The idea behind the whole soulmate bond...thing was that no matter how far away soulmates were, they could still find one another. However, this was not because of some innate sense of where they were, but because of one's ability to appear—more often than not at random—wherever one's soulmate was, no matter the distance. So, when eleven-year-old Gilbert found himself in a heavily wooded area one day that looked like absolutely nothing he'd ever seen before, especially in the forests of his home in Germany, Gilbert realized that his life was about to change for the third time.
Glancing from left to right, Gilbert searched in vain for a boy or girl; Alpha, Beta, or Omega. As he continued his search, his desperation grew. With nothing to show for his searching, his brow furrowed, confusion becoming the predominate emotion, easily eclipsing his earlier excitement. About ready to give up, Gilbert turned and moved to walk away from the lightly forested area, fixing to walk as deeply into the forest as the soulmate bond would allow. As he stood on the edge of a clearing, Gilbert suddenly heard a low grunt, followed by a small whine. Glancing back and up, Gilbert noticed for the first time the figure of a small boy—smaller even than Gilbert's five-year-old brother—dressed in a large pair of trousers rolled up to his knees and a light blue shirt that was much too large for the small boy's frame.
As Gilbert continued to watch, the child appeared to be trying to pull himself up on a branch, his feet scrambling to find a purchase against the large tree's trunk while his hands held firm to a moldy old branch that he hung from. From his angle, Gilbert curiously studied the small tongue that peaked out between partially parted lips as the boy tried to pull himself up. He observed the show with amusement, trying hard to bite back a snicker, especially at each effort of the boy's to pull himself up by his twiggy arms. Despite his amusement, Gilbert found himself stepping forward to help as the his grip faltered, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground. After righting himself with a small whine, the boy studies the branch with a hint of determination and a look of pure defiance. Gilbert watched as he slowly began to swing himself forward again and again, gaining more momentum with each swing. After many misses and near victories, the boy finally managed to gain enough momentum that with the final swing, he was able to successfully hook his ankle against the edges of the branch, anchoring his weight on that one foot and managing to swing his other leg around, hooking the leg at the knee over the rough branch.
The child gives a victorious cry as he used his hooked knee to anchor his position so that he could swing his tenuous ankle grip over the branch, catching at the knee. He then had two firm anchors on the branch and used those to swing his body up onto the limb. With a delighted laugh, the boy perched himself atop the moldy branch, one leg dangling over the edge as he slowly dragged himself across, closing in on the tree trunk. With a self-satisfied grin, the kid turned and settled himself against the trunk, both legs dangling over the side as his hands firmly gripped the branch between his legs.
Despite the shadows that surrounded them, cast by the overcast sky and the cover of treetops, Gilbert noticed that the boy has a mop of curly hair, though he couldn't quite get the exact color, and tangled in the hair were leaves and twigs, his face darkened by both dirt and tree sap, making him look more like a mischievous forest spirit than a boy. His oversized shirt, which had taken quite a beating in the climb, sat lopsided, revealing a portion of his shoulder where Gilbert could see a small black Ω symbol.
Pleased by the younger boy's success, Gilbert began clapping, not sure if the other boy could hear or see him but wanting to throw in his support despite himself. The boy, though, certainly heard him: he gave a startled gasp and nearly took another tumble to the ground. Fortunately for both, his grip on the branch remained firm, though he still looked both extremely wary and uncomfortable by the sudden presence of another person, even another child.
After a tense silence, wherein the two continued to stare each other down, the boy's head tilted curiously to the side, causing a mess of hair to fall into his face. He impatiently shoved it out of his visage, no doubt spreading even more dirt and sap into his hair. Open curiosity replaced wariness and Gilbert allowed himself a slow advance forward until he stood beside the large tree. Gilbert carefully placed his palm against the rough trunk before looking back up at the boy. He was close enough now that he could see bloodied cuts and scrapes on the boy's swinging feet and open palms. Gilbert stared up as the boy stared down.
