Warnings: Rated M for oblique sex, mentioned character death.
A/N: I come up with the weirdest things when I'm drinking at four in the morning. Nothing much else to say about this, except that I'm considering writing a prequel about Alfred's actual death.
The first sign of his return is a faint, flickering light that turns the back of Matthew's eyelids pinkish red. When he opens his eyes, the gloom of his bedroom late in the night is being cut by an effervescent glimmer. The column of flickering, golden motes dangles enticingly in midair, slowly coalescing into a recognizable form.
When the golden Alfred-shape slips into bed next to him, it's the same old routine that theey used to do. The room grows as hot as it did before and one-sided moans still fill the air, but now it feels empty without the answering response. It is all in his head, after all.
When he's spent, weary, and considering just getting the bedding off the floor so he can hide under it, the ghost brushes the back of his hand across his face and he looks up. He's almost frightened, but not quite yet, because it's Alfred, even if it isn't real.
The hallucination smiles, tries to say something, looks surprised when his words are soundless. Instead, he lowers his head and mouths it.
I love you.
Matthew pulls the pillow over his head and begins to sob.
He does three things the next day.
Firstly, he digs the vodka out of the back of the fridge, leftover from a visit from Ivan, and drinks about half of the bottle. When he's as numb and as comfortable as he's going to get, he goes out to get flowers.
Alfred's grave is simple, a cross with his name, birth, and death carved into it, and it has one of those little American flags stuck in the joint of one of the arms. It wasn't there the last time Matthew had visited, and it almost makes him laugh.
The corner of the graveyard is simple, shady, and quiet, and for a moment he has the oddest urge to put his back against a tree and sleep. Maybe he'd see Al again.
But not quite, not yet.. The bouquet he leaves in his stead is bright gold and orange, sunflowers and black-eye-Susan and marigolds. He has to leave in a hurry, because if he sits he dosen't think he'll be able to leave.
The last important thing of the day is to look up psychiatry in the Yellow Pages, and hope for another night of sleep.