((ooOOhhHHH I WoNDeR WHaT THISSSsS Is A sEqUEl TOooooo!))

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(Feels ahead.)

Sweet. Caring. Innocent. Adorable. Intelligent. Sarcastic. Gorgeous blond hair. Big purple eyes. Circular, black-frame glasses, with the middle bent a bit from a hockey accident. Pale skin. Sexy. Slim body with curves. As tall as I am. Cute as fuck when he smiles happily. Sexy as fuck when he smirks knowingly.
These notes, and so many more covered the house, to the point where the wallpaper was nonexistent.
Alfred didn't care how selfish or sad he was. He didn't want to forget Mattie like the others-- no.
He couldn't forget Mattie like the others.
He wrote down every trait he remembered, and put them up in the walls. He also wanted to put up pictures, but Matthew's entire existence was erased, and pictures count. Sometimes he would write in different colored marker, buy differently colored sticky notes, trying to cheer himself up.
It didn't work.
He didn't want to see help from the other countries with his grief. They didn't remember who Matthew even was. He never liked them anyway.
With Matthew gone, the United States of America had become pathetic.
One day, a tornado hit, out of nowhere. Alfred had half the mind to stay there. He had nothing to live for anyway. But Matthew had gotten trapped in a time vortex; he wasn't in heaven. He still wouldn't get to see him.
So for the first time in several months, he walked out of his house, not having time to grab anything, and hopped into his truck, and drove away.
--
When Alfred came back, his house was in shambles. Everything was broken, nothing made it, but Alfred was unable to care. But as he walked through the house, or what was left of it, a gust blew.
And a sticky note flew by.
Then another.
And then, there was a whole storm.
And Alfred tried to read the words, just to realize they were blank.
He grabbed a yellow note and looked at it. Nothing. Blank.
He then heard a whimper, and he turned quickly, walking towards it, he turned past a wall of rubble and froze.
He wasn't sure how the mattress survived, and he wasn't sure how this even happened.
But no way in hell was he questioning it.
He ran over to Matthew, curled up on his tattered mattress, with all of Alfred's words scrawled on him.
Alfred picked him up and held him close, and Alfred sobbed, feeling Mattie's arms wrap around him.
"What's wrong?"He said hoarsely, and Alfred smiled, and said,
"I love you more than a brother."

"... I love you too, Alfie."