POSTED 3:16 AM MARCH 29, 2015

So I know it's only been two years, but I think I've learned something, and I'm gonna tell you all a little secret about losing a loved one. When people say "It gets better with time"? It's all bullshit. It doesn't get better - not really. When my mom told me that cancer had finally taken my dad from me, I was left with nothing. I wasn't sad, or angry, or scared. All I could think was, "Yeah. Okay," over and over again.

I didn't think about the future, or the past, it was like time was eternally stuck in that moment and all I could think was, "Yeah. Okay." Well, after a few weeks, things started to change. I got angry. I hurt myself more. I yelled at people more. But most importantly, I started to think about time. Time was once again moving for me, and it terrified me that weeks were passing since I lost my dad. Time wouldn't stop for me, even though it stopped for him. I felt like I was leaving him behind, and that destroyed me, because no matter what, the days kept going by and there was nothing I could do to stop it. When I was letting time pass, I felt things, but they were awful things. It came to a point where, after a while, that feeling of "Yeah. Okay," was as good as it got. It was only when I disassociated with the concept of time did I find an escape from the emotions that crushed me until I was nothing but a sobbing body curled up in my bed.

After a while, that escape was perceived as happiness, only because I wasn't suffering. And yeah, after a few months, after a year, those times of suffering decreased. But it's never gotten better . I don't even remember what "better" used to feel like, but I know it wasn't this. I've simply adjusted my standards so that this is the new "good". I still cry until I can't breathe almost every night, and I still can't even hear someone talk about their father without my heart clenching.

If anyone who's reading this has lost someone they love recently, I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you're life is never going to be the same. It'll change from how it is right now, yes, but it will never resemble what you used to have. If you're sacred because you don't feel like you've improved since they died - don't worry. You probably never will. But you get used to it. You can handle it. Just accept the pain and know that it's part of you now, and you aren't broken for that. But most importantly I'm sorry you have to go through this at all and I'm sorry that people are forever going to tell the lie "it get's better."

-A.F.J


MAY 23, 2013

They sat together on the curbside, silent after the service. It wasn't a big service with dozens of people making well thought-out speeches and a choir in the back; it was just a service. Size didn't matter when Alfred was still left with this dull weight in his body that kept him seated there, looking past the parking lot with dull eyes. Arthur sat next to him, respectfully keeping quiet and responding for him when a family friend would say goodbye or express condolences as they passed the two on their way out. Alfred wished he could tell Arthur how much he appreciated the other's simple comfort, but he didn't have the words or the energy right now.

It was Alfred's father. It hadn't been more than a week since summer break started, and not more than a week since Alfred's first-day-of-summer wake-up call was his mother coming into his room at seven AM to announce his dad had finally passed away. That was a bad day, and he'd known it was coming. With a diagnosis like Leukemia, death had been unavoidable.

Moving his gaze from the scorching black top to the dusty blue sky, Alfred thought about what would happen next. There was still a full summer ahead of him, and then he and his friends started their junior year of high school. Sitting there with his thoughts, a wave of anxiety twisted its way into his gut. What would his life be like now? He was grateful for Arthur being there. He was grateful that all of his friends were there. If it hadn't been for Arthur, Francis, and Kiku, Alfred was sure that he would have had to leave in the middle of the funeral. But Arthur, who was doing a better job at handling him than his own mother, was the real distraction.

They spent the rest of the day and night together hanging out, talking, eating, and playing card games until the early hours. Arthur left late the next morning, offering Alfred a kiss goodbye and a few more words of condolences, reminding him that the phone line was open at any time.

But Alfred didn't pick up the phone for almost a month.

After the service, it had taken less than one more week for their hospice agent to drop by the house to present the urn with his father's ashes. The urn wasn't anything special, just a solid black granite object that would be fated to sit atop the living room coffee table like deadweight. Alfred's mother insisted that it was a modest memorial to honor his father and keep him in their hearts, but Alfred thought she was just trying to use anything she could get her hands on to fill the empty space, not wanting to let go. While she never confirmed it with words, her actions spoke loud enough.

The Monday after the service, she entered their local PetSmart to buy bird-feed for their outdoor feeder, and came out with bird-feed and a dog. Over the summer, she adopted another dog and a cat. Neither Alfred nor his brother was brave enough to remind her she was allergic to both.

