Chapter Text
"Why!"
There are tears among blind rage in his father's eyes.
"Why is it you?"
His father is breaking down, falling apart.
"It's all your fault!"
It hurts. Such cruel words, no care or concern for his son standing right in front of him, soaked from head to foot in icy water, so much water running down his face it's indistinguishable if it's from the rain or if it's his own tears. But his Father doesn't care. Instead, Arthur cruelly lays the blame on his shoulders.
"If you hadn't have taken him with you-"
"Mattie!"
Alfred's always bright and cheerful voice.
"Where are you going? Don't tell me you were going to go without me?"
He hadn't asked Alfred to come. Alfred had just invited himself aboard when he heard Mathew was going sailing. It was supposed to just be a nice afternoon out, enjoying the brisk ocean wind alone.
But Mathew can't say those words to his father, even if he could make himself speak. His Father won't listen anyways.
"Alfred... My Alfred!"
His father, his proud, unbreakable father, is broken, and empty husk of a prideful man gone crazy with grief.
"He should have been wearing a life vest!" Arthur turned on Mathew again, bloodshot eyes burning beneath the tears. "You should have made him wear the vest!"
"Those are for babies! I'm not wearing that it's embarrassing! You know I'll be fine Mattie! I've always been before!"
Alfred tosses the life vest to the side, disregarding, throwing himself onto the bench with his usual charming grin.
Alfred had never listened to Mathew anyways, Arthur knew that. Alfred didn't even listen to Arthur. Not that Arthur cared.
"If it wasn't for you, Alfred would be here right now!"
In Arthur's heart, it would always be Mathew's fault that Alfred died. He didn't even care that Mathew was the one who just lost his brother, his only twin, he didn't care if Mathew was in pain or not, if he felt guilty and regretted or not. No, Arthur didn't care about Mathew at all.
"Alfred should have been the one to come back!"
He just wished Mathew was the one who died instead.
Arthur's friend arrives, someone must have called him when the storm arrived, he must have been comforting Arthur, waiting for the boys to return. Why was he only coming now? Maybe he'd thought it was a happy return, both children back safe , Alfred in his father's arms. Maybe he was only now realizing something wasn't right and coming to check.
Mathew still resented him for being late.
"How could you not notice!"
Arthur's rage is so overwhelming Mathew takes a step back, scared for his own life. Scared his father might try to kill him as revenge for Alfred.
"It wasn't my fault!" He blurts out, forgetting the dangers of refuting his father, "I didn't know! The waves were so loud and I was trying to keep the boat under control and -"
"Hold on!"
The rough wind blows his words away, and he knows they won't even reach his brother. He rushed to take down the sails, threatening to capsize the boat in the fierce wind. He can't tell if it's raining or if it's the crashing waves that make the deck slippery, but he doesn't have time to mind it. He's barely able to get the sails down, but he's far from getting the boat under control.
It's turning, down presenting its side to the waves that crash over it, if he can't adjust the direction the boat faces, the next wave will take it under! He drops the sails and rushes for the rudder.
"Al, tie the sails!"
He's sure Alfred can't hear that command over the wind either. It's up to him to bring the boat back safely. He barely manages to adjust the course so the boat rides the next wave that rises instead of crashing under it.
He's not out of danger yet, but it's safer than before. The sails are still flapping in the wind where it catches them not yet tied down. He spins to point them to Alfred-
But there's no one else on deck. The railing his brother had been clinging to moments before is empty, and Alfred is nowhere to be seen neither on the boat or amongst the stormy black water.
Mathew reels back under Arthur's slap.
"How dare you!" Arthur's voice is shaking, "If you had made him wear his life vest like he was supposed to, Alfred would be here right now!"
Like a shining angel, Arthur's friend interferes.
"Art'ur! Stop! It's not 'is fault!"
Mathew wants to cry, more than his father is right now. Because it's not his fault. He knows this. Francis knows this. His father knows this. They're both the same age, Alfred knew just as much as Mathew to wear a life vest, and it was Alfred who chose not to. It wasn't Mathew's job to babysit his brother, and Alfred wouldn't have listened even if Mathew had insisted he wear the vest. Alfred didn't listen to anyone.
But Arthur would still blame Mathew all the same.
"If you hadn't taken him with you, Alfred would still be here!"
