Notes: Hey, man. I'm sorry this took so long to get written and then posted. And I'm sorry if it seems totally fragmented and disjointed. I sort of wrote this in like a million different sittings because I'm a lazy fuck. Anyway, here it is! The last chapter! I really hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have! Thanks so much to all of you for reading!
Alfred is a man. Well, not totally but he's getting there, okay? Yeah, but if you ask Alfred, he's definitely fully-functioning and totally capable of being independent. Or whatever. He's pretty much a man. Matthew doesn't agree because Alfred isn't a man; he's definitely more like a man-child. Like that weird uncle every family has that never really grew up. But Matthew is dumb and doesn't know anything. Alfred is a man. And he's got a plan. And it is the best plan ever. No, seriously. Ever. Of all time. Of. All. Time.
Alfred's plan is simple. And it has a budget of fifteen dollars. And it involves the most important staple food ever. Oh–and a plastic spoon but like that's important, right? Seriously, the world would not be able to function without it, so. Yeah. Alfred's staple food? Peanut butter. Yeah, it's going to be pretty boss. Either way, Alfred is not spending more than fifteen dollars on this plan because he won't be able to eat for the rest of the week. And that would really suck. No. Seriously, it would suck.
It might be the Best Plan Ever but. There's a little bit of a kink that Alfred has ignored. Alfred has everything planned out perfectly except this one little issue. The issue? Alfred just has to buckle down and figure out if Arthur is into younger guys. Alfred also kind of has to figure out what the hell Arthur is saying because his accent is really hard to understand sometimes.
Okay, it's a little weird that Alfred is calling his coach 'Arthur' because Matthew just knows him by 'Coach' or 'Kirkland'. And everything else aside and completely ignoring the fact that this entire plan has huge potential to get super. Creepy. Super. Fast, Matthew kind of forgot that Alfred could be so determined when he wasn't being lazy and playing stupid. Actually, Matthew doesn't know if Alfred plays stupid. Or. If he is that dumb. Matthew figures it's a fifty-fifty chance of his brother either being a genius or being a raging. Dumb. Fuck.
Either way, Alfred being all determined and mildly psychotic is kind of cute. If, you know, Alfred wasn't his brother. Or whatever. Because, uhm. It would be weird if Matthew called Alfred cute. Since. It's his brother. Yeah, Matthew needs to stop thinking about this. Right. Now.
Alfred's crazy determination totally aside, Matthew just knows that this is going to go very. Very. Wrong. Matthew just has a sixth sense for these kind of things. And what's his sixth sense saying now? That this can only end really, really badly. Really. Badly. Matthew understands that, in theory, The Plan is a really, really good one. Because, really, what's not to like about being seduced watching some crazy kid lick peanut butter off a spoon? But, let's face it, Alfred is not exactly the smartest guy in the world. He's not the sharpest crayon in the box. Or the brightest bulb in the tanning bed. Or—Okay, Matthew hopes he's getting his point across. To who, he has. No. Idea. He just hopes he's getting it across. Either way, this is just not going to work. Luck is against Alfred. But, seriously? When has that ever stopped Al?
Matthew just worries—and worries, and worried, and worries because he's a born worrier that Kirkland will just reject Alfred and totally tear him apart. Or something. And Matthew will have to pick up Alfred, piece by piece. And Matthew. Does. Not. Have. Time. For. That. Because their game is on Friday.
Plus, Matthew is pretty sure that if Kirkland hurts Alfred, Matthew is pretty much obligated to punch his hockey coach in the wiener. Which'll be really, really weird.
Matthew's head feels like it's going to explode. It's this huge pressue right behind his eyes and his temples are. Freaking. Throbbing. He knows it's from staying up too late to study for that stupid AP Chemistry test but, seriously? When the hell is he ever going to use Chemistry? He's not planning on. You know, doing something with Chemistry for the rest of his life.
