19Gilbert leaned up against the brick wall of the school with a sigh of irritation. He was in the secluded school garden (and a pitiful one at that) but not to see the greenery. School had only just restarted a week ago, so there weren't any flowers even if he did want to see them—which he didn't. He had never liked flowers that much (too prissy) but Mathew obsessed over them to the point of declaring random flowers' names that he saw growing from the ground.
Mathew.
Mathew was going to be the fucking death of him.
Not only had he caused him to spend last night taking off the last portion of the "List of Reasons Your Awesome that You Need to Open Your Eyes and See Because You have the Confidence of a Squirrel," as he called it, putting it back on, thinking it looked to scribbly, rewriting the entire thing, taking it off—AGAIN, ripping the stupid paper apart, and finally writing it into the computer where he did the same exact thing—minus the ripping—until he realized he was being unawesome and just sent it, which was bad enough, but he also made his stomach flip-flop just by laughing and was the only person who could make him blush.
Not that he would admit it. It was way too unawesome.
But whether he would admit it or not didn't matter: it was true. And it was also true that he had altered the last paragraph to say, "I'll tell you Monday in the garden," instead of "Ask me when you get this."
It was only after he sent it he realized he hadn't said whether to be in the garden before or after school. And sending a new email would just make his carefully created sense of awesomeness and mystery from the letter disappear.
So he showed up an hour early and waited, ignoring his brother's shocked face.
But apparently an hour was a bit too long, as a teacher had seen him and thought he was "vandalizing school property." He had run away, of course, but in homeroom Mrs. Stewarts had given him the stink-eye treatment, though she didn't say anything outright.
So, here he was, waiting in the run-down garden and hoping Mathew didn't think he had blown him off.
Gott, why couldn't they have any classes together? Someone really hated him up there. They were probably related to Ivan, the evil bastards.
'Mathew probably thinks I'm an evil bastard now,' Gilbert thought bitterly, a quick glance at his watch showing it had been thirteen minutes since school had ended. Mathew probably wasn't even coming.
Gilbert pushed himself off the wall, scowling as he walked to the cherry blossom tree a few yards away. He kicked at a stray leaf angrily, then snapped a branch off the tree. He snapped the branch two more times before throwing it to the side. In the back of his mind he heard Mrs. Stewarts screeching at him for vandalizing school property, and he snapped another branch.
This was her fault. If she hadn't been such a bitch earlier he would've been able to talk to Mathew, but no. That was just too "scandalous," and "juvenile." Stupid, unawesome bitch.
He picked up a large branch that had fallen onto the ground naturally and broke it over his knee.
Do you really think destroying a tree will do anything?
Stupid conscience. Stupid fact that it sounded like Mathew. Stupid Mrs. Stewarts. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Everything was stupid.
He glanced at his watch again. Three more minutes had passed. When was Mathew going to show up?
He may not show up at all. After all, you weren't here.
Shut up.
Gilbert started drumming his fingers on his leg, trying to evade time. He glanced over the familiar grass, garden sections, pond, and small fake bridge. Then he did it again. He looked at his watch.
15 seconds had passed.
Gilbert threw his head back and groaned, taking off another 5 seconds. He slumped down, slowly dragging his back against the bark as he did. He picked a strand of grass, tore it apart, then did it again.
After four pieces of grass he just started to yank the stuff out of the ground, hoping for anything to stave off his boredom. He competed with himself to see how much he could pull out at a time.
After a minute he realized what the awesome Gilbert had been reduced to, and got up hurriedly, walking over to the miniature bridge. Some of the garden club members must have been out here before, as there was a small line of dirty stones on the railing.
With a swish of his arm they all met the water with a plop.
Of course you did that. You can only destroy, destroy, destroy. Ever heard of making things? It's not that hard. No wonder Mathew doesn't want—
He hit himself smartly in the face, shaking his head to remind himself that he was awesome and no one could change that.
Not even Mathew Williams.
Fucking bastard. It had been 18 minutes now. Just because he didn't show up earlier didn't mean he could just skip out now. He should've assumed he meant later, a.k.a. now. But no, the bastard was obviously too self-absorbed for that.
'He's probably laughing himself silly at the thought of me, waiting for someone who isn't coming,' Gilbert thought venomously, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that said Mathew wasn't that type of person.
Gilbert glanced at his watch again, seeing it was edging on the 19th minute.
Screw it. I'm done waiting. If he didn't show up now he's not going to. One minute isn't going to change that.
With that Gilbert shoved his hands into his jacket, turning away from the bridge and towards the one-way gate, scowling as he did.
Step. Step. Step. He listened to the way his boots crunched against the gravel, pretending he didn't hear when the crunches grew farther and farther apart, until they stopped completely and he couldn't anymore. His hand rested on the push bar, his head twitching slightly before he forced it forwards.