And Mathew would have been alone in the raging ocean, tossed about and struggling. Maybe he wouldn't have made it back. Would Arthur even care? Or did he wish that was what had happened? He knew he shouldn't speak, it would only make his father angrier,but even so Mathew couldn't hold back.
"Then do you wish I had died instead, Dad?"
His father's friend flinches at Mathew pitiful question, and no doubt he looks twice as pitiful, soaked, scratched from sliding around the wet deck of the boat on the waves, check red and swelling from his father's own blow, not even given the time to mourn his own brother's loss before the assault.
Arthur's eyes widen, but betray no pity or guilt. Even if his father didn't answer, Mathew knows the answer. But Arthur says it anyways.
"Maybe it would be better that way."
A suddenly lost tone, empty and contrasting his rage only seconds ago, but still firm enough to hear over the howling rain. Francis gasps, still holding his father back, and tries to reason with him.
"Art'ur, no! You don't mean that! You are just upset!"
"Daddy?"
Mathew still remembers how he felt at only five years old, seeking comfort from his father.
"Hmm? What is it?"
Arthur holds Alfred tightly in his arms, his twin having only just fallen asleep after fits of nightmares woke him in the night.
"Do you love Alfie more than me? "
Alfred was the one who said so, earlier that day, and Mathew had gotten timeout for fighting him over it. Now, seeing how his father only comforts Alfred even though they both had nightmares, Mathew's afraid that Alfred was right.
Arthur looks startled.
"Alfred... Alfred just needs a little more attention, Mathew. You know he's sensitive."
Mathew must not look convinced, because Arthur reaches out a free hand to ruffle Mathew's hair.
"You know I love you too, right?"
The hand is warm in his hair, and Mathew almost whines when it pulls away. Alfred stirs in his sleep, and Arthur immediately forgets Mathew, shushing him gently.
"Hush now, off to bed, I'll put Alfred to sleep in a little bit."
And for some reason Mathew is sent off into the dark scary hallway to make his way timidly back to his room, and Alfred stays held tight in his father's arms. Alfred doesn't come back to their room at all that night, Mathew finds out in the morning Alfred got to sleep with Arthur. Something uneasy solidifies in his heart.
Arthur never told him he was wrong.
Mathew's known for a long time that his father doesn't love him as much as his brother, but Arthur's never said it straight out before. He chokes suddenly, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, coughing and hacking in a wierd sound. At some point, he's fallen down, and he curls into himself in the wet bank, trying to remember how to breathe.
There's a hand on his back, patting him, and voice trying to remind him to breathe, to calm down, but it's not Arthur's. His father's best friend soothes the son instead of the father. It's all a cruel joke to Mathew.
"I-" words he shouldn't say, worms writhing in his heart, "I can't bring Alfred back!"
He's sobbing, he realizes, that's the strange hacking, choking sound he's hearing. His own, broken sobs.
"I didn't want this! It's not my fault!"
"Shh," Francis tries to soothe him, now rubbing circles on his back, "It's okay, we know."
No. They don't know. They don't know anything at all.
"Even if I die I can't trade my life for his! I can't bring him back!"
His vision is so blurred with tears he can't even see his own hands in front of his face, let alone his father's face. Even if his father doesn't love him like his brother, isn't it too much? Even if Mathew dies, Alfred won't come back. But, if there was a way to make that happen, Mathew knows Arthur would choose that option in a heartbeat. He's always known his father loved him less. But he'd thought his father still loved him, even a little.
Now he's learning he was wrong.
"I shouldn't have taken Alfred with me!" Regret, much too late to matter. "I made a mistake! I should have died alone!"
"No!"
Synchronized cries, both Francis and Arthur.
At least his father has regained the presence of mind to deny it now.
"I was wrong!"
He was stupid. He'd made a mistake. He should never have let Alfred go with him, he shouldn't have let Alfred refuse to wear the life jacket. No, the one who should have drowned was him.
"I should have been the one to die!"
"Mathew!"
Only now does Arthur realize his mistake, the truth he accidentally shared. Too late, he denies it.
Too late, like Mathew's regret.
Too late, like Mathew's understanding.
Too late, like Francis's defense.
"Stay back!" Francis's voice is rough, "Haven't you done enough?"
It's not Mathew he's yelling at though. Even through his tears, Mathew had see Arthur's blurry form flinch. Francis curls his arm around Mathew, half-lifting, half-supporting him as he pulls him to his feet.