The new animals were a welcomed addition, though, and as the days and weeks passed, Alfred, who had never shown an interest in pets before, quickly became fond of them to the surprise of his mother and Matthew.

Matthew. Alfred wasn't sure where he and his brother stood, anymore. He supposed that his brother had always been closer to his mom, while Alfred preferred the company of their dad most of the time, but ever since they'd received the first diagnosis, something happened. The changes came slowly at first. Either Matthew didn't notice, or didn't care. But a wedge was driven between them, along with their mother. It really came down to the differences in how they dealt with the stress.

While the rest of his family stayed optimistic and tried to hold onto hope, Alfred knew from the beginning that this cancer would take his father away from him soon. Sure enough, his dad's health deteriorated faster than anyone expected, and within less than a year, he was gone. In that time, Matthew had taken to being with their mother, talking about feelings and what not. Alfred just couldn't do that, though. Alfred understood that when his mother touched his hand over the dinner table or hugged him before he went to bed, she was only trying to offer comfort. He knew that when Matthew asked constantly, "Are you doing okay? Are you sure?" it only meant Matt was just concerned for him. But he couldn't bring himself to appreciate it. He hated the affection. When his mother grabbed his hand, Alfred couldn't help but flinch and yank his hands back under the table. Getting hugged didn't go much better.

About half a year after the big cancer reveal, Matthew stopped trying. For the first time in months, Alfred had been grateful for something. But their mother wasn't so patient. Instead of following Matthew's example, she took every flinch, every dismissive comment, as a personal insult. She cried and asked Alfred to hug her, then cried harder when he refused. She began to invade his privacy, come into his room without consent and sit on the bed, not leaving until Alfred told her about every detail of that week. And if Alfred ever snapped and told her how uncomfortable he was with her there, she'd snap back with variations of, "I'm your mother, I have a right to be in here." His annoyance with her only spurred his mother to pry even more.

It wasn't until he didn't come to dinner one night for the sake of not having to see her did he realize how far they'd been driven apart by this cycle. Their family's life pre-cancer felt like a dream, it was so different from the disorder they lived in now.

This was a slow kind of isolation. Up until summer, he had still talked with his friends constantly at school, still watched T.V. with his family, still played video games with Matthew, and still spent a lot of his time texting Arthur. Slowly he began to get tired of doing it all, and after the funeral, ten minutes on the phone was enough to tire him. Simply, Alfred had been a mess from the start, but now that his dad had died…it was even worse.

Tonight, they had just finished cleaning up after dinner, and while Matthew was distracted with putting the dishes away, Alfred quietly moved back into his room for the rest of the night. Their biggest dog, a golden retriever named Hero, jumped off of the couch to follow. Alfred didn't want to deal with his family for a while, and hadn't wanted to the whole day. Hero was the only company he really wanted anyway, he just flopped down next to him when Alfred was alone. Hero's familiar warm weight pressed against his side was the only comfort Alfred could appreciate right now. Animals were good. People were a drag.

Not bothering to turn on the lights after shutting the door, Alfred crawled under his covers, waiting for sleep. Waiting, waiting, thinking, thinking, more waiting and more thinking. Alfred wished he could control his mind, maybe then his imagination wouldn't run wild at the most inconvenient times. The paranoia and anxiety that gripped him tonight wasn't unusual, but he was stressed, nonetheless. He still had too many questions and no one to tell him the answers. Answers wouldn't be earth shattering and could wait for another day, but they couldn't wait forever. Alfred wanted relief already.

Instinctively he reached for his phone that had been tossed onto the top of one of his pillows. As he turned it on and typed in the familiar numbers, he vaguely noticed that it was late, about eleven at night. Time seemed to pass at unpredictable paces recently, so the sudden jump didn't throw him off any more than if he had evidently been sitting there for only five minutes. It was all the same. The only time that mattered to him right now was the time that had passed since he dialed Arthur's number.

