halt as they focused their attention on him. Far too much time had gone by since Matthew had last seen either of them. The letters they regularly sent each other didn't compare. Over paper, Matthew wasn't able to see how Katyusha's face had gotten thinner, making her eyes look wider. Or how Ivan had hardened, both in appearance and temperament. They both appeared happy now but Matthew knew that hadn't been the case most of this last year.

"Matvey, it's been too long!" Katyusha informed him, her shoulders slowly relaxing.

Matthew stumbled backwards as she flung her arms around him but her excitement was contagious and he pulled her tight. She felt far too slight, too fragile in his grasp but neither dared to pull away quite yet. Even Ivan rested a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, Matthew didn't feel as if he would disappear at any given moment.

The grin on Katyusha's features matched his own when they finally pulled away from each other. And for a moment, Matthew could picture it. He could seem them living together in a large home with their children running about. They would be happen but only to a point. She was beautiful and he loved her dearly but those feelings would never expand past what someone would feel for a sister.

"You're even more beautiful than you were the last time I saw you," Matthew said, taking her hands in his own even as he stepped back.

Katyusha laughed. "If I listen to your praise then such a thing is impossible. You already speak as if I were the most beautiful in all of the land."

"You wouldn't surprise me so much if it weren't true."

"You are too charming for your own good, Matvey. It will surely get you in trouble one day. Come, you must show me these gardens people go on and on about. Ivan will accompany us."

"As if I would trust my sister not to keep you to herself all not," Ivan agreed, his usual childish smile growing fond.

Matthew's voice dropped as he focused his gaze on Ivan. "It doesn't matter which one of you hogs me for the rest of the night, so long as we go somewhere quieter. There was a bit of a scene a few minutes ago and Francis was merciless."

Katyusha nodded and linked their arms together without a word, instantly understanding. Her head rested on Matthew's shoulder with ease despite her height as they walked towards the open glass doors, Ivan trailing behind them. The crowd thinned the closer they got to the doors. Few people bothered to venture outside without another accompanying them. The sky was dark but the summer air wasn't the least bit chilly. That meant little to those who craved the excited inside, leaving the outdoors only for those who wanted to be left alone.

"It's much different here," Katyusha whispered as they stepped outside, "It's colder back there this year but it's often warmer than this."

The three of them continued through the gardens like that for a while. Appearances were everything here and a few bystanders were lingering just outside the door, seeking fresh air and a bit of gossip. Only once they disappeared behind one of the many rows of roses did Matthew and Katyusha unlink arms and walk at a more comfortable distance from each other.

They came to a stop at the end of a row where a small gazebo was hidden away from sight. The exquisite roses had been arranged to give the area a sense of privacy and unless someone was in Francis's room, they wouldn't be able to see them. Matthew had made sure several times over after he'd found it.

"How's Natalia? She normally sends the occasional letter but I haven't heard from her for months now," Matthew asked, keeping his eyes on the wearied woman even as he stepped inside the gazebo.

"I'm unsure. She hasn't sent word me or Vanya in months either and Mother will only tell me she's gravely ill and needs to stay away until she recovers or she'll infect me as well," Katyusha said, her voice growing sombre as she admired a rose intertwined in the gazebo, "It worries me that we've gone so long without hearing from her.

Ivan sighed deeply, sitting down on a cushioned seat. "You're foolish to believe her, sister. One way or another, she must have found out about Natalia's part in your little charade. Now her and Natalia's birth mother are doing everything in their power to keep her from you."

"Our mother doesn't mean badly, Vanya, even if it often seems that way."

"Then she would be letting you do what makes you happy. There's no excusing that."

"Ivan, are you sure they would keep Natalia away for that? There's always the chance she's truly ill," Matthew asked softly and rested his hand on Ivan's shoulder.

Ivan's shoulders dropped at the contact and he shook his head. "No, about this, I'm certain."

Katyusha let out a strangled breath and her knuckles turned white as she gripped onto the wooden ledge of the open structure. Her shoulders were shaking and she looked as though she were standing in a glass house while Matthew and Ivan threw rocks at it. A moment passed and then another before she quietly excused herself. They watched her as she wandered further away from the house until she disappeared from sight behind a row of rose bushes.

"I wish I could do something," Matthew commented, still watching the spot Katyusha had just disappeared from as he sat down.

Ivan wearily turned his head towards Matthew. "Even if she'd accept help from us, you shouldn't be the one to give it to her, Matvey."

"What are you talking about? There's no reason why I shouldn't!"

"My sister, she doesn't notice but I believe that's for the best. She has enough on her mind with this business with Natalia. But here? Here you are nothing more than a bird with clipped wings." Ivan waved a hand towards the expansive house.

Matthew stared at it as he fiddled with his fingers.

"It's in the little things, yes? It's not that you're miserable in this place but you're not content. Unhappy, some would say, but not sad. When you found the chance to visit last year, the change in you was very obvious. I'm not blind and I wish you wouldn't treat me as if I were. You belong in your colony where you can do as you wish. Where you don't have to worry about that half-brother of yours watching your every move."

"Are any of us truly happy?" Matthew asked, breaking his gaze away from the well-lit house, "I'd give up anything to go back there, even if I try not to think about it too much."