"At the very least," - Francis must be crying, his voice is shaking- "You should treasure the son you still 'ave."
Suddenly, Mathew is laughing, hysterically.
'Treasure the son he has left'? Arthur has never treasured him not once. He was just the unfortunate extra that came with the real treasure, Alfred's unwanted add-on. Even with Alfred gone, Arthur didn't love Mathew, wouldn't hold him or comfort him.
It was all a mistake.
Francis seemed upset at Mathew's sudden hysterical laughter, and pulled him into a hug. A hug that could never replicate or replace one from his father, but it was still all Mathew had. No more Alfred to hold his hand, or assure Mathew he loved Mathew the best, no more Alfred who comforted him when he was dumped and stayed by Mathew's side even when Mathew was being a jerk.
Even when Mathew was hateful towards him.
He'd made a mistake.
And because of that mistake, in just one night, he'd lost the only one who loved him.
And even in the face of Francis's rebuke, Arthur stayed silent. He didn't try to mutter even a half-hearted apology, or take back his early words and accusations. He just stayed, silent in the pouring rain, as Mathew let Francis pull him away and lead him into the house, pushing him towards the shower and urging him to get warm.
He must have gone back to get Arthur when Mathew was in the shower, because he could still hear Francis's raised, though muffled voice, over the spray of water from the shower head from the floor below. The lights from the police car was still flashing in the dark, painting the bathroom red and blue through the window.
Mathew stood in the shower running cold water, but somehow he could barely feel the frigid water hit his skin. Maybe it was because he was already so cold from being doused with icy sea water during the storm, or from the rain as his father lashed out at him on the shore. Or maybe it was because he was cold-blooded, and his viens were full of ice.
It would definitely explain why he couldn't feel anything at all emotionally, at least.
Alfred was gone, but Mathew couldn't even cry for his brother.
Arthur had lost his favourite son, but Mathew couldn't cry for Arthur either.
Mathew couldn't even cry for himself anymore.
Alfred shouldn't have died. Not Alfred, the center of all the love in their family.
Alfred, who loved Mathew.
Mathew who thought he loved Alfred.
Arthur, who only loved Alfred.
And all that was left was Mathew, who was not loved.
Maybe it would have been better if Arthur had died. At least then Mathew would still have Alfred for comfort. And Alfred would have only Mathew for love too.
No, he knows he's being crazy. Something inside must have snapped, hearing his father say he wished Mathew had died instead. How could he think that? Because, no matter what Arthur feels for Mathew, Mathew loves his father. He loves Arthur even more than he loved Alfred.
If only his father loved him.
"Mon Dieu, Mathew! Your skin is still ice cold!"
Arthur was nowhere to be seen when Mathew finally left the shower. All that was left was Francis, and officers Mathew didn't know.
And unlike his father, they listened as he recounted the story.
The boat trip he'd planned to take alone.
Alfred's sudden self-invitation.
His refusal to wear the life jacket.
The storm.
The sail, the waves.
The moment he realized Alfred was gone.
The perilous journey back.
He didn't tell them what his father had said though. He didn't tell them what happened when his father found Mathew had returned alone. He didn't want to think about it.
"Is your brother a good swimmer?"
An optimistic question from a cop, disregarding the truth they all felt inside. Mathew shook his head.
"He never learned." Francis answers for him,still hovering nervously at Mathew's shoulder, tucking the blanket tighter around him.
"He went out sailing without a life jacket even though he couldn't swim?"
The officers seem shocked. Mathew can't even make eye contact, feeling like he's second from a meltdown.
"It's not my fault." He whispers pathetically at the floor."I didn't make it happen."
Mathew hadn't caused the waves, he didn't cause the storm or push Alfred overboard. It wasn't his fault Alfred didn't wear his life coat, or that Arthur never bothered to teach his favourite child to swim. It wasn't his fault Alfred decided to come.
"I know, cher."
Francis's pained and gentle voice, pitying Mathew and the whole situation. Mathew sees the face the officers make at his words from underneath his wet bangs, but makes no effort to answer them, and he hears Francis shake his head at the cops to warn them not to ask, but can't find it in himself to care.
"I'm tired."
He says instead, and he means it. He's tired in every aspect, emotionally, physically, mentally. He's tired of everything, he just wants it to be over. The police seem to sense this, releasing him to his bedroom to get well needed rest.
