Beautiful Side of Somewhere [Arthur & Matthew]

[Arthur Kirkland]

In truth, Arthur had always thought the quote "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never meant to be" was utterly stupid. Why would anyone risk losing something precious? What if it got hurt on the way back, or someone else stole it away, just after he let it go? There were just too many factors that made letting go too risky. So, when Arthur was young, he swore to himself that he'd never let anything or anyone go.

That was before Mary left.

He'd written several letters to her, of course; ones that his mother had promised him would be mailed to wherever his darling sister was. He even saw her put a stamp on the envelope and put it in the mailbox. (Sometimes, she let him do it. The stamping was easy, but she always had to pick him up so that he could drop the envelope into the box.)

There hadn't been a cell in his body that didn't think Mary would ever not reply. But, as days turned into weeks, which turned into months, which steadily turned into years, Arthur realized that his sister had left him for good. And oh, how traumatizing that had been. The sounds of angry shouting, breaking glass, and slamming doors - sounds that had once been muffled by the sounds of Mary's voice, by the sounds of brave knights saving beautiful princesses and young kings leading their kingdom to victory - became all too real, and Arthur... just hadn't known how to cope.

He tried reading fairytales by himself, and tried sending the letters by himself, too. They never failed to get returned, and would always be waiting in the mailbox with that dreaded stamp on the front. He didn't know why he kept all these letters, and... honestly, he regretted it. Looking at them now only made the memories he'd buried deep within his mind resurface, and that was the last thing he wanted. Thus, he was on the roof, with a pile of those letters by his side and a lighter in his hand. He hadn't burned any yet, but he had every intention to.

With a sigh, he flicked on the lighter.

'Don't come back.'

[Matthew Williams]

How many years had it been? Matthew had all but lost count, trying to somehow block out the memory. But, it was never going to leave and he would carry it with him forever.

Today, it had been today.

He would never admit it, but he was always deeply saddened whenever this day rolled around every year. The day that their mother had passed away.

Usually, Matthew would spend it visiting her grave and then going home to cook, smiling all the while; before retreating to his room, quietly crying himself to sleep with Kumajiro clutched tight. Of course, fate wasn't going to allow him this pleasure.

Being hours away, there wasn't really anyway he could do what had become so customary. It was upsetting, and somehow, he felt guilty and ashamed.

Couldn't say good-bye, can't even say hello on the one day it matters...

Matthew was never one to wallow in sorrow or anything of the like, and definitely not one to force it on other people. Alfred was sure to remember what today was, and he didn't want him to see himself acting this way. It would only worry his brother.

Carefully, Kumajiro clutched tightly in his arms, Matthew opened the door to the roof. However, he instantly regretted not staying in his room upon seeing a familiar face.

"A-...Arthur?" he spoke softly, glancing around at all the different letters strewn about.

The surroundings utterly confused him, what was he doing.

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[Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur had picked up the first envelope and held it close to the flame when he heard a familiar voice. He flinched out of surprise and immediately flicked the lighter off, holding the letters as if he had been in the middle of reading them. It was only after he'd calmed down and turned around to see who it was that he realized that hiding what he was doing was pointless. These were his letters, his possessions; what did it matter if he burned them?

"Matthew," he greeted, offering a small, practiced smile. "Good evening."

He flicked on the lighter again, and this time, drew the letter to the flame. He watched the edges first burn, and then catch on fire.

Honestly, Arthur should've been glad. He was finally letting go of her completely, and was clearing out some space from his closet. He didn't need this part of his life constantly hanging off his shoulder, anymore.

He shouldn't have been tempted to cry.

Softly, with his back turned to the Canadian, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

[Matthew Williams]

"G-good evening..." Matthew managed to breathe out.

He had really expected no one to be here today; another plan of his down the drain. Matt clutched Kumajiro tighter, he was already near tears enough as it is and didn't know why he couldn't just run away. But, something kept him there on that spot. The Canadian couldn't see what Arthur was doing from the angle he was at near the door, and had no intention of interfering.

"I..j-just came up here to think..." he replied, suddenly finding the floor more interesting than the person in front of him. "I-I'm sorry, if I'm b-bugging you..I-I can just leave o-or something."

