"I'm really sorry."

Gilbert hummed something nonchalant under his breath, turning away from him.

"I didn't mean to ignore you or anything. It's just been... hectic. And busy."

Gilbert suddenly found the windows very fascinating and the bustling street beyond them the most interesting sight in the world.

"I just-just got caught up in... other stuff."

Gilbert let his eyes drift down, still avoiding Matthew's, and reached for his drink. Taking the glass in his fingers, he drank slowly.

"C'mon, at least look at me. I'm sorry, okay? But I can't always get here to see you, you know? I've had other things to do."

Gilbert was still quiet. Matthew stared at him uncertainly, slightly frustrated and slightly worried.

Then he looked up and Matthew held his breath.

He let it out with a puff.

"Not funny!"

Gilbert started laughing, shaking with mirth.

"Yo-you are such-such a puff," he sputtered. "I can't-I get it, man, you were busy. I got it. You come in all flustered and guilty and all freaked out-"

"That's such-such a dick move," Matthew scowled mildly. "I can't believe you-"

"I thought you deserved a little squirming for standing me up for so long," Gilbert asserted. "You should feel guilty. Friends don't leave friends hanging."

He didn't mention the days of agony, waiting for Matthew to call him. He didn't mention how desperate he'd felt, wanting to call but fearing that it would be Ivan who answered with a self-satisfied tone, a complacent murmur that had everything Gilbert wanted and knew it. He wanted to call, considered calling, saying something subtle like, "So did you and Ivan fuck?" Okay, not quite that subtle.

Gilbert had decided he would wait. Matthew could call him if he wanted to talk to him. Matthew would call. He would. They were friends. Matthew would tell him what happened. Did he want to know? No. Well. Yes. Yes and no. Gilbert waited, fearing the phone's ring and wanting it. When it rang, he's leap to his feet and dive for his phone, only for Antonio or Elizaveta or Roderich to ask him how he was doing. Fine, fucking fine, please get off the phone so I can wait for Matthew to call.

Why was everyone getting so up and worried about him anyway?

First Ludwig thinking he was fucked in the head, then Matthew thinking Ludwig might be right, then all of his friends checking in on him and asking him how he was... what the hell was going on?

And school. God, he hated going to school. Everyone stared at him. More specifically, glared at him. Self-righteous pricks. How dare they glare at him like he was the only one, like he was the one to blame, like he was the only bully. He hadn't been the only one. Granted, that certainly wasn't an excuse. In fact, it made things worse. But putting that aside, they had no right to look at him like he was the bad guy. He wasn't the good guy. But he certainly wasn't the only bad guy. And they had no right to treat him like it, like an outcast. Oh, Gilbert was such a jerk to poor victimized little Matthew, oh boo hoo, aren't we such good people?

Gilbert felt his rage level spiking as he imagined their taunting voices. He'd stayed inside all weekend, never going out except for school, watching TV with listless eyes and a mind-numbing apathy. Always thinking, agonizing over that brief glimpse he caught of Matthew hanging off his boyfriend's shoulder, so touchable and friendly but unattainable; Ivan so smug and happy and worst, condescending, like he had everything. And to Gilbert, yes, he did have everything. Everything he wanted. It was enough to drive anyone insane and he'd stay in the dark recesses of his basement, tormented by Matthew's smiles and waves and soft greetings, friendly Matthew, just-stay-good-friends Matthew, and worse, when he thought of all the suffering he put Matthew through, the victim-Matthew, and why he was the way he was. Then he would get to self-hatred (usually before and after lunch, if there was any of course) and start agreeing with Ludwig and everyone else. Yes, he was a fuck-head. He deserved it. He was the bad guy. Everyone was right. Everyone's glares, from apathetic and stiff to cold and unforgiving, were completely and utterly deserved and they could see it, could see the horrible excuse for a human being he was.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked, noticing his terse expression. He seemed a little alarmed at the sudden mood change. Gilbert didn't want that.

"Nothing," he said, willing his pain to leave his face. He forced a smile.

"Don't do that," Matthew said immediately.

"What?" Gilbert asked bemusedly.

"Grin like you're biting bricks."

The albino laughed.

It felt good to smile for real.

He wanted to savour it.

"Seriously, Gil, what's wrong? I haven't seen you in... maybe two weeks. What's up? How is your counselor? I feel like such a bastard for not having a good conversation with you for maybe... two weeks, has it been?"

