"Chubby-Jones!"
The swings were old and creaked when they swung, not that Alfred swung. He sat on the seat alone, staring emptily between his fingers.
Alfred was never one for card games, but he became all too familiar with solitaire. And ringing in his ears were the shouts and screams that tore his smile down; his real one anyways. It's funny how so many people seem to buy the fake one. Then again, prints always do look just as good. But it wasn't anything he wasn't used to.
He cringed as he heard the clock strike seven and his eyes lowered to the ground. Must he go already? Of course, he had no choice.
The stars glistened down at Alfred as he started to return home. The chilled air caressed his face, kissing him softly. Stay strong, it whispered, but the words were empty now.
The lights in his house were glowing through the windows, and the boy's bottom lip trembled as he approached the doorstep. His fingertips, oh how they trembled as they grasped the doorknob. He had no luck of dashing to his bedroom unseen. Not when he heard the crash of a broken bottle and smelt the familiar scent of cigarette smoke through the thin air, or when the slurred curse words came like a blow to the stomach and knuckles to accompany them.
"You're so annoying."
School was Hell if you asked Alfred.
He laughed and talked to everyone and anyone who passed by him. He waved his hand so fast it would lose circulation. People who smiled were prettier, weren't they? People would probably tease him if he admitted he wanted to be called "pretty" or even "beautiful." Men weren't supposed to be "pretty." Were they?
His cheeks hurt from the stretched grin, and his eyes were so dull of a blue. He wondered if anyone could ever tell. He wondered if they noticed his limp or if they caught him in the bathroom crying. He wondered if other kids were like him, or if he was just alone in this. He wondered, oh how many things he wondered. But life is weird like that: you never get answers to your questions.
People liked to tease and taunt him. He wondered why. Perhaps because he would just laugh at it as if it were a joke. It is all a joke. But just because he told himself that didn't mean he believed it, and that made all the difference.
A lot of boys were born with blond hair, but most of them turned brunette throughout their days—Alfred was just stupid like that, and he stayed blond. He would try to color his hair with markers only to be sent to the clinic to wash it out. People didn't like blond-haired boys.
And today was no different, Alfred ran at first sound of the lunch bell. He ran to the bathroom before he was seen and locked himself in a stall. He did try to stifle his sounds, but crying wasn't a soft thing.
"Are your teeth supposed to be that big?"
He learned it was something that could help him.
It was wasn't it?
Alfred took apart one of his mom's shaving razors. It wasn't that difficult. He just cut the plastic part that held the blades together, and took one out. He turned it over in his hand at first, blinking dazedly at it. The bathroom door was locked, and a glance to the knob confirmed that.
At first Alfred jumped at the pinch. A small line of red started to appear on his arm. But one penny is not enough to buy a candy bar. Bracelets hung from his arms and beads dropped to the floor. It started to rain and he shut his eyes tightly to stop the clouds.
And at the sound of thunder Alfred's eyes jolted open. His arm shook and the blade cut deeper, deeper it cut.
He yelped of pain and dropped the razor. Only then did he realize how much he cut himself, but then it was too late. Time was of essence, and his was slowly dripping away down a dry well. Black dots clouded his vision and he blinked slowly. His limbs felt much too heavy, and he fell over on his side. Breathing much too deeply, he started to close his eyes.
He slept.
"You're so stupid!"
When he woke he was still alone in the bathroom.
His head felt heavy and his arm was sticky. He blinked but a few times before he regained vision. The door was still locked and the blade on the floor. Alfred sat up slowly; his head was spinning wildly on a rapid wheel.
He stood shakily and fell again. He could hardly move. Breathing was labored and he held onto the sink to pull himself up. The mirror frightened him.
Alfred turned the faucet on and the soft sound of running water scattered across the bathroom walls. He winced as he put his arm under the running water. It stung.
He cleaned himself up at least a little.
Alfred's breaths were heavy and dense. He still had trouble standing and he felt faint. But now was not the time for that, surely it was time for school. Coincidentally, he heard the bus drive up to his house noisily with the banging of sounds akin to pots and pans.
