Chapter 3 - Phone Calls

CHAPTER THREE: Phone Calls

*****

The look in those wide, frightened violet eyes would not leave Gilbert's mind.

As he dragged himself through the school day, he found himself unable to focus during his lengthy classes, preoccupied with thoughts of the events that had occurred earlier that day.

Thoughts of the shy, petite blonde boy who had nearly knocked him over in the locker room. The same boy who the violet eyes belonged to. The same boy who had stopped breathing in Gilbert's arms.

Matthew Bonnefoy.

Gilbert didn't know what had driven him to rush over and try to help the small teen. Maybe it was because no one else had even noticed him collapse.

Why does that make me so... angry? Gilbert wondered.

Even so, he'd felt the kid's breathing stop, and had tried to revive him with what little CPR he knew. Luckily, paramedics had shown up soon after. All of the students had been kicked out of the classroom. Gilbert had no idea what had happened to the kid.I hope they could save him... I hope-

"Gil?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts at his friend's voice. "Huh?"

"You okay, Gil? You spaced out there." Antonio's hazel-green eyes were trained on his face with concern.

Gilbert tried for his usual grin. "'Course, Toni. It is the awesome me you're talking to, after all!"

Antonio folded his arms, looking incredibly unconvinced. "What happened, Gil?"

"Nothing!" Gilbert was still grinning.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, you tell me right now or I'm never doing your trig homework for you again."

Finally accepting defeat, Gilbert sighed, letting his grin slip. "You remember hearing sirens earlier today?"

Antonio thought for a moment before nodding. "I think so."

"Well... I was in gym class... and Matthew Bonnefoy was—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Antonio interrupted. "Who?"

Gilbert gave him a look. "Matthew Bonnefoy. He's in our grade."

The brown haired teen looked rather confused. "I don't know a Matthew Bonnefoy."

"He's one of the Kirkland-Bonnefoy twins."

"Huh?"

"He's Alfred Kirkland's twin brother!"

Antonio blinked. "Since when does Alfred Kirkland have a twin?"

"He's always had a twin!"

"Oh... never met the guy."

"Obviously," Gilbert sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway..." Antonio urged, clearly growing tired of the argument.

Gilbert retold the whole story to him, his worry more evident with every word he spoke. By the time he was finished, Antonio was wide-eyed.

"Poor kid," he said. "And nobody knows why he just stopped breathing like that?"

"I'm not sure," Gilbert admitted. "I told you, they kicked us all out as soon as the paramedics got there, and you know how schools get about stuff like that."

"Still," Antonio said with a frown, "it seems a little unfair for them to expect you to just continue on with your life and forget the whole incident."

"Ja, I know..." the albino muttered. "I hope the kid's okay."

"I'm sure he is," Antonio said, trying to reassure him. "Now, we should probably finish this worksheet before Mr. Braginsky throws a fit."

"Right," Gilbert sighed. "Can you show me how to do dimensional analysis again?"

* * *

It was growing dark outside when the nurse came in again and told Alfred that visiting hours were ending.

Matthew hadn't woken up. The whole time, Alfred talked to him, telling him how everyone was worried, how he was there for him, how everything was going to be okay. For hours he spoke to his sleeping twin, while trying to ignore the painful noises Matthew made every time he took a breath.

Arthur had been in and out. Alfred didn't know where where his dad went when he wasn't in the small hospital room, but his best guess would be off trying to comfort Francis, who was apparently still quite distraught over the whole thing.

Alfred was alone with Matthew when the nurse reentered.

"Sir? Visiting hours are about over for today."

With an almost invisible nod, Alfred stood. He kissed Matthew on the forehead again. "I'll be back tomorrow," he whispered. "Promise." He straightened, and silently exited the room.

He found his parents in the lobby, standing near the desk. Arthur appeared to be talking to a doctor. When he saw Alfred approaching them, he gave the doctor a nod and thanked him, then turned to meet Alfred.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Alfred muttered. "They're gonna make me, anyway. They said visiting hours are ending."

"Right," was all Arthur responded with. Turning his head, he called quietly, "Francis?"

The Frenchman was standing against a wall. He slowly raised his head upon hearing his name, then walked over to join them.

"Are we leaving?"

Arthur nodded. "They said they'd call us if there's any news on a diagnosis."

"Diagnosis? They think Matthieu is sick?"

"They do have to consider everything," Arthur reminded him. He took Francis's hand. "Come on, Francis, we can come back tomorrow," he murmured gently. "Matthew will be fine until then."

Francis nodded, blinking back more tears as he followed them to the car.

* * *

The ride home was silent, save Francis sniffing every so often. Arthur's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his green eyes fixed on the road ahead. His expression was unreadable.

Alfred sat quietly in the back seat, staring at the floor. His thoughts were running a mile a minute as he tried to grasp the situation.

Matthew's breathing had stopped. He had almost been clinically dead only a few hours ago.Now that he was considering it, Alfred realized that his brother's asthma attacks had been particularly nasty lately. Everyone had figured it was just the season; winter had been blowing in strong for months now, and simple respiratory infections, like colds, hit Matthew harder than the others due to his weaker lungs.

Maybe this is nothing to worry about, Alfred thought. Maybe it's just his asthma. We've been dealing with that since Mattie and I were three, we can certainly handle it now...

But something deep down told Alfred that there was another underlying cause to Matthew's brush with death, and it would not be so simple to deal with.

Even so, he remained hopeful that everything was fine, that things would be taken care of and his brother would be home by the end of the week.

He didn't know how wrong he was.

* * *

Alfred hardly remembered arriving home and getting into bed. It felt like it had been a straight shot from the backseat of the car to the next morning.

It was the telephone ringing that woke him.

After sitting up and stretching, Alfred swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to go answer the phone when the ringing stopped and he heard his father's heavy English accent. He must have answered.

Alfred walked sluggishly over to his dresser, still fighting drowsiness as he dug through his drawers for something decent to wear.

His task came to an abrupt halt at the sound of shouting.

Curious, he walked quickly into the living room to see that Arthur had yelled something into the phone; his face was noticeably paling as he listened to the voice on the other end.

"Alright," he said shakily after a moment. "Th-thank you." He hung the phone up.

"Dad?" Alfred said. "Who was that?"

Arthur was silent.Francis came running in a few seconds later. "Did I hear someone shout?" He paused, seeing Arthur's face. "Arthur? What is wrong?"

"That was the doctor on the phone," Arthur said finally, his voice still shaky. "He was calling about Matthew."
"What did he say?" Francis asked, starting to pale himself.

Arthur bit his lip before offering a nearly inaudible response.

"They found advanced stages of cancer in Matthew's lungs."

Everyone in the room froze.

"What...?" Alfred could hardly hear his own voice.

Arthur closed his eyes. "Matthew has lung cancer."
 

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