"Canada. May 5th, 2017. I was so close. So, so close. I almost succeeded..."

Matthew's heart sank. Bringing his hands under the table, he anxiously started to scratch at his skin, first on his hands then down to his wrists. He could feel the small bumps of previous months. His memories. And then he felt the big one -- a single neat line straight down his arm, not even a month old. That one would stay with him for a long time. Tracing over the fresh scar on his right arm, he refused to make eye contact with anyone.

"That makes the total four, you know. I was ready this time. I was so desperate to leave and not come back and I was almost there! If it weren't for Arthur, I wouldn't be here writing this."

Alfred paused. "You... You knew?" he said accusingly at Arthur.

"Yes, I did." England responded distantly. He glanced at Matthew and then at the table. "Just keep reading, Alfred."

"How come you never said-"

"Francis, not now. Please. Just listen..."

"I haven't thanked him. How can I? It's not what I wanted so I have no reason to be grateful. He hasn't told anyone on my request but I'm worried he will, and that's the last thing I need. I don't want to be mothered. I'm not a kid."

No one said anything. Arthur certainly felt bad that he'd not told anyone, but he had been keeping a promise. So many times, he'd wanted to tell someone, but he didn't. Instead, he'd stayed with Matthew until he was sure the Canadian was truly alright. He spent a week there before he had to get back to England. Matthew didn't mind. Arthur did.

"I haven't told anyone but you my deepest feelings and I want to keep it that way. I don't want to hurt anyone... Even if they hurt me, I could never hurt them... I want them to know why I do this to myself but I can't tell them, because it will break them."

"I-I'm sorry... I j-just need to... U-Uh..."

Matthew rose from his seat and without looking at anyone, he raced out of the room, the doors noisily closing behind him. Alfred stood to go after his brother but he was stopped.

"He'll be fine." Arthur said. "The sooner this all comes out, the better. You can have it out with him afterwards."

"I'm not angry-"

"Don't give me that rubbish. Who wouldn't be?" Arthur interrupted. "I'm amazed you haven't bitten my head of yet, let alone Matthew's. We don't know what we're doing wrong, we don't know know how long he's been doing it for. The only thing we can do is listen and work from there." he said, quietening. "Take it from someone who's been in a similar position to your brother..."

Alfred sat back down with a sigh and stared back at the page. He couldn't believe Matthew hadn't said anything. Four times he'd tried to do something to himself. Four times, and Alfred hadn't noticed. What kind of brother was he if he couldn't even tell something was wrong? He continued to read.

"It's been a week since that day. It was so peaceful. There was barely any noise but birds, and that all slowly faded into nothing. I was happy... And almost two days later, I woke up from my dream and I was alive. I hated it. Remind me to do it on another continent next time, won't you? Somewhere they won't find me so easily..."

No one said a word. They couldn't. Matthew had always been such a quiet person, often overlooked because of his timidity. They didn't see it as a bad quality, but then, they'd never thought that maybe his silence was not without reason. When Gilbert had initially read the entry while putting the journal together on Peter's behalf, he'd genuinely cried, because he didn't know what Matthew had been doing or how he'd been feeling and he felt terrible. Not many people knew it, but the duo had been seeing each other. Needless to say that Gilbert felt betrayed and unimportant, and he was yet to find out just what had pushed Matthew so far. Peter had read the entry too after seeing Gilbert in such a state. He'd finished it and immediately sought to comfort his friend, who was grateful but still hurting. Even now...

In the conference room, people were trying to work out in their heads what had gone wrong for a nation so young to be pushed to such an extreme. Arthur had only had an inkling of what was going through Matthew's mind prior to his latest suicide attempt, and it was luck that he'd decided to check up on the Canadian when he did. Staying quiet was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. With not nearly as much speed as Matthew had, Arthur pushed back his chair and walked away from the table, heading towards the door. As he began to push it open under the watchful eyes of every other nations present, one of them finally spoke.

"How come you found him, Angleterre?"

"Yeah... I-I'm grateful, but... Why were you at Matthew's house?" Alfred added.

Arthur stopped and held the door open. He looked back at everyone in the room and he could feel a steady anger building up. Were they all really that stupid?

"Well?"

'It's no wonder the kid has been feeling he way he has... No one understands what it feels like to be alone...'

