Fraying at the Edges
XXXX
"How in my silence i adored you,
and only in my dreams did that wall between us come apart."
– Knock Three Times by Tony Orlando
XXXX
Alfred is normal.
He is normal.
The life he lives is normal.
He lives with a cat. He fights with his across-the-hall neighbour. He drinks. He has sex. He steals pot from his cousin because he's too lazy to buy his own.
He is normal.
Alfred is normal.
The American works a nine to fiver in a nearby office building as an accountant. It's boring, but it pays well. But it is still too boring for his tastes. Too bland. But it pays the bills and the occasional hooker. Too bad that it makes him regret those five years at the University of Buffalo. He sometimes likes to think that he would have been better off if he had taken his mother's advice and became a school teacher, but then he thinks of all the children and the disease and realises he's just a lot better off with a pipe in one hand and a calculator in the other.
Alfred is normal.
One day, he arrives home at the regular time. He was tired. He was lonely and tired. Today was a Thursday wasn't it? Or was it a Tuesday? The days of the week tended to sneak away from him when he turned his back. He shrugs, kicks off his shoes and collapses on the couch. Tonight's a re-run night anyway.
This feeling, he feels as he leans back on his comfortable couch, is normal. He loves re-runs. Especially of Whose Line is it Anyway? It's the all American show. Anyone who says otherwise is against the American cause. Skipping the left work he has to do to watch re-runs is an American thing to do.
He's halfway through one episode already when he hears it.
It is then, when Colin grimaces and guesses that it was a endless stream of Ryan related clips on the green-screen, that he hears it. It is then when he laughter dies down into quiet laughter that he hears it.
It's a rapid thumping; like the beating of an endless heart. The sound is annoying and rips at his eardrums. Alfred quickly lifts his hands to cover his ears from the thick noise. It is music - this sound. The music of today's collapsing modern generation. He liked the occasional song here and there where he could thrust his hips and flail his limbs in poor imitation of dance but this was too loud. Why was it all so loud? There was screaming. There was endless screaming. The music's beat still thumps on with its violent pace. Alfred yells for it to quiet down; to cease its endless tirade against his eardrums!
Then it changes like the seasons themselves. It's a calmer song, but it is still loud. It hurts to listen. He does not like this one bit. He's off the couch before he realises it himself and is hauling on his shoes. The noise grows louder and louder and the lyrics become more known with each moment. Is it him or the devil that does this? He doesn't care. He just wants it to stop.
But it continues to proceed.
"I'm in love with a fairytale even though it hurts 'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind I'm already cuuuursed–"
"Ugh. Eurovision!" Alfred grimaces. "Can't anyone listen to some real music man? Whatever the fuck happened to Queen?"
The silence answers his question and he's stomping over to the middle of his living room. He's jumping up and down; his man-boobs violently shaking with each movement. Really. He has to work on this chest of his. It's not manly at all. He jumps and jumps again and again.
The music halts for a second, but it was only a second until a different song was being brought up. Alfred yells in frustration and kicks off his shoes. He races to his own stereo system and shoves in his own CD. It's a CD he hasn't listened to in the longest of times but he's at his wits end. He's ready to fight fire with fire. The music needs to stop. It needs to stop. It needs to change. It's out for his blood – he swears it is. He swears that it's going to scrape and scrape at his eardrums until he bleeds and bleeds until he bleeds no more. He shoves the CD in the light-up drive and presses play.
"I wanna be the very best like no one ever was. To catch them is my real test. To train them is my cause–"
The sound below him stutters and changes. It's louder again and it's not Queen. This is War, Alfred realises quickly. It is War. It is a war for a quiet day of just being able to sit down, relax and watch re-runs of his favourite show. With a hero's grin, he plugs in his Ipod. He will win this.
An hour later or so, the noise does not stop. It will never stop. He is losing material as it escalates farther. There are so many songs to go before he's run out. Will it ever stop? Will this madness ever cease? He turns off the stereo system and rips out his music player. The infuriating noise below him still pounds on. It still tears at his ears. He thinks they're bleeding.
He storms over to his window and shoves it open. He leans over it and see that a blond man below him is smoking a cigarette below him. He can't be older than twenty. The very sight of him sends Alfred almost reeling with memories of the past but he shakes it away violently.
"Hey you! Asshole with the music!"
There's a snort and the body below him twists. The cigarette is out and the brat is leaning back on his elbows as he stares up above. A thick, black eyebrow raises innocently.
"Yes? Is there something you need sir?"
Alfred feels the need to rage begin to bubble but there is something more to this kid. His tongue sticks to the top of his mouth and he pulls at the collar of his shirt. It's a moment before he speaks again and this time he's sure its gibberish.
"Could...Could you turn down the damn music? Some people are trying to enjoy their lives man."
The stranger seems to ponder this for a moment.
"What's in it for me?"
"I won't piss in your flower pots." Alfred answers honestly. "I'm sure that they're due for a watering."
The neighbour scowls and his eyebrows pinch together like caterpillars. Alfred takes a moment to laugh. Why those eyebrows are so familiar! They almost remind him of...of...The name escapes him. There's someone. At least he thinks so. But if he can't remember than they must not be important.
"Fine. I'll turn down the damn music as long as you keep yours down as well. What's your name anyway?"
"What's it to you anyway?"
"Is it terrible for a man to be curious? I'm Arthur Kirkland by the way."
It's always cold in their town, but it doesn't bother them. The lakes has frozen over at last at they're finally going to go ice-skating. They don't bother to tell anyone because they're all together. They'll be fine. It's just them.
Hmm. Arthur Kirkland.
The name rings a bell.
"Oh cool man! My name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."
"Hmm. Nice to meet you then Alfred. Now, if you excuse me. There's a Cricket game on the telly."
Then, the stranger is gone and the window slams shut. Alfred casts one look at the flower pots below him and wonders if he should give the flowers a golden shower just for the hell of it. He does enjoy being an asshole sometimes. With a shake of his head, Alfred leans back up and closes the window shut.
He's made up his mind as he wanders back to his kitchen. The ice cubes are gone. Had he even put ice-cubes in there to begin with?
Alfred wants to know more about this man. He's so mysterious. So strange. So familiar. He's on the tip of Alfred's tongue but it slips away before he can grasp it. The thought doesn't really bother him. All he knows is that he wants to get to know the other. Alfred knows this other and he knows it. Alfred knows it deep down inside at the bottom of his memories. He will find out more.
Alfred takes a sip of his icy water.
He'll find out about the neighbour downstairs soon enough.
He makes a promise to himself. He will find out about this mysterious neighbour. Even if it kills him.
It isn't until a week later that Alfred makes his decision and goes down to the floor below him. There is a fleeting hope that he might run into the bastard but it fades away quickly. It fades away so quickly.
Ivan tells him that there is no neighbour downstairs but Ivan is a lying dickwad and he checks anyway. No one is home. The door is locked. He'll come back later.
As he is walking upstairs, he doesn't see the couple walking down the stairs. Without realising it, Alfred shoulders one of them by accident and the three nearly tumble down the stairs in surprise. Alfred floats back into his accursed reality as someone starts to curse violently in his ear.
"Oh, it's fine mana mīlestība!" An accented voice stutters. "A-Are you all right...?"
"Of course I'm bloody all right! It's you I'm worried about. That git face knocked you over!"
The American is about to apologise but he's distracted. Distracted by that voice. He's heard that voice. That voice is the voice of the downstairs neighbour. His quest does not go uncompleted! His target has been acquired!