Either way, he makes his way down to the Nurse's Office and goes to sleep because. Okay, it just seems like that would get rid of it. If lack of sleep got him into this, getting some sleep might take him out. Might.
Matthew figures he hasn't been asleep for fifteen minutes when there's some eerie noise. Oh, god. Seriously? He can't be dealing with this right now. He's got a headache the size of New Zealand. New. Zealand. Or some equally odd country.
Actually, you know, Matthew can't be dealing with a lot of stuff right now. But he seriously can't be dealing with psychopathic serial killers who want to feast on the ripe and nubile flesh of teenaged hockey players who have their final matches two days. Wow, did he really just think all that? Yeah, he's been hanging out with Alfred way too much lately. Either way, there's something in the Nurse's office and it probably wants to kill Matthew. Or worse. Break both his legs so that he can't play on Friday.
Matthew looks around and. Oh. My God. Where is that creepy creaking noise coming from? And why is the light flickering like that? He doesn't know why but it's really starting to creep him out andwhy is his ear suddenly so hot?
"Matvey."
Matthew does not scream. Mainly because whatever just came out of his mouth was way too high-pitched to be considered a scream. Matthew thinks it might have been a squeal. Or a whimper. Either one of them is pretty much an apt description for the noise he just made. It doesn't change the fact that he still has a headache and Ivan is standing next to him, smiling widely. Matthew doesn't really know why but his stomach drops and his palms break out into a cold sweat. Probably because Ivan is a psychopath. Or something like that.
"Ivan?"
"Yes, yes, hello. Now, let us speak. You know I like you, yes?" Ivan asks, looking at a bottle of witch-hazel astringent. He's probably wondering if he can drink it. Or something. It's fourteen percent alcohol so it's not all that far-fetched, actually. Matthew figures it actually wouldn't be that different from drinking vodka. Not that Matthew would know.
"Uhm. Yeah?"
"Yes, well, I am not the only one in my family that happens to like you." Ivan says, smiling widely. Matthew really wishes he would stop smiling. It's really, really creepy. And then what Ivan says sort of sinks in.
Matthew gulps because. Really? He's heard all about Natalia. He really hopes she's not the other person that Ivan is talking about because that would just be really, really horrible. No. That would be worse than horrible. Matthew doesn't even know what that would be. It would just be worse than terrible.
"Uh, oh yeah? Well that's. . . that's really nice, Ivan." Matthew says, looking around the room. He wonders how long it would take him to jump out the window and if Ivan could catch up with him. He decides it's probably more dangerous to run. Yeah, that seems a little more dangerous.
"Yes, it is nice, Matvey. But you do not get my drift, so to speak. I like you as my friend. You are loyal, unlike your brother. You play well. And I think the faces you make when you are scared are very, very cute.
"Uhm, thanks, Ivan. I guess I am pretty cute." Matthew says. Ivan's smiles even wider now and Matthew isn't getting a good feeling about this at all.
"You are cute, yes. But you are also a little dumb, Matvey. You do not understand what I am saying to you. Katya does like you, yes. But not as a friend. She thinks you are very nice and sweet. She thinks the faces you make when you are scared are very, very cute as well. Actually, she thinks all the faces you make are very cute. I must agree with her." Ivan continues to prattle on about whatever he's talking about because Matthew has managed to zero in on what's happening.
Dude. Katya likes him. Katya. Likes. Him? Is this real? Like, what was going on? Is this actually happening? No. Really. What?
"Wait. Katya? What?" Matthew says feeling like the stupidest genius on the planet. Actually, ever in history.
"Matthew, she has romantic feelings toward you. Now, I give you permission to court my sister. But if you hurt her…" Ivan says and tilts his head. Matthew gulps because. Really? What else can he do in this situation? This is Ivan. As in Ivan Braginski. As in Ivan "Hi, I'm a Giant Russian and I'm going to smash your brains out onto the sidewalk with my boot, my faucet pipe, a sickle, and a hammer. Hope you were having a nice day." Braginski. Yeah.