He's not coming. Get over it. It's your fault anyway.
He pushed the door open, stomping away angrily as he heard the door slam shut. His boots slapped against the sidewalk angrily as he started to pick up pace—trying to get away from that place—until suddenly they weren't.
It toke him a second for him to realize he had heard someone call his name. It toke another for the yelling to get loud enough for him to realize it as Mathew.
"Gil! Gilbert—Wait!" he yelled, finally reaching the metal gate and panting. "I'm sorry—my brother—he tried to get me to go with him, and—"
Gilbert glared at the gasping Canadian, who had knelt over and leant on the fence, trying to get back his breath.
"Oh, if course," he said bitterly, "your brother."
Mathew straitened slightly, his eyebrows crinkled slightly as he looked at Gilbert.
"Huh? What are—what are you talking about?" Mathew managed to get out, swallowing thickly. Gilbert snorted.
"Whenever something goes wrong it's always, "My brother did this," or, "My brother did that." Why can't you just say it's your fault?" he said glaring.
"I never said it wasn't," Mathew said, blinking slightly and glaring (lightly) in return. "I just said that—"
"That if it wasn't for Alfred, it wouldn't have happened. I know. I've heard it enough for a fucking lifetime."
"Gilbert, I—" Mathew stopped himself. He pushed the door open roughly and gestured inside. "Get in. I'm not having this conversation through wire."
"What if I want to stay out here?" Gilbert asked, crossing his arms. "I was waiting in there for twenty minutes."
Mathew sighed, running his hand through his hair and his eyes lightening, no longer holding that nasty glare. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to show up so late. I came here earlier and you weren't here."
A pang of guilt hit Gilbert right in his chest, before he pushed it away, determined to glare harder than ever.
"Well you still had twenty minutes to get here," he said, and added quickly before he could respond, "And don't give me that bullshit excuse of your brother. I know you can get away from him in less than twenty minutes. Don't even fucking pretend it's not true. We both know it is. So, what?" He gestured slightly with his hands. "Did you think this wasn't important enough to leave? That it didn't matter? That I didn't matter? Why did you even bother showing up? For all you knew, I had left. That I had—"
"WOULD YOU SHUT UP!" Mathew suddenly growled, pushing Gilbert through the still open door (he barely dodge being hit by it) and letting go roughly so he almost fell. Even as he stumbled Mathew pointed at him angrily, like a mother scolding her children. "I couldn't get away from Alfred because he drove me home before I could do anything. I had to run back here to be here at all, and yes, I did know you had probably left. But I knew there was a small, small chance you didn't and I fucking hoped it was true. Because I did care. Because this did matter to me. Because it meant the fucking world to me!" He threw his hands into the air as his voice hit a new high.
Gilbert didn't say anything and for a while the only sound was Mathew's haggard breathing, slowly becoming steadier and steadier as he slumped further and further down and the light in his eyes went out. Then he talked again.
"But apparently not to you," he whispered, any hint of anger gone, only leaving bitter disappointment that Gilbert knew he had caused. He turned towards the school building and Gilbert felt anger flare up from the very pit of him stomach and—
The next second he had pushed Mathew into the wall, centimeters away and breathing heavily. Mathew's eyes widened and he stuttered silently, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Every move and breath he toke carved itself into his memory, and years later Gilbert would still be able to recite it perfectly, right down to the light breeze that pushed his hair slightly to the left and made the one strand fall into his eyes.
Gilbert gazed over him greedily before leaning down and kissing his neck sloppily.
"Not caring?" he asked breathily between kisses. "Not fucking caring? I care way too fucking much. I mean—fuck. I don't know how I could care for you more. I really don't. That's the 101th reason—the . . . 101th reason," Gilbert said slowly, raising his head slowly as he though over what he had just said.
He stumbled backwards—
Away from Mathew. It's always away from Mathew
—eyes widening as he realized that the 101th reason was because he cared for him and loved him and wanted the best for him and what he was doing was anything but the best. What he was doing was freaky, and stupid, and hurtful, and anything but caring. It was possessive and creepy and Mathew didn't deserve it. Not from anyone. He shook his head vividly, not caring if Mathew thought he was insane (he deserved it anyway) just wanting the feeling of utter self-loathing and the knowing he had almost—that he had—oh god. What had he just done?
He knew he was protective, he always had been, but this was different. This wasn't some toy or candy that could be replaced or broken. It wasn't even a fucking pet! This was a human being. This was Mathew! Not something to be owned and—
"Oh gott. Oh my fucking—Mathew I—Gott, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was so angry—I didn't even realize I—Gott. You probably hate me now. I hate me now. I mean—gott." He ran his hand threw his hair and forced himself to breathe through the cotton in his chest, trying to believe it had nothing to do with his prickling eyes and his voice wasn't shaking. A sudden feeling burst up through his chest, breaking the cotton easily and somehow he laughed, bitter and cold and completely different from usual.