Every time the phone rung without being followed by a click and familiar, "Hello?" Alfred's heart sunk a little more. He knew Arthur wasn't going to pick up this late, but when the automated message played in his ear, he still felt hurt. Alfred tried a few more times in vain before giving up and trying someone else. Kiku would pick up, wouldn'the? Alfred never learned the answer; apparently in the past few weeks the Japanese boy had gotten a new phone and the old number was no longer in service. After trying a few more of friends, Alfred called it quits and tossed the phone aside where it would probably end up lost among the thick folds of his covers. A weight was beginning to press down on him, and only then did Alfred realize how alone he was right now. His room was cold and still, empty except for him and his dog. From where he sat, it was easy to believe that there wasn't a world outside of these walls. But when he moved his gaze out the only window that still had it's blinds pulled up, he could see the street and the houses around them, some just black shapes in the night, others standing out with warm, soft glows of light seeping out from the inside. Even further in the distance he could see over the roofs of the neighborhood, past suburbs and to the start of the city, where it was still radiating with light and life and movement. Even from here inside his bedroom Alfred didn't have to strain his ears too much to hear the constant murmur of traffic. When he took a moment like this to remember that the world was still turning, a strange feeling came over him. It was like he was stuck behind a wall of glass, watching time passing on planet earth, and he could see everyone living out their life, making decisions, and moving forward. But he wasn't a part of it, any of it, whether or not he was there didn't make a difference. He was stuck, and it scared him. Alfred wasn't sure what to do about this.

After a small debate with himself, he got off the bed and left his bedroom. The hallway was dark, much like his room, and seeing that there was no glow of light from around the corner that led to the living room and kitchen, he assumed the rest of the house was unlit as well. No one else was awake. Hero had climbed down from his perch on the covers and was now standing behind Alfred curiously sniffing his hand and looking around, tail wagging contentedly. With a hard swallow, Alfred turned around and led the two of them back to his room where he closed the door, turned on the fan for white noise, and climbed under the covers, hoping if he just tried again, he'd be able to sleep this bad feeling off.

But sleep didn't come any more easily the second time around than the first. He tossed and turned under the covers, unable to find a position that could lull him to sleep, and at one point his frustration became violent, and with a good flick of his arm under the covers, Alfred accidentally hit his phone, launching it onto the floor with a loud thud. A sudden bright light escaped from under the face of the phone, lighting the floor and the space around it. Groaning in more frustration, Alfred flung the covers off without much care so he could pick his phone off the floor and put it away.

Perhaps it was a pure coincidence that Alfred felt that small notion of curiosity when he saw the bright screen; the last thing to be opened on his screen was his text messaging inbox. Alfred scrolled through the different conversations until he reached the bottom, where an old message glared at him through the bright screen, the three letters that made up the contact name, "DAD" seemed to mock him. A jolt of pain was felt in Alfred's heart as he read that name, and he scrambled to turn his phone off immediately. But he had seen it. Hesitantly, he turned the phone back on, and selecting the unopened conversation, he began to read what his father's last messages were.

Feb 27, 3:36 PM: "it's3.30p & just leaving work. I'll b there inabout 20 min. have phone on so i can call when i get there."

Mar 20, 3:39 PM: "I'm in Library parking...about 3rd car from your left 1st (front) row as you come from library."

Mar 25, 8:09 AM: "The 2 liter bottle is in office one right where shelves are...next to bottom shelf. Dad"

Alfred remembered the day the last one was sent. His English class was having a party that day, and he'd forgotten the soda he had signed up to bring on his way out of the house. He never did say thank you for that. It seemed like he never said thank you to anything. Alfred couldn't believe he had spent the last sixteen years being so ungrateful for anything his father did. At the time, it never seemed like much. It was just what he expected. But looking back now those years seemed like a dream, a fantasy, something he'd read and memorized, but couldn't grasp that it was real. Laughing at something rather unintelligent his dad said was a fact of the past. He remembered sitting in the driveway for an hour after being brought home just to listen to his dad explain scientific concepts in unnecessary detail, but in such passion that Alfred didn't mind when he got off topic or went on for so long that the air inside the car cooled. There were times when he'd go to his mom for help on math homework, just to end in an argument over how it should be done and Alfred would leave to find his dad, instead, who would undoubtedly try to solve the problems in the hardest way possible. They used to drive to school almost every morning together, listening to songs off of his dad's iPod that they both knew were only on there because Alfred liked them. When Alfred was nine and his pet tarantula began to molt and he cried because he thought it was dead, but his dad stayed up until midnight with him trying his best to show that the spider was just fine. All of these small things that seemed negligible were imperative for Alfred's childhood, and he would never get that back. Ever.