"Uh, y-yeah. No. I definitely get it. I really like your sister, too. I mean, I've actually liked her for a pretty long time now. And. Uhm. Yeah, no, I could never hurt her." Matthew manages to squeeze out passed the lump in his throat. He doesn't really know it that lump is from him being two-point-five seconds from pissing his pants out of fright or from being to freaking happy he's about to spontaneously burst into song because, for once, something in his life is going totally. Right. And seriously? How often does that freaking happy? Not a lot.
"I will hold you to your promise, friend. But I wish to remind you that my wrath should not be incurred. For you see, I am far more deadly than Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov is. This is mainly because I have the tenacity to actually carry out what I start but. Matvey, I digress. Anyway, yes, yes, you may court my sister just remember that you shouldn't hurt her. Or you will be the one hurting. Yes?" Matthew is pretty sure that he can see the way Ivan's mind switches gears. It's totally unsettling and Matthew isn't afraid to admit he might be a little scared.
"Uh. Uhm. Yes?"
"I'm glad you understand." Ivan mumbles.
And then as quickly as he shows up, Ivan is gone. Funny thing is the light finally stopped flickering. Matthew is officially creeped out but he's also pretty ecstatic.
He now has permission to court Katya. Even though he has permission, he's actually. Uhm. Not too sure on what to do exactly. He figures that he'll figure it out along the way.
Ever since Eduard got kicked out of a few too many games, the only way they'll even think of letting him in is if he says he's with the team. So, Kirkland buys him this cute little first-aid kit. It even has gauze in it! It's like. A really legit first-aid kit. So, Eduard sort of plays nurse for the Whitecats now.
Except now. He gets a front row seat to their practices and their games and that just goes downhill from there. He gets even crazier when he "cheers" on the team with crazy insults. Yeah. No. It's actually kind of frightening.
After their second-to-last practice, Ivan is sitting on the bench watching Raivis skate around in circles while Eduard pokes at his wrist. Ivan fell at practice and Kirkland isn't taking. Any. Chances. Today. If that's a sprained wrist, he might actually have to kill himself. No, maybe not kill himself. But. You know. Something close to that. Like actually cooking dinner for himself. Which actually might result in death. Either way. Someone is dying. Tonight.
"I think your little brother is very cute." Ivan says. And the look on his face is pretty much a Giant Creep Grin.
"I think your wrist is sprained." Eduard replies tersely and squeezes the Russian's wrist with a lot more ferocity than is necessary. And the look on his face is pretty much a Fuck the Fuck Off, Buddy Grin.
"Ouch." Ivan mumbles. There's a little pop from his wrist and. Yeah. That's not. That's not good. That's definitely not good. At all.
And just like that Ivan Braginski has fallen in love.
At their last practice of the season, Alfred decides to implement The Plan. And it goes really. Really. Really. Badly.
Alfred stands right by the glass. Right. By. The. Glass. Practically giving head. To a plastic spoon covered in peanut butter. He's moaning and doing that stereotypical porno starlet thing of making totally fake little whimper noises. The weird thing about it? Everyone on the team is paying attention to Alfred. Except Arthur. No, really. And Alfred? He hasn't noticed that Arthur hasn't noticed him. And that shit goes on for the better part of an hour and a half of their two hour practice.
It's. Really. Awkward.
What's even more awkward is that Matthew is really sure that Alfred has been keeping secrets from him. Because. Seriously? There's no way that his brother is licking a spoon like without having moonlighted in the porn industry. No. Really. It's a little disturbing.
Needless to say, in the end, Mathias and Ludwig both end up skating into the glass. And, of course, Kirkland bitches at them and pretty much tears them a new asshole. It gets pretty awkward. No, really. It's really awkward.
