Archive of Our Own

Silence had never been something to fear, in Matthew's eyes. While others spoke of the crushing emotions that smothered them in the quiet, Matthew embraced it with open arms. It was his only companion during hard times- or, well, any times for that matter.

He couldn't remember the last time the stillness around him hadn't been filled artificially (besides Kumajirou), by computers and phones and TV's; he couldn't remember the last time someone had came to him and struck up a conversation themselves- and kept it going for more than a minute.

Embarassing. 

The only person that tried to talk to him regularly was Alfred, but recently, he'd seemed to have forgotten Matthew existed just like everyone else. Francis and Arthur hadn't reached out to him in a while, either. The only interaction Matthew had with any of them was with Arthur was two days ago, when he slid a paper to him and Arthur had mumbled "Thank you, Alfred." Matthew wanted to cry, and he did.

Nobody at the meeting noticed anyway, he thought.

That was all he was ever noticed for. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. "Are you America, by any chance?" and he would always respond with "No, I'm Canada. He's over there," and they would be gone before he even finished, unwilling to listen. All they wanted to hear about was Alfred F. Jones. Matthew Williams? Completely irrelevant. Who's he?

And so it was these thoughts that incouraged him to cut, cut, cut, and cut until he couldn't anymore, until blood was steadily flowing out of every visible piece of skin in his body. Trickling down his arms, legs, and thighs, slicing until he felt that he was going to pass out. He was glad Kumajirou was asleep; the bear wouldn't let him do this. His only true friend. Alfred was the cause of all his misery, he thought.

If Alfred didn't exist, Matthew wouldn't have to deal with this-

What am I THINKING? He's my younger brother! Matthew stumbled, sitting on his bed with a groan of pain. He was undeniably disappointed in himself for even thinking such a statement, and ashamed. What would Francis and Arthur think? Oh, to hell with them. They don't care about you.

And again Matthew shook his head, how could he be thinking stuff like this? They're his family! It must just be all the blood leaving his head...oh, he should clean these up. God, he cut deep today. He began to clean the wounds, able to stand the sting of antiseptic by now- he had been doing this for years and nobody had cared. Matthew did start to get a little worried, though, when the wounds continued leaking. There was one particular cut that seemed REALLY deep; Matthew thought he could see...yellow?

Oh, shit.

He needed help, and he needed help now.

He dropped down to his phone on the floor, pressing a cloth to his deeper wounds to stop the bleeding while frantically dialing Alfred's number.

Ring, ring, ring...

"Hey, you've reached-" Matthew declined. "Fuck," he muttered, he was feeling lightheaded. "Don't pass out now..." So he dialed Arthur's number. It rang, and rang, and rang, voicemail again. And he tried Francis's number. He declined after the second ring; right, he's probably busy right now. Still, the rejection made Matthew's heart ache, along with his entire body. Who else cared enough about him to call?

Matthew’s phone slipped from his hand, the screen dimming as his vision blurred. His breath came shallow, uneven, and the room tilted in slow, nauseating waves. He pressed the cloth harder against his arm, but his fingers were losing strength.

He whispered, barely audible, “Please… someone…”

The hallway outside his room creaked.

At first, Matthew thought he imagined it — the sound was distant, muffled, like everything else. Maybe he was just dying and imagining things, he thought with a frown. But then he heard it again: footsteps. Fast, irritated, heavy. Familiar. He heard 3 hard knocks on his door, and a huff from the other side. Someone who actually cared enough to save him, someone who cared more than his own family.

“Oi. Canada. You in there?"

Matthew’s heart stuttered.

Lovino Vargas, of all people.

He tried to answer, but his already-quiet voice came out as a rasp. “L‑Lovi…?”

Another knock, harder this time. “I swear to God, if you’re ignoring me because you’re asleep at eight in the evening, you and your fucked up sleep schedule..." A pause. Then the doorknob rattled. “Canada? Open the door.”