Gilbert nodded numbly. "Something like that," he said weakly. Seventeen days to be exact. "But uh, let's talk about you first. What have-have you been doing?" He cringed a little, hating how he sounded. His voice sounded like a bizarre mix of desperation, longing, accusatory, disappointed, depressed-okay, maybe none of those emotions could actually be heard in his tone, but he felt blood pumping in his ears, feeling like all of these emotions were running rampant across his face. Like an open book...

"Oh, nothing really," Matthew said sweetly.

"Nothing?"

Matthew stared contemplatively at Gilbert's nose, his eyes oddly playful.

"Okay, okay, I'm lying," he admitted. "I've been spending... a lot of time with Ivan."

Gilbert felt sick, but he tried to sound casual.

"Hmm. A lot of time?" he said, trying to sound joking and light-hearted but coming off hoarse.

"Y-yeah. I suppose you don't remember when you called me that one time-?" Matthew left the end of the sentence hang there, his eyes oddly bright instead of embarrassed.

"Yeah. I remember," the German said flatly.

Matthew giggled, mistaking his tone as sarcastic.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

Get yourself together, Beilschmidt, Gilbert snapped at himself. Just ask the damn question. Don't make this so fucking awkward! And stop stalling already, damn you!

"Were you guys... fu-in the middle of... less than parent-friendly activities?" he said, laughing a little (his throat felt like it was going to rip from all the force it took). Matthew laughed lightly with him.

"Well... yes. I'm sorry, but Ivan wanted to-"

"It's fine, it's fine. Just... tell me all of the... dirty details," Gilbert smiled. (Oh god, inside I feel like curling into a ball and just dying).

"Pervert," Matthew said affably.

"You know it," Gilbert grinned. His blond companion broke into giggles, his blue eyes lively. "Come on, you guys do it or what?"

"When? The phone call or any time in the past two weeks?"

The albino felt like groaning and banging his head on the table and crying and tearing out his traitorous heart, threatening to stop beating any moment. He felt like every organ in his body was being crushed mercilessly and unknowingly by every word Matthew said. The blond wasn't aware of the importance of his words, of just how painful and joyful they could be, how powerful they were on him. What they meant to him.

"I don't know. All of the above."

He waited. It seems like I'm always waiting for this man. I hate how wonderful he is. I hate how much I love him. I hate how much control he has and how little I have.

I hate him so much. I hate myself. I hate Ivan. I hate how much I hate.

"We didn't. Alfred interrupted us. Again. And he caught us... um, you know, trying."

And Gilbert felt like smacking himself in the face.

Of course. Of course, now I remember, I called Alfred! I called Alfred!

The wave of relief hit him so hard that visibly he relaxed.

Then he started laughing.

Matthew lightly thumped his head.

"It's not funny!"

"It-it really is!"

"No it isn't," Matthew pouted. "He's such a pest. He's an asshole. He's always getting-ah, he's just been so annoying recently. Worse than my dads. Actually, you know what? He's always been worse. I don't know why he's such a prude. And seriously, how on earth does he keep knowing when me and Ivan are... you know, getting it on? Like I was two hundred percent sure he would be busy on, you know, when you-uh-"

"Had the displeasure of hearing your guyses' foreplay," Gilbert concluded, finding it easier to joke about it when finding out that it hadn't happened. It hadn't happened. He'd done it. He'd saved him. Thank God for an annoying, clingy, overprotective twin. He'd give Alfred a big hug and a birthday present next time he saw him.

"Yeah," Matthew laughed. "But seriously now, I don't know why on earth he knew. I mean, he had to have known, it's not like he had any other reason to be home except to... bother us."

Gilbert shrugged.

"Maybe he was spying on you. Wouldn't put it past him."

"No," Matthew agreed. "No, it's something he would do. And he's been like that all week. Now I have to lull him into false security. Me and Ivan are all hands-off until he eases off us for a bit."

"But Alfred's a stubborn brat," Gilbert said.

"Yes," Matthew affirmed. "A big, noisy, stubborn brat. A hypocrite too, I might add. As if the girl he's mooning after is any less 'dangerous' than he claims mine is-"

"What?"

"Nothing. But anyway. You already know this. Tell me, how's your counselor? And your sessions? Come on, tell me how you've been doing. You okay in there, Gilbert?"

And Gilbert laughed, suddenly feeling on top of the world after days of depression and loneliness and self-loathing.

Damn you Matthew. You can't keep doing stuff like this to me. You can't.

Hello.

It's been almost a year since I started this. I didn't realize just how long until I saw one of my author's notes in chapter fifteen talking about a class I took last year. Damn. Lots has happened. And I didn't even realize it.

Anyway. I'm going to finish this story before the new year. I hope. Ciao, hope you liked. Thanks for sticking with me even though I haven't been on FFN for almost a month.