Weeks of nothing but shutting down and denial had passed, but now it finally hit Alfred that his dad was gone, and the walls broke down. The tears came quicker than the sobs, but soon after the drops had turned into small streams, his voice rose with every choked breath he let out. Alfred pressed his face into the pillow, not caring that it was slightly disgusting how damp the fabric already was.

He couldn't tell how long he'd been crying for. Not long after his breakdown began, Hero had flopped down in front of Alfred, pressed up heavily against his chest. Alfred hugged the dog tightly, trying to find comfort in the soft clumps of fur under his fingers. He loved his dog so much, but it pained him to accept that it wasn't enough right now. There were two people in the house he could go to right now, but in the morning they'd bring it up and he'd regret ever seeking comfort in them. At least that's what would happen if Alfred went to his mother. But Matthew, just maybe, would understand just a little more.

Alfred removed his trapped arm from under Hero, and taking a few deep breaths, he got out of bed again and left his room, going down to the other end of the carpeted hallway where his brother's room was. He opened the door, his chest heavy.

Alfred had to stop for a moment and just look at his brother, who had fallen asleep in the chair and leaned over his desk, a pencil still loosely gripped in his right hand. A lamp was still on, bathing Matthew's blond hair in cheap yellow light. Quietly, Alfred moved to the desk and turned out the light for Matthew. It may have been the noise, but after Alfred flipped the switch, Matthew began to stir.

"Sorry," Alfred whispered. His eyes were already adjusted to the dark, so he could see Matthew jump a little at the sudden voice.

"Huh? Oh, uh, no it's okay." After a small pause between them, Matthew asked why Alfred was in his room so late, his groggy voice laced with confusion.

"I..." what was Alfred supposed to say? "I just - just couldn't be alone, didn't want to be alone."

"Alfred, what's wrong?"

Alfred didn't give a reply, but grabbed a handful of Matthew's loose red hoodie and rested his head on his brother's shoulder, having to kneel down behind the chair to make the height difference less awkward. He had to say something, but in the dark with only the sound of his sniffling and shaking exhales, Alfred couldn't find the words to explain this situation. After Matthew asked gently a few more times, he decided to speak. "It just hit me."

"What? Alfred come on, what's wrong?"

"I just realized that dad's gone."

There was a pause before Matthew exhaled, "Oh," and scooted off the side of the chair, sliding onto the floor next to Alfred so he could wrap his arms around him. Alfred didn't know what to do at first - hugs were so foreign to him - but he pushed his weight into Matthew's chest after a small hesitation, and his hands found refuge bunched up in the fabric on Matthew's back.

For a few minutes, Alfred nearly lost himself in the warmth in front of him, and he felt centered. It didn't take long for Alfred to calm down, and as his mind cleared a little, he became aware of the soft sniffs that Matthew let out every once and a while. Alfred finally felt the full weight of exhaustion begin to drag him down.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?" he asked

Matthew mumbled a small "Of course" into Alfred's shoulder.

Sharing a bed was something they hadn't done since at least five years ago, but they were both too tired to care much. Alfred was finally able to fall asleep. Despite waking up about an hour later and returning to his own room to sleep (Hero was still lying on the bed, taking up most of it when he got there), Alfred couldn't remember sleeping as well as he did that night.

When Alfred woke up at noon the next day, he could see through his window that the sky was overcast. Alfred had decided a long time ago that overcast days were best. The city reflected the mood of the sky, and for at least a little while, Alfred felt like he wasn't out of place, like his own mixed and muted emotions weren't a stark contrast to the energy and hyperactivity that usually hummed through the atmosphere.

Alfred lay in bed, shifting and stretching each of his limbs until his body felt somewhat awake enough to even think about any big movement – starting with rolling onto his stomach to check the clock. He reached toward his bed stand and pushed down on the top of his pillow to see. It was only 12:30, still early for Alfred's standards. Alfred gracelessly slumped his back against the mattress again and nuzzled his head into the pillows. He didn't know if he wanted to do anything right now.