But who is that other? Who is the skinny frail kid that looks like he has never seen the light of day? Is a relative, an acquaintance, a near or close friend? Or the heavens forbid a lover? Alfred feels violently ill at the thought of this small stick man being something more than a friend to his new friend.
"Oy, you," The voice breaks his train of thought. "What's your name?"
"Alfred. Alfred F. Jones." He answers calmly. He can play it cool. He can seem like the normal, total aloof not-douchebag from the floor above who did the hero thing and not pee in his flowerpots. "Who are you?"
The other appears stricken for a moment, as if plagued by a sudden bad memory. Alfred tilts his head before he asks an innocent question. "What's the matter man?"The man snaps out of his moment as Alfred's words roll over him. He scoffs violently. "What does it matter? Just apologise to Raivis and then we can go on our merry way."
Alfred chuckles to himself. "Oh come on. That ain't far now is it? I gave you mine, you gave me his, you should at least give me yours!"
The other scoffs but he gives in anyway. Alfred smiles. He always gets his way.
"Fine, you twat. I don't see why my name is so important in the first place. "My name is– "
Here it comes! The final moment he has been waiting for! Alfred feels so happy. So lighted. So overjoyed to be placed in such a position. Did it matter that the other had a lover? No, it did not! He was finding out this guy's name. The name of the mysterious lower floor neighbour!
"Name's Arthur. Arthur E. Kirkland, you twat. I don't see why it matters."
Arthur Kirkland.
"–E. Kirkland. Happy now you git? Since we got the damn formalities out the way, can we get on with you apologising to Raivis?"
Alfred nods. He is elated. He now knows that this is his mysterious downstairs neighbour. "Sorry for knocking you and your friend over. It'll never happen again. I swear! I cross my heart and hope to die and stick a needle in my eye!"
The other suffers from a small shock again. Raivis seems to notice this sudden tensing but Alfred doesn't. Alfred doesn't care any more. He's got what he wants.
"I-It's okay...Accidents happen!"
"Yeah, you're right." Alfred then –by habit– looks down to check his totally appropriate Batman watch to find out that he's five minutes into the latest episode of Adventure Time. He swears and bade the two goodbye. The couple shares a distressed look after Alfred is gone.
"Is something up?" Raivis asks carefully. "You looked distressed when he mentioned apologising to me..."
Raivis's partner is silent for a moment. Then he speaks but even then his voice is still bordering on an edge of breaking. "...That chant of his. The cross his heart and hope to die thing? He sounds...He sounds exactly like the friend of well you know...him. But...It's been ten years! I heard that he got admitted to an Asylum when the jerk passed..."
"It's a small world." Raivis whispered. "Did I even really think I'd be living a floor below the apartment of my childhood bully? Not really."
"But it can't be him! It just can't!"
"Then it's not. Don't let it get to yourself, mana mīlestība."
The other pursed his lip. "All right then. But do you really have to call me 'my love'? I do have a name."
Raivis laughed. "A-All right! Let's go back to your place, eh Peter?"
It's a Tuesday and he forgets to take his pill. He feels like a moron for forgetting such a simple thing in his simple routine but he knows it's okay. He'll take it tomorrow. He always takes it twice if he misses a day.
He sighs at his stupidity and drops the ice cubes into the cold glass of water. His hand freezes and twitches as he stares down at the ice cubes floating harmlessly in the water. One's already beginning to melt and sink. For some reason – it hurts. It hurts to watch the little ice cube start to fall into the icy water. It hurts to watch. His heart aches with an odd twinge that he has never felt before. It hurts. Why does it hu–
There's a noise in his living room and he tears his eyes away from the cold glass. It is silent for a moment but then the sound is heard again. He sets down the glass on the counter and goes off to investigate.
The American walks into his living room with a slouching position. He blinks at the sight of finding no one in the living room. Had it been his mysterious cat again? He blinks again and then suddenly, there's an Arthur Kirkland on his couch.
Alfred is surprised and stunned. He stands stock-still and then Arthur is looking up from his book and smiling at him. He's smiling at him. Him. Alfred. The sudden euphoria that had presented itself made him feel as if he could take on a mountain in his glee.
Arthur looks down at the book again and Alfred realises he needs a plan. He needs a sexy pickup line. His mind scours to all the terrible websites he's been linked to and his mind comes up blank.
As he opens his mouth, a sudden memory from the past makes itself present. Alfred remembers now what he needed to talk to Arthur about. Pick-up lines be damned.
"I knew you during my childhood!" He suddenly shouts to the Briton. Arthur looks up from his A Short History of the Worldand snorts. A thick eyebrow has risen like the sea.
"Bloody hell. That's untrue." His green eyes return uninterestedly to his book. "I think I would remember meeting a moron like you."
"Oh come on! Can't you remember! I used to hang around with you and Peter!"
"Well, that's not surprising seeing as the small chap doesn't leave me alone. Are you sure we've met?"
"For defs." He answers. "How is Peter anyway?"
"Small. Annoying. Idiotic. He's turning ten in...somewhere in the year."
It was just like him to forget a birthday. Alfred smiles. "That's nice. I wish I knew whatever happened to my brother. I haven't seen him in years."
He has a brother. But he's gone now. He disappeared. He left Alfred and took everyone with him. But it's fine. It's okay. Alfred has other friends. He's not homeless. He has a job. He has a cat. He has Arthur. It's okay. Really, it's okay. Even if he does cry himself to sleep on Christmas nights.
"Really? Whatever happened to him?"
Alfred paused. He still talked to his younger brother didn't he? Wasn't he the one who he got his pot from? He shrugs it off. "Iunno man. He used to disappear all the time when we were kids. He had the violet eyes."
Arthur frowns. "Was he the porky one? With the big nose?"
"...No...? Seriously? You don't remember me or Mattie but you remember some fat kid?"
His friend is silent and his gaze continued to stare contently at the floor. Alfred decides to break the silence.
"I don't remember much." Alfred admits. "I wish I did. I really wish I did."
"What, are you on drugs or something? I heard cannabis kills both your soul and brain-cells."
"Says the person who used to smoke six packs a day."
Arthur snorts. "Those are fags mate. Utter difference."
"But yeah...I am on drugs. They're prescription meds though. They're supposed to help me with something...Iunno what though man." He scratches his head in confusion and shrugs casually.
"Can them." The Briton demands. His face twists for a moment and those green eyes are everything but safe. Then he's normal again and he's frowning and his eyebrows are furrowed into a thick black caterpillar of familiarity. "They're obviously not helping you at all."
"I...should. But I can't. I promised my mom and everything and they kinda keep me calm. Speaking of it, I need to take a double pill tomorrow cause I forgot to take mine today..."
Arthur has stood up and he's walking closer to him. He's shorter than Alfred though. He's shorter than he had imagined. Arthur places a hand on his shoulder.
"Do what you think is right, git." Arthur calmly says. "I can't control your life for you."
He has very blond hair. Alfred finds himself wondering if he dyes his hair. It's so thick and blond and does not match his thick, black eyebrows. Does he dye it? Does he dye his eyebrows. He has such lovely hair though. It's wet, the hair. So wet! Why don't you run your hands through it Alfred? Why don't twist your fingers into the glorious mane of freezing hair. He's freezing, Alfred. He's cold and soaked all over, Alfred. And it's all your fault isn't it? Run your fingers through it Alfred because you know that its all that's left. You know you want to –
Alfred gasps. There's a feeling of sudden terror that blossoms at his very core and it squishes his heart with its terrifying grasp and Arthur is gone.