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[Arthur Kirkland]

The smell of burning paper reached his nose before an answer reached his lips. ('It's fine', he would've said. 'I'll leave.' Because there were so many other places he could've gone to done this. Even the ashes of these memories didn't deserve to fly free; they deserved to be buried, to be left in places that no one would ever see nor care about.) Arthur turned back to the slowly incinerating envelope, watching the letter and its colourful words and pictures be reduced into ashes that flew away with the wind. As he watched the gray specks float off the roof, he couldn't help but wish that he'd done this earlier.

If he'd done it before he met Elizabeth, she could've helped him move on. If he'd done it before Victoria and Winston, they could've given him the strength to forget and continue. As it were, none of them were with him anymore, and he was left to face this by himself.

At that particular thought, Arthur frowned, feeling disgusted with how pitiful he currently was. He shouldn't have been struggling so much with this. He didn't need any remnant of the Mary who abandoned him; not when he had memories of the Mary who stayed, his sweet, darling sister whom he'd loved so dearly. He was over this. He'd been over this.

And he hadn't noticed that he was crying until his lighter fizzled, a thin wisp of steam curling up as soon as a solitary tear hit the flickering flame.

('Man up, Kirkland, you fool', he chastised himelf. 'You're not a child anymore.')

"...You can stay," he finally said, his voice soft. "I'll leave in a minute."

[Matthew Williams]

Matthew quickly shook his head at that, "N-no, you were here first. I'll leave."

It had been a long day. A long day of holding his own tears in and trying not to act like a little baby in front of the whole school and his dorm mates. Most importantly, trying not to worry Alfred.

Matthew had been about ready to walk away, to find a place where he could be alone and live with his memories for the rest of the evening. But, there was something about the manner of Arthur's actions that, yet again, that kept him in his place.

Cautiously, he took a few steps forwad; stopping right behind the older male. "W-what's wrong, Arthur?" he inquired softly.

To the Canadian, it was quite clear that something was up.

In the time that Matt had to get to know Arthur, he knew that the Englishman was not one for wearing his emotions on his sleeve. It was rare that he showed these in front of anyone and it was enough to press his worry-button.

And it was the times like these that Matthew was happy. These little moments where he could push his own feelings aside and focus on something (or someone) else. Maybe it had been his method of coping with his own emotions; if he was busy and focused on others, he didn't have the time or the will to think about himself.

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[Arthur Kirkland]

It was strange, just how much two words that he'd been expecting to hear shook him. He knew that Matthew would offer to leave, to give the Englishman some time alone, but actually hearing those words - actually hearing "I'll leave" - curled that familiar cold snake around his chest.

"No," Arthur immediately blurted out. A part of him regretted it immediately afterwards, but he couldn't help but continue. "Stay."

The letter was nothing but ash by the time Matthew approached him. One down, several more to go. Arthur picked up another one, and held it to the flame. Watching it for the second time was much easier than the first.

"Nothing's wrong," the Englishman added, flicking the lighter off and just contening himself to watching the flames hungrily devour the paper. "Though, that's a question I ought to be asking you. Did something happen?"

Because it was obvious, at least to him, that something did, and it'd upset Matthew. After all, the boy rarely frequented the roof, and spent his time in either the living room or the kitchen. If his presence here wasn't a clear indicator that something, either big or small, was off, Arthur didn't know what was.

[Matthew Williams]

"Nothing's wrong,"

Matthew slumped his shoulders. He knew very well something was off, it was clear in his actions. Arthur wouldn't even turn around to look at him. Secretly, Matt jumped to assumptions that it was somehow his fault; that there was something he did wrong that made Arthur not turn to him.

Carefully, he took a step forward, "I-I'm sorry if I----" Matthew started, however was cut short "Though, that's a question I ought to be asking you. Did something happen?"

He stopped dead in his tracks, back stiffening; chanting to himself, begging for Arthur not to ask about it. Matt had been holding it in all day and didn't want those feelings to come out. Just wanting them to stay hidden until he was alone.

Though he thought that, he knew that Arthur disliked being lied to. They had come to build a sort of trust relationship with one another. And Matthew was dead set on keeping it that way.

"N-nothing..." he hung his head and looked at the ground, laying his chin on Kumajiro. "It's just a bad day."

"W-why are you up here? S-something must have happened..."

