How long had it been since he had held Matthew like this? Ten years? Twelve? His heart clenched in the most terrible way possible, but the embrace stayed just as tight, as the silence was slightly calming after the crying session. It hurt him. He had been such a shitty brother- and now Matthew was going to die. Before him. He didn't even know how long the other had. Not that he wanted to think about it.

It'd just make him cry again.

"... Yea," he said, hoarsely as he pulled away and shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at his brother. "... I know I don't show it very often," or at all, "But I love you. Sounds cheesy as fuck, but I do, alright?"

For the first time in an all too long time Matthew laught because of his brother. Even with his tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes, the younger blonde's lips pulled into a wide grin and laughter escaped him. It was a good laugh, not mocking or forced. It was a good, clean laugh of bliss. He wasn't laughing because Francis was lying, he knew his brother didn't lie to him.

No, it was a laugh of relief, a laugh of acceptance, a laugh of love.

Once Matthew's mouth opened to let out a laugh, Francis's cheeks went slightly pink, feeling like he was being mocked- until he realized what the other was laughing at. Oh. Now he felt a little stupid.

"I know." Matthew said as he used the stupid hospital blanket to wipe the snot from his nose and drool from his chin. "God, crying is gross."

The Frenchman punched him playfully on the shoulder and huffed, "Crying is gross, but kind of manly. In a way. I don't know,"

"Eh, whatever." Smiling at his brother with a small shrug, he looked at the clock, pulling up the other's blanket and said, "Matthew, you need to sleep. I'm going to speak to Arthur- Mr. Kirkland, sleep."

"Hey, hey get a new blanket at least. Eeeew gross, gross!" Despite having passed out the night before and crying just minutes before he had enough energy to thrash around and kick the blanket off him. "Truck me in right dammit."

The taller blonde rolled his eyes and nodded, then let the bed slowly recline down with a button, and he pulled the blankets up again, tucking Matthew in properly. "Goodnight, stupid," he mumbled, and leaned down to give his forehead a small peck, "Gross but whatever."

Matthew huffed at the blanket being returned to his person. He may or may have not pouted like a five year old. "Tu es trés stupide, Françis."

"Tais-toi," Francis laughed and left the room, giving his shoulder a squeeze before going out of the room and looking at the nurse or whatever he was.

Outside of Matthew's room, Arthur was collecting needed medicine and papers that needed filling out. He turned to Francis when he approached. "Oh, hello."

"Hello. I'm- sorry for what you saw earlier- a little emotional."

"He's a teen, of course he'll cry. I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. I almost thought he was in denial. I should apologise for how I spoke with you earlier. I'm sure you're not actually that reckless with your body." Arthur said with a small smile. "Now I have everything needed for Matthew and you can have him discharged as you see fit."

Laughing humorlessly at the others comment, Francis shrugged and sighed, deciding not to say anymore about his small pleasures in life that really did harm to him. "Alright. Here's my number. Well, I'm sure you have it already. From the files. I'll see you tomorrow then. I've already asked for him to be discharged and they said since you'd be there..." He sighed again. He didn't want to seem too rude, but nothing was going right today.

"Then here are the medicines he'll need tonight." Arthur opened up the rolling box that could also double as a professional makeup carrier and pulled free some pills. "And give him liquid foods. Until the pills are in regular use he'll just puke up any solid foods."

He'll just puke up any solid foods. His stomach dropped, and he felt the tears urging to spill again, but he stopped himself with sheer will power, and nodded as he took the pills. "Oh... Kay. Okay," he repeated, gripping the bottle of pills. "Just with water then?" He said in a small voice.

"A glass of water or pureed fruit." Arthur offered something with some substance, It took a moment but he caught onto Francis' emotions and tried to correct how casually he was treating this. "He'll be able to eat normally soon enough."

"Alright, alright," he nodded, keeping his posture calm, but his hands were trembling just slightly. He felt...he felt like, er well. Francis heaved a sigh before asking in a small voice. "Mr. Kirkland, is there really no cure for him?"

"I'm truly sorry Mr. Bonnefoy." Arthur replied as calmly as he could. He could see the Frenchman's hands betraying him. It was always painful to lose someone to cancer, especially someone so young. "Truly sorry."

"... Yea," his voice was choked, but he managed to speak. "Yea. Alright. Sorry for bothering, actually, could you come home with us?" He asked. When Arthur nodded with a small 'of course' Francis left and returned to his brother's hospital room again, sitting on the chair and leaning against the bed, hands still trembling slightly. God.

Matthew didn't stay asleep for long. How could he when his brother's presence was looming in the room already mourning him! Besides that damned beeping was annoying. Did he mention that he hated the hospital? When his blue eyes opened he let out a rather pathetic whine. "Je voudrais rentrer à chez nous."

The Frenchman actually laughed at the others little, annoyed whine, and he nodded, "Je sais," he mumbled back, and stood from the chair, stretching with a loud groan. "Should we drive Arthur home too? Right. He lives with us now."