He's overcome with terror. This is a terror he has felt once before. Where is he? His mind screams frantically. It raddles at the bars on the windows. Where is my release? Where is my madness? Where is Arthur. Alfred frowns. Then he realises.
He's outside in the hall. He's naked. Ivan's newspaper in his in hand. He stares down at in disbelief. The words in Cyrillic seemed to be mocking him.
"What the fuck?"
Ivan is there too. He's standing at the doorway of his own flat and staring at Alfred with wide eyes.
Whatever. He doesn't need this stuff.
"Like what you see?" Alfred asks with a purr.
The door slams shut in his face; newspaper forgotten. Whatever. He doesn't need this stuff.
He shrugs and slips the newspaper under his arm and goes back into his apartment.
When he returns to the kitchen, his ice cubes are melted and gone. He doesn't even notice.
"Why do you steal my newspaper, comrade?" He is asked one day. He stops in his tracks and turns to face the neighbour, Ivan Braginsky. The Russian man who Alfred swears is out for his soul on the weekends. He's got the face of a child with chubby cheeks and a large nose and violet eyes that seem to be made from painted stone.
"Well?" He's drifted off again. Alfred simply shrugs. Ivan raises an eyebrow. Those painted eyes continued to bore into him. They prod and poke at his skin for the answers the American does not have.
Alfred doesn't know. He honestly doesn't know why he steals Ivan's newspaper. He would like to know himself. It just happens to be one of those questions that keep him up at night. One of the many questions, like if butterflies remember life as a catepillar and their time in their pods. Ivan's newspaper has always been one of those things he does automatically. Alfred oftens wakes up in the middle of the afternoon with the man's newspaper in hand. Sometimes he returns them. Sometimes he sits down and does the puzzles. Sometimes he burns them. And sometimes, he does nothing.
"Iunno man. Just cause' it's there I guess."
"But even when it's put in the mailbox you take it, Alfred. Are you harbouring some sort of odd Kleptomaniac fetching for newspapers behind closed doors?"
"Uhhh...Pretty sure the only thing hidden behind a closed door around here is Kiku's total faggatory. I'm sorry dude I love him and all but he just positively sends off the gay vibe." Ivan also sends off the gay-vibe with that positively pink scarf of his and style of dress, but Alfred isn't one to pry nor is he one that takes pleasure in getting his face beat in.
It stays silent.
They are silent. Ivan has not bothered to attempt to take his newspaper from him. Instead, he is trained in on Alfred's face. He is watching Alfred with his eerie eyes. His eyes are so strange; like they were carved from icy stone but stained amethyst to remind the world of his oddity and curse. His eyes are just another part of the Russian's dark soul; endless and stony and crusted over with ice so far that he was untouchable. He was so odd but Alfred doesn't care. Alfred's normal. He's beautiful. Ivan is not. Ivan is what he'll never be.
Then Ivan asks and the delicate glass of the world around Alfred crumbles. "Who's Arthur?"
"No one." Alfred answers tersely.
"Now Alfred," He smiles like a teacher scolding a small child. "You and I both now that is a big lie. Again, I ask - who is Arthur?"
"...No one."
"Then who is it I hear you talking to every night? It cannot be that downstairs neighbour boy because he does not exist." Ivan comments. "You must have realised that now, yes?"
Alfred snerks. "Do you really want to know?"
Ivan stays silent for a moment but it is only a moment. He frowns quietly. "Da...D- Yes. I do. Who is Arthur?"
Alfred's grin is cheeky.
"It's my dick's name. Sorry, am I too loud for you? I'll quiet down if you want me to!"
The American doesn't even get the chance to laugh. The door is already slammed in his face; intent of the retrival of the newspaper forgotten. The image of Ivan's face twisted into a mixture of pure horror and disgust will keep Alfred laughing for days.
He hasn't seen Arthur today. It makes him sad. He hasn't heard a word from the bushy bowed man. He even went down to the downstairs apartment and no one was home.
So Alfred goes on with his day. He remembers to take his pill again in the morning but he thinks that they're useless. He hates them. It reminds him of his weirdness; his oddity. He can't stand that thought. They say it'll make him better but it never works. It never does.
It's okay though. He's getting better.
He's becoming normal.
He hasn't seen Arthur for a few days. He started taking his pills again so it's okay. It's all okay, but his heart hurts. It's never hurt this much. He can't remember if it ever has hurt before to begin with.
But it's okay. He doesn't really remember much of anything.
It's normal. It's cool. He doesn't have a past that he can remember.
It's okay.
He hasn't seen Arthur. He hasn't seen him. He's starting to think Arthur was right. Those pills were fucking with him. He's going to stop taking them. He's going to stop taking them right now.
He stops taking the pills.
It feels like forever.
But he sees Arthur again at last.
XXXX
The music is blaring. His floor is pounding. Does the music need to be so loud? It stings his eardrums and his eyes pulsate with endless pain. He groans in pain before struggling to his no one else hear this?
"Keep it down, down there!" He shouts over the window sill. Arthur is below him, hanging half way out the window with a cigarette in hand. The man snorts and Alfred frowns.
"Why don't you make me you git?"
"Because I'm a floor above you!"
XXXX
Harmless banter they have but it's okay.
It's all okay.
Arthur likes to insult him but he's fine with that since he throws them right back. They're buds. They drink and they smoke, but they don't have sex yet to Alfred's lament. But it's okay. There's time. There's always time.
They have forever.
"I can't stay long git. I have to go and watch Peter."
"Oh man, really? That's so lame! You're so lame! Fine then dude, visit me when you're done. I'm not gonna sit around forever while you deal with your little brother."
"Tch. Fine. Wait here. I'll ditch him off to Jack."
"You really don't remember the boy with the violet eyes?"
"I think I'd remember someone with that colour of eyes, dude."
Arthur is silent and he flicks his cigarette out. Arthur smiles up at him –
but then the friendliness is gone and the smile curves sinisterly and Arthur's green eyes tell him that he's going to die
And then it's all smiles again and the ice cubes drop into the water without a second of thought and crack as they struggle to all remain above water and suddenly, almost it is as if the world is painted over in amethyst.
After a tough day at work and a run-in with his cat, Alfred is overjoyed by the fact that he sees Arthur again. It doesn't even matter that he's with Raivis this time.
"How's it goin' neighbour!"
Arthur snorts and shakes his head; arm inter-looped with the small Baltic's. Alfred ignores the way his heart gives a small ache at the sight and he forces a smile at the two.
"I was wondering where your jerk-face went. Thought you died there for a moment."
"Awww, you actually care about me! That's so sweet!"
"Who says I gave a care about you? I don't even know you!"
"'Course ya' know me! I'm your upstairs neighbour!"
"Yeah, whatever. What are you doing here?"
Before Alfred can give an answer, the small Baltic man beside Arthur swears in his language. He turns to Arthur with wide eyes and slaps his mouth.
"I left the stove on!"
"How do you leave the stove on? You can hear that thing humming from the bedroom!"
"I'm so sorry! I'll be right back!"
Like a mouse, the Baltic scurries off; leaving Alfred and Arthur all alone at last. He cannot ignore the shiver of excitement that bursts through him. Arthur scoffs loudly and puts his hands on hips and glares at Alfred. The American only smiles and feels too giddy to make words. They stare off at one another.
Then Alfred breaks the silence.