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[Arthur Kirkland]

"Nothing really happened," Arthur replied, letting the burning letter go and watching the flames devour the remains of the paper. "I'm just getting rid of some trash, since it was taking up space in my room. But these are "

He waited until the wind had carried away all the ashes before turning slightly to face Matthew. The boy looked absolutely miserable - far too miserable, really, for just a 'bad day'. With a sigh, he set all the letters aside and beckoned for the Canadian to come closer. His own problems could just come later.

(And... honestly, it wasn't as if he was being selfless, because he staunchly believed that 'Arthur' and 'selfless' just didn't belong in the same sentence, unless there was a 'not' preceding the 'selfless'. It was just that... well, both he and Matthew both would benefit from this. He'd get distracted. Matthew would feel better. Hopefully.)

"Come here and sit," Arthur encouraged, setting the lighter on top of the pile of letters. "You don't have to talk if you really don't want to, but it might make you feel better."

[Matthew Williams]

Matthew stood there for a bit, studying the other male. Trying to figure out what he meant by 'trash', "But these are...?" he attempted to make sense of that, but would just wait for an explanation instead. The Canadian let his gaze fall onto the stack of letters when Arthur put them down. That little hamster in his head was running around in there somewhere, trying to get the wheel to turn. Guess the hamster needed a break, because Matthew couldn't think of any reason for Arthur being up here with a stack of letters.

Doing as he was told, Matthew reluctantly made his way over to Arthur, sitting down on the floor next to him. He pulled his knees up to his chest, Kumajiro situated in between and not looking at Arthur.

"I-It's not something anyone can do anything about. Tal..talking will just make things worse." he replied quietly, a small, sad smile on his face.

Usually, Matthew never talked about this issue with anyone. Hardly even his brother or own father. They had enough to worry about as it was and probably were dealing with the sadness in their own ways. It wasn't fair of him to go crawling to them with his own petty emotions. Often times he thought this.

Matthew hugged the bear a little tighter, "What are those?" he eyed the letters once more, curiosity getting the better of him (and in hopes of changing the subject.)

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[Arthur Kirkland]

“They’re nothing,” Arthur assured. “They’re just some things that I wrote when I was a child… just a correspondence between myself and an imaginary friend.” It was ridiculous and almost sad, how easily and well he lied, but that was something that he stopped thinking about a good while ago. After all, what did honesty give him other than vulnerability?

(It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Matthew at all, but just… that he’d rather be safe than sorry. There was bound to be a point in their relationship when Matthew would get sick of something he did and run away, just like she did.)

He paused to listen to Matthew’s words, and felt himself frowning. After a bit of thought, he said, “Unless you found a way to deal with your problem, holding it all in won’t do you any good. It’s a bit like getting a wound, but not doing anything to clean it up or to get someone to heal you; in the end, it’ll just get infected, and then where would you be?”

(He wasn’t a hypocrite. He couldn’t be a hypocrite. He’d gotten over his problems a long time ago. That was why he was able to burn these letters. That was why he even bothered to try and make friends, even if he had the sinking feeling that they’d leave him in the end. Arthur Kirkland was not a hypocrite. No; absolutely not…)

“And besides,” he added, turning to look at the Canadian with something akin to a small, comforting smile. “There are some people who just want to hear you talk. I was under the impression that friends were there to help you carry your burdens. Was I wrong?”

[Matthew Williams]

Matthew blinked before questioning, "W-why would you want to throw away s-something so wonderful?"

He really didn't understand why Arthur would want to do away with childhood memories such as those. Matthew hung on to his with all this heart (the bear in his arms a prime example of that.) There are things in this life that faded with time; even memories did with age. But, having those reminders will keep them close.

The Canadian looked down once more, staring at nothing and taking in Arthur's words. He could say the same about him, but it wasn't in Matthew's nature to do so. So, he just kept listening to the other talk.

"And besides," Matthew looked up at Arthur, watching as he smiled at him. It took Matthew a few moments, just looking the Englishman in the face when a single tear fell down.

Having never really had friends before coming to this school, Matthew really had no idea about the concepts of friendship (although, he did try, having taken notes from Alfred.) And if the tear and sadness he was feeling was from the date or that he might have offended his friend in some way, Matthew did not know.