Finally, the smaller boy spoke,
"Hiya!" he chirped with a wave, his sap-sticky and bloodied hands more visible to Gilbert. "My name's Alfred! Who're? When did'ya get here? Where were ya hidin before? Are you real? Are you a forest spirit? Mama Ollie told me that the forests are old a-and if ya leave the ghosts alone, they'll leave you alone. Papa and Mama Essie don't believe her. Are you a nice ghost? D'ya wanna play?"
Gilbert's mind scrambled to understand the boy—Alfred's—train of thought. It was hard, both because Alfred had spoken much too fast and his accent made the words that much stranger. Glancing up, Gilbert caught Alfred's curious stare and replied with a calmer,
"Hello, my name's Gilbert."
"Ya talk funny," Alfred answered frankly and Gilbert figured that the statement was more a commentary and not an insult. Alfred's impish smile added to Gilbert's assessment. "Where're you from? I was born in Loo-Louis-Loosianna but then we moved here when I got real sick 'cause the doctor said it'd be better. your eyes are cool. Are you a ghost? 'Cause you kinda look like one. My mama said that the forests here prob'ly have ghosts 'cause it's so old and stuff but my Papa and Mama Essie say that's silly and—"
Before Alfred could finish, there was an ominous creak and groan and the branch—softened by weeks with nary a pause in the rainfall, the colder than average weather, and overall age—finally gave, sending a surprised Alfred tumbling to the ground.
The distance between the branch and the ground was, honestly, not that far: maybe two or three meters high and Gilbert could count on both hands falling from a far longer distance. But Alfred was already so small, and the branch hit the ground with such a hard thud, and Alfred didn't appear to be moving and just when Gilbert stepped forward, very worried by this point, Alfred began groaning.
Relieved, Gilbert dropped to his knees just as Alfred rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself to his elbows and then to his knees, one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. Before Gilbert could demand an answer from his new friend, Alfred began coughing: a low, guttural, gasping cough that seemed to rattle in his chest, drawn from his very bones. The coughs were strong enough that Alfred nearly doubled over, shaking with the taxing effort of coughing.
Gilbert hadn't the slightest idea what to do, but Alfred stumbled to his feet, tripping over himself as he made his way to the tree trunk. He leaned against it with one hand while the other covered his mouth as the pained sounding coughs continued.
"Alfred—" Gilbert began, worried beyond belief, though knowing absolutely nothing of what was going on. Before Gilbert could continue a loud, masculine call cut through the densely wooded area.
"Alfred!"
Both boys jumped at the sound. Gilbert watched as a tall man with blond hair pulled back in a bun stumbled through the heavy underbrush, eyes wide before softening in relief and then pinching in concern when they landed on the doubled over form of Alfred. As the man pushed forward, Gilbert fell backwards. Alfred stepped forward, still coughing, his arms outstretched to the man who then lifted Alfred into his arms with ease, hugging him against his shoulder and soothingly patting his back. Alfred gripped the material of the man's shirt tightly, face buried in his shoulder.
"It's alright," the man hummed, his accent much different than Alfred's. He began to quietly hum a tune, still rubbing Alfred's back as he alternated between hopping lightly and swaying. Eventually the coughing teetered out, leaving silence in its wake. In the silence, a shudder ran up Alfred's spine. In response, the man began rubbing Alfred's back, still swaying.
A moment passed and Gilbert stood at the edge of the odd display, watching the interaction with a wistful gaze.
Eventually, the man stopped bouncing, stopped patting Alfred's back and slowly made to pull Alfred away, earning a small whimper as the boy clutched the man's shirt, burying himself as deeply as possible into the man's shoulder.
The man gave up the notion of removing Alfred from his person and settled with 'tsk'ing. "Honestly, Alfred," the man muttered softly, a sigh escaping as he turned and nuzzled Alfred's hair. "Mon Dieu, mon fils, what were you thinking, coming out here? It is far too cold for you to be out here, especially as you are still recovering."