Matthew tried to stand, but his legs buckled. He hit the floor with a thud, breath knocked out of him, and he let out a pained hiss. The sound must’ve carried through the door, because Lovino's voice sharpened instantly- not from anger, but from worry. “Matthew? What the hell was that?”

Matthew gathered the remnants of his voice and forced out a weak, “Help…”

There was a beat of silence before the door slammed open so hard it hit the wall. Lovino stood in the doorway, eyes blazing with irritation- until he saw the floor. Saw Matthew. Saw the blood. Saw the cloth slipping from his hand. It looked like a crime scene, for fucks sake- but Matthew knew Lovi was aware of his self-destructive habits from the beginning.

Everything in Lovino’s expression changed.

Matthew had never seen him look more terrified before (and he'd know from how much time he spent admiring him).

“Merda- Matthew!”

He was on the floor in seconds, dropping to his knees beside him, hands hovering but not touching, eyes wide and frightened. "What- what happened? Did you..." Lovino glanced at the gleaming box cutter next to Matthew with a grimace.

Matthew blinked up at him, dazed. “Lovi… I didn’t think anyone would come…”

Lovino’s jaw clenched. Hard. And was that guilt on his face? “Of course I came, idiota. You didn’t answer your door.”

Matthew let out a weak laugh. “That’s… all it took?”

Lovino swallowed, voice rough. “Shut up. Don’t joke right now.”

He pressed his hand firmly over the cloth Matthew passed over to him, applying pressure to his wounds with surprising gentleness. His other hand fumbled for his phone. Matthew whimpered at the sudden contact, cringing slightly. He watched Lovino frantically explain the situation to the reciever on the other end, before he put the phone down, looking slightly more assured.

"Lovi, it hurts..."

“I know it does, but please stay awake,” Lovino ordered, voice trembling despite his best efforts. “You hear me? Stay awake."

Matthew’s eyes fluttered. “But...I'm tired…”

Lovino slapped his cheek lightly- not to hurt, but to keep him conscious. “No. No sleeping. Don’t you dare. I didn’t come all the way up here to watch you pass out on me.”

Matthew’s breath hitched. “Why… why are you here? Why even bother?"

Lovino hesitated, glancing away from his bloodied arms.

Then, quietly:

“Because I noticed you weren’t at dinner.”

Matthew’s eyes widened in shock. Someone noticing him?

Lovino continued, voice low, almost angry with emotion. “Because you didn’t answer when I knocked. Because you always answer. Because you’re too polite not to, or maybe because..." He sighed. "Because you're too eager for someone to come see you."

He pressed harder on the cloth, trying to stop the bleeding. "Someone had to notice.”

Matthew’s throat tightened. “Lovi…”

Lovino’s voice cracked. “Shut up. Just- shut up and stay awake.”

Matthew tried to smile, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. The guilt of making Lovino come here in the first place was weighing down heavily on him. "You… saved me.”

Lovino shook his head fiercely. “No. I’m just the one who showed up. You’re the one who held on long enough for me to get here. Please, please don't give up on me now, I need you Matthew. The ambulance is on its way."

Matthew’s vision blurred again, and he felt the overwhelming urge to give into his exhaustion and give up right then and there. But he couldn't. Not when Lovi had come all this way for him, to save him. Something that even his family had failed at doing.

Lovino grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him. “Hey. Look at me. I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

Matthew’s voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you…for coming here." He tried to speak to prevent himself from going unconscious, since the rest of his wounds were slowly but steadily emptying the contents of his body. "I'm sorry that I...did this...I didn't mean to cause you any trouble." His head was swimming, he could barely feel his body anymore. Was this what dying felt like?

"No, no, please don't apologize, you- Ugh! Jerk, there's no way you can believe the others hate you this much!" He shook Matthew's shoulders lightly. "Wake up!" Lovino wanted to cry. This beautiful angel of a man had destroyed himself- all because of the others. This was a man that truly believed he has to apologized for existing, Lovi realized. The thought made him sick.