A/N: Anime Expo Day 1! Happy Canada Day! Oh my God, you guys, I am so excited to share this with you, you have no idea. I'm also buzzing with energy because the convention is going to be super duper fun like always. I can't wait for all the cool cosplays and panels I'll see. :)
Anywho, unlike years of past, I have one fourshot rather than four oneshots for AX. So this fic is complete and will be all published by the fourth. I had a lot of fun writing it. And can I just say I am obssessed with this AU? Seriously, everybody, go break your faves like this because having people doubt their reality is seriously the best. :P If you write a Truman Show AU, tell me because I would love to read it regardless of fandom.
I hope you like it and don't forget to come back tomorrow for chapter two. Have a wonderul day! :)
"Fifteen years after its cancellation, The Alfred F. Jones Show still presents itself as a marker of the height of American reality television." Tino Väinämöinen spoke into the microphone clearly, not wanting to retake too many times. In editing, images of The Alfred F. Jones Show would fill the screen as he spoke. "Created by the Japanese 'King of TV' Kiku Honda, the show followed the life of its title person through hidden cameras placed all around the fictional town of New Haven. For its sixteen running years, the eponymous Alfred F. Jones had no idea his life was being filmed live for the world to see and be entertained by. As such, The Alfred F. Jones Show was highly, and still remains to be, controversial.
"What changed the careful world constructed by Honda? How did Alfred F. Jones go through almost two decades of not knowing he was being watched? Given special permission by the man himself, I, Tino Väinämöinen and the rest of the crew here at Inquisitive Documentaries Incorporated invites you to review the definitive moment of the start of the end of The Alfred F. Jones Show."
In the town of New Haven, everything is peaceful, happy, and beautiful. (That might be stretching the truth a bit, but it comes pretty close.) The summers aren't too hot and going to the beach is quite popular. The winter isn't too cold and the outdoor ice rink that popped up every year is quite the attraction. The spring winds are gentle, soft fluttering types of breezes, and the flowers are quite abundant. The autumn winds don't blow too harshly and the leaves always have a hypernatural crunch to them and there are quite a few piles of them. Everyone in the town is friendly and helpful. It's a pretty small town, but even so, there are people Alfred hasn't met. (And he's met a lot of people; he's quite the personable person.)
He had grown up there his entire life; he went to school at New Haven Elementary, New Haven Middle School, and is currently attending New Haven High School. He has known all his classmates from a young age, though some had moved away and some had moved in. He's been going to the same arcade after school since he was nine - Mr. Im's Arcade over on Lincoln Road. (He is actually best friends with Mr. Im's son, Yong Soo. The Ims had moved to New Haven when he and Yong Soo were eight. They had come from Seoul, South Korea to make good on the American Dream. Yong Soo said that they were doing pretty well.) His family had been going to the same grocery store since he can remember, owned by the Køhlers. (He's been best friends with the oldest Køhler son, Magnus, since kindergarten. He, Magnus, and Yong Soo were three of the biggest problem children in their classes, but everyone knew their hearts were in the right places.) He'd seen the old playground equipment at the park be replaced twice. He remembers when the McDonald's on Washington Way closed down in favor of a Subway. (Thankfully, there's another McDonald's on Jefferson Avenue.)
Alfred F. Jones is sixteen years old and he's beginning to want more out of life. He thinks Magnus and Yong Soo can sense this. Their way of fixing this problem is getting a girlfriend, but to be perfectly honest, he doesn't want one. He doesn't know what he wants. (That may not be completely true, but it's as close to the truth as he's willing to understand.) If there is one saving grace in his life right now (i.e., not hellbent on getting him a girlfriend), is his cousin/all-intents-and-purposes-brother Matthew. Matthew doesn't care about interfering with his love life; in fact, he sometimes tells Magnus and Yong Soo to come off it. Alfred is grateful for this, but that isn't to say that he doesn't appreciate his friend's efforts to cheer him up. They just can't see (or are possibly ignoring) the fact that he wants to be by himself. (Again, that may not be completely true, but he isn't going to think very hard on that.)
What Alfred really wants to do, more than anything, is to go somewhere. Well, it sounds silly when it's put plainly like that. There are plenty of places to go in New Haven - the arcade, the library, the park, the movie theatre, the public pool, the cultural arts center, a restaurant, a clothes store, the bookstore, etc. etc. The list goes on, but that's not the point. All of these things could be found in New Haven. Alfred has already been to all of these places. He doesn't want to go there any more. He wants to go somewhere else.
A mall. There is no mall in New Haven, but he sees them in movies and reads about them in books, comic or otherwise. He wants to go to one.
Go cart racing. He thinks it would be fun, but there aren't any here in New Haven.
New York City. It's on the other side of the country, that much he knows, and he really wants to know what it would be like to stand in Times Square and look up and around and feel so small in the heart of such a big city.
Disney World. God, does he want to go to Disney World. But maybe Disneyland first, since it's in the same state and it's the original.