"What's on your arm, emo freak?"
Doesn't he look happy with such a big grin? Do his eyes not sparkle so brightly? Such a blessed boy.
Alfred trudged through hallways heavily. He could hardly keep himself up. His lips twitched and he forced himself to keep smiling, chin up, wave at everyone. Don't forget: you're the hero. But a terrible hero at that; you couldn't even save yourself.
The halls were clearing quickly and Alfred felt his pace slow even more. His smile finally fell.
People were asking him: was he alright? But all of them passed by him on receiving a nod.
"Did you eat breakfast?" he heard a voice.
He couldn't answer. His head was too heavy and his eyes were too tired; he fell onto the tiles.
"H-Hey!" the same voice shouted and suddenly his shoulders were shook.
"Why are you always smiling, git?"
He had awoken once more in the clinic office.
The blurred world started to refocus slowly. His mind was weighted and he could not yet decipher the codes. People threw words at him and he missed every catch until he struck out. But he'd dropped the bat long ago.
Alfred wouldn't respond to anyone. His breathing as shallow and for once in his life, he wished for the end. He wanted it all over.
People commanded him to answer them, but what use would that do? Alfred stared blankly at the ceiling. Nothing would help him now. Nothing could save him now. Now that he thought about it, was he ever safe in the first place?
And then the door opened gently, a boy poking his head in and his eyes widened when they locked with Alfred's. He entered.
"You're awake," he said.
Alfred merely gazed at the boy. He had blond hair, just like him. On him, blond didn't look so stupid. Alfred felt his chest lighten at the sight of him. He was beautiful. His face, his eyes, his heart that shone through like the light of a million stars—no not even that did him justice. He knew of this boy, and he knew him well. He'd seen him in the library and in classrooms… He knew this boy for two years from afar.
People around him nodded, prompting the new boy to talk to Alfred, seeing as he would respond to him.
"What happened? Why did you faint?" the boy blurted out, immediately biting the inside of his lip as if he regretted the words.
Alfred looked at him.
"Alfred?" and such harmonies were played in his name.
Alfred hadn't much to say. He didn't even know why, and he voiced as much. The boy looked down, somewhat sadly and nodded. Alfred wondered why he looked so sad.
The boy turned to the other people in the room, "Can I take him home?" he asked them.
The boy waited not for a reply, already picking up Alfred to carry him.
"God, you're heavy," he muttered and started to run off with him.
And out of all the insults made of his weight, this one seemed… nicer.
"I'm worried about you."
The boy started to get too tired to carry Alfred half-way home. He set him down on the ground, collapsing next to him, breathing heavily.
"You know, if you could walk this would be so much easier," the boy grumbled with a scowl.
Alfred looked at him for a mome—he wasn't smiling. How could he forget to smile?
Alfred stretched another grin on and his tone became cheery once more. He apologized sheepishly for not being able to walk.
The boy furrowed his eyebrows, he looked at him and said, "Why are you smiling so glassy? Why fake it?"
Alfred felt his lips drop again, this time of shock and he stared blankly at the boy.
"Alfred?"
But Alfred was not there. His face remained placid and plain for the longest time.
A tear streamed down his cheek.
"You idiot, you can't hurt yourself like that!"
The boy's home was neat and tidy.
"Sorry for the mess," the boy apologized hastily for no reason.
Alfred was ushered into the boy's bedroom and they sat on his bed. For a moment they were quiet. The blanket hugged their ankles and the curtains shielded all judgment from the room. It was but two clean souls.
"You can tell me anything," the boy said, and Alfred shook his head.
And so silence enveloped them once more.
Over a few minutes, the boy spoke again.
"I could be your friend," he said softly, "I'm bad at befriending people."
For the first time, Alfred glanced up to eyes so beautiful he could have died. For the first time, he smiled sincerely.
A single embrace sealed their newly found friendship and Alfred clung to his new friend of fear if he let go, he'd leave him. Alfred buried his face in the boy's shoulder. He cried softly and cracked his lips open to speak.
"You're… so beautiful."
"Arthur."