He doesn't get any regardless.
He doesn't ask where his father is when Francis brings him some hot lemon tea, and Francis doesn't tell him. No one tells him anything at all. Mathew curls beneath his blankets and tries not to shiver in the room he used to share with Alfred, once bright and warm and now cold and empty.
At one am in the morning Alfred's body is found.
No one tells Mathew, but he knows anyways. He can see it all unfold from his window. Mathew doesn't try to go down and see. He doesn't want to see. He doesn't want to be blamed again either.
Mathew sleeps fitfully that night, plagued by memories of the day.
"It's embarrassing."
The life vest tossed aside.
"I'm coming too!"
Alfred boarding at the dock.
"Uh, Mattie? Aren't the waves gettikng kinda big?"
The rising storm.
"Hold on!"
The metal railing, slippery with water.
"Why is it you?"
Arthur's wild, grieving cries.
"It's not my fault! "
And his own excuses.
Arthur still isn't there when he wakes up, feverish but alert, coughing in deep, painful rasps from his lungs.
"Here, drink this."
It's Francis who forces him to drink the bowl of warm and rich broth and take the medicine provided.
"Where's Dad?"
And it's Francis who answers the hoarse question Mathew barely is able to force out.
"Arthur..." Francis hesitates, and Mathew knows he's picking and choosing words to not upset Mathew. "He 'ad to go to the hôpital for a bit... But Im sure he be back soon."
Arthur, who was safe on dry land and only in the cold and rain for a third the time Mathew was had been sent to the hospital, but not Mathew? Even if Francis refuses to explain, Mathew's smart enough to figure out the reason why.
"Do you wish I had died instead, Dad?"
"Maybe it would have been better that way."
Mathew looks at his lap, hidden under layers of thick blankets.
"Will Dad be happier if I'm gone?"
Everything happens for a reason, Mathew knows that, so there must be a reason that Mathew isn't loved. He had thought it was Alfred. His twin was just too much better, brighter, cuter, more charismatic. But Alfred is gone, and his father loves him even less now. So then the reason he's hated must be himself.
"What's wrong with me, Francis?"
Francis panics at Mathew's dark questions, hurrying to pull Mathew into a tight embrace and babble excuses on Arthur's behalf.
"Non! Mathieu its not like that! Art'hr didn't mean any of that! He was just upset, and broken-hearted, and he was looking for something, anything to blame!"
Francis's voice shakes with his excuses, and Mathew fells something hot and wet hit the back of his neck and roll down, then another, and another. Francis's tears.
"There's nothing wrong with you, cher. It was just an accident, it's not your fault."
Mathew wished he could believe that. But even if Francis refuses to tell him, he knows what's wrong with him.
"I don't feel anything."
"Shhh, cher. You're in shock. It's normal."
No, it's not normal, Mathew knows this. Because he'd felt this way before Arthur ever found out. Before he returned alone. Before Alfred had fallen overboard.
Before he first set out sailing.
Something inside him is broken, something that should work doesn't. Something is so wrong with him Arthur sensed it. And that's why his father doesn't love him. He confesses this truth to Francis in a fragile voice.
"I killed Alfred."
"No!"
Francis suddenly pushes him back by the shoulders, and now Mathew can see his face clearly. The reddening rims and overflowing tears, the twisted look of hurt and pain in his face.
"It's not your fault!" Francis admonishes. "Don't ever tell yourself it is!"
Mathew doesn't say anything about at all in response.
He doesn't see Arthur till three days later, at the hastily arranged funeral.
Black. Everything is black. Alfred would have hated this, if he could see it. He always liked bright colours like blue and red. He said black felt depressing. Mathew couldn't agree more.
The black clothes only makes Arthur's pale face look whiter still, and highlights the dark bags under his eyes,though Mathew only sees his face briefly before Arthur avoids his gaze. Even at his own brother's funeral, his father won't even meet Mathew's eyes. Francis squeezes his shoulder.
The service is long and redundant, a speech full of things Mathew already knows. Alfred was a bright and charismatic young man. He loved life and loved to live, always trying new things and going to new places. He was adventurous and loved by all. He will be missed, both by his loving father and brother, and his many friends and acquaintances. Alfred always brought life and laughter wherever he went, and would always brighten rooms with his smile.