Canada. He wants to go visit Matthew's dead parent's graves. He had only met his Aunt Hazel once (Matthew's dad had died shortly after he was born) and even though they hadn't had much time together, she still left him the greatest brother-for-all-intents-and-purposes/cousin in the world and he wanted to thank her. Of course, he's generalizing Canada - she's buried in Ottawa - but he thinks it would be fun to go around the country.
Seoul. He wants to see where Yong Soo goes every summer (the entire summer) to visit his family. He wants to experience a new culture.
Copenhagen. Magnus had family there and been a few times. He told Alfred that Copenhagen was the best city ever and that all of Denmark was way better than, say, Russia.
The Bahamas. He hears they're pretty and relaxing.
Hawaii.
Washington, D.C.
Jamestown, Virginia.
Mini-golfing. He'd see it on TV.
London, England.
World's largest anything.
Sydney, Australia.
Ski boarding. Skiing.
The Griffith Observatory.
Any science museum for that matter. Preferably visit NASA as well.
The Eiffel Tower.
Berlin, Germany.
San Francisco, California.
Go on a goddamn roller coaster. And the not the shitty one the fair had. A real one.
Cairo, Egypt.
Take a tour through Mexico, Brazil, Spain, Ethiopia, the Philippines, Japan - anywhere! He wants to go somewhere! Even if it's in the same state, just fifteen minutes outside of town! There was an entire world outside of New Haven and it seemed everyone he knew had seen beyond it. It wasn't fair that he was the only one left out.
Don't get him wrong. Alfred has talked to his mother about traveling somewhere, but she shoots him down each time.
"We don't have the money."
"I have a big project at work right now."
"During the summer? When it's hot? I don't think so."
"Oh, Alfred, you do know that planes crash, right?"
"Alfred, people die in horrible automobile accidents, like Aunt Hazel."
"Please, Alfred, your father drowned. There is no way you and I will get on a boat."
"You don't like heights. Matthew's father died falling off a bridge. This won't work."
"Drop it, Alfred. Maybe someday, but not now."
She has an excuse for everything. Alfred doesn't blame her; the only family she has left is him and Mattie. His father George died one day when he fell of his boat and drowned; Alfred had been ten. Two years later, Matthew's mom, his mom's sister, died in an car accident and Matthew had been sent to live with them. When both he and Matthew were babies, Matthew's dad had fallen off a bridge and died on the way home from work. Her parents had died in a plane crash. The world was set on never letting his mom go anywhere. It's true - she walks everywhere she has to go. Alfred would find it annoying if not for the fact that he had grown up like that. She hadn't driven a day since Hazel died; she hadn't been by the water since George died; she hadn't set foot on the bridge leading out of New Haven once; she's never been on a plane. She's been about as many places as Alfred has been, but more because she and his dad had moved to New Haven in their second year of marriage; the year after that Alfred was born.
In this way, even his own mom has seen more of the outside world than he has.
It's not fair.
(Don't get him started on trains. There isn't a train station in New Haven, but he was sure they could have walked out of town to buy tickets, but of course his mom has a story for that one, too. "You're father's mother died on a train," she had said. He had assumed it had been a train wreck but apparently: "No. A heart attack. But it was still on a train, so we're not going to get on one." He's going crazy.)
Alfred lost count of how many times he had asked to leave New Haven many years ago. It was funny, because when he brought it up, people would tell him a list of reasons to not leave New Haven, but a lot of people he talked to had already been outside of it.
Sometimes he wondered if the rest of the world had been taken over by a zombie apocalypse and everybody except him knew it and that was the reason they didn't want him to leave, to protect him. (Of course, that begs the question as to why Yong Soo would leave every summer.)
Sometimes he wondered if they wouldn't let him leave because there wasn't an outside world at all to go to. (That, again, begs the question where Yong Soo goes every summer. A lot of his theories had a problem with that question, but then again there was technically no reason he shouldn't be allowed to leave.)
New Haven was a nice place, but he was getting cabin fever.
...
A hand cuts across his face and he is pulled from his daydreams of going off to a different country. "Earth to Alfred," Magnus drawls out as he lazily waves his hand in front of his face. "You're zoning out, man."
Alfred blinks more into focus. "Sorry," he says. "What were we talking about?"
Magnus sighs and rolls his eyes. "That Emma totally has the hots for you?" Yong Soo nods and leans forward across the table to be more into Alfred's personal space. Alfred leans away as he does this; so does Matthew, who is studiously reading a book, at his side even though Yong Soo's attention isn't on him.
They were on this topic again. Alfred wishes he can go back to daydreaming, or at least talk about something else. Instead, he laughs uncomfortably and says, "Yeah, right."
Yong Soo shakes his head quickly. "No, really!" he insists. "She's coming over here now!"
Alfred takes a deep breath before checking if his friend is actually telling the truth. He turns to look behind him at the rest of the cafeteria and is quite disappointed and anxious to find that he had not been lied to. Emma is indeed making her way across the cafeteria, her eyes locked onto Alfred's frame. He tries