Alfred was smoking, looking out on the grey morning sky, and blowing out smoke, further polluting the skies, sighing softly.

He was an actor in this world, and he could never be with the one he truly loved.

It was never to be, it seemed.

He had met him on the streets, for the first time. Alfred had had on sunglasses when he saw a tourist looking around, lost. He smiled, hiding his face as he went over, asking how he could help him.

The man he would come to know as Arthur asked him where he could find a certain street, and Alfred ended up walking with him to his destination, introducing himself as Al.

Arthur had been gracious, and scurried off to do his thing, and they would encounter each other many times on the street that day, Alfred thinking it was amusing how much Arthur seemed to get lost. The tourist seemed very cute.

They ended up exchanging numbers, and Alfred walked off, over to the bus, where he would transfer to a quieter location to get to his estate in Beverly Hills.

Alfred had been so foolish, to be honest.

XXXXX

He grabbed a bottle of vodka, calling up Ivan and spending time on the phone, sobbing about his life, and the other seemed to sympathize, if only a little bit.

Alfred looked to the broken glass on the floor, sighing as he stood, drunk, and got away from the remains of his broken cell phone. He never wanted the chance to call him again, and so he had broken it.

He had spent a lot of time with Arthur, personally, the two seeming to get along great. Alfred had shown Arthur around LA, and Hollywood, and gladly revealed himself once the time came.

Arthur had seemed astonished, and accepted Alfred's invitation to his private estate.

The two had done things that Alfred had never done with someone outside the biz before, but it wasn't to last.

Not when Alfred caught Arthur taking pictures of him.

XXXXX

Alfred slept off the alcohol, his friends saying they had been rebutting Arthur's attempts to see him in the meantime.

He snorted some of the gift his friends had also left him, letting himself fall into a high.

Arthur had been taking pictures of him.

Alfred stared at him, clearly horrified, and Arthur's eyes widened, his hand freezing.

It wasn't his iPhone either. It was a professional camera. Arthur wasn't a tourist at all, was he?

He was one of the paparazzi.

Arthur yelled at him to leave, screaming and throwing pillows at him, crying and upset, Arthur unable to even tell him that he was wrong.

Arthur had left, and left Alfred's heart broken.

XXXXX

Hours later, feeling like absolute shit, he heard from his friends that pics were up, of his estate, and even some taken while he had been sleeping.

Alfred stared up at the ceiling from where he lay on the floor, shaking his head.

He turned to the broken phone, still having not been cleaned up, and in his drug induced low, Alfred thought it would be a good idea to do this.

He sliced his wrist as Ivan came in with coffee and donuts.

XXXXX

When he next woke up, Alfred was connected to a hospital bed by handcuffs.

Ah. He had tried again.

Alfred looked up to the ceiling, and Ivan woke up as he heard Alfred move. "Hello, idiot." He murmured, shaking his head.

"Yo." Alfred mumbled, and Ivan sighed, deciding not to comment.

Ivan hid the magazine that he had been reading, with the cover being Arthur's face and an apology to Alfred, begging him to let him back into his life.

Alfred smiled at him, and sighed.

It didn't matter, anyway.

This was just a game to pretend.

XXXXX

A/N: ugh, im not feelin this prompt...