"Angleterre? Are you listen-"

"Bloody hell, since you're all so fucking oblivious to what he's going through, let me say just one thing... That, unlike the rest of you assholes, I wasn't ignoring him!" he scorned, glaring around the room. While he knew that everyone was at fault when it came to forgetting about Matthew, he was sure more was at play. If the entry didn't explain it, then Matthew would. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to continue doing that, and without anyone interrupting me."

The door clicked shut as Arthur exited the room, leaving a persistent and shameful silence in his wake. Alfred felt even worse, even more so than only minutes before. He was coming to realise that ever since he'd emerged as a world superpower, he'd been acknowledging his brother less and less. Had it really taken the extremity of Matthew's entry for him to realise that? To realise how badly he had treated his own brother?

'I really am the villain...'

"France and America," Ludwig said out of the blue, "you are excused if you find it necessary. I think all of us here can at least try to understand."

"Merci, Germany." Francis responded, leaving his seat and then the room in a hurry that he didn't try to hide.

China turned to America. "Do you want to go too? He is your brother after all."

"Y-Yeah... I suppose so..."

Like a lost soul, Alfred rose from his seat and left the room with a snailish speed that had the others question just how badly he was taking the news. The door shut softly once more and the remaining seven nations weren't sure what to do with themselves. After a moment of awkward silence, Germany cleared his throat and retrieved the journal from across the table, flicking it to the next page.

"Are you seriously going to keep this up?" Romano said. "How many more of us are you going to have flee this room because their personal shit is being invaded and fucked with?! How insensitive can you be?!"

"Fratello, you have to understand that this is for the be-"

"For the best?! Are you fucking kidding me, Veneziano?!"

"No, you're not listening to me-!"

"Why the hell should I? Potato-Bastard will just continue to read whether I'm here or not." he responded curtly, looking at Ludwig.

"If this about your brother and me-"

"Of course it's not! It's so much bigger than you, you stupid piece of crap! Not that you'll ever recognise that, because you're so goddamn thick that you haven't thought to question who the hell has been rummaging through our personal documents to collect all of this information!" Lovino yelled.

His throat was dry and sore from shouting, but he daren't let it show. He was sick of being stuck there, listening to what was never meant to be shared, and he was ready to take that journal and burn it to cinders. He wanted to watch it burn. Lovino wanted to just watch the flames engulf and disintegrate the words that should never have existed. As he was about to demand the custody of the book, the doors into the room opened again and three blondes walked back into the room. First Francis, then Arthur, then Matthew. The first and the last sat down, and the second requested the journal from Germany, who handed it over without question.

With a sigh, Romano sat down. "Great..." he muttered under his breath.

"Where is Amerika?" Ivan questioned. "Was he not with you?"

Arthur's phone buzzed as Russia asked the question. Pulling the device from his pocket, Arthur read the new message which just so happened to be from the absent American.

"He wasn't with us, no, but he's just texted me to say he won't be back for a while. Apparently he needed a break..." Arthur reported.

"Don't we all?" China mumbled.

"Would you like me to read one next, Arthur?"

England turned to look at Canada. He'd evidently calmed down and was trying to forget what had happened. Figuring that maybe it was the best way to put his mind off it all, Arthur agreed and passed the book to Matthew before sitting down in between him and Francis.

"Alright," Matthew began, quickly rubbing his cheek, "this next one is about England, funnily enough."

"Oh bugger..."

"England. It's unclear how many people know this, but his inability to cook anything to a high standard isn't because he's a terrible chef. He has ageusia. He can't taste anything at all."

"Bugger me, indeed..."

"Well that explains a lot..." Francis remarked.

"Oh, so is that why those pancakes you made last year were a bit... anaemic?" Matthew meekly asked, trying not to sound too offensive.

"Hmm, I suppose so..." Arthur replied. "But I don't recall ever telling anyone that..."

"Did you write it down? Maybe they just shortened an entry and made it an observation?" Mathew suggested.

"Maybe..." Arthur said. He wasn't convinced in the slightest, but it wasn't like he could magically check who had found that out about him. He wasn't that skilled in magic just yet.

"I can always help you, England!" Feliciano offered from across the table. "Cooking lessons may not help with your algae-"

"Ageusia..." Ludwig sighed.

"-but I can at least teach you some really good recipes!" the Italian finished.

"Mon ami, he will blow up your kitchen." Francis joked. "Maybe you should give him lessons in a controlled, explosion-resistant area."

"Wanker..."