CHAPTER 1

A/N – Hello again, my dears! What do you know, I'm back with yet ANOTHER of this creepy stuff I've been producing lately. Oh, and just for conversation's sake, I must warn you it's the scariest yet. Alfred is a singer (again… pfft…) and yes, as you will quickly come to realise, our favorite Englishman is slightly delusional for the best part of this story. Also, Arthur needed another brother in this one, so I chose Scotland (whose accent I wholeheartedly hope I did not screw completely… if I did I humbly apologise).

Allistor Kirkland - Scotland

'My name is Arthur Kirkland and, before any of the below events had come to pass, like probably a lot of people in this world, I hated myself, my life and pretty much everything related, for a wide variety of reasons.'

From his window Arthur could see his older half-brother Allistor slamming the door of his car and stomping angrily into the building. It was clear as daylight that the tall redhead was having one of 'those days' , so the blond rushed to the front door of their small apartment and opened it while the other still unsuccessfully searched for the keys in his pockets, letting out a harsh string of curses in the process.

"Good to see ye're still alive!" he grumbled humorlessly, storming inside while muttering some more swears.

"And I'm glad to see you're in a good mood again, brother dear," the green-eyed youth replied meekly, with a wry smile, while ceremoniously standing aside, out of the other's path.

The weary-looking Scot ran a large hand through his unruly hair, dropping his keys on the table. "Have ye ever had the feel that ye're wasting yerself? Me job's a pain, me boyfriend's a bloody bastard!" he burst out. "Hell, man, everyone around me's a bloody bastard!"

"Those present included, I suppose?" Arthur grumbled, closing the door and waiting patiently for the storm to pass. Yes, definitely one of those days and sadly there wasn't any whiskey left to improve his older brother's mood, not that it was ever exceedingly bright.

"And what the blasted hell have you been doing, laddie, besides not answering the bloody phone? Gone deaf or somethin', have ye?"

The blond sighed. Allistor looked fairly scary on a good day and anyone else would have panicked at the shouted words, but he really just had a big, loud (and quite filthy) mouth. "I just came back from work and rested for a while with my headphones on. I had no idea the world was ending or such, brother dear…"

The tall Scot scurried to the kitchen and nearly ripped the refrigerator door open, rolling his eyes. "And here I'd hoped ye were actually doin' somethin' with yer life, anythin' that's not job related. Maybe get focked or somethin'?"

The Englishman said nothing, quietly assessing the damage he'd have to clean up after when Allistor was eventually done with ransacking the fridge in search of a bottle he'd emptied two days before and hadn't bothered to resupply. He only paused for a second, throwing his younger brother a thoughtful glance, a thick red eyebrow quirking questioningly.

"Not in the mood, aye? Bit of a bad sign, ye know?" He straightened his back and closed the door, ignoring the sound of something crashing inside as he did. "Well, been having a bad day, so I'll just change and go out for a bit. Need to clear me head, yeah? Could ye order Chinese while I'm out?"

"Sure…"

The blond blinked tiredly, feeling drained after yet another tedious day at work, flinching as he heard several drawers and wardrobe doors being slammed violently before his stormy brother emerged wearing a casual shirt and a pair of jeans instead of his charcoal work suit and tie. At least now he looked slightly less threatening. Less like a professional bodyguard with military background.

"I'll be going now, see to dinner, aye?"

"Have fun, brother dear!" No, Allistor wasn't going anywhere 'to clear his head', but if anything to get it even more cloudy. "Don't get too wasted…" the younger grumbled, starting back towards his own room. At least his evening would be quiet. For the most part, anyway.

"What did ye say?!"

"Nothing…" Arthur backed off, raising his hands in surrender.

"Watch it! I'm older than ye!" the Scot growled on his way out.

As soon as he was out the door, Arthur sighed in relief and walked back to his small desk, plopping lazily on the seat. Slowly, he took out the piece of paper he'd hidden in a hurry upon seeing his brother, sinking the pen in the bottle of ink.