"Some fucking confession, wasn't it? I—god. I'm a bastard." He covered his face with his hands and tried to hide wiping away his tears. "I'm a god-damned bastard."
There was silence after his confession, not even the god-sent Mathew Williams being able to comfort him. And why would he? He was pathetic, crying as if he wanted Mathew to pity him when he had just—
A hand gently lifted his chin up, his arms falling away slowly as he looked up. His confused gaze met Mathew's comforting one, who smiled and hugged him lightly.
"You said you cared about me, right?" Gilbert nodded dumbly, not remembering if it was true but not being able to do anything else. "Well, I care for you too. Not necessarily in that way, at least, not yet, but I'm willing to give it time," Mathew said, entwining their fingers together.
"But—I don't . . . I don't deserve it. I mean, I just—"
"You kissed me Gilbert," Mathew insisted softly, "and not even on the lips. And the second you thought you went too far, you stopped."
Gilbert felt the anger in his stomach rise up again at the thought of Mathew forgiving the unforgivable so easily, and tore their hands apart, even if part of him didn't want to.
"I stopped after I fucking pushed you up against and wall and practically m—"
"Stop," Mathew said firmly, but not unkindly. "I know exactly what you were about to say and you are farther from it than anyone I know. The fact that you're guilty just shows me that more than ever. I mean, pushing me against the wall was a bit much, but you were angry from waiting and I just yelled back. It's partly my fault, if I didn't—"
"Don't," Gilbert cut in suddenly. "Don't blame yourself for this."
"I'm not," Mathew said, frowning slightly. "Even if you were angry, that doesn't justify pushing me like you did, but I was just saying you'd be less angry if I hadn't yelled at you. Look," he said sighing, knowing Gilbert well enough to know he didn't want meaningless words, "I'm not saying you should've done it, or that it was particularly nice, but you're acting like you killed someone. It's not—"
"What if I didn't stop?" Gilbert said seriously.
"Huh?" Mathew asked, his eyebrows knitting together.
"What if I didn't stop," he repeated. "And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
Mathew pursed his lips and thought. He didn't answer for a long time.
". . . I don't know," he said finally, and Gilbert bowed his head a toke a shuddering breath.
That's it. He hates me. I made him realize how fucked up I am and—
"And I don't need to," Mathew finished. Now it was Gilbert's turn to look surprised.
"Because you did stop," he continued, once again taking up Gilbert's hand in his own, his thumb rubbing small circles confortingly, "and I don't have to worry about what would happen if you didn't. Because you know to stop. And you do. Stop, that is."
Gilbert shook his head, stepping away and hoping his eyes would stop fucking burning but Mathew just toke another step closer.
"Gilbert," Mathew said taking his face in his hands, "Gilbert, look at me."
He did, and the blue-violet eyes he could never quit describe right filled his vision. They expressed Mathew's worry and fear and forgiveness more than he could ever put into words, and Gilbert wasn't sure if he wanted Mathew to see in his eyes what he could never say or not. But that was just a forethought at the back of his mind, not to be truly worried over. And it wouldn't work either way, as Gilbert couldn't think of anything but those beautiful eyes in front of him that showed him everything. All the happiness, and sadness, and everything else.
He stared into his eyes until time floated away, and it wasn't until Mathew let his arms fall away from his face he spoke.
"I still. . ." he said softly, trailing off but knowing Mathew understood every word. And he did, as he sighed, turning away at long last. A feeling of guilt filled him and he started to open his mouth—
And felt Mathew's lips on his.
It was a chaste kiss, and only lasted a few seconds, but Gilbert stared at him as if he had just proclaimed he was in love with the cookie monster, forehead crinkling as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.
"There," Mathew said simply.
Gilbert expression didn't change.
"You stole a kiss from me, so I stole a kiss from you," he said grinning. "See? Now we're equal. Actually I may owe you something, since I kissed your lips instead of your cheek or something, eh?"
Gilbert stared at the Canadian, blinking as the logic dawned on him. A feeling of love—not romantic love, not yet, just love for a friends—and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on filled his chest, spreading throughout his body. And even though he promised himself then and there he would never do like that to Mathew ever again, he was a blunt and abrupt person, so it shouldn't have surprised anyone when he blurted out,
"Can I push you up against the wall again?"
. . . o0o . . .
I'm going to write fluff, I say. It's going to be cute, I say. I'm going to pretend any small things that would tick of the character won't exist, I say. OTL
On the other hand, thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited. I hope I didn't disappoint, and in case I accidentally didn't send a message to you personally, Thank you. And thank you to the guests who reviewed. You all mean so much to me.