It was an apprehension rooted in two somewhat unrelated causes: on one hand, he was worried he'd run into Matthew, who would take one look at Alfred and recall the events of last night, then write him off as hopeless, vulnerable, and maybe just plain weak. But on the other, he was already becoming anxious because the seconds were ticking by too fast, and seconds would turn to minutes, then to hours, and eventually another day would have passed him by, wasted. Sometimes it felt like he was running out of time no matter what he spent it with, but what was waiting for him at the end, he didn't know, so it was impossible to tell what he was supposed to be doing. He just needed to do something.

Finally, after lying there indecisively for another half-hour, Alfred's neck and back began to cramp. He sat up on the edge of the bed and with a groan, managing to pull himself out of the bedroom for yet another day. Hero was curled up in front of the door, still asleep, but when Alfred cracked the door open to nudge the dog a few times, Hero jumped up out of the way.

The dog scampered down the hallway, probably alerting anyone in the house that Alfred was up. However, upon entering the kitchen he was greeted with the sight of Matthew at the kitchen table, not watching the entrance in anticipation for Alfred's arrival, but skimming over pages in that day's newspaper. Seeing his brother's face brought up memories of falling apart in front of Matthew the night before. More anxiety constricted in his chest when he wondered what Matthew thought of him now. He must think he was a wreck. In his mind, Alfred was convinced he'd screwed up last night. He was doing so well and finally mastering the art of holding everything inside, but he had been wrong, apparently. That was bad enough, but Matthew had seen it all, seen those walls come crashing down, and he just had to be disappointed, or at least disgusted. It was embarrassing.

Suddenly, interacting with his brother didn't seem like such a good idea right now. Alfred was prepared to turn around and hurry back to the safety of his room, but he wasn't paying attention to the objects directly around him. Turning too fast and misjudging his angle, Alfred promptly ran his side into the couch, letting out a soft curse directed at the unexpected obstacle. It was too late to leave now; Matthew had turned around at the noise and was looking at Alfred quizzically, obviously not impressed, but amused at his brother's slip-up.

"Forget where the furniture is?" Matthew asked, his playful tone making Alfred feel more embarrassed than he already was.

"Uh, yeah, apparently," Alfred huffed, mentally scolding himself for his clumsiness and standing awkwardly with his hand wrapped around the side of his abused abdomen. He shifted his weight from one foot to another until Matthew spoke up again.

"You don't usually get up this early. Did you want something?"

"Not really, no," Alfred said, strained. It wasn't exactly a lie; Alfred couldn't think of a single thing he wanted right then.

"Want me to make you some food?"

"No, it's okay."

"Are you sure? I really wouldn't mind. I'm feeling kind of hungry now anyway, so I could just make some for both of us." Matthew had set the paper down and gotten up, wondering toward the kitchen cabinets while talking to Alfred.

"No, I'm not hungry."

Matthew stopped with the cabinet door halfway open and looked back at his brother, expression hard to read.

"Alfred… I don't want to get on your case about this or anything, but you've been saying that for a few weeks. It's not really normal for you."

Saying it wasn't normal was an understatement, in all honesty. Matthew didn't want to make a big deal out of it and make Alfred so uncomfortable that he'd stop talking and go into hiding again. He wasn't going to say this out loud, but Matthew had really thought the events of last night meant progress for his brother. It felt like he hadn't seen Alfred in so long, he'd hate to mess it up now by throwing big questions on his brother so soon. But this was serious. Though he couldn't see much with Alfred's thick sweatshirt and pajama pants, he got the feeling that there was a lot more empty space under the clothing than there used to be.

His concern wasn't eased when Alfred simply shrugged and became quiet again. Getting the feeling that he was pushing it, Matthew quickly left the subject alone. "Never mind, I can wait until you get hungry. Though... do you think that might be a while?"

Alfred nodded, "Yeah, probably."

"Okay. How about we do something today then? Get out of the house?"

Out of the house. The idea wouldn't scare Alfred so much had he still been confident that he could keep it together. But now, after last night, who knew what would happen if he exposed himself like that. It could be disastrous. Alfred shook his head and muttered something that could have been a no, but wasn't clear enough for Matthew to tell.

"I think we should. What if I invited Arthur? He could tag along, make it a sort-of-date for you guys."

"Arthur?" Alfred was paying attention now at the mention of his boyfriend, who'd definitely been neglected for a little too long at this point.

