Aftermath 2

―ng.
It stopped ringing.
"Oi. Hello."
"Arthur?!" Matthew nearly yelled into the phone, his heart pounding, "Ar—!"
"—You've reached the phone of I, Arthur Kirkland. I'm not here currently so you may leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as possibly. I apologize if you are calling long distance."
Matthew tossed the handset at the wall with such force that it smashed into pieces.
Rage was building up in the Canadian's body.
You can't say that they're gone!
It's impossible!
They're still here!
Wearing nothing but the shorts he'd woken in, Matthew made his way downstairs.
"Eh, Matthieu!"
Matthew froze stepping off the last stair step. He still grasped his small tin soldier in one hand. His eyes were wide and he was sure they were lying to him.
Francis stood beaming at Matthew from the main hall.
"Pa…" Matthew choked. "Papa!"
Francis spread his arms wide inviting Matthew into a hug.
Matthew closed his eyes, submitted himself, embracing the Frenchman and succumbing to his need for the warmth of another being.
But there was no warmth.
Matthew's arm fell around a large plethora of emptiness.
Opening his eyes again, Francis was not there. The only thing that lay between Matthew and his own hands was a long dress coat.
He wasn't there.
Matthew wimpered.
The coat had been hanging on their hall tree. It was Francis's coat, yes. When Matthew had seen it, it had triggered his longings. Francis often used that coat when going to dress parties, or going to bars or acting like he'd just been to a dress party…
Why isn't he here?
Matthew's body crumbled to the floor. The pain hurt too much.
He couldn't breath. His lungs had collapsed.
He couldn't cry. There were no more tears.
He lay gasping for air and comfort through his malady of agony and despair. He pulled himself close unwrapping his hand around his brother's tin soldier.
He wanted them. He wanted Alfred and Arthur.
He wanted Alfred.
He wanted Arthur.
He wanted Francis.
Where did they go?
Matthew noticed the bottle cap that lay two inches away from his soldier.
Slowly setting the soldier down, he picked up the small cap. Turning it over a few times, he studied it, reading the small inlaid writing on it. Useless, though. He didn't understand German.
It must have been G—
His head snapped up as the front door suddenly flew open.
"Mattie!"
Matthew held his breath.  He stood squinting from the light that flooded in through the door. He cautiously approached the doorway, soldier in one hand, bottle cap in the other.
Straining his eyes against the light, he peered out into nothingness.
From the nothingness, a figure approached him.
Matthew's voice cracked.
"…Gil?"