He shook his head and wiped his eye with his sleeve quickly "N-no, you aren't wrong..."

Before he continued on, Matthew took a quick breath.

"I-It's just...there are things I should be doing today. A-and I can't do any of it."

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[Arthur Kirkland]

"Wonderful?" Arthur scoffed, before he could even think about stopping himself. His tone was bitter, acrid to the very last syllable, as he continued, "They're anything but wonderful. I'd take a rotting corpse over these any day."

And... he really meant it. He didn't need these letters, didn't need her. (Where was she at his saddest? At his happiest? Where was she when he needed her the most, when he didn't need her at all? Why did she only appear when he wanted her dead and gone?)

What Arthur really didn't expect in response to his supposed-to-be-comforting words, however, was a tear. "Matthew--" he began, not quite sure how to respond. He was never too good with dealing with the tears of others, particularly when he did such a poor job with his own in the rare moments he allowed himself to cry. (And that was never, ever in the presence of other people, nor was it any time near the present.)

Tentatively, he began to reach forward, only to pull his hand back when Matthew wiped his own tear away. So he just quietly listened, frowning upon hearing the other's words. Something he ought to be doing, but couldn't...? Arthur refrained from asking just what those 'things' were, and instead thought carefully of what to say in return. It must've been something very, very important... something personal, for the Canadian to be this upset.

"...You know, Matthew," Arthur began gently, "There are many things that people ought to be doing, but can't really do. No one will hold it against you for being unable to do it, though. If you want to do it to the point of tears, but you simply can't... then just wanting to do it is more than enough. I... don't know what you failed to do, but I'm certain of one thing - the fact that it remains in your memories is perhaps the greatest privilege you could've offered them. A visit, for example, lasts for as long as you're there. A thought can last an eternity."

[Matthew Williams]

Matthew listened; very intently, actually.

But, for every point that Arthur could bring up, he had a counter. The Canadian wouldn't say these out loud and just always kept these thoughts to himself. If you can't say anything nice, don't say nothing at all, after all. (Of course, he didn't mind that other people did, but this was just one of many philosophies he had adopted.)

For awhile, Matthew just sat there in silence. Trying to hold it in as it was all he could do. He didn't want think about his failures as a son and as a human being. How could a son not visit his mother on the one day that it mattered? It was like not saying Happy Birthday to his brother...only a bit more morbid, he guessed. Hard to go to a grave and say: 'Happy anniversary of your death day'

It must have been at least ten minutes before the blond opened his mouth to speak again. Trying to pick his words carefully.

"It's not the same. A visit, no matter how small, is very important." Matthew's voice had emotion in it that he never had intended on putting in. A bit of sadness, strain, and maybe even some sort of variation of anger.

Quickly, he shook his head and returned to the topic beforehand. Wanting to clear his thought process and deviate away from the current situation.

He looked back at Arthur, one cheek resting on his knees.

"I-I don't understand why they wouldn't be wonderful." his eyes dart down at Kumajiro, situated between him. "D-..don't.." Matthew stopped, clearing his throat before continuing, "Don't you h-have anything from your childhood, s-something that you hold dear to you? A picture, a memory, m-maybe even a favorite toy?"

In his mind, Arthur had to have something from his childhood that he held dear. No matter how small, no matter how trivial it might seem to him at the moment. There had to be something.

"I-if you don't, Arthur. Then.." he takes a moment to point to the stack of letters, "Those. Those a-are a very important memory. T-trust me, you'll regret not keeping them."

His attention was now fully on the Englishman, he offered him a sweet smile.

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[Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur had always prided himself in being rather sharp. Perhaps not the sharpest, but sharp enough to figure out a good portion of a picture after being given only a few clues. Matthew's tone of voice, and how upset he was over not being able to visit someone, really led him to think one thing. There was someone precious to the boy that had been left behind in his home – maybe one of his parents, or both... and that person was either dying, or already dead. Arthur was favouring the guess of this person gone already, given all the things Matthew could've done, but apparently hadn't because he couldn't.

"Perhaps," Arthur replied, taking hold of the lighter with one hand, and reaching inside his pocket for his carton of cigarettes with the other. He thought of Elizabeth and her grand funeral, and how out of place he'd been amongst all her colleagues and friends. He thought about how cold and empty she must've been in her coffin, with no one to talk to her or put flowers on her grave back in England. "But don't you think you're putting too much importance on something too superficial?"