"So how's Peter?"
Arthur reels back for a moment as if he's shocked by the question. "Peter? What about Peter? I'm–" Then Arthur stops. The Briton stops completely and covers his mouth with his hand. His nails are chipped and cracked.
"Ohaha! The lad's great! He's doing just fine! You know Alfred, it really makes me wish that I had gotten to appreciate him more! He's the best brother anyone could ever have and I'm a total jerk for trying to not let him drink my alcohol and smoke his cigarettes and let him borrow my pornography! Ahaha! He's doing great. How's um...your brother?"
Arthur's nervous. The Briton's very nervous. He can see it in the way the man's hands shake slightly and his eyes look for a way out. He looks trapped. It's almost as if he's looking off to face an animal. Of course, Alfred plays it off.
"Mattie? Yeah, he's all right. Is something up Artie? You don't look too well."
"No...No...I'm not – Yeah. Yeah I'm fine, Alfred. You always did worry too much."
Alfred tilts his head. "Ya sure?"
"I'm sure...I'm very s-sure..."
It sounds like a sob escaping the Briton's lip, but Alfred knows better. Peter was the one who cried. Arthur never cried. Arthur was a boss. Arthur was a King among peasants. He never cried.
"Alfred! Alfred! Please, Alfred! Please!" He didn't cry. He was hearing lies. He was hearing lies. "Alfred, please!"
Alfred shakes his head and opens his mouth, but Peter already bolts away. He reaches his hand out to grab the Englishman back but he drops it and turns and sighs. He heads for the stairs with his head down and finds himself walking into a wall of ice.
"Oh hey Ivan!"
Ivan does not meet his eyes. Instead, he turns to the side and scoots around the American. For a moment, Alfred almost thought he saw tears in the corner of the Russian's eyes. Had everyone lost their shit today?
Alfred shakes his head in quiet. Arthur was so weird sometimes. So was Ivan. They were all so weird.
But it was okay.
He was still normal.
He's starting to remember more.
And he's starting to remember why he wanted to forget.
He finds the newspaper from so long ago. The very one that prompted him to steal his neighbours. The date is from ten years ago, but it feels like yesterday when it first arrived. It is still opened up to the obituary page.
Arthur E. Kirkland
November 5, 19XX to February 21, 19XX
He puts the newspaper away; he forgets what he sees. He's normal. This is normal.
He wants it to stop.
He wants it to stop.
He wants it to stop.
He wants it to stop.
He wants it to stop.
He wants it to stop.
He wants it to stop.
He wants it to stop.
XXXX
It doesn't.
XXXX
He's on the floor of his bathtub; curled up into what one might assume to be the fetal position. Almost, in his blurry vision, he can still see the bloody handprint of himself on the edge of the tub.
He's had so many memories in this tub. So many, drunken memories. From the overdose of coffee to the overdose of tea to even the time that him and his Danish coworker had decided to crack open a bottle of absinthe and drink until the New Year and ended up half naked and singing "Can't find my way home".
Alfred has had so many memories here. He has had so many memories.
He doesn't want to leave them.
But he knows he has
His lease is ending and he knows that his work is unstable right now.
Alfred realises that he'll have to move.
But that's okay.
But really it's not.
He'll start anew.
Like always.
Hot, almost scalding water pounded on Alfred's head and shoulders as he sits up. Feeling a familiar giddy feeling of panic and frustration welling up in him, he angrily slaps the water even though he realises it is of no use.
The water is laughing at him; burning him with its steam and sting. He can't stand it.
It reminds him of everything.
It reminds him of what he cannot forget.
—No, don't think. Alfred is not meant to think. He is not smart. He can't think about it. He can't think of it ever. It's a curse; a burden not meant to be born.
ArTHuRFALLiNG ThroughThe CrAcKsANDIVANSCREAMS–
A shudder, and he rested his head against the cool tile and punches it half-heartedly. The semi-cold, clammy feeling feels good to his over-heated skin, but it also reminds him of ice and death and he doesn't know why. Not really.
You know he's not really Alfred not really, Don't you remember-?
We'll see the sunflowers someday, Alfred.
A voice that suspiciously sounds like Ivan fucking Braginski the goddamn Russian neighbor resounds in his head and he rakes a hand roughly through his hair. He doesn't want to hear it. He just doesn't. He doesn't even want to hear the tiny thumps of his aching heart.
He wants Arthur here. He wants that blasted music that the stupid British man plays downstairs to shudder through his skin like a ruthless lover, wants to feel the hot red feeling of the man's lips against his own and wants to feel, feel his warm and alive body against his own— He wants to just feel alive again–
Suddenly, out of the blue, the shower curtain is roughly shoved aside with an angry slink.
"What the fu–" Alfred turns around, blue eyes widening with surprise. He can only half-see without his glasses, but he can clearly see the visitor's blond, spiky hair and burning green eyes. It's enough, and Alfred is spinning already even by the suggestion that the man that he has been haunted by day and night is here—
SHE'llDE vouRYOuWHolE aSTHeGLASS BREAks
Barely a pause for thought, and Arthur is roughly devouring his lips with bruising force that almost scares Alfred, but he's too cool for that kind of thing; Alfred is far too trapped to be scared by the spider's kiss. So he tries to kiss back, his toes curling slightly as he leans into the kiss. The blond British man carelessly devours his efforts as he practically eats his way into Alfred's mouth, pushing the twenty-year old against the cold, clammy tiles and making him forget about ice and death and the snow that haunts his world.
"Arthur," Alfred thinks he tries to say, but it's lost somewhere between nips and breathless moaning that can't be voiced. The identity is confirmed for sure now; only Arthur has skin that blooms in the cheeks like an English rose, and those damned eyebrows that rise like the angry sea and eyes like the green of a long ago world.
A hard, grip becomes apparent on Alfred's hip and suddenly the shorter man is altogether too close to him for friendship to out-stand with a new step and his world turns red, red, red.
The water is still hot and almost scalding, and it's making Alfred dizzy. He tries to prop himself up against the tile so that he's not completely helpless against Arthur, but his arm just slides right off the slick surface, any mad effort made gone to waste.
Arthur's still intent on kissing the breath right out of him, and if Alfred was in any state at all to think, he would admit that the other man was doing a pretty damn good job at it. But, deep down he knew that something was wrong. Deep down he knew that it would all go to waste and he'd end up going mad.
Because Alfred wasn't allowed to achieve happiness.
He wasn't allowed to be normal.
Arthur pushes forward; hands slightly lithely upwards and dragging his nails across the tanned skin. He shuts his eyes; enjoying the foreign feeling; enjoying the sense of peace– The Englishman's hair is a wet, spiky blond mess now, and his eyes are open while he kisses like he's sucking out his soul. Maybe he is really sucking out his soul, and Alfred is losing himself to him.
Then it's Ivan. At first he doesn't care. He really doesn't care because the breath has returned and he feels relaxed. He feels more relaxed than he ever has before. Then Alfred notices his eyes. His eyes, like painted glass, are staring down at him and he can't breathe. He can't breathe. The glass has shattered and the pieces have stuck themselves into his skin.
Alfred starts clawing away at the other; screaming and kicking and fighting and trying to get away from those saddened violet eyes; reminding, reminding, reminding of what never be.
Then it goes downhill before he even realises.
The American claws at his neck for breath and bucks up in struggle. "I can't breathe!" He chokes. "Arthur, I can't breathe!"