"The rain finally stopped, Papa!" Alfred argued weakly, clutching his father closer, face still buried against his Father so that the already weak rebuff was muffled. Alfred shuddered and his father sighed, hugging him closer. The two turned and began walking away, back to the tree line of the clearing. Gilbert hesitated, not sure if he should stay put or follow, before finally decided on staying put. As the two disappeared into the woodlands, the shattered pieces of the fallen branch scattered underfoot.
Gilbert blinked…
…and suddenly he found himself in the center of his room, the familiar knickknacks and toys scattered all over the floor.
That was the first time Gilbert had met his youngest soulmate.
The second time he met Alfred, Gilbert was not alone: standing next to Gilbert was another fifteen-year-old, one Gilbert knew well: bright green eyes, thick eyebrows with familiar piercings, and a perpetually unamused scowl. His torn and abused shirt revealed a large, black A along his shoulder, much like Gilbert's.
The boy's green eyes were blazing, fury evident on his face, his hands clenched tightly into fists. Gilbert could sympathize because he could feel his own fury kindling in his chest, growing larger and larger until he felt a sharp pain in his palms. When he chanced a look at his clenched fists, he saw bright red half-moons from his nails staring back at him.
He couldn't speak for Arthur, but Gilbert's fury had sprung from a fight that had been more or less ongoing since the day Gilbert's scent had settled: 'find a good mate,' his father would always snap, her blue eyes blazing. 'Find a good mate, get a good job, do something useful with your life and for the love of God stop acting like the world owes you something.' The same fight, again and again, until the only common thread is the implicit message of, 'why are you such lazy child? Such wasted potential!'
Gilbert huffed, clenching his jaw and wanting to throw a punch. He lifted his gaze, studying Arthur, wondering if he could get away with it, when he heard a delighted squeal, drawing both males out of their own boiling fury. They turned their gaze and took in the sight of a completely foreign room, much smaller than either of their rooms back home. The room was painted a light blue, the floor crowded with books and toys, clothes piled neatly in a corner, and board games strewn about. Outside, the two watched as a streak of lightning danced across the black sky, followed seconds later by a slow peal of thunder.
Seated on the bed, positioned on the far side of the room, sat three figures—one small figure and two very small figures. Gilbert recognized Alfred immediately, noting the slight differences in appearance from when he had last seen him: his hair was a smidge longer, curls a fair bit lighter. He looked a little taller, and, most importantly, he was holding court to two small humans that neither had ever seen before. Alfred sat with one leg curled under him, the other dangling over the edge, flat against the carpeted floor; the two smaller ones—a little girl with curly dark brown hair, light brown skin, and large brown eyes sat cross-legged, whereas her neighbor—another small boy that looked like that seven year-old Alfred that Gilbert had seen, but with lighter colored hair and large dark blue, almost purple eyes- sat on his knees, leaning forward on his knuckles and studying Alfred's hands with rapt attention.
"What's going on?" Arthur demanded, directing his question to Alfred who didn't even look up at the sound. Arthur tried again, "Oi! Can you hear me? Why are we here? What are you playing with?" Alfred still wouldn't looked up. Arthur threw his arms up in exasperation. "You ask him, then," he grumbled, directing his statement at Gilbert as he stomped forward to the edge of the bed and flopped down with his back against said bed, arms crossed and resting against his drawn-up knees.
Gilbert cleared his throat, "Err… Alfred?" There was no response, even as Arthur leaned his head against Alfred's dangling leg. Gilbert tried again, a little louder, "Alfred!"
There was still no response to Gilbert's call, so said boy sighed and followed Arthur's lead. However, instead of leaning against the bed, Gilbert decided to crawl onto the bed and lean his back against Alfred's, disappointed when he felt nothing but the cool brush of air.
