Work Text:
Matthew closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, slowly sinking to the floor and sitting there, staring at the ceiling with dull eyes.
Another day survived. Kinda.
Well, another day of skipping classes in the school bathroom. His dads had tried to confront him about it but immediately turned their attention to Alfred who came home proudly with an A+ on his math exam.
Matthew ended up just slipping into his room.
He sighed and made his way to the bed, limbs feeling heavy like lead and heart in this constant squeezing sensation. Something like guilt, but what was there to feel guilty about? Disappointing his parents over and over again? Not helping that snail cross the road and it probably ending up a crushed mess? Worrying his friends when he didn't eat lunch, or any food for that matter? Yeah, everything just kinda… hurts.
It was a cruel joke really, the way everything seemed to be going better just for him to fall back into a sludge of depression once again.
Languidly, the blonde stuck his hand under his hoodie, fingers tracing his prominent ribs through the cold skin.
Disgust was all he felt.
Attention seeking asshole, you starve yourself to feel pitied? Ew. Matthew thought, yanking his hand back and letting it rest on the sheets.
……………
That night
Matthew wiped his eyes with his free hand, his glasses ending up crooked and sliding down his nose slightly.
Tears ran down his cheeks, eyes swollen and snot dripping from his nose as he slashed another line across his wrist. He watched as the white line quickly filled with blood and began dripping into the dark grey sheets under him.
I can't do this anymore… Matthew thought, sobbing harder as he repeated the action, swiping the blade he had unscrewed from his pencil sharpener across his wrists until it was covered in cuts that varied in sizes. Some were thin lines, others deeper that he went over multiple times.
Matthew flipped his forearm over, pressing the blade across his skin and pausing, feeling a drop in his stomach. What if I bleed out, alone, in the dark… I wouldn't even be able to tell dad I love him…! Another sob, then he slowly dragged the metal, wincing at the cold pain sliding through him.
This continued for a few minutes, self deprecating thoughts clouded his mind as he continued cutting himself, blood wetting the sheets under him. Now, Matthew’s arm was full of cuts, snapping out of his daze, panic instead flooded his veins. He dropped the blade, hands shaking as he stared at himself.
He sniffled, wiping the tears and snot from his face with his non-bloody arm as he looked around. His dad was in the living room, he couldn't walk to the bathroom and bandage himself…
As Matthew frantically searched around his room, he didn't notice the door opening and light flooding through the doorway.
“Matthew, are you up? I heard -” a gasp tore from the person's throat, he looked up from looking through his drawer and saw his dad's horrified gaze. His eyes widened, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
“...Matthew, oh my baby…” Francis mumbled and hurried over to his son, gently hugging him. Matthew couldn't really focus on anything but the sudden warmth of his father's embrace. Before he could even stop it, he began crying. He wanted to stop, not show any weakness or look pathetic like he always did… but the hug just felt so nice. He didn’t hug him back, avoiding getting blood on his dad's shirt.
“Come Mattie, I'll patch you up. Everything's gonna be fine…” Francis whispered and stroked his hair, slowly pulling away and holding his shoulders softly. Matthew wiped his hands that were wet from tears in his shirt and hesitantly followed Francis out of his room. He dreaded for the moment he would have to face his other dad and twin brother when walking to the bathroom. Seriously, who thought of putting the bathroom on the other side of the house?
Francis did his best at covering his bloody arm walking on that side, but his British father sitting on the couch with Matthews' twin watching a film had already seen it. Alfred was fully occupied with the tv before he realised his father had turned his head back, watching Francis and his brother scurry through the living room and into the bathroom. It took a while for him to process the fact that his brother's arm was dripping with blood.
Alfred just stared at the door that closed, then looked over at Arthur.
“Uhh… dad..?” He hesitantly asked, pulling his knees to his chest.
Arthur just shook his head. “I'll talk to Francis later.”
In the bathroom, Matthew was sitting on the closed toilet and staring at the suddenly very interesting tiles on the floor, avoiding looking at his dad fully.
Francis had grabbed a bottle of disinfectant from the cabinet, bandages and some cotton pads.
He knelt down in front of his son, disinfecting the many cuts on his arm, being as careful as possible. Due to the wounds still being fresh, he had to use many different pads so he didn't just end up smearing blood all over him.