The pale hands squeeze lightly and the water spraying out from the shower beats against the shower wall and Alfred can't breathe. He can't breathe and the blackness is creeping up on him again. He gasps and chokes and cries and screams – and Arthur slams him back suddenly and he's dying, he's dying again.
ONeBYoneTHEIcECUBesCRAcK
"Is this too much for you?" The Briton teases. His hands uncurl from around his neck to only wrap around the base of his neck so the pads of his thumbs brush against the indent of his neck. He nervously chuckles and manages a small smile. It'll be all right. It'll always be all right.
"Are you nervous?"
He turns his head. Arthur leans down and smirks; his green eyes showing no hint of that once glowing tenderness that burned like the sun. Alfred squeezes his eyes shut.
H e ' s g o i n g t o d i e.
The hands constrict around his neck and all goes black.
AndWESInKLIKEtheDaMneD.
Alfred realised a long time ago that it would be his goal in life to be normal.
He had realised that to be normal – he would need friends. And so to achieve the goal of normality, he gained friends and rose through the ranks of popularity. He gained friends, he had relationships, he drank and he had a bud with his brother every now and then. Alfred was normal – he had been normal for the longest time.
Then chaos had struck on a cold February evening and as the ice cracked and crumbled, the pieces of Alfred's world shattered into a million pieces and the hope for normality was forever lost.
XXXX
"Mrs. and Mr. Jones. The results have come back."
"I-Is our son all right? Is he going to be okay?"
"In due time perhaps. But there's no easy way to say this. Your son is suffering a extremely rare disorder brought on by the stress of a traumatic death. Your son...has Alice Syndrome."
A deep breath is taken and Mrs. Jones struggles not to cry. Her husband clutches her close and glares up at the doctor. "What...What the fuck is that?"
"It's simple really, though quite sad... Your son, well,he's going to dream. He's going to dream forever."
"Do you mean he'll never wake up?"
"He'll wake up in due time, but
he'll still dream.
Arthur Kirkland is not dead to him.
He's alive in Alfred's mind.
And it'll be what eventually kills him.
it'll be what eventually kills
be what eventually kill
eventually kill.
Kill.
Cold hands push him to and Alfred gasps for air. He claws at his throat for what is no longer there and screams hoarsely for a saving that'll never arrive. His body arches and hands push him down back into a smooth surface. A sudden burst of white hot pain blossoms in his cheek and his eyes snap open painfully as he realises painfully that someone had slapped him.
He groans, holding his cheek and turns to look at the moronic bastard that dared to damage his face (it wasn't as if he was vain – Alfred was getting on in life, but he still was trying to keep a reign on what good-looks he still retained from high school and college) and his eyes settle on a creature crouching close. On closer inspection, Alfred registers slowly the fact that a creature he's never really gotten along with is sitting by his side.
"What the hell." Those of course are the first words out of Alfred's mouth. The American attempts to sit up, but Ivan casually pushes him down again.
"You have overworked yourself." The Russian explains. "I heard you screaming and found you drowning in your shower. How you manage to drown yourself that way I will never know, but I did the liberty of robing you and bringing you back to my apartment.
Alfred takes a moment to drag his eyes away from Ivan's face and looks around the room he's in. The walls and floor are made of glass and reflect everything hazily and distorted. A glass chandiler hangs from the ceiling and the lamps of the room are shaded with glass shades. Even the furniture bore that clear, hazy glass look to it. Ivan's apartment was made of glass, he thinks.
There's a cool feel to the room and he decides he doesn't want to look any more. He drags his eyes back to Ivan's face where he finds that Ivan's eyes were still boring into him. He shivers.
"Do I have something on my face?"
"...No...No. You don't have anything..." Ivan then looks away from the American to grab something from beside him that shakes and rattles with each move. Alfred already is shaking his head no before Ivan can even get into a word.
"Nope. Not doing it."
"Alfred, do not be a child."
"I am not being a child. I am simply refusing to take a horsepill."
"It is not a horsespill – it is of regular size."
"Where the fuck do you come from? That's a horsepill. Those pills are huge. I'm not taking it."
"Alfred, you have had no other issues taking them before."
"How do you know that?"
"Because of your change in attitude and the fact that I can hear you gagging over its atrocious taste every morning."
"Creep."
"I am not a creep – you are simply just extremely loud in the morning. Actually, you are loud all the time. Alfred, you often seem to forget the main rule in bringing home scores is that you send them home afterwards and that you do not screw them in the public hallway."
He leans back from the Russian. "Definitely not taking it now. That definitely destroyed any idea of taking it at all."
Ivan shakes his head condescendingly. "You are being far more difficult than need be."
"Your mom is being difficult."
Ivan has no reply to this.
Instead, he looms over Alfred and grabs his chin; pushing the American's mouth open and shoving the slightly large pill instead. Alfred bucks and tries to get the pill to go away but the pill is forced down his throat and he chokes it down.
As it worms its way down, he leans over the side of the couch and spits into Ivan's pot of planted sunflowers.
"There was a perfectly dying marigold plant next to it, yet you chose to spit into my sunflower plant." Ivan's voice is flat and unamused as his expression. Alfred coughs into his arm, feeling the pill still lodged in his throat, and glares over at the icy dickbag.
"That was so uncalled for."
"Well, you have to realise that it is necessary for you to take your pill Alfred or else things go...'wonky'. Besides, there were others ways of delivering the pill to you."
"Others than shoving your fingers down my throat?"
"I could have delivered it orally."
"All right! This is far too gay for me. I'm leaving." Alfred wastes no time in getting up off of the couch and heading towards the door. It is like the rest of the apartment was fashioned from glass.
"Oh yeah, 'fore I leave to totally erase you from my mind – I've gotta wonder. Why's your apartment made of glass bro?"
Ivan suddenly shoves him out the door and slams it shut behind him. Alfred stares dumbly at the wooden door before the sound of a deadbolt jars him from his thoughts. He scoffs loudly and turns his back. "Well fine asshole! I didn't want to know any way!"
As Alfred hurries back into his own apartment, he doesn't hear the unclick of the deadbolt and a haunting voice whispering.
"It's not made of glass. It's ice."
He hasn't seen Arthur and he doesn't want to. The elevator is out and he doesn't want to take the stairs because he might run into him. He doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to. He fears Arthur.
He never thought the day would come when he would fear what his whole world once revolved around.
Alfred sneaks his way downstairs using the forgotten stairway and heads into the lobby to grab his mail. He swings out his key and unlocks his mailbox while whistling a happy tune. He flips through the junkmail and sees a letter from his mum and brother and a magazine he's been waiting for forever.
"Oy you!"
Alfred freezes. He zones in on the blond hair and thick eyebrows.
"Yeah! I need a word with you dickbag!"
The scream has left his mouth and he's already hauling ass up the stairs; letter from his mum and latest issue of Shounen Jump forgotten.
He freezes on the stairs; a lone thought running rampant in his mind. "He's dead, Alfred. He's dead just like you and me."
The silky voice seems to curl around his neck like a set of hands and he feels his breathing constrict painfully. He shoves the voice from his mind and fills it with superheroes and spandex. He will not let the voice get to him.
Arthur is alive. Arthur is alive. Alfred knows he's alive He knows it for Alfred had felt that heart beat slowly underneath the layers of clothing. Alfred knows and Alfred will never let anyone else tell him otherwise.
"One day, you'll see and the ice will shatter once more."
The voice hisses and Alfred closes his ears to the world like a babe who has refused to accept the truth. As he hauls ass up the stairs, he sinks back into his world of familiarity. This is normal. This is not normal.