Anyone who knew Alfred knew this without being told. Alfred was the light, and Mathew was his shadow. He wondered if his own funeral would be like this, what they would say about him. Would they struggle to describe him, to find a way to put a positive twist on his negative existence? Would they cry for him too?
Arthur was openly sobbing again, blowing his nose loudly into a tissue, and Mathew felt the writhing in his heart again.
No, Arthur wouldn't cry. He probably wouldn't even come. He would have been happy, probably, if it was Mathew in that coffin instead. Alfred would have cried for him, or Mathew hoped he would anyways. But Alfred wasn't there any longer. It was the biggest mistake Mathew had ever made.
When the service ends, one by one, Alfred's family and friends go up to the coffin to say their final goodbyes. All but Mathew. He doesn't have the right to go up with everyone else. Francis tries to push him out of his seat to go up, but Mathew braces himself and refuses.
"I can't."
His voice breaks as he tries to say the words, like he's on the edge of breaking down. Francis stops pushing, and his voice sounds just as close to tears as he reassures Mathew before he takes his turn.
"It's not your fault, Mathieu."
If he only knew.
Mathew stays, frozen in his seat, as people file up to say their last goodbyes, and then, slowly, finally move to the reception room to comfort his broken-hearted father. Only when the last person leaves does Mathew finally approach the coffin.
It's closed - either Alfred's body was in no shape to see, or Arthur couldn't bear to see him gone- and it forces Mathew to face something he doesn't want to face.
He'll never see Alfred again, and it's all his fault.
"I'm sorry, Al."
The coffin doesn't answer, but he doesn't expect it to. Thats the only reason he's able to pour his heart out to it, keeping his tone low enough no one will hear his words if they come in.
"I messed up."
He'd miscalculated.
"I thought..." He drops his head against the coffin. "Dad said I should have died instead of you."
"Maybe that would have been better."
"I thought he loved me, but I was wrong. He said it was all my fault you died."
Arthur alone had accused Mathew, saying it was his fault. Not the officers, not their friends and family, not Francis. Only Arthur. But Arthur was the one whose words mattered.
"Everyone else says it wasn't my fault. They said I couldn't have known there was going to be a storm, or that we'd get stuck in it, that it was just an accident."
Hes heard so many assurances over the past few days, from Francis, from friends, from the grief therapist at the hospital when Francis made him get checked out. But...
"But you know, Al?"
Mathew remembered checking the weather several days on advance before he planned the trip.
"It wasn't an accident."
Thr truth no one else could ever know.
"I knew there was going to be a storm, that's why I picked that day to go."
"Forecast is showing heavy rain and wind, so be careful to stay off the water and indoors in the afternoon to avoid being caught in the cold! The Storm is expected to continue late into the night, with wind speeds up to-"
"I knew if you saw me getting ready to go sailing, you'd want to go to."
"Dad, I'm going out for a bit!"
"Hmm? Oh. Are you sure? Alfred will be home soon."
"I know."
"And I knew you wouldn't wear the life jacket, not after Gil teased you so hard that time you tried the paddleboat."
" Pftt! You look like a toddler in that bro! So uncool! Just don't wear it, like me!"
"It's regulation! I'm not wearing it because I want to!"
"Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of a baby crying!"
"Shut up Gil!
" Make me!"
"I knew you couldn't swim, I could have made you wear it anyways."
"I'm not wearing that it's embarrassing! You know I'll be fine Mattie! I've always been before!"
"... Sure. If you say so."
"It's true!"
"Says the guy who doesn't even know how to swim."
"Huh? What was that?"
"Nothing."
Mathew wonders if Alfred would blame him. Maybe not. It was true he'd purposely brought Alfred out in the storm, and didn't make him wear a life vest even though Alfred couldn't swim, but Alfred would probably say those were his own choices. Alfred was that kind of guy. He'd blame Mathew for stupid little things like him dropping his donut or "sneezing too loud" and waking Alfred up, but never the things that actually mattered.
Good or bad, Alfred alway took responsibility for his actions. But Mathew doubted Alfred would forgive him if he knew what Mathew was going to say next.
"I knew you would fall."
Alfred was predictable, after all. It wasn't the first time he'd insisted on sailing with Mathew without a life vest, and everytime he clung to the railing and leaned over the edge to feel the breeze in his face, like some sort of giant furless dog. That's why it needed to be in a storm. It was the only way it could become an "accident". Rough waves to toss the boat. Crashing water to make the railing slick. And all Mathew had to do was not be near the railing when the boat pitched.