Alfred felt guilty, he really did. Arthur didn't deserve to be ignored like this, but Alfred just had no interest in seeing him lately. He knew he had to start paying attention to the other soon, otherwise he'd either get mad and leave, or get bored and leave. Alfred didn't know what would hurt more.

Reluctantly, Alfred nodded after a few moments of contemplation. "Okay... yeah, okay, we can do that."

"Really?" Matthew's face lit up. "Great, alright, you call Arthur, and I'll see what the soonest movie showing is and get tickets from Fandango or something," he said excitedly as he moved about the kitchen, throwing the newspaper in the recycling basket before leaving in a hurry.

Alfred returned to his own room to find his cellphone, which was probably still lost somewhere under the covers.

He really didn't want to call Arthur; Alfred just knew he was going to sound stupid asking Arthur out after weeks of no attempted contact. It wasn't just that, though. Alfred could admit that he was feeling a little bit of resentment for Arthur for not answering his phone when Alfred needed him most last night. But Matthew was expecting Alfred to call and there wasn't a way out of it now. Grimacing, he found his phone and typed in Arthur's number. He waited in trepidation as the phone rung for the other to pick up.

Arthur's voice was both familiar and foreign as it flooded the earpiece with a surprised, "Alfred?"

He tried to breathe correctly. "Yeah, hey Arthur."

"Wow, I-I didn't expect you to call right now. I mean it's really been a while."

Alfred didn't need reminding. He tried to move on from that topic quickly. "Sorry about that... um, Matthew wanted me to ask you if you'd want to come out with us today. We're seeing a movie, and, well, yeah."

"Oh. Yeah, alright, I can do that," Arthur's voice sounded a little dejected for some reason. Alfred wanted to ask what was wrong but couldn't think of how to before Arthur started talking again and asked, "What time?"

"I don't know, text my brother. He's the one finding the movie."

"You didn't plan this?"

"No," Alfred felt a little flustered at that, it's not like it was his idea, "Mattie just randomly told me we should get out and see a movie like five minutes ago. I don't why, he just thought it was a good idea." He internally winced at that. It came out just slightly more defensive than he'd meant. "I don't know, I guess he does that sometimes-" (actually he really doesn't) "-Anyway, so you can come?"

"I don't have anything else to do, so time isn't a problem. I'll just ask Matthew and get details from him."

"Okay. Sorry I'm not more helpful."

There was a pause on the other end.

Arthur's tone was caring when he spoke again. "No, it's okay Alfred, it's not a problem. I'll see you there then, I suppose?"

Alfred inwardly sighed in relief that the conversation was finally over. "Yeah, I'll see you then. Bye."

"Bye, love you."

"Y-yeah, love you, too... Bye," Alfred stumbled and hung up in a hurry. The words felt weird in his mouth, like he wasn't supposed to be saying them. It really had been a long time since he talked to Arthur.

He put on a slightly cleaner pair of sweats and a t-shirt that must have been washed wrong because it had definitely not been this loose on him when he first bought it. After stuffing his phone into one of the deep pockets in his pants, he found his tennis shoes and forcefully shoved them onto his feet, scraping his fingers in the process. He left his room to find Matthew, who was in the kitchen printing out what, Alfred assumed, were the movie tickets. Standing silently by the entrance, Alfred watched as Matthew's phone buzzed with a text that could only be from Arthur..

Matthew sent a quick message back and turned to look at Alfred expectantly. "You ready?"

"Yup. By the way, where's mom?"

Matthew looked at Alfred curiously, "She told us at dinner she was going to the school to meet with the principle about next year, remember?"

No, Alfred definitely did not remember, but it was better if Matthew didn't know that. They left the house in Alfred's car, though he didn't drive. That was one more thing he wouldn't admit to anyone: he barely remembered how to get anywhere.

As it would turn out, the theater really wasn't as far away as Alfred remembered and hoped it would be. In less than twenty minutes they were already finding a place to park in the crowded lot, and with that taken care of, Alfred was out of time to avoid seeing Arthur. Walking towards the theater doors, he could already see the mop of blonde hair and thick eyebrows pulled together in Arthur's signature bitch-face. To be fair, Arthur had a natural talent for appearing angry regardless of how he was actually feeling, but it was true that Arthur was also naturally angry most of the time, anyway.