XXXX
"Get your fat ass over here!"
"Make me!"
"Alfred, I swear to God I will rip apart everything you love."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
XXXX
"Alfred, alfred! You need to come out!"
XXXX
The ice cracks and creaks and spreads towards the teenager. The ground splits beneath him and he slips into the water before Alfred's very eyes with a screaming echo.
"Arthur!"
XXXX
"You need to forget, Alfred. You must forget everything or else she'll get you like she got everyone else."
Alfred thinks it's a Wednesday. He's not sure.
He is not sure of anything any more.
His apartment is dark; the blinds have been drawn. Is it day? Is it night?
He weakly gets to his legs. There's no one in his apartment. There's no one he can see.
Maybe there are ghosts. Maybe there are ghosts of the dead haunting his apartment and poking ridiculously at his torment. Alfred isn't sure.
He isn't sure of anything lately.
He stumbles over to the front door of his apartment. He rests his head against the cool wood and looks down at the floor beneath his feet. Something had been slipped under his door. Weakly, he bends down to grab it and with tired eyes he skims over the letter.
It crumples in his hand and he lets out a quiet sob.
The lease is up.
It's time to go.
At last.
The lease is finally up and he's ready to move from this place. He's ready to leave this world behind already. He's ready to leave Arthur, their past, their love, their life all behind. Alfred needs to get better. He knows this. He will never get better here.
Alfred will stay locked in the past here.
His things are packed already; boxes stacked on top of one another as he struggles to catch that mysterious cat of his. Eventually, he is able to trap it in its never-used cage. It's a cat all right. He was never sure until now, but then again he's not too sure about many things. He'd like to be sure. He'd like to be sure about everything.
He'd like to be sure about being normal.
He'd like that.
Alfred continues to pack up his things; stacking things here and there and getting distracted by the oddity of things he'll find. There's Gilbert's hooker thong from the bachelor's party-gone wrong for that Roderich kid. There's his brother's bong (of course, he'll never say he'll find it). And he knows that he caught sight of his mother's birthday gift around somewhere.
It is all a meaningless act and move, but it keeps his mind off of the things at hand. But of course, it does not keep his mind off of things at all.
Those hands. Those hands are cold and dry, even though the water surrounds them. Arthur's nails dig into his throat and he screams out for help–
Alfred drops his lamp and thankfully, nothing shatters. His back creaks as he bends over to retrieve it and all he can think about are Arthur's cold hands. His hands are shaking as he sets down the lamp.
It's all lies and he knows it. He was dreaming when it all happened. Arthur didn't really strangle him. Alfred knew better. Alfred really did know better. It wasn't Arthur who strangled him in the shower. It wasn't really the Briton and he knows it deep down.
But he knows it deep down that Arthur isn't all as he seems. He knows it.
The American kicks over a box and ignores the yowling of his cat.
And then he decides.
He'll visit Arthur.
It'll be the last time. He swears. Then he'll be gone and all will be right and nothing will be painted purple any more.
He'll visit Arthur and say his goodbyes. He'll drop a hug and some tears and cry himself silly and then go away forever. Alfred will go away forever; maybe go back to college for a year or two to get a masters and then maybe pick himself up a pretty lady. He'll leave all of it behind.
And slowly, the last ice cubes plunder to their doom.
He grabs his keys and his phone, and can't stop the shiver of excitement slip through him like a bolt of lightening. He can't stop it, but he knows that it is not the right emotion to feel. He has realised that this was a time of mourning and a time of excitement. Not excitement for seeing Arthur, but more for his at last return to normality. Alfred would be normal again.
Alfred would be normal again and that's all he cared for.
So he leaves and heads down the stairs at last. There's a jump and spring in his step that he can't control and he doesn't know why, but he really doesn't care. He really doesn't, but he really does.
The door appears to him; looming quietly with its inset into the door. He stops in front of him and his heart beats with concentration. His brain is working overtime with the things that would be said; with the things that could be said. Alfred is determined though.
He'll say his good-byes and make his climb back to normality.
So he opens the door with a smile of his face and Arthur's name lingering on his chapped, overbitten lips.
And as he enters the room, the smile dies on his face and he's greeted with the most terrible sight.
Arthur is dead.
And all is painted amethyst.
The last ice cubes crackle and hiss, and Alfred stumbles from shock. He can't focus. He can't focus. He's losing the fight. He's slipping farther. He's falling, he's falling, he's falling like a mad bird from mid flight! Ivan is frowning, frowning deeply as he stands innocently in the bloody room, smiling, smiling like it is no problem. Arthur is nearby. Arthur is dead. Arthur is dead. Ivan has killed him. Ivan steps forward and reaches for Alfred. He shies away violently from the action. He's a monster! A vile, disgusting creature!
"Comrade." The neighbour mutters. Alfred does not speak; he does not listen. He only sees. He only sees the destruction. His world has been painted with it. "You must listen to me. Listen to me and my wicked cries. Look, my friend, I've destroyed everything you've ever loved! You don't understand, do you? Alfred. Please–"
"What...What is wrong with you?" He yells, clutching at his head. Alfred can't see. He can't see. His vision fades in and out. There's Ivan standing quietly before he's smiling with a grin thick with blood. Half-smiling, half-frowning. His world spins and spins and continues to laugh at him."Stop fucking with me!" The room spins violently. Ivan's violet eyes are like a beacon.
"When was the last time you took your pill?" Ivan asks. "Friend, you are destroying yourself this way!"
"You've destroyed everything I've ever loved!"
"Of course. Why resign myself to such a lonely world when there are others I can drag down with me? What are you talking about? Alfred, you're hallucinating!"
Alfred scoffs. "You're lying. You're a dirty fucking liar! What, you think I'm hallucinating seeing Arthur's dead body behind you?"
Ivan turns. He smiles upon the sight and laughs. He frowns upon the nothing, the dust, the dark that lays behind him; the proof that no one has stepped foot in here in years. Alfred's vision twists again. Ivan is viewing the nothing. He is smiling at the canvas he made from Arthur's body.
"There is no body. Do you like my art? Or do you prefer the canvas of which I've painted on?"
"It's Arthur!" He shouts. "Right. Fucking. Behind. You. You're a monster! Why did you kill my happiness you douchewad? Why in fuck did you kill Arthur!"
"Because he had what I want! There is no Arthur!"
"Yes, there was. You killed him! You killed him because you were so fucking selfish!"
There was silence. There was cruel laughter. "I am selfish, I will admit." Ivan said quietly. "It's always been one of my best qualities. But there is no Arthur. Arthur doesn't exist!"
Alfred clenched his fist. His world begins to spin before it stops and the ice comes. It starts at the dark corners were the monsters once hid but it begins to grow in seconds. It spreads across the floor like a flood of water and snaps and twists at the crumbling walls and ascends up it like a poisonous ivy. It grows and grows and soon the walls themselves are covered in icy glass that only further mocks all that is Alfred. There's a face there, in the glassy reflection of the ice.
It's Arthur.
Alfred screams.
Suddenly, there are hands on his shoulders. The hero ceases his screaming and shoves away at the Russian. The Slavic's footing stumbles and he slips and falls. Alfred wants to laugh but the happiness is gone. The ability to laugh is gone. Everything is gone.
"Why Ivan?" Alfred asks quietly. The ice shimmers. Arthur sneers. The glass beneath his feet begins to crack.