Francis looked up at his son, pausing and sighing, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “I understand if you don't want to answer, mon fiston.. but I really need to know, why did you..?” He gestured to his arm, watching his son's swollen eyes dart around the bathroom, then meet his for a split second before looking away again.
Matthew adjusted his glasses and stared at this arm, the bleeding had stopped for the most part.
“I'm sorry dad…” he sobbed, biting his lip and wiped his eyes again. After a few minutes of quiet sniffles and attempted sentences that just broke into him stuttering and crying, he finally managed to squeeze out a quiet:
“I… I don't like myself.”
That sentence alone made Francis’ heart shatter into a thousand bits, seeing his son so sad made his stomach twist. “Oh, Matthew…” he sat down fully on the floor, gesturing for Matthew to do the same. He didn't care if it seemed unsanitary, he had cleaned it earlier today anyways.
When he finally sat beside him, hugging his legs close to his body to take up as little space as possible, it reminded him of when Matthew was younger. Francis had watched his son come home crying, another ruthless day of being bullied.
They had sat on his bedroom floor for hours and talked about everything and anything. How to cheer up, what fish looked the coolest, Arthur's “excellent” cooking… It was those sweet moments they both treasured, growing apart a little as Matthew had grown into a high school sophomore, spending more time by himself than anything.
Francis reached up to the sink and grabbed the bandages, gesturing for Matthew to hold his arm out, and he did.
The blonde began wrapping the bandages around him, tight enough so it wouldn't cut off circulation but still stay on and prevent infections and bleeding.
“Don't think that.” Francis replied to his son. “You're talented, creative, kind and a wonderful person to be around. What caused you to dislike yourself so that you took it out on your body?”
…
“I don't really know.. I'm not as good in school as Alfred, I don't have as many friends; I suck at making friends, nobody wants to be around me other than Lovino and Gilbert, but they probably feel bad so they don't wanna leave me. I'm ugly, I have way too much acne and have a weird smile. I hate my body.” Matthew sniffled, letting all the words spill out. “The bullies were right. I'm a talentless, ugly, stupid loser.” He buried his face in his arms.
Francis instantly hugged him tightly, shaking his head as he felt tears build in his own eyes, but forced them back, knowing that would only make Matthew feel worse.
He had never heard something that could make his heart break like that. “That couldn't be more untrue, mon fiston.” The older whispered, rubbing his hands over his son's back.
“You're so much more than you think, you're the best in your team at hockey, your artwork is gorgeous, there's nothing wrong with your body or your face. Not to mention, your friends adore you! Sure, you might not know as many people as Alfred, but your friends love you so dearly you wouldn't understand.” The Frenchman comforted, pulling back to look his son in the eyes. “Wanna know something that proves it?”
Matthew nodded quietly, eyes puffy from crying and lips still quivering.
“A few weeks ago at your high school's parent meeting, both Lovino and Gilbert's parents told me their kids always talked about how good of a friend you are.” The blonde smiled softly.
Matthews' eyes lit up the slightest bit, but looked away. “Is that really true..?” He asked hesitantly.
“Yes, mon fiston.” He chuckled, running his hands through his greenish blonde hair. “And I couldn't agree more.”
Matthew didn't say anything, just rested his head against his father's shoulder. “I'm sorry.” He whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
…
“Is it alright if we talk more tomorrow? I'll let you stay home from school.” Francis asked, looking his son in the eyes.
Matthew just nodded, not wanting to pull away from his father's embrace just yet. “Uhm… I'm sorry if this is a stupid question but can I sleep with you and dad tonight?” He asked sheepishly. I'm such a dumbass! He probably thinks I'm childish as hell… a 16 year old can handle sleeping in his own bed…
Francis just smiled and nodded. “Of course, just beware of my snoring.” He chuckled, nudging him lightly. “Do you want me to talk to Arthur about what happened? I will have to eventually, but it's better to do it now so we both can be there for you.”
“It's okay…”
“Great, I'll go get you a sweater and you can go sit with Alfred in the living room if you want?”
……………..
Matthew was now sitting on the couch with his twin brother happily filling him in about the movie playing on the screen, describing the heroic acts of the main character it seemed like Alfred really looked up to. He just smiled and nodded along, toying with the sleeves of his sweater. He was sure Alfred had noticed his arm when they walked past, but was trying to cheer him up, and Matthew really appreciated that.