"I thought he wasn't coming home with us." Matthew muttered, clearly not as awake as he thought. He did remember Arthur and Francis discussing the former coming over tomorrow. Personally? Matt was thankful it was the weekend. When school returned on Monday, so would normal life.

"Well, he is. Personal- carer or whatever he said he was," the Frenchman sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and went to grab a cigarette. Right. Hospital. Fuck. He needed to stop anyways. The blonde looked at his brother and said, "Ready to go back?"

"Medical caretaker." Matthew corrected then realised he didn't care for the term and shrugged. "Can we at least get him to deneedle and make the heart monitor stop reading me?"

"Yea- wait a bit, I'll go get him," he said, leaning a little closer to give his shoulder a squeeze before he left the room and looked around, "... Arthur?"

The Brit turned and raised a brow. What did Francis want now? He tilted his head slightly as he asked what was needed of him. Then he quickly nodded. "Of course."

Grabbing a pair of sterile gloves, Arthur went to the younger Bonnefoy's room and detached him from the IV drips and heart monitor. Watching Arthur slowly and carefully take the needles out felt like needles were being stuck into his own arm. Harshly. Well, to his heart- his poor, poor brother. Poor, young and beautiful- he wouldn't be able to see him get married. His heart clenched again. He put bandaids over the needle marks before backing up. "And there we are. Enjoy your evening."

"...You too?" Matthew asked rather than said. He got dressed in a hoodie and pants before standing in front of Francis. "Did you bring a car or are we bussing home?"

"Car, of course," he laughed, and shook his head. At some point during Matthew's hospital stay, the Frenchman had returned home to get his car. "You know how I need my own space,"

He grinned and opened the door for his brother. He couldn't help it as he watched the other past, he thought of Matthew dying. He won't be married, might not even make it to graduation, heck even his 17th birthday might be too far off. It depended how well the medicine worked. It wouldn't cure, but it could prolong the inevitable and make it less painful.

Matthew laught at his brother's words as he wandered into the hallway. Space was it? "I suppose you will have to enjoy it while you can since three is a crowd."

God, at least give him another birthday. Maybe two. Or four- Francis didn't know, he just wanted Matthew to stay as he heard that mocking laugh. At least stay until he was old. Legitimately old- the Frenchman pushed the thoughts aside, knowing that the negativity wouldn't help.

"I like you, but I don't know about Arthur. Seems a little... Uptight. Not a fun guy. A nurse," he teased.

Matthew paused and mused over bother his brother's words and his own thoughts. He wanted to graduate. He was even getting fancy stickers that proved he was an outstanding student and in the top ten of his class (so far.) He wanted to stand next to Alfred, Gilbert and Mags after graduation and pose for pictures then scold Gilbert and Mags for pda before getting swooped up by an over enthused Alfred.

Just because he wanted it didn't mean it'd happen. Their parents did always say "it is nice to want things." Even if that meant they weren't buying him something.

Coming back to reality he responded to his brother, "not a fun guy? Sounds like Alfie's opinion of you when you're slooshed." Matt battered back. He stopped walking and took a sharp inhale. "God, Alfred..."

"I'm very fun when slooshed, whatever the hell that is-" his eyes widened as his brother's words reached him. Oh god. Alfred. The best friend. Francis reached over to give his hand a squeeze, and he stared at the other male, "... Do you want me to tell him?" He asked, in a soft and reassuring voice despite the hard truth that Matthew wasn't going to be there. For long.

God.

What did Matthew do to possibly deserve this?

"N...No. I have to, this is my fault." Matthew bit out. He didn't want to, oh how he didn't want to. Hiding behind his brother wasn't much better of an option though. Yet he didn't know if his brother even remembered what the American looked like. Taking a deep breath he decided, "I'll tell them at school..."

For now, he'd keep walking, squeezing Francis' hand back before slipping out of the grip. "Qu'est-ce manger pour dîner?"

"... Okay, okay. If you say so," he said, walking alongside of the slightly shorter male on his side, listening to his always delightful French. "Something nice. Something you want to eat, alright? I'm pretty sure Arthur won't mind anything you'd like to eat- you know how good of a cook I am."

Speaking of Arthur, they should drive him too, shouldn't they.

Matthew hummed as he thought it over . He didn't want to admit that food wasn't on the top of his mind save to seem normal. "Then I want salmon."

Arthur would remind Francis that his brother couldn't have solid food. Still, he had to set up all of the stuff Matthew needed. Taking him home would be nice. Where was he?

"Then we'll have salmon," he said with a grin, and have his brothers back a gentle, but friendly pat before looking around for that blasted nurse. He knew Arthur wasn't one. But he sure seemed like one. The Frenchman called out, slightly obnoxiously, "Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?"

"Careful, saying his name might make the devil appear." Matthew teased and sure enough the Brit showed up, the makeup med kit in tow.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked the pair. Just what did they want from him? Where they really taking off that soon?

"Speak of the devil," Francis muttered back to the other as he chuckled and shook his head to the Briton, "Yes, we were just about to pick you up, actually," he said, eyeing the kit. Ugh. He'd have to get Arthur's room ready too.