"You don't remember the past at all do you Alfred?" Ivan mumbles. He attempts to get closer; a hand reaching out tentatively as if he's approaching a stray dog. Alfred glares and steps back and is careful to mind the splitting, icy floor below his superman houseslippers. "He's dead Alfred. He's been dead for twelve years."
"Who's dead? I think I'd know if my best friend was dead for twelve years dude. What the fuck are you trying to pull?"
Ivan's face shift and the painted stones constrict with anger. Those pale hands twitch with the rage that courses through the room like a poisonous snake. "Arthur Edward Kirkland died February 21st from a ice-skating accident when he fell through the ice and did not come up."
His words are toneless. There is no hidden laugh to them. Alfred's lips twitch with dry humour and he laughs awkwardly. "Really? That's all you got, Ivan? With all those big fancy fantasy books you read I think you would have a bit more creative story than that."
Ivan's expression does not change.
"Come on Ivan. Stop pulling my leg and tell me what's going on."
"He's dead, Alfred."
"Well, I see that asshole! You killed him! The evidence is all over the walls!"
"No Alfred." Ivan's voice is calm and once more taking on that soothing firm tone that ached quietly for the normalcy of before. "You killed him."
The blood rips its way from the wall and suddenly gathers up Arthur in its way. It forms together to create a massive wave of utter red that suddenly shoots straight for him. It cuts through like glass and snaps and scratches at his skin before passing and splaying all over the ice behind him.
"Ivan, have I ever told you how not funny you are? For reals man–" The Russian's stern expression sends shivers of anxiety down his back. Ivan...Ivan was lying wasn't he? There was no way that Arthur could have been dead all this time. There was absolutely no way.
"You're lying, Ivan. You know that I don't appreciate assholes that lie to me."
"I already know, Alfred. I already know for you never change. You always hold true to your values even if they bring you immeasurable pain." He shakes his head in silent laughter.
"Oy fatty! This ain't no fuckin' time to be laughing dinner off of your thighs, asshole. You don't know me! We've barely even spoken! The only reason why I know your name is because our mailboxes are right next to one another and they mix our shit up! You're such a fuckin' creep. What kind of grown man has a subscription to House Fancy? What's wrong with you?"
"Many a thing, but that's beside the point here. Alfred – I have known you for a very long time. I have known you longer than Arthur. Do you not remember me?"
"I think I'd remember a creep with violet eyes." A bell of familiarity echoes within him and his overworked mind travels back to a former conversation. Pale hair, sunflowers, violet glass...He shakes it away. He does not know Ivan. He will never know ivan for Ivan has killed all that he loved.
"Of course. For I am nothing more than a figure of your dreams Alfred. Of course, you do not remember me. I was only a small fragment of your world of which revolved solely around your possessive need to retain normalcy."
Alfred freezes. "H-How do you know about that–"
"Intuition." Ivan answers and Alfred narrows his eyes at the bullshittery that leave his neighbour's mouth. "And the fact that you yourself once told me long ago that you wanted to be normal at whatever cost. Did you forget about that too?"
Sunflowers, the sun, a fluttering scarf that showed signs of a fraying edge. He wants to scream in frustration at the lack of realisation his returning memories were giving him.
"Of course you did. I see the medicine did its work."
"...Did you drug me? Did you sneak into my bedroom and take me like some sort of ill-virgin? What the fuck? I knew you had some f-ing issues but come on–"
"No! You were always one quick to jump to assumptions, but I assure you that is no where close! The medicine you've been given is designed to keep your memories at bay and your disorder on hold. The fact that you recall nothing of January 21st is in fact a miracle yet a terror."
"How the fuck is a terror?"
"We'll see the sunflowers again someday Alfred."
"Because it means you've fallen even further into yourself. You will be yet another sacrifce to the mad Queen. " A hand covers half his face and the Russian stares away from the American with a sense of shame. "You are still Alfred, but you have lost all that is you. You are yet another to be eaten by that of Alice."
Alfred is ready to scream. He marches forward and shoves and Ivan's shoulders. The Russian laughs and readys himself by drawing a lead pipe from the inside of his tan overcoat and stumbles to regain his balance on the icy floor.
"We'll see the sky too."
"Tell me what happened." Alfred demands. "Tell me so I can see if you're a lying bastard or not."
Ivan hesitates and Alfred begins to move in to kick some serious ass but Ivan stops him with gloved hands raised.
"Just like you promised."
XXXX
It was February – the coldest month of all the winter and that still managed to evade Spring's touch. February, the month of love yet awareness of your loneliness. February, the last month where General Winter had his reign.
February, the last of their happiness.
Alfred walks to pond they had spent their childhood at. Of course, trailing not far behind him was the towering Russian and the short Briton who had come with him to test out the pond.
Alfred wanted to go ice-skating, but he never wanted to go ice-skating with others around. Especially not on this small pond. It was his last chance and they all knew it and Alfred wasn't taking any chances this time. He was going to skate. He was going to skate until the sun rose and the ice melted and they went careening below like a set of demented buoys.
And of course, he'd be the hero and save them all because that's what he did. That was his job.
"Alfred, I do not know about this!" Ivan calls out behind him. Alfred turns with a snort and the clink of the blades of his white skates are the only noise of the eeriely calm winter evening.
"Come on, Ivan. Grow a pair. I'm only gonna check out the ice."
"Don't do anything you might regret, Alfred because I'm certainly not going to be the one hauling your arse out from underneath the ice."
Arthur's voice is sharp like the winter wind, but Alfred is used to the sting his voice brings. It's a friendly sting. It's a comforting sting. Arthur is comfortable and Alfred is okay with that.
"Wow, assholes. I thought we were tighter than that. You guys don't trust me at all."
Arthur shifts uncomfortably and suspiciously turns a red not caused by the slight chill of the night. "It's not as if we don't trust you, but–"
"You're far too stupid for your own good." Ivan cuts in.
Alfred makes a hurt face. "Blunt, Ruski. Real blunt. I feel the blade in my ribs." The ice skates fall to the snowy ground as Alfred turns around to face the frozen lake. The American takes one careful step onto the slippery surface and feels a hand curl around his upperarm. He turns and sees Ivan – grim and guarded as always. He's a snowman, Alfred swears, Ivan is made of snow and ice.
"Do not do anything you will regret, lapushka, or when I haul your fat ass out of the ice, you will not be greeted with relief but the overwhelming urge to scream and cry for your mother when I get through with you, comade."
"...You call out your mom's name when you sleep, dickbag. I'm not scared of you. Now let go and lemme' test this shit before you start getting all handsy or godfordbid friendly." He snorts the last words and Ivan scowls.
The American shrugs off Ivan's hand and gives Arthur a reassuring thumbs-up to which the Briton meets with a thumbs-down ("Dickmove man.") and starts to tread his way across the ice. He stops and turns and faces his friends and takes in the look of this is bad, this is dumb, this is stupid, why are we doing this, why is he so dumb. Alfred scowls at them.
"Be careful, you moron!"
"I'm not even moving!" He calls back with irritation thick in his voice. "Anyway, prepare yourself guys because if I slip and fall, we're going to have to bolt our asses back home!"
He's met with sighs and resigned nods and scowls again but digresses and goes on with his assigned mission.
First, he taps the ice. There's no shifting below or ominous gurgle of the frozen pond water. Afterwards, he stomps his foot. Nothing.