"Matvey, we all have our hardships. There's nothing we can do about that. The difference is that the rest of us are trying to make the best of a bad situation while you just sit and pretend there's nothing you can do to make it better. It's not healthy."

"No, but neither is you being mistrusted everywhere you go because of your country! Healthy isn't being forced apart from the person you love, like Katyusha is, or how Lars is separated from his sister so they both can survive. I wouldn't consider Gilbert's life of hiding away healthy, not when he can't talk to his loved ones because he's being hunted down for a crime he didn't commit. Those aren't healthy thing. Staying here to support my brother through his grief is the least I can do after the things our father did to him."

"Even if you must take on your father's grievances, you could make the best of it."

Matthew dropped his gaze down to his lap.

"You aren't Katyusha and you aren't me or Lars or Gilbert. If you cannot find a way to enjoy the things you have left then you should take a ship back to where you belong."

"I can't."

"Then you have no to blame but yourself."

"No, you don't understand. I really can't. I tried to leave on a whim once, a few months ago, and ever ship in the port denied me passage. The last one I went to finally took pity on me and said that Monsieur Bonnefoy had donated money to their 'business' with the understanding that they couldn't let me board a ship without him there to see me off."

"You could go to a different port if you truly wanted."

"No, I couldn't. Come, I need to show you something."

There was a word spoken between them as Matthew stood up and walked out of the gazebo with Ivan walking beside him. Neither of them spared more than a glance towards Katyusha as they strolled pat her. Matthew's eyes stayed focused on the path ahead of him as he fought his way through the maze of roses, struggling to remember the route in the dark. Finally, they stumbled upon what Matthew had been looking for. A place so different from the rest of the gardens that was filled to the brim with roses.

"Why did you bring me here, Matvey?" Ivan asked, looking at the rows of lilies.

Matthew knelt down to look at them. "He's known for roses, not for lilies but he likes lilies more than he likes roses. The gardener told me he planted some of both over a decade ago. The only difference was that the lilies needed to be coaxed into growing properly while the roses took to this place with ease. That's why everyone knows about them instead. Then he grew more roses. This is actually all he has left of the lilies but he loves them all the same."

"I don't understand what this has to do with why you won't leave this place. Your half-brother has a thing for flowers, it isn't news to anyone."

"It has everything to do with why I won't leave. I realized it a few weeks ago but he's not happy here either. I haven't known him as anything other than the unreasonable man he is now but it would be cruel to leave him to mourn here alone. I can't leave him anymore than you could just up and leave Katyusha."

"...I'm sorry I pushed the matter, Matvey."

The multi-coloured flowers swayed in the summer breeze, oblivious to their audience. Matthew couldn't help but wonder how often Francis came out here himself to tend to them, to make sure they would thrive a little bit longer. There was no doubt they were beautiful. They didn't have the elegance or the romantic symbolism a rose had but that only added to their charm. That and how much care had been put into keeping them alive.

"It's fine," Matthew whispered.

He couldn't tear his soft gaze from the flowers. These pretty, delicate flowers had been kept hidden away from everyone but it was proof that somehow, somewhere, Francis did care. And if Matthew hadn't stumbled upon them then he'd likely be on a ship back to the one place he called home at this very moment.

"It's fine."

October 3rd, 2014.

Al stared blankly at the end of the first entry. How could he believe Matt had written this? Matt who had never had a serious argument with Francis in his life. Matt who always looked happy and content. It couldn't have been forged. Not when the book was so obviously dated with its ratty appearance, yellowed pages, and the entry dating over two centuries ago. Not when Matt was pale and confused.

"There's no way this is real," Al said, gaping.

Matt nodded silently, continuing to watch the journal just as he had the entire time Al had been reading. It looked so innocent from the cover, like any other book. But it wasn't just another book. There were too many coincidences, too many things that lined up.

Starting from the beginning again, Al read it through, taking the time to really figure out what was happening outside of this version of Matt being at a party. It was still just as unbelievable as the first time. Rustling noises filled the room as Matt started to browse through the other cardboard boxes lying about.

The author of the journal had a strange way of writing in comparison to the current Matt, a bit too formal here and there. But Al's doubt quickly diminished as he continued to reread that first entry. There were bits and pieces of the narrative that sounded like Matt, like how he fiddled with his fingers whenever he was nervous about something.

"Hey," Al started as he read a line for the fourth time over.

Matt didn't bother looking up from the box. "I'm just searching for other things like this. They might give us a better image of what happened."

"No, look at this!" Al turned the book around and point to a section, "You met me at this party thing. It sounds like you didn't know quite what to think about me. Isn't that cool?"

"Cool? Right. That's definitely the word you would be using describe this."

"You were just saying this sort of thing is really cool, Matt! You can't say you changed your mind because of this. Us being there just makes it even more interesting. Even I'm interested in this ratty, old thing now!"

"It's too personal, Al. What if it was your journal I was reading through?"

"I don't write in journals, dude."

"Al."

Ignoring him, Al started on the next entry without another word. The journal was drawing him in and he found himself wanting to know everything he could. The more he read, the more it felt like an insight into Matt's mind, an insight into how he really saw the world. It wasn't just the way Matt reacted to things but what he thought about them and why. Matt almost never came out and told him what he felt about something.

"Al, I think you should look at this. It's… yours, I think," Matt said, tentatively breaking the silence.