Suddenly, Gilbert heard a high-pitched squeal, one oh-so delighted that caused Arthur to turn and lean forward to see what elicited the noise and Gilbert to crane his neck so that he could see over Alfred's shoulder.
To their mutual amusement, both spotted the colorful squares of a cube, cradled in the palm of Alfred's hand as he continued to twist and spin the Rubik's Cube. The delighted squeal had apparently been drawn when Alfred had almost perfectly matched each side with the right color. After another moment, the colors finally all matched up and Alfred cradled the Cube in one hand as he showed the two children his achievement. The little boy leaned forward, his hands resting against Alfred's thigh, his dark blue eyes amazed.
"Wow, Alfred!" The little boy gasped as the little girl studied the Cube with wide-eyed wonder. Gilbert noted that the boy's voice was much more subdued than Alfred's had been at that age, though his excitement was still evident. "How'd you do that? That was so cool!"
Alfred grinned as he shrugged, still fidgeting with the Cube, "It's all a learned skill, Mattie," Alfred told them, his voice a little deeper than when Gilbert had last heard it, though still high. "I can teach you'an Lana the trick as soon as I master it'n stuff," Alfred drawled with a delighted grin as he began scrambling the colored tiles again. Mattie and Lana leaned in more, watching the show with rapt attention. Arthur and Gilbert also found themselves leaning in closer as well, trying to get a good view of the mechanics of the game.
"That's really cool," Arthur commented after a while, though Alfred didn't look up to this either. Arthur huffed and turned to scowl at Gilbert. "Can he not hear us? The hell is going on? He shoulda at least made some reaction 'stead of sittin there like a plonker when we called."
"He could hear me the last time I saw him," Gilbert commented as yet another squeal of delight sprang from both Mattie and Lana. "He talked to me and everything."
"Same here," Arthur replied as he twisted his body so that he could lean an arm against the edge of the bed and then cushion his chin on said arm. "What happened the last time ya saw him?"
"He was climbing a tree and then he started coughing…" Gilbert grimaced as soon as the memory came to the forefront. "Said he'd been really sick, so he and his family had to move."
"Good," Arthur muttered as he watched the game unfold in front of him. This time Alfred had managed to match all the colored tiles in less time than before, earning him even more delighted shouts from the two visible occupants. "Last time I saw him… well, let's just say that anything woulda been an improvement."
"Care to elaborate?"
"Not really, no."
Annoyed by the response, Gilbert returned his attention to the game at hand and the two continued to watch the show for an unknown amount of time. There was something indescribably comforting in watching as the tiles fell into place, the slow click of the Cube with each turn, and then the delighted cries of Alfred's younger… siblings, perhaps? Eventually the little girl, Lana, snatched the Cube out of Alfred's hands and began trying to spin it herself. The four spectators watched with growing amusement as she continuously spun and spun each side. Eventually, she managed to match the tiles almost perfectly… except for one color. She huffed out a frustrated sigh and pouted up at Alfred.
"It's broken," she declared as she all but shoved the Cube under Alfred's nose. "Fix it."
Alfred, who had his elbow balanced on his knee and was resting his cheek against the palm of his hand, didn't reach for the Cube, didn't even blink. "There's a word I think you're lookin for," Alfred drawled, an amused smirk lighting his face. "Any idea what it might be?"
Arthur, Gilbert, and Mattie watched, the former two in amusement the latter in confusion, as Lana and Alfred stared one another down in a silent battle of wills. Finally, though, after a moment, Lana dropped her gaze, ducked her head and stretched out her arms, both of her small hands cradling the Cube. She looked at Alfred from beneath her dark fringe, pout visible. "Please fix it, Alfred," she asked in a far nicer tone.
Alfred stared at the Cube in silent contemplation a moment longer, not moving an inch as his gaze danced from Lana, to the Cube, to Mattie, his lips slowly working their way into a softer smile. Finally, he gently took the Cube from Lana's hand and leaned forward, resting both forearms on his thighs. The four watched as he once again matched all the colored tiles, earning a delighted 'yeah!' from Mattie and a look of complete focus from Lana.