Then, taking on a daring approach, he bends his knees and jumps. He slams down on the ice and almost loses his balance. Both Ivan and Arthur pitch forward on the embankment, but Alfred balances himself like the badass he is and stop them in their tracks with his cheesy grin and thumbs up.
"I'm all right, guys! You seem to forget I'm American!"
But then, suddenly, something shifts beneath Alfred and an ominous and dark gurgle rips through the air like lightening. Immediately, Ivan is the first to react; eyes so wide with surprise that Alfred can see their different shade from his position on the pond.
"Get off the pond! Get off of it, you moron!"
"I'm comin'. I'm comin'! Come on guys. It's super thick. I mean really. We're gonna be fine. Ivan, you're being such a big baby!"
Ivan's eyes narrow considerably and his gloved hands tighten. "This is no laughing matter, Alfred."
"Hey, Arthur! Get your butt over here and show Ivan how safe this stuff is."
The Briton looks torn with the decision of wanting to go home and wanting to join Alfred on the ice. However, the Briton soon realised that he'd be placed one up and above the ever-icy Ivan. With a shake of his head, he slips onto the ice and joins Alfred.
"You're such an idiot." He mutters.
"They why'd you join me?" The American grins. "Come on man. You joined me 'cause you love me! Now, let's make silly faces at Ivan because he's a loser and he's still on the embankment."
"No, you're going to make silly faces. I don't want to be here."
"Artyyyyyy. Come on – you came to supervise! You came here so that Ivan doesn't rip my face off!"
"And I can only do so much." He begins to make his way off of the ice, but Alfred stops him by tugging on his arm and pulling him back to their spot on the ice. The Briton scowls and attempts to shove him off but Alfred doesn't let him and stays firm.
"We gotta prove that the ice is safe or Ivan isn't gonna' let me skate man. This means he isn't gonna teach me either." He whispers; far too close to Arthur's ear.
"I thought you could skate."
"Yeah, roller-skate. Anything I did learn about ice-skating I totally forgot. You have to help me prove it to him!"
Arthur scowls again, but Alfred's face is too precious to shatter even though he would love secretly to see it break and collapse into a million pieces so he could mend and fold it back to how he pleased. He would do this. He would do this Alfred, because Alfred was his.
"Fine. I'll do it."
"Aw yeah!"
The Briton sighs and casts one last look at the Russian up on the shore. The living icile was glaring ice at the Briton and it felt as if it was spreading across his face like an infectious disease.
So, Arthur jumps. He bends his knees, feeling pain shoot through them and cursing bad genetics and shooting up before slamming back down on the ground. He catches himself from falling and there's nothing for a moment. Alfred's hand is on his arm and there's a smile on both of their faces. Ivan's shaking his hand from out on the embankment and there's just happiness. There's just happiness.
And then as Alfred leans in to tell him a secret, the ice cracks and Arthur slips away underneath with a dead scream.
It happened before either of them realised. Ivan was already peeling his way out onto the ice, but before Alfred can get away, he's gone underneath too. The ice below him was weakened from Arthur's jump and his weight did nothing to further his odds. The American claws and digs for the surface and tries to feel around for Arthur, but Arthur's gone. Arthur's gone.
He screams and kicks for the surface, but he can't break it. He can't break it. He's going to die. He's going to die here, and Ivan's going to be left all alone and he doesn't know about Arthur. Arthur's probably dead too.
And it's all his fault.
It's always your fault isn't it, Alfred?
They're teenagers. They're supposed to be stupid. They're supposed to do things they'll regret for the rest of their lives. It's all they're good for. They're supposed to cause trouble. They're supposed to.
But no one was supposed to die.
As he feels the blackness finally start to completely cloud his vision, he sees a flash of light. He grabs out for it and tries to cling to it with all his power, because he doesn't want to lose the light left. It's the only thing left.
He breaks the surface finally and something hauls him out faster than he could have ever imagined.
Crying, that's what he hears. He looks up. The moon has been painted purple.
"I'm so stupid..." The moon whispers. It sheds its tears and they fall into his cupped hands that are frozen warm.
"You're not...stupid." He mumbles. "You're just...an a-asshole..."
And then he remembers. He remembers it all. He remembers the crying and the taunting and that terrible feeling that nothing would ever be whole again and that they were the dumbest people alive. Alfred remembers and he wishes nothing more that he wouldn't.
And for some reason, the moon has turned red.
XXXX
"Do you remember now?" Ivan asks quietly.
"That's impossible." Alfred whispers. "You...You..."
"I'm the boy with the violet eyes, Alfred. Don't you remember me?" Ivan's voice is like a child's – all the more real and all the more painful.
He does. He remembers, but he doesn't want to. Remembering makes it all the more real.
"I exist, Alfred. As your precious love does not. I was there that night and you know it."
"Why? Why are you doing this?"
"To make you remember."
"I don't want to!"
Ivan smiles, but it's small and tiny and oozes with sadness. "That's all right. One day, we'll see the sunflowers again, Alfred. Just like you promised. Just like you promised."
Then, Ivan's grin is gone and he is replaced by the beaten, icy form of Arthur. The ice had sliced open his neck and his fingertips had gone blue. His eyes, his once gorgeous eyes, had gone dull. The blue fingers raise like a conductor's graceful hands and the fingertips have gone black from the cold.
The hands are curling like a snake around his throat before he can even scream.
"Sometimes imagination is a little bit too much to bear, isn't it love?"
The ice below them cracks and shatters and sends them careening to the bottom once more in a terrible repeat of once was. As the icy water dissolves them both and takes them captive beneath the clear waves, the dying screams are finally heard after the lock that silenced them for twelve years is broken at last and the last ice cube finally breaks with a thin crack.
XXXX
"You'll be eaten like the rest of them and disappear to her world of Wonderland and never be seen again."
"Would you prefer that than a life without Arthur, Alfred?"
XXXX
Alfred wakes up. He wakes up breathing hard. He can still see Ivan's eerie grin, smiling at him through the darkness. His heart thumps in the onyx abyss that surrounds him; beating hard in his ears. It is all he hears. The only sound to comfort him in the dark atmosphere. He sits up weakly and flicks on the light.
Something moves beside him. It's a woman. The Belgium neighbour. She appears to have spent the night.
Somehow he knows that this happens often.
Alfred lies back down and brings his hands to his beating chest. Of course it was only a dream. A dream, only a dream. A lie within a lie. He rolls onto his stomach.
It was weeks ago. All an accident. Arthur never existed. Arthur was gone. At least that's what Ivan told him.
It was a lie. It was a dirty lie. But he's still in love. He's in love with a dead man. A dead man who haunts the downstairs apartment. He'll be haunted forever by what he loves most.
But it's okay. Arthur will live on in his dreams.
The dreams that curse him so now.
The dreams used to be his safe haven. Now they're everywhere.
Alfred has always loved to dream. He's always dreaming it seems. It's normal.
All is normal. All is blessedly, bleeding and bloody normal. He's falling farther into himself with each passing minute. He's going to be eaten by Alice. Alfred is getting closer and closer to normality with each new step.
And he has never hated it more.
And he has never loved it more.
XXXX
"Send them in, see them on.
If she can't find a lover, she'll fashion one.
Imaginary men; Like the burned out poets in the hinterland
Imagine hurt, imagine tears.
She opened up until she disappeared and vanished, hand in hand, with all the long-lost children locked in Neverland."
XXXX
Note: OTL I'm sorry this keeps showing up! Fanfiction derped and added a second chapter of something that was totally irrelevent and then I found more mistakes...