He lit the cigarette, then, and held it to his lips before taking a long drag. The nicotine calmed his buzzing nerves, as it always did when he thought about her. (And briefly, he remembered her smile, so bright and warm as she told him, "Hey, you look a little cool when you smoke." It was a good third of the reason he never really got around to completely cutting his addiction.) "What do you do when you go to visit that person's grave?" He blew out a stream of smoke, and watched it thin out before dissipating into the air. "Perhaps you Canadians do it differently, but all I do is leave some flowers for someone who can't appreciate them, and talk to someone who can't hear me."

His words sounded rather heartless, but he didn't mean it to be as cruel as they sounded. For all his love of literature and fairytales, he was surprisingly blunt when it came to these things. But... to be honest, he didn't despise that part of himself at all. Giving the truth quickly and bluntly got rid of misunderstandings, and gave false hope no chance to fester.

Arthur took another drag of his cigarette, and breathed out the smoke. "I'm not saying that visiting is pointless; rather, I'm saying that you seem to be missing the point of a visit. Why do you visit that person's grave, Matthew?"

He then tapped the tip of the cancer stick, and watched the ashes fall to the ground. "As for something from my childhood..." the Englishman began, but trailed off. He had plenty of things; books, those accursed letters, a picture, his memories... too much, really. "...I'd rather go without them. Why dwell on the past when the present is much more pleasant to think about?"

[Matthew Williams]

...Was he?

In all honesty, Matthew really wasn't aware if he was placing too much importance on the issue. It was always something he did and it had just become so customary, almost a sort of ritual, to go there and just watch over the grave for most of the day. In a way, it was just comforting.

"Dunno..." he answered, vaguely.

The Canadian hadn't even noticed that Arthur had lit the cigarette, and frankly, he didn't really care. He had already seen him smoke once before, but never beyond that time. Matthew could be worried about his health all that he wanted. He know, however, that the Englishman probably would not listen to his lecture on how smoking killed your lungs.

Actually, he probably never said anything because he knew that Arthur knew the negative side-effects.

Arthur's bluntness seemed to be his saving grace at times. When he needed be told something, he was always the first to blurt it out. Never sugar-coating facts and just giving it to him as is. It was a trait that he actually admired in the Englishman.

"P-pretty much the same. I-I don't know, never really gave it much thought." he answered timidly, clutching Kumajiro a little tighter. "It makes me feel j-just a little bit closer to her." Matthew smiled a little, even letting out a little sad chuckle.

"I-It's silly, I know. But, I owe her that much."

For a moment, he thought about what Arthur said. How could he explain it best to him?

Matthew released his clutch on the bear, putting his hands under it's arms and just holding him out to show Arthur. "Because, even if some of the past me-memories might be unpleasant, there are good ones a-as well." his voice was hopeful. He wanted to show Arthur that childhood memories were something to hold on to, not something that should be burned and forgotten.

"Right?"

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[Arthur Kirkland]

Arthur glanced over at him, smiling a bit as soon as he saw the bear. "Well, there you have your issue," he replied, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing smoke circles into the air. He waited until they were completely gone before continuing, "It's not silly at all. If it helps you feel more connected to her, then by all means, keep the bear. To be honest, I think it compensates for not visiting her grave. It isn't as if going there makes you any closer to her than you already are, or makes you think about her any more than you usually do. You drop by her resting place once a year, but you carry that doll around nearly everywhere you go."

At least, that was the reasoning he used to justify being unable to afford a plane back to London every year to visit Elizabeth's grave. And... well, it made sense. He could and did think about Elizabeth no matter where he was; he didn't need any large slab of stone to help him do that. Actually, he'd much rather stay here than go to her corpse, because that was just another reminder of how he'd failed to properly be her knight. He wasn't a doctor, of course, so there was really nothing he could've done. He just wished he'd noticed the symptoms faster. Maybe then, she could've been alive.

He took another drag of the cigarette, and felt his smile dip into a frown. "All the good ones become unpleasant down the line," Arthur simply responded, just barely hiding his displeasure. "I don't need any childhood memories to look back on to know who I am. I'm Arthur Kirkland – 18 years old, male, and a student at World W Academy." Yet another drag of the cigarette. "That's all that matters. That's all that should matter."