Alfred clung to the railing, slick with water, and slides as the boat slides. He yells something, and Mathew's stomach turns.
"Mattie! Help!"
He feels sick. He loves Alfred.
"Hold on!"
He chooses to turn his back, to look away. He's planned this out for a while now, he can't stop now. He can't.
"-attie!"
He ignores the bits of shouts blown his way in the wind as he rushes to lower the sails before the rough winds blow the boat over.
"Hel-"
He can't look. He mustn't look.
"Al, Tie the sails!"
It's a pretense, he knows Alfred can't hear him over the wind, the same way he can't hear his brother pleading for help, not fully. He's not sure why he does that. Maybe it's because he loves Alfred.
He doesn't want his brother to die knowing he was betrayed.
Mathew drops the sails and rushes for the rudder. There's a big wave coming. The rails and deck is slick. Alfred's not wearing his life jacket. He needs a big jolt. He pulls the rudder, and the boat swings around, catching the wave with a jerk and riding it up only to come crashing down. For a second, he hears it clearly.
"Mattie!"
The only one who calls him that, his twin, his other half. The one who loves him more than his own father. In that second, Mathew regrets everything, just for a second. He feels a flash of panic, and he spins to look towards the railing. Like flipping a coin, he makes a choice. If Alfred is there, he'll save him. If he's not...
The railing is empty, deck clear. There's no sign of Alfred on the boat or amongst the stormy black water. Mathew's heart sinks and twists inside him, but he pushes the feeling aside.
... He follows the plan.
Its a perilous trip back in, and it will take all of his effort not to end up in the water, like Alfred. He tightens his life jacket just in case.
"I'm sorry, Alfie!"
He doesn't expect the tears to fall, he hasn't cried since the night it all happened. He'd thought he'd broken the part of him that made the tears, but to his surprise, the tears come anyways, quickly escalating into full-bodied sobs.
"I'm sorry! I made a mistake!"
He would never have done it if he knew it would end like this.
"I just wanted Dad to love me like he loves you!"
He had thought, with Alfred gone, he might finally get his wish.
"I didn't think- I didn't know that it would end like this!"
There's a creak somewhere behind him, a presence entering the room, but Mathew doesn't care anymore. The confession is over and done with, and all that's left is regrets.
He didn't know his father didn't love him, he hadn't expected his own dad would wish he had died instead. He hadn't expected to miss Alfred that much. He didn't know it would turn out this way.
"I didn't want it to turn out like this."
He struggles to control the raking sobs that seem to claw at his lungs from the inside. He's crying so hard it's beginning to give him a headache, leaving him faint and light-headed from the lack of air.
"I'm sorry, Al. It's all my fault!"
If he was just the tiniest bit worse of a person, if Alfred had loved him a little less than he did, he might have blamed Alfred instead.
"It's your fault your dad's favourite! This wouldn't have happened if you didn't hog all his love for yourself!"
But Alfred never chose to be the favourite, just like Mathew hadn't chosen not to be the favourite. And Alfred didn't hog their father's love. As much love as Alfred recieved from Arthur, he gave to Mathew. As much as Arthur doted on Alfred, Alfred did the same for Mathew. It wasn't Alfred's fault he was loved, and Mathew wasn't.
It wasn't Alfred's fault Mathew had to get rid him either.
Somehow, it was Mathew's fault. Something he did made him not good enough, made his father not love him. It had to be Mathew's fault, because who else could it be?
"Mathew."
A familiar yet oddly some voice calls out to him from behind.
Mathew quickly tries to cut his own sobs off, choking on them and coughing desperately.
"Mathew?"
He manages to get ahold of himself, swiping a sleeve across his face, and turns to face the one person he wants more than anything.
"Dad?"
He hiccups on the word, breaking it as he speaks, and Arthur looks paler and more drawn than before. Mathew can feel his father's sharp eyes inspecting him from his crumpled form now practically lying over Alfred's coffin to his likely blotched and swollen tearstained face and runny nose. He ses the second Arthur draws his conclusion, face twisting painfully.
"I'm sorry."
Mathew's frozen under his father's words.
Sorry? Sorry for what? For avoiding Mathew these past days? For blaming him for Alfred's death? For wishing Mathew had died instead? Did it even matter? It was Mathew's own fault, after all.