After Alfred managed to realign the colors, he grinned down at his younger siblings and asked, "Want me to teach y'all how it's done?"
Simultaneous cries of 'yes!' filled the air and both Arthur and Gilbert leaned forward, watching the display with interest. Alfred spent a good portion of the next hour showing them and explaining the fastest and most efficient way to solve the Rubik's Cube. Another half hour was dedicated to allowing Mattie and Lana to try out the Cube for themselves. Lana, with steely determination, solved it first with a victorious cry that reminded Gilbert of when he'd first seen Alfred climbing that tree years ago. Mattie solved it not too long after, though his reaction was far more subdued, ducking his head with a self-satisfied smile and blush as Alfred praised him.
Lana had snatched the completed Cube out of Mattie's hand and had begun to scramble it again when the bedroom door opened, revealing a woman with deeply tanned skin, rich dark brown hair tied into a high though lopsided bun, and smiling golden-brown eyes. Her loose shirt revealed an intricate black β along her collar bone. The woman spots the three children on the bed and her expression brightened, revealing deeply ingrained laugh lines along the edges of her eyes. She opened the door wider and waved her hands, indicating that the children should come with her.
"Come along, hijos," she said, her accent soothing, urging the children slowly out of the bed. The pace picked up almost immediately as a loud clap of thunder echoed through the air, causing the two small children to dash to their mother while Alfred most certainly picked up his pace. "Papa has dinner ready for us!"
"Did papa make his macaroons?" Lana demanded, grabbing her mother's hands and bouncing up and down at her side. On the other side, Mattie stood silently, clutching his mother's arm and tugging it insistently while the woman glanced up to grin gratefully at Alfred.
"Thank you," she said earnestly as Lana continued to bounce at her side and Mattie continued to tug on her arm. "While I help them wash their hands, would you mind helping your father set the table? Mama Ollie's on her way in from the hospital and will be here shortly."
"Sure," Alfred said, making his way to the door with his hands buried in the material of his pants. "Papa downstairs?" Alfred was already out the door as their mother answered.
"Mmh? Oh, yes. Yes, si. Papa's downstairs, Matthew, carino, please stop pulling on my arm and yes, Lana, Papa made some strawberry macaroons. Alfred, bebé, wash your hands before you do anything."
"I'll do it in the kitchen," Alfred's voice called faintly from the hallway. Gilbert and Arthur watched as Mattie and Lana were led out of the room, the door closing shut behind them with nary a thud.
The two, still leaning on and against the bed, studied the room which seemed suddenly much smaller. Arthur leaned back against the bed while Gilbert leaned back against the wall on the far side of the bed. Before either could comment, Gilbert closed his eyes and then opened them, revealing the beige, professionally painted walls and immaculately cleaned clean space of his room.
Gilbert, who's bed was not positioned like Alfred's had been, who's bed was, in fact, in the center of his room far away from any walls to lean on, fell to the floor with a loud 'thud'. Gilbert groaned as a sharp pain danced up his back. He rubbed his head, deciding the stay on the floor for a moment longer.
"What happened?" A small, quiet voice asked from the doorway. Gilbert tilted his head in the direction of the door and spotted his younger brother leaning warily across the threshold, as though questioning whether he had permission to cross into the room.
"My shirt fell off the bed," Gilbert grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head and dragged himself to his feet. Ludwig's looked completely perplexed as his head fell curiously to the side.
"That sounded a little louder than a shirt."
"Yeah, well, I was in it, so that might've had something to do with it."
