It had been tough for Alfred, ever since he moved to England.

For one thing, his English teacher absolutely refused to accept American spellings. He got marked down for it consistently. His parents kept telling him to just use the British spellings.

That wouldn't have been for a problem, except for the fact that it looked right to Alfred, and so he always looked past it. Sometimes he caught his 'mistakes', but he never caught all of them, and his English teacher marked him down even more when spelling wasn't consistent throughout the text.

And then there was a whole other matter entirely.

Alfred was bullied. A lot. For his accent, for being born and living in America for the first fifteen years of his life, for coming to the high school late, for being childish and immature... basically everything was nitpicked, even the lock of hair that refused to ever flatten itself out.

What was even more curious, though, was their swear words.

Alfred was called a bint, chav, slag, twat, twit, scrubber, and more.

Of course, they didn't have those words back in the states (much less in the school he went to, which was nestled in a nice, religious neighbourhood), so Alfred looked them up.

Some of the words didn't even make sense. A few of them meant 'slut' and 'hoe' and things like that, but particularly aimed towards women. Alfred, quite clearly, was not a woman, and it wasn't like it was okay to use those words to describe anybody.

Maybe that was just what they did. Arthur, the guy who sat next to him in History and was only ever indifferent, said it was unusual to hear some of those words in the region.

Of course, getting offensive terms thrown at him disheartened him a little. His parents had always told him to be the better person and to not respond, so he didn't. That only seemed to enrage everyone else more, though.

There wasn't exactly any getting out. He had asked his parents if he could be moved from the high school, but his parents simply told him to shut the hell up and deal with it. He had been upset, but it was understandable. That highschool was the most convenient for them.

One time, he had ditched school. He hadn't been aware that his parents would be called, and when he went home, they had beaten the crap out of him.

Alfred hadn't tried to ditch again.

Well, one day was particularly bad. They teased him for being a fatass, and when he ignored them they wiped his food off of the table. It hit the ground. He sighed, saying nothing, and picked up the food off of the ground. He threw it away.

History class was directly after lunch, so he headed to it immediately. It was the only class he actually looked forward to— he sat next to someone who didn't absolutely hate him, and the subjects were interesting. In the states, he wouldn't have cared, but it was interesting to see the perspective of a different country.

It was the only class he was genuinely good at. In the other classes, he still did well, but he had lower grades— grades that his family deemed 'unacceptable'.

(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)

Arthur noticed something off about the kid in History almost immediately. Of course he'd been at lunch, and of course he had paid attention to what happened. Everyone in the lunch room had.

He didn't say anything. He didn't really care for History anyway. With all the time Arthur had and all the history books his father had collected, he'd already read quite a few books on every subject. It would be easy to pass the class.

Still, he watched as Alfred— that was his name, right?— furiously scribbled down notes. Usually Alfred would ask questions when he was confused (which was much too often compared to other students), and Arthur saw his pen stop and his brows furrow. Alfred stubbornly refused to raise his hand, though.

Perhaps he would offer help later.

(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)

After school, Arthur caught up with him as he was walking home. "Alfred!" He called out.

Alfred stopped, and took another tentative step forward. His head hanged low, but he waited.

"Alfred! Wait up!"

Alfred turned around. Arthur caught up, panting slightly. "Mate, I realized you were having trouble with History. I could help you, if you want." Arthur tried to stay casual, but he couldn't. This was extremely important.

He knew all too well that one word could save a life. One tiny action. There were so many tiny things that Arthur had come to regret, only for not doing them.

Alfred gave a small smile. "Yeah, s-sure," he mumbled.

"Okay, cool. When can I?"

"Well, for starters, I am in dire need of assistance with tonight's History homework," he chuckled. Arthur nodded.

"Okay. Well... where do you want to go?"

Alfred began to say, "Oh, no, I was just—," he paused. "Perhaps... Perhaps a café or something." He shrugged. "I dunno. I'm new here, obviously. I don't know."

Arthur smiled. They were close enough to a café. They began to walk.

When they reached the place, Alfred ordered a black coffee. Arthur ordered tea. "You're going to drink coffee?"

Alfred shrugged. "Yeah. I've found the caffeine doesn't work so well on me anymore. Now it's just an old habit."

Arthur doubted that, but he didn't say anything.

They worked for a good bit, for a few hours or so. Arthur had finished his tea. Alfred still hadn't taken a single sip of his coffee.

Suddenly, Alfred downed all of it, wincing slightly at the bitterness. "Well, good-bye, Arthur. See you tomorrow, I guess."

(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)

Arthur had a long history of hurting people. His friends, each and every single one of them. Most recently, however, his mother.

After the accident— Arthur hated calling it an accident, it was only accidental on his part— Arthur had shut everyone out completely, and everyone had left him alone.

At least he hadn't had to worry about avoiding his family. After the 'accident', his father had started to completely avoid him.

It was very bold of him to assume that he could manage to not hurt this Alfred kid.

"So. Umm..." Alfred said uncomfortably. "Where are your parents?"

"My father is on a business trip. My mother killed herself."

Alfred almost choked on his drink. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said quietly.

Arthur shrugged. No reason to be sorry. It was my fault. "No reason to be sorry, it's not like you influenced either of their decisions."

The rest of their 'studying' was a bit less tense.

(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)

Alfred and Arthur talked a lot. Alfred seemed much happier after awhile of talking. Arthur began to think that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't screw this up. Maybe he could allow just one person into his life.

For Alfred, things got better. Arthur was just happy. Maybe Alfred was okay.