Lately, Mathias has taken to singing while toweling off after practices. Yeah, seriously. It's not that Mathias has a bad voice or anything. His voice is actually pretty good, actually. Which is weird. It's just that. Okay, Mathias is loud. Really. Loud. Today, though, he's halfway through a pretty decent rendition of "My Humps" with the team's running commentary keeping everybody pretty entertained. Yeah, their practice went really good today so their outlook for the final match on Friday is amazing. You know, unless everything falls apart at the last moment which would suck. So. Hard.
"My lovely lady lumps, in the back and in the front." Mathias belts out, pretending to grope the breasts he doesn't have. He continues to shimmy around the locker room, deciding against the common convention known as pants. And it's getting pretty awkward. Really, really. Really. Awkward.
"Ah, yes, this lyric would be very nicely suited for Ludwig, yes? With his cowsies, yes?" Ivan says, toweling off his hair and smiling widely. It's that weird smile where no one really knows if he's really smiling or not.
"What?" Ludwig says, forehead wrinkled in confusion. He's putting on his super tight black shirt. Yeah, he's definitely Hitler's Youth material.
Matthew is still wondering why half the guys in the locker room are pretty much half naked. The only one who isn't in here is Raivis because he's talking with Kirkland about offensive play tactics.
"Oh! Ivan you mean 'moobs', right? You know, like man boobies? Not 'cowsies'." Mathias corrects, still dancing around and trying to convince Larsun to sing with him now. It's not working. Actually, Mathias' dancing could definitely come in useful as a diversion tactic.
"Yes, yes, 'moobies'! Ludwig, you are nearly as well-developed as my sister. I wish you the best of luck with finding a brassiere that will comfortably fit your moobies!" Ivan says, still toweling off.
In a million years, Matthew never would have thought that being surrounded by a bunch of guys in top physical condition walking and dancing around in their boxers, briefs, and boxer-briefs would be so awkward. Actually, no, he's lying. He's known it would be awkward. He just never thought it would actually happen.
"Ha-ha." Ludwig responds dryly and glares.
Why is nobody in this locker room. Wearing. Pants?
"If you touch it, I'm-uh start some drama, you don't want no drama. No, no drama, no, no, no dram—HOLY FUCK!" And then. Mathias is screaming. He's standing up on the bench and pointing at the floor. And screaming. Really. Loudly.
Everyone turns around and. Oh. God. There it is. Right. On. The. Floor. It's a cockroach. A. Cockroach. And it's crawling around and twitching it's little antennae things. Oh. God.
And then. It happens. Just like with Ludwig and Gilbert, it happens. The locker room goes totally silent. And then. It. Explodes. Everyone is shrieking, scrambling up onto the bench in a desperate bid to get away from the cockroach. Oh, god. Ew. Matthew knew that his school was kind of bad in the hygienic department but. Seriously?
Oh. God. It's moving. Toward. Them.
It must look a little weird to Kirkland and Raivis when they run in to the locker room to see what's going on: there's six almost-adult men crowded together on a bench and pointing at a floor, all in their underwear and screaming. Yeah, no. It's not funny. At all. At. All.
"What is going on in he—Oh, rot!" Kirkland says when he sees the cockroach on the wall. He takes a step back, looking as freaked out as everyone else.
"Somebody kill it!" Mathias says, struggling to keep from falling off the bench.
"Somebody shoot it!" Vash corrects, looking panicked and possibly homicidal.
Raivis looks at the team. And then looks at the cockroach. He shakes his head and reaches for one of Ivan's skates.
"Nyet! Don't use my skate!" Ivan shrieks. He loves those skates a lot. They have white laces. With sunflowers on them.
"Seriously, you guys?" Raivis asks them over their shrieking. Roderich looks like he's going to be sick in a second.
"Kill. It!" Larsun wails. And this is the most emoting anyone has ever seen him do. Even Mathias who's dating his brother.
Raivis takes off his shoe and smashes it down on the cockroach, killing it with a sickening little 'pop' noise.