Gilbert began patting his trousers, attempting to get whatever dirt might have been on it to fall off. His anger from earlier had dimmed and he felt much calmer. In the background, he could hear the almost muted anthems of the Scorpions. Gilbert reached for the remote at on his side table and pressed pause, silencing the music. He studied Ludwig, standing barely inside the threshold and shifting from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. An image of Alfred painstakingly teaching his younger sibling's how to solve a puzzle, combined with other memories of Gilbert and Ludwig playing football, had Gilbert crouching at the side of his bed, pushing past clothes and old pairs of shoes that had been unceremoniously shoved beneath to hide them from his father's scorn, and grabbing an old football.
He pulled the ball out from beneath the bed and held it out to Ludwig, bouncing it with his knee and then holding it between his hands with a grin.
Ludwig's look of consternation faded, replaced with a small grin as he stepped farther into the room, snatching the ball out of his hands.
Gilbert laughed and ruffled Ludwig's hair, earning an irritated look from the little smart-ass at his side.
The two played football well into the night, until their father appeared and ordered them inside for bedtime.
The next time the two met their soulmate they were with the fourth member of their quartet, an exhausted looking boy straight from business center of Beijing. At 21, Yao Wang—or Wang Yao, depending on country and culture—had accompanied the two now 19-year-olds, both in torn trousers, large boots, and holey shirts bearing names of punk bands from their respective countries. Arthur's hair was now a spiked green mess, piercings still visible, and Gilbert had made no changes, save for spiking his white hair, dying the tips red, and earning as many piercings as Arthur.
Yao, dressed to the nines in his well-worn, expensive looking pajamas eyed the two with wry amusement, though the exhaustion he felt was visible by the dark circles under his eyes.
Arthur nodded at him, hands on his hips. "How ya doin?"
Yao snorted but yawned, attempting to cover the yawn with a hand. "University's a blast, as are orchestra practices."
"When do you sleep?"
Yao groaned and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, revealing a thick A on the tip of his shoulder. "Sleep? What is that? Is that, like, a dragon?"
Gilbert snickered, "thereabout, yeah."
They all shared a grin before allowing themselves to glance around the setting, trying to regain their bearings. From what they could tell they were in a hallway, surrounded on both sides with large brick walls the color of off-white beige and graying, smudged metallic lockers. A faded black clock was connected to one of the walls above the lockers, and the tiled floor beneath them was made up of scratched and smudged tiles with an errant pattern of a sickly red color and dirty white interspaced to form an unimpressive display.
The three of them continued their search, all looking absently-mindedly horrified.
"Is—are we in a prison?" Arthur demanded as his gaze fell upon a plain bulletin board, plastered with torn bits of paper.
Gilbert was perplexed. "Why would we be in a prison? Better yet, why would Alfred be in a prison? He was always so…" Gilbert's comment trailed off as he remembered both times he had met his soulmate: the first being a picture of a sweet boy with a wide, dimpled smile; the other being a picture of an older brother, patiently teaching his younger siblings a complicated puzzle. Arthur appeared to be in the same frame of mind while glancing around, a frown marring his expression. Yao was the only one eyeing them with open amusement before speaking,
"The first time I saw him, he was in a classroom with other young children. He'd been placed in a large blue…bin? Is that the right word? Eh, either way, he'd been placed in a large blue container. He was small enough that he could sit with ease inside the container. Anyways, he hadn't seen me, but he had this look on his face…" Yao snorted, flashing them an amused half-smile. "He started pushing and pulling on the edges of the container, making it steadily begin to move. The teacher, an old woman who looked as though she had seen better days—a Beta, no doubt—was too focused on the other children to see Alfred slip through the door, still in the container. I followed Alfred, of course, and watched as this skinny 7-year-old made it through the front gate of the stone building, across a plot of cars, and nearly to the edge of the schoolyard when the container was hit by a slow-moving car. The container fell over, with Alfred inside with nary a scratch on him. The teacher and the person whom I assume was the principle all hurried out, yelling non-stop. Both teachers began yelling at Alfred, the driver was near inconsolable, and Alfred just watched all parties with the wide-eyed glance of a child who had no idea what they'd done wrong. You know what the little shit said, when they'd finished yelling at him? He said, 'but I stayed in the bucket!'"