Dear Alfred…

The blond watched the red letters neatly written onto the white paper before him, chewing the end of the pen. Why the hell was he doing this again? Why the bloody hell did he feel compelled to do it, like it were a matter of life and death? Nevertheless…

Dear Alfred,

I can't do this. I absolutely cannot write some stupid letter to you declaring my total and most sincere devotion, so that you just throw it together with the other ten thousand million whatever stupid letters you already got from other people who are totally and utterly obsessed with you. I'm very much afraid that the best thing I'm capable of right now is to compose a very sad, heartbreaking, terrifying poem that would probably scare the bloody hell out of you. Oh yes, I'm perfectly capable of successfully replacing all your phobias, just that this wasn't the idea…No, in fact the idea was-

Shit! he thought, gripping the paper with shaky fingers and crumpling it in one swift move. He pulled out the bottle of whiskey (Good thing Al didn't remember about this one!) and took a long swig directly from it before gathering the stationery from his desk and stuffing it back in the drawer. It took a couple of more healthy mouthfuls of the amber colored liquid until he got the desired, familiar sensation of drowsiness which was so incredibly soothing and the Englishman sunk into the pillows of the small sofa, picking the songs on his MP3 player.

Arthur had nearly dozed off when a cold sensation in the back of his neck made him jump and sit up abruptly. He could feel with surprising clarity that suddenly someone was right behind him. He froze, heart pounding wildly as a strong arm went around his neck, holding tightly.

"You will always love me," he heard Alfred's voice, soft and sweet. And utterly terrifying. "I will never let you go."

The Englishman's breath got caught up in his throat and cold shudders ran down his spine, nearly making his body convulse. He was real. He was there, in his very room. The thought alone was mind-blowing.

"Why are you doing this?" the blond whispered, finding it hard to believe that he still had a voice.

"Too bad you are not good enough for me, Arthur. Maybe we should end this right now," the unseen demon whispered back and his grasp tightened. Arthur began to choke, yet he was unable to struggle, despite the wave of panic that washed over him. He knew he should have been thrashing, fighting for life but… more than the gesture itself, the sheer cruelty of the other's words burned him deep inside, reduced him to nothingness.

Suddenly his mobile rang and his head instantly jerked in the direction of the sound, headphone slipping from his ear and Alfred disappeared. Not real… the green-eyed young man thought as he reached out to answer with a trembling hand.

"Have ye fallen into a bottomless pit?!" a well-known voice barked from the other end of the line. "I'm on me way back, hope ye bloody ordered me favorite!"

The Chinese, it had completely slipped his mind. "Oh… yes, sure. I just did, actually…" Arthur lied in a low voice.

"Ye had better! I'm bloody starvin'!" Allistor said and hung up.

Damn ogre… the blond thought, dialing the number of the Chinese restaurant while still shaking and panting. He ordered quickly, then hurried to get rid of the remainder of his whiskey. He really had to stop this bloody drinking stuff soon.

"Where do ye think we're going tonight, eh laddie?" Allistor asked, good-humored and pressing his napkin to his lips with uncharacteristic gracefulness. Thankfully, he wasn't too drunk and the rich meal had apparently done wonders to his mood.

"Huh? Are we going somewhere?" his younger brother murmured, playing with his fork absentmindedly. After the episode from earlier – and he had to admit it had been the worst yet – he was relieved that the redhead was home. The Scot may have been particularly loud, obnoxious and not the average loving sibling, but his strong presence was comforting to some extent.

"Yeah laddie, we're going to see that band ye like so much perform, Greenhouse…Gas, was it? I got two tickets fer free, plus backstage permits," Allistor said winking and the Englishman briefly hoped he hadn't beaten them out of someone. "It's been ages since last time I've been to a concert. And from what I remember that… Alfred or something ain't exactly an eyesore, aye?"

The green-eyed young man jumped slightly at the news and tried to hide his sudden emotion. "It's Greenhouse Theater, brother dear…" he corrected dryly. Was he seriously doing this on purpose? "And yes, I suppose he's… somewhat of a handsome fellow…" Arthur agreed to the last statement.

"Is he single?" Allistor asked out of the blue, downing the remainder of his beer.

The Englishman flinched - it sounded quite weird to know that someone else was interested in Alfred (of all people!) the way he was. As if the curse of this love was mine alone… "No, I think he has someone…" he murmured weakly. The truth was that he knew for sure, but wouldn't spoil the redhead's fun, not when he was in such good spirits.

"Oh what do ye know, that's never been a problem before…" the Scot laughed loudly.