[Matthew Williams]

"T-there are good ones that t-turn sour the further down they g-go." Matthew spoke in that timid tone of this, returning the bear to it's previous spot between his chest and knees. "A-and I'm not saying that you need th-them to define who you are. B-but, don't you ever look back on those m-memories, to t-the people i-in them, with some sort of fondness?"

He leaned back slightly, looking at the smoke being produced from Arthur's cigarette with a bit of fascination. "I-I know that all the m-memories aren't good, b-but, those precious few moments before the bad. I..it's comforting to think back on them. T-that's what I do when I think of mom." Somehow, Matthew had a feeling that Arthur's issues went deeper than he let on. It could be that he was a man that lived for the moment. But...

Matthew shook his head, thinking for a moment before speaking, "I..it's difficult, Arthur. I.." he stopped yet again, trying best to explain it, "w-we never got a chance to say goodbye to her." his voice came out strained.

"I-I can carry Kuma around with me all I want, a-and I know that visiting won't bring her back or make her any closer. But.."

After that, Matthew went quiet. Instead burying his face into the bear, it was a hard emotion for him to explain. One that he couldn't even bring into words, and it was a bit frustrating to the young man.

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[Arthur Kirkland]

"...Not really," Arthur answered, and just left it at that. He couldn't just... cut a memory short, when he recalled one. If he ever thought about how Mary used to read him stories during the nights he couldn't sleep, he'd inevitably keep remembering until he reached the night she left. At least with Elizabeth, there was some light at the end of the tunnel, with Winston and Victoria. There was no such light with Mary, and he doubted there ever would be. (He'd searched for around a decade, after all; why would anything change now?)

He took a final drag of his cigarette and let the stub fall to the ground, watching the little specks of flame die out within the ashes. He crushed it as he breathed out a steady stream of smoke. It wasn't too difficult to piece together what'd happened to Matthew, and... Arthur felt his heart go out to the poor boy. It was painful, to have a loved one pass before you could say goodbye, or before you could even stand on your own two feet.

After a brief moment of thought, the Englishman reached over and wrapped a single arm around Matthew's shoulders before tugging him close in an one-armed hug. "I know, Matthew. I know."

And for a long while, he didn't say anything more. (If Victoria were here, though, she would've known the perfect thing to say. But Victoria wasn't here, so Arthur had to do what he could. In this situation, it was... nothing. But still, he wanted to try. He had to try.)

"I don't know about you, but... words like 'she wouldn't have wanted you to cry' never quite did the trick for me," Arthur said after a stretch of silence. "Forgetting about her wasn't an option, and thinking about how she was in a better place didn't really help during the times I was lonely." Another pause, "It might be different for you, but for some people, it helps to just... talk."

[Matthew Williams]

Matthew was trying to find the words to describe his emotions. Actually, he was trying to find a way to turn this conversation around again. The Canadian was never used to talking about his issues or getting attention at all, really. He always sort of did his own thing and tried to stay out of the way or at least try to be useful when he could. In fact, it really wasn't until he came to this school that he started making friends and getting attention from people.

His head was still buried within the stuffed bear's coat when he felt an arm around his shoulders. Matthew stiffened at the touch and was very confused by the action until he was pulled into a hug.

Matthew was just stunned by the motion and kind of just stiffly and awkwardly remained in the gesture. He did listen to Arthur, though and that's when the blond started to feel that dry feeling in his throat. Quickly, he swallowed hard, 'No, you are a big boy. You don't cry. That's not something you do! Stop!'

"I..I just..." he croaked, trying to hold back a sob and failing miserably.

Matthew quickly buried his face deeper into Kumajiro, trying to muffle his sobbing and now the crying. "I miss her!" he cried out, tears coming out of his eyes in streams almost and soaking the poor bear. His shoulders heaving with each sob.

If it was one thing Matthew hated more than anything, it was crying in front of people. Actually talking about his mother for a change, instead of dodging and staying isolated was more difficult than he thought. Where was he supposed to start? Just the mere thought of what Arthur had said, all of it, it was true. None of those things helped him ever feel better. But, what could talking do to help? It would just be him doing what he does in his head every year.

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