Arthur shuffled forwards a bit more, awkward and hesitant.
"I.. shouldn't have blamed you, I shouldn't have said those things."
Mathew's transfixed. It's the first time he can remember receiving an apology from Arthur. Arthur looks more pained at Mathew's deer-in-headlights look, and begins to ramble.
"I was just... I was heartbroken and grieving and shocked and you were so calm I just lost my mind."
Had he been calm? Had he seemed calm? Mathew doesn't remember, but he doesn't feel like he was. How could he be calm when his own brother had just died? How could he be calm when it was his fault?
"I wasn't calm."
Mathew hiccups through his words, and nearly chokes again trying to hold it back. Arthur looks like he has a dagger twisted in his side.
"I know. You were just in shock. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean any of it Mathew, please believe me!"
Mathew is so shocked his hiccups stop.
".. You didn't mean it?"
Arthur starts crying again, this time silent and giant tears spilling down his face, and he stumbles through his assurances.
" No, Mathew I could never mean that. It wasnt your fault, it was mine, and I love you, I'd never want you to die either. "
Mathew's world, which was falling apart just moments ago, is beginning to make sense again. He tries to get to hid feet, rather unsteady, and leaning heavily on Alfred's coffin to support himself.
"Really?"
Arthur couldn't look more heartbroken if he'd had two hearts to break. He swallowed heavily and wiped his tears away with his handkerchief.
"I love you, Mathew. I'm glad you survived. Please forgive me?"
Mathew's tender broken heart is throbbing again, but a different way than before.
"If you love me, can you hug me Dad?"
A test, to make sure it's not just lip service, that his father is being honest and not putting on a show for the guests discreetly peaking through the doorway.
And Arthur opens his arms in response. Mathew all but collapses into his father's arms. It's everything he hoped it would be. It's warm, and comforting, and he can feel his dads heart beating through his suit jacket. It feels alive. The t feels like Mathew is loved.
"Thanks, Dad." He's crying again too, even though he'd barely just stopped, silent wet raindrops that fall on Arthur's neck and shoulder. "I love you."
Even though he should be happy, he feels another tinge of jealousy towards Alfred, who got to be hugged and held as much as he wanted when they were growing up. Without meaning too, Mathew spills his jealous feelings.
"When I was little you could never hug me like this because you were always holding Al."
Arthur misunderstands.
"I know, Mathew. I'll miss hugging him too."
Mathew feels a flash of resentment again.
"You have me."
Arthur buries his face in Mathew's hair, taking shakily breaths to steady himself.
"Yes. I still have you. I'm so, so sorry Mathew. It wasn't your fault and I'm glad you're alive."
It's an incredible relief to Mathew to hear those words. He should have listened to Francis after all. It isn't his fault. It was never his fault, and his father loved him all along.
"It's not my fault." Mathew repeats expirimentally.
"Yes," Arthur promises, pressing a kiss to the top of Mathew's head. "It's not your fault. It was mine."
Mathew feels at ease again, suddenly calm. He still misses Alfred, an insane amount, but it's not as hard now that he's not alone. Not now that he's loved. Not now that he knows it's not his fault.
"Come on, Mathew." Arthur finally pulls away. "Let's get you some water, you must be dehydrated."
Obediently, Mathew let's his father lead him to the reception room, eyes blazing.
That's right. If was neither Alfred's nor his fault. It was Arthur's fault the whole time.
"It's his fault for loving Al more than me." Mathew whispers aloud.
"Pardon me?" Arthur hears him speak, but not what he says, and Mathew does his best to form a smile.
"Nothing!"
Arthur shakes his head.
"Wait here. I'll be right back with water."
He's glad Arthur didn't ask him to come to come with him, since his head is still spinning from crying. Instead he leans against the refreshment table and glares at the giant picture of the three of them, Alfred grinning widely in the middle one arm around each family members shoulders. Even in the picture, Arthur was only hugging Alfred.
"It's your fault," Mathew mutters under his breath one more time, "If you loved us the same Al would still be here today."
Arthur returns with the water and Mathew gulps the water down quickly, finally able to swallow past the lump in his throat. With Arthur's admittance of guilt, Mathew's own guilt has flowed away too.
After all, it was Arthur's fault Alfred had died.
"It's not my fault."
End