Epilogue:

Matthew clutched Francis' hand, staring down at the ornate coffin. It was made from maple wood, and it gleamed under the bright light of the sun. The president was there, as well as some other world leaders. Many countries had graced the funeral with their presence, including Ivan, much to everyone's surprise. The Canadian was the most hurt among them, but everyone had died a little inside

After a long day of boring meetings, in which almost all of them he had been completely ignored, Matthew had decided to once again fly to Washington D.C. This time was it! He was going to set Alfred up an appointment with a psychologist of some sort, and have a long talk with him about Arthur. Why hadn't either of them told Matthew that they had been a couple?

Leaning back in the chair on the plane, so many thoughts ran through his head. Why had Arthur committed suicide in the first place? He left without anything. No note, no last will and testament. He wondered suddenly if anyone was taking care of Peter. Matthew sighed, rubbing his face roughly. Alfred first, Peter next.

He sighed, looking out the window. America was lit up with bright, beautiful lights, as it always was. The sun was almost set, Matthew noted, as the plane landed. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing a long-ago memorized number.

"Francis?"

"Ah, Matthieu! How are you? Are you in America yet?"

"Yeah, but uh... I'm just, really bothered by this whole thing. Why did Arthur kill himself? Does anyone know?"

He heard a long paused, then a raspy sigh from the other end.

"I'm not sure. I have asked Peter, but Peter had no idea. He actually didn't seem all that upset. I think he is inheriting the United Kingdom. Anyways, I've been all through Anglettere's house, and not a single note of any kind was found."

Matthew groaned. "Did you check in his library?"

"... Library, Matthieu? Why would I check there?"

"It doesn't matter now! Just go check! Look through every book! Call me when - IF you find something!"

Matthew hung up, and began running down the streets of D.C., not bothering to call for a cab. He knew where his brother lived, and it wasn't very far from the airport. He panted, feeling a bit sick, but he was unsure why. He was feeling a strange pain in his lower back, the part of him where America was...

As he came to his brother's door, he knocked impatiently. Alfred hardly ever answered these days, so Matthew just opened the door and stepped right in, looking around. "Alfred? Alfred, it's me, Matthew! I want to talk to... you..." Matthew trailed off as his glance turned to the diary on the table.

Alfred's diary.

With his name above it.

Matthew grabbed it frantically, skimming the pages. He only caught bits and pieces of some of Alfred's writings as he attempted to find the last entry.

Maybe I'm coming down with something

Mattie said it was natural

I just loved him and God took him away

I can't take this shit

Matthew halted as he came to the newest piece of writing Alfred had done.

Dear Diary,

I guess there are a lot of things I have to write down.

I loved Arthur Kirkland. He loved me. He never told anyone, but I guess that picture of us will do, right? He made me promise not to show anyone, but I had to prove it. He loved me. I guess that's all I have to say, other than I'm sorry. To Matthew, to Francis, to everyone who has tried to help me these past weeks. You guys have who you love the most in your life. Francis, treat Mattie well, ok? And Matthew, there is something I have to tell you that Arthur never told me.

It is NOT your fault. No matter what you think. I'm not even blaming Arthur. It's just my time, you know? I can't live without him anymore. It's not fair. Life can't go on without my Arthur.

"ALFRED!" Matthew screamed, tearing through the house.

He flew upstairs, his heart pounding. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, he felt sick. He felt dead. Why did Alfred do this? He swung the door to Alfred's bedroom open, but it was empty. He turned and sprinted down the hall to the bathroom. "ALFRED!"

Matthew looked into the tub, where Alfred lay, blood pouring from his wrist. He was dead, he had been dead for a while now. He had a scary, somewhat eerie smile plastered on his pale, lifeless face. He was with Arthur at last.

"No..."

He couldn't take it, the sight of his twin, lying there, dead. "NO! No Alfred, PLEASE! GOD no! No!" The Canadian sobbed, clutching his brother, even though his clothes became stained with the other's crimson blood. Why did he have to lose Arthur and his brother, too? It wasn't fair. Suddenly, his phone started ringing.

"Hello, Matthieu! I do not know how you knew, mon cher, but I did indeed find Arthur's suicide note! You must tell Alfred!"

Matthew cried, his voice cracking wildly,"I can't Francis," he dropped the phone from his bloody fingertips, clawing at his scalp with rage,"he's gone."

Francis squeezed Matthew's hand as the other nations began to come up to speak, sharing stories and fond memories of the loud, boisterous country. Ivan had even swallowed his pride and had allowed himself to say,"I was not close to Alfred, no, never. But, I always respected him."

When it was Francis' turn, he let go of Matthew's hand and walked forward to stand in front of them all. He cleared his voice, for once not joking about how sexy he looked in a suit or how everyone should be thankful that the passionate man was willing to speak.

"I do not have much to say about Amerique, but I do want to read you all something."

He pulled a folded paper out of his pocket.

"It reads 'Dear Alfred

'You surely hate me for doing this to you, but you must remember, it is not your fault. I love you, Alfred F. Jones, as I have for as long as I have known you. First as a son, then a brother, and now a lover...'"

Francis began choking over the words. Everyone was staring at him with utter shock, they all knew what he was reading.

Arthur's suicide note.

"'I would hate me, too, Alfred, believe me. I just felt it was my time. I am going through hardships, and I do indeed have some sort of depression. I just felt that this way, I could escape all the pain. The pain from me being as a failure of a brother to you and Peter, to being the punching bag of my older brothers, to being abused both physically and mentally by Ivan, Gilbert, and occasionally that stupid Frog, Francis. It's not their fault, though, it's all mine.

It's my time to leave, but it is yours to shine! You can do so much better than me, a grouchy old man with no self-respect. I would have done it anyway. Don't think you didn't make a difference, because you truly did. You helped me hang on, for a while at least. I'm sorry. Please never forget... I loved you first.

Yours forever,

Arthur'"

Matthew began crying loudly, and Francis rushed to him, pulling him in a tight hug.

"Oh Francis, we were too late..."