Gilbert and Arthur snorted out a laugh, especially when Yao's grin widened at their amusement. "Never mistake an Omega for being weak: they're canny and single-minded when they've set their mind to doing something. Submissive? At times, given their nature. Weak willed?" Yao snorted and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. "Hardly."
Before either Gilbert or Arthur could respond, a shrill whistle pierced the air, making all three wince, Yao especially. A second passed before there was a small hum that slowly crescendoed into a low roar as students filtered out of their classrooms in waves. The first things Gilbert noted was that none of them wore uniforms: as students crowded around the three outsiders, an array of colors flashed around them—a girl rushed by in a polka-dotted skirt, while a couple stumbled by, one in a bright green hoodie, another in a striped sweater, both laughing at some unheard joke.
"They're not in uniforms…" Gilbert muttered before casting Arthur an amused look. "Looks like you were wrong: this isn't a prison, just an American school."
Arthur snorted. "Remind me again the difference?"
Before any of them could answer, there came a low shout followed by a loud thud. Around the three spectators, the students turned to catch sight of the noise, some students stopping in their tracks altogether while others continued walking, as though getting in the middle of anything was too much of a distraction for them. Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao shared a look and began walking towards the sound, only to get to the edge of a small gathering of students. As they pushed their way to the front, they heard various sounds from students: from shouts to stop fighting, to students shouting to egg the fight on, to students taking bets.
The three made it to the front just as they saw a slight figure in a black hoodie that had a white skeleton with a top hat and a cane with the phrase 'Bone-jour' painted across the front slammed into one of the lockers, causing the hood of the sweater to fall, revealing curly, golden blond hair. The three watched as a much larger male slammed Alfred against one of the lockers again, shoving a forearm against his throat before grabbing Alfred's own arm and practically throwing him against the other end of the narrow corridor.
Alfred landed on the ground on his back, pushed himself to his elbow and wiping a stray droplet of blood from his lower lip. Gilbert stepped forward, furious, while both Arthur and Yao watch the large male with poison in their gazes, their fists tightly clenched.
The three spectators watched Alfred study the approaching student, still on his elbows, stunned as Alfred allowed himself a mischievous smile (exacerbating his already bleeding lip), his blue eyes dancing darkly as he shoved himself to his feet, grinning the entire time at the now livid student.
"You know," Alfred drawled, his accent somehow managing to make the entire showdown even more distantly comical. "For all your talk on kickin my ass, you're doin an shit job at it."
"For a fucking breeder, you're a little low on the food chain to be mouthin off to an Alpha, Jones," the Alpha snarled as he shoved Alfred none-too-gently against the brick wall behind him. Alfred's eyes widened in mock astonishment.
"'Alpha'?" He demands, grinning a shit-eating grin at the fuming male. "Is that your excuse? Damn. The standards for Alphas must've dropped. Last time I checked it didn't take an Alpha with backup to fight a… what'd you call me? Breeder?"
The Alpha snarled, shoving Alfred hard to the side and leaving him, yet again, on his back, pushing himself to his elbows. Again, Alfred rose to his feet, hands buried in his pockets, "Is that the best you can do? Really? That's sad, 'specially when you were talkin so much shit earlier in class."
The Alpha released another particularly loud snarl, one that threatened violence to anyone opposing him, and lunged forward, grabbing a handful of Alfred's hoodie at the neck just as another student stepped forward into the fight—an African-American boy wearing a royal purple hoodie with elegant golden script that read 'They see me Roman,' with the picture of a golden chariot with a golden figure inside, wearing a plumed helmet, a glowing sun set against the backdrop. The boy lunged forward, obviously trying to get between Alfred and the Alpha, when a loud voice pierced the mayhem.