The team climbs down from the bench. They look like they've pretty much seen death. And lived. Other than Ludwig. He just looks like he's going to break down and cry at any moment. Then again, Ludwig has always been a little obsessed with keeping things clean. It actually seems a little unhealthy.
Raivis is officially the biggest badass ever.
This is it. This is what Matthew has been waiting for all season. No, really. This might actually be the most defining moment of his entire life. Although, actually, it's not really that great. They're playing this team whose centre is this giant Korean guy who's got the energy of Mathias and the hitting power of Ludwig. And Ivan. Combined.
This kid skates like Vash. Which is crazy fast. And he's all nimble and shit. And Matthew has no idea how the hell this kid is flying across the ice like that but he's pretty sure that anyone with that kind of skill has to have had. Like. Sold their soul to the devil or something. It's not like Raivis even has a chance at this point in time.
But they pretty much barrel through three quarters of the game pretty well. Well, they kind of have to. Since. You know. Kirkland is their coach and everything. And Matthew doesn't want to leave this game feeling like he's done so fucking much and not gotten anywhere. There's so much on the line right now, it's not even funny.
The Whitecats and The Inventors are tied, two to two. And Matthew just feels like something has to happen. Right. Fucking. Now. And if he doesn't do something then it just sort of feels like he's fought for nothing. They can't lose this game. He just. No. There's no way he's come this far and about to lose to some dude who's taunting them by saying he fucking invented milk. No one fucking invented milk. It comes from. Cows. Cows.
Katya, Gilbert, Eduard, and Alfred are pretty much cheering as much as they
There are seven seconds left in the game.
Raivis, in a last ditch resort, passes Matthew the puck because he can't really do anything to save them at this point.
And Matthew is not about to leave this game empty-handed.
Matthew has had this little tight black ball of rage tied up in his chest since the first time someone mistook him for Alfred. Since the first time his Dad forgot to pick him up. Since the first time someone threw their change at him while he was working the counter over at the ice cream shop. Since the first time Lukas decided to get to get high instead of driving him to work.
And. You know what? It's about time he got rid of it. So. Matthew does the only thing that really makes sense to him.
Kirkland turns away from the glass because he just can't watch his best team since the beginning of forever lose. Katya and the rest of their faux-cheerleaders have stopped cheering. All of them except Alfred. But he's an idiot and he doesn't really know what's going on.
And Matthew shoots.
And Matthew scores. Just. As. The Buzzer. Rings.
And. Just like. That, The Whitecats win their game. They win their play-off. And who cares if they won by one lousy goal? Because. Seriously? This moment is so perfect that there really could be anything better about it. Kirkland punches the glass and the broken hand is completely worth it because. Really? This is what he lives for.
Gilbert and the rest of the cheerleaders go insane in the stands and it's all just so perfect. And Matthew feels like crying but he can't. Because.
Well. Because he just won their game for them.
And. Oh. My. God. It's finally Friday.
And. Well. They won.
The team is on their way back home from the game and it's pretty amazing. Mathias is halfway through the best rendition of So Happy I Could Die the team has ever heard. Well, mainly because. You know. They pretty much are so happy they could die. Especially Kirkland. Who's half-way through turning this into a Drinking Song Lady Gaga mash-up.
Katya, though. Is sitting alone in a chair practically dead. She's very sure that she's dying from Ebola. Alright, it's actually the flu. But it doesn't really matter because she feels like, either way. She's just going to die. And she's got this god-awful headache.
Then she feels a blanket settle around her shoulder and she cracks her eyes open to see who it is. It's not Ivan. It's Matthew. He pushes a water bottle into her hands and gives her a tiny, shy smile. And. She's not about to resist any sort of care.
"Drink that. You need to stay hydrated." And Matthew?
Well, he just sits right next to her. And if he's got their hands intertwined, well, that's not that much a bad thing right? Although, somehow through the long ride home, Katya falls asleep with her head on Matthew's lap.
And. Okay. That's just a little bit awkward. But. Hey. It's sort of okay.