He could have a bit of a temper, but he tried to be as polite as possible. There were a few certain people that Arthur couldn't care less about being polite to, and if you put any of them together, he could pick a fight like no one Alfred had ever seen before. There was one boy in particular, Francis Bonnefoy. It was hilarious to watch those two bicker; their relationship couldn't be more stereotypical. Arthur Kirkland's family had moved to the states from Britain when Arthur was in sixth grade, and Francis was of French decent, with parents who still dominantly spoke in French at home. The fact of Francis and Arthur's almost-rivalry was old hat, but no one really knew what that relationship was. Their conversations may have been never-ending loops of insults, jabs, and petty bickering, but they made quite the pair when they wanted to work together. Alfred considered Francis a good friend, and watching Francis and Arthur fight? It was better than cable TV.

Francis was yet another friend Alfred had failed to keep in touch with recently. Briefly, he wondered if those two had stayed close this summer during his own absence.

He and Matthew caught Arthur's eyes, and Arthur smile as he waved them over. Matthew waved back, the two of them exchanging quick greetings, and Alfred tried to smile back just as brightly. When they reached him, Alfred considered going in for a hug - it seemed like something he should do - but he couldn't tell if Arthur would want something like that after Alfred had actively avoided him for almost a month. He decided to do it anyway, and was able to let out a breath when Arthur eagerly returned the embrace, smiling.

With his head turned away from Arthur's face for the moment, Alfred missed the falter in Arthur's smile as his arms pressed into Alfred's side. He didn't see how Arthur shot Matthew a confused and worried glance, then fixed the smile back on his face before pulling away to lead the group inside.

"Al, you wanna buy the snacks for everyone while Arthur and I find the seats?" Matthew asked once they were stopped in the back of the line for refreshments.

Alfred nodded, "Um, sure?" They didn't usually split up like that, but he could roll with it. Matthew gave Alfred one of the tickets, shot him a quick thanks and the theater number so Alfred could find them once he had everything, then led Arthur away, leaving Alfred alone in line to buy everything.

Once out of his brother's sight, Matthew lowered his voice to make sure no one could hear them and asked, "So, I'm not the only one who noticed?"

"Noticed what?" Arthur asked in return, matching Matthew's particularly hushed tone.

"Al. He's... I don't know what's going on. I don't think he's purposefully not eating or anything, he just isn't. I thought I was just imagining it because I barely see him anymore- figured I was just never there when he ate, but this morning I noticed that he really does look a lot thinner than before any of all this bad stuff started happening."

Arthur's expression changed from confused to serious. When he spoke, he sounded regretful. "Yes, I definitely noticed that, too. In all the time we've been together he's never felt like that when I held him, not even remotely. Do you know how long this has been going on? I feel like he started losing weight before summer, I just never noticed it then with all his absences from school and such. He was definitely acting different at the funeral, that's for sure."

"I have no idea," Matthew sighed as they opened the door to Theater 9, darkness hiding their faces. "Like I said, I thought I was imagining it up until today."

They found an empty row near the back and sat in silence for a while, each processing this new information.

It was Arthur who spoke again. "And you're sure it isn't on purpose? I mean, I've never heard of, well, you know…that happening to men, but I don't see why it couldn't. He was always self-conscious about his size - which was ridiculous, honestly, he was fine - but I know that after something bad happens, people can, well, they can get sucked into some nasty mind-sets."

Matthew considered it for a while. "I don't know, honestly. There's just no way I can tell, it's just- he's always in his room. Always. Last night was the first time in weeks I've really seen him, and I live with him. It's just so different, you know? Not like him at all. If last night was anything to go by... I think he's just sad. Depressed. Whatever it is."

Arthur began to pick at the lint on his pants and asked, "What happened last night? You've mentioned it twice now."

"Oh, well, I don't know if it's my place to say anything about that, it was pretty personal," Matthew shifted in his seat to look at Arthur, "I won't go into detail for Al's sake, but I think it just finally got to him. I think he finally understood what happened."

Arthur's expression softened and he looked down, shaking his head. "Oh, Alfred. God, I'm so sorry, Matt. You two don't deserve any of this. How are you holding up?"