"Jones! Baylie! That is enough!" The crowd quickly dispersed for class as a tall, middle-aged Spanish man stepped forward with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. Soon, standing alone in the hallway, were two boys in a very precarious situation—wherein punches looked like they were close in coming—another boy clutching a handful of hoodie at Alfred's shoulder ready to pull him away from the fight, and three unseen spectators, all glaring daggers at the large Alpha while Alfred stood there, bleeding at his lip and chest heaving.
The entire situation looked far too suspicious so it really was a stupid question when the teacher asked, sounding like he knew what was coming, "What are y'all three doin?"
The three students stared at the scowling teacher, none of them answering. Finally, though, Alfred spoke up, "We're… studying Newton's third law of motion."
The teacher looked so fucking done. "Which is…"
"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."
The teacher sighed, removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose while squeezing his eyes shut. Finally, he replaced his glasses on his nose, sighed deeply, and turned to glare at the three—Alfred, who'd been released, the purple hoodie boy who had a tight grip on Alfred's shoulder, and the Alpha who looked sour about the entire thing.
"Here's what we're gonna do: Baylie, if I ever see ya fightin an Omega, you will answer to me and the principle of this school and your privileges of joining a sport's team and fieldtrips will be revoked for the rest of your time here; Jones, if I ever catch you fightin again, I will revoke your membership to both sports teams and the science club, as well as banning you from going on fieldtrips; and Washington…" The teacher's voice trailed off and he threw his hands in the air, directing his words at the attempted peacekeeper. "What are you even doing here?"
The kid shrugged, his hand still on Alfred shoulder, "My friend was in trouble. I wanted to help. End of story."
The teacher sighed and shook his head as the bell overhead rang the same shrill, screeching noise. "Dismissed," the teacher ordered flatly as the three slowly began shifting. "Baylie, get to class. Washington, take Jones to nurse Hart and get that lip looked at."
When none of them moved, the teacher turned to glare at them, "that wasn't a suggestion. Now."
'Baylie' shot one last glare at Alfred before grabbing his bag and stalking past where Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao were, each wanting to trip the lad, but none of them able to. The teacher walked off, muttering something about students and hormones and Alfred cast his friend an impish smile, shrugging the shoulder still tightly in the grip of said boy. 'Washington' sighed and shoved Alfred forward, reaching for both of their bags to swing over his shoulder. Alfred wiped another droplet of blood from his lip. He then grinned at his friend.
"That was fun, right Davie?"
"I hate you," Davie responded, his voice flat, an eyebrow raised. "Really? Of all the people you had to start a fight with—"
"Oh, give me a break," Alfred grumbled, snatching his own bag and throwing it over his shoulder. "That asshole was asking for me to reassemble his face for him."
"Explicitly?"
"… more of a 'between the lines' type deal."
Now Davie snorted. "Yeah, well, unfortunately, that shit don't fly in the real world."
"Really? 'Cause 'reassemble my face' is all I hear when our dear old president opens his mouth."
"Focus, Alfred. Focus."
The two were on the other side of the hallway, banking left, trailed by three invisible soulmates. After taking a flight of stairs and then banking another left, Alfred spoke.
"He was talkin shit about Omegas."
Davie snorted, "and in other news, the sky is blue."
Alfred snorted and rolled his eyes, brushing off some blood from his lip, "Fair. But, Jesus Christ, he's just… Ugh! If I was in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and him and had a gun with only two bullets, I'd shoot Hitler and Stalin and then fucking brain that asshole."
"Well, on the bright side your priorities are in order."
The two continued walking, chatting easily about classes and the like until they made it to a door that read 'Faculty Offices.' The two entered, and though the three spectators tried to follow, they couldn't: when Gilbert attempted to step through the doors, he found himself shoving an indignant Arthur out of the way as he walked over the threshold to their dirty old flat, the kitchen filled with Thai food from the night before.
The two shared a look, shook their heads, and huffed. Arthur ran a hand through his hair and made for his notebook, while Gilbert made for the leftover Thai to see if there were any remnants left.