"Right…" Oh bollocks, maybe he gets in a fight again, he told himself slightly amused. He wasn't jealous of his older brother, for Allistor this type of stuff just came and went, he really wasn't the man to put much heart in it. Just plenty of… something else, if he were to quote exactly. Arthur dragged himself back to his room to prepare, once more beginning to feel the influence of the terrifying vision from earlier.

Maybe I should get out more. Meet people. Avoid being alone. It all happens when I'm alone.

"And wear somethin' nice, fer fock's sake!"

It turned out that getting backstage after the concert was a matter of life and death for quite a significant number of people. A group of hysterical fangirls even pushed down a bodyguard in their attempt to get to where their favorite band was. The screams were deafening and Arthur feared he'd end up being trampled upon if it weren't for his brother's strong hand gripping his own tightly as he pulled him determinedly through the crowd, towards the door.

Right, it's alright, it appears that there are other people a lot crazier than me. That's a good thing, I'm feeling better already the Englishman thought, despite the countless elbows he'd gotten on all sides, as the grinning redhead waved his backstage permit at the screaming fans.

It was fairly dark backstage, all lights seeming to concentrate on the large table where the band sat, signing autographs. Arthur stumbled, nearly tripping on some cables and if not for his brother's steady hand he would have landed on his face for sure. But then his eyes fell on the tall, muscular blond clad in a simple black t-shirt and he froze, swallowing hard. He was simply beautiful as he sat there, attracting all the light, bathed in a golden glow as he smiled and chatted with the lucky boys and girls while scribbling widely on whatever they were offering. Arthur found that his legs refused to move, locked in place.

"Come on now!" his brother urged, but this time the evil spell was too strong to be undone.

"I-I can't…"

"Bloody hell man, don't be like that!" the Scot hissed angrily. "Asking for a bloody autograph won't kill ye!"

"No, I-I can't!" the green-eyed young man jerked his hand away, cheeks flushed and nearly trembling in panic. And he really couldn't, that much was crystal clear. But his eyes were glued on that man, his bliss and his torment, the one and only Alfred F. Jones.

"Oh fine, let me do all the work…"

Allistor walked casually up to the table and leaned on it with a large smile. He said something to Alfred as he motioned back towards his younger brother and handed him a piece of paper. The singer flashed a bright smile in turn and glanced in Arthur's direction, holding the terror-stricken blond's gaze for a few moments. He then laughed softly before grabbing his pen to sign.

Oh, BLOODY HELL! He laughed at me! He thinks I'm pathetic! Oh, fuck! He thinks… he thinks…

The voice screaming inside Arthur's skull was becoming unbearable, filled with poison and his demon's words from his earlier day dream, still fresh on his mind, found themselves confirmed by what he'd just seen. Now that Alfred had seen him for real, in flesh, right before his very eyes, he could tell how pathetic he was. He knew, from just one glance. It was obvious, just like Arthur had thought, he had 'loser' written on his forehead. He sprang out, slamming the door in his wake, hastily making his way through the crowd to a quiet place and once there he leaned against a wall, breathing hard.

Too bad you are not good enough for me…

Not good enough for me…

Oh, bloody hell…

"Now why the bloody fock did ye run out like that?"

Arthur eventually heard his brother's once again comforting voice and snapped out of it, quickly wiping away the bitter tears before the other would notice. "I-I don't know, I just… he looked at me in a funny way…" he stuttered, embarrassed. "It made me feel uncomfortable…"

"Oh, ye got scared? Too bloody sensitive fer yer own good, I told ye! But ye should have seen how his boyfriend looked at me! Like he was about to chop me bloody head off!" Allistor pointed out.

"His boyfriend was there?" the Englishman asked casually, regaining his composure for the most part. In truth, he hadn't even seen if Alfred was with anyone. His eyes had really seen only him, and that was more than enough. It had been a very bad idea, coming here tonight.

"Yeah, that wee blond. He looked so fragile and innocent, but he's one guardian from hell, I tell ye!" the redhead went on, rather amused at the occurrence and making Arthur laugh awkwardly in turn. "Ah, fock him, subject closed! Here, I got this fer ye."

"Thank you, Al." The green-eyed young man took the folded piece of paper and stuffed it in his pocket without even looking at it. "How about we get something to drink?"

And there he was, Arthur scolded himself inwardly and without much purpose, once again taking refuge into his vice to escape how he felt, as if he didn't bloody well know that once he was sober again, it would all be just as bad.

To be continued