"Me? Well, I mean I'm not any less upset by what happened to dad than Alfred is, but I think I'm handling it a little better. I've been able to talk to our mom a lot more than he's willing to. What can you do, though? I just don't know how to help him without pushing him too hard." Matthew shrugged. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Alfred coming up the steps with his arms full of drinks, popcorn, and boxes of candy. The conversation was over, and Matthew and Arthur silently agreed to drop the subject and pretend that their talk never happened, at least around Alfred.

The movie started, and Arthur was sure it must have been a good one by the way Matthew and Alfred had their eyes pinned to the screen the whole time, but all he could do was watch to see if Alfred ate his snacks. Arthur was momentarily pleased to see him drink the whole bottle of Coke, but was quickly disappointed when the Alfred didn't touch anything else after that. After the movie, Arthur asked Alfred to stay behind for a moment while Matthew left to pull the car around.

"Yeah, what's up?" Alfred asked. He looked nervous.

"How are you doing?"

He already knew what the answer would be.

"I'm good," Alfred replied noncommittally. They both knew it was a lie.

"Hmm." Arthur hummed. He didn't sound convinced, but Alfred was grateful he didn't push. "I haven't seen you in a while. Haven't heard much from you either."

Alfred scratched the back of his head, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Just never got around to it, I guess. I'll try to call more often from now on, okay?"

"You better, I'm starting to get lonely," Arthur teased, pushing Alfred's shoulder playfully in an attempt to lighten the mood. He was pleased to see his joking got a small cracked smile out of Alfred. "Now get out of here," he said as he pulled Alfred along, out to where Matthew had pulled the car up next to the curb, "You're ride's here."

Alfred genuinely smiled then, and waved goodbye to Arthur as he got in the car, thanking Arthur for seeing the movie with them. As they drove off, Arthur tried not to be irritated at not getting something more than that goodbye, like a kiss or another hug. He reminded himself that if Alfred wanted to kiss or hug him right then, he would have.

Back at his own home, Arthur wasted no time in picking up the phone to call Francis. What he learned today about Alfred was important, and he wasn't naïve; he knew that whatever was going on could become so much worse. It was best if as many of their friends were aware of the situation as possible. Alfred needed the help.

When Francis picked up, he sounded amused. "What, did you want to hear an insult so badly you had to call me?"

"Oh, shut up, this is important," he started, not in the mood for their usual banter.

"Oh? Must be, if you're calling me about it," Francis said, only slightly more seriously this time.

"I don't feel like calling every person to tell them, so I'm just going to tell you and trust you to pass the important details on to the right people."

"I'm listening?"

"It's Alfred," Arthur sighed into the phone, ruffling his hair in frustration.

There was a pause and the sound of shuffling on the other end. "Alfred? You spoke to him?"

"Saw him, actually. But everything I'm about to tell you is mostly from his brother. Only a little is what I saw for myself."

"You saw him? When? I didn't think anyone had seen him since the funeral."

"They didn't. Apparently I'm the first person outside of their family to have seen him since. Though, Matthew told me that even he and their mother haven't seen much of him."

"What's going on, then? Is he okay?"

Arthur started picking at his clothes again. "I don't know. It doesn't seem like it, to be honest. He's just… not himself, and he's lost a lot of weight. I felt it, Matthew saw it. Matt said he hasn't really been eating or talking to anyone for weeks now. Said he's just sad but...I guess Al had some kind of breakdown last night? I didn't get any details so it's hard to say how bad it was, but it sounded pretty big to me, judging by the way Matthew talked about it."

"Is he - You don't think he's doing it on purpose, do you?"

"Can't tell. It's just so unlike him, it was like he was a completely different person when I saw him today. Actually, it was like he wasn't even there." Arthur kept switching between worrying at the non-existent lint on his clothes and rubbing his fingers through his hair, trying to sooth the headache he felt coming.

"No, that doesn't sound like him at all."

"Exactly," Arthur sighed. "I'm just worried, Francis. I was going to talk to him afterwards, but from the way Matthew was speaking, it sounded like it wouldn't do any good to do that. Alfred just isn't talking to anyone."

"Shit..."

"I don't know how to help. I really want to, and I'm going to try talking to him about it soon, but I think I'm going to need you and all our other friends to help."

"Of course, this is important."

"Thanks, Francis."

"Thank you for telling me," Francis said sincerely.

They hung up after that, and Arthur was left to his own thoughts. What was he going to do? What the hell could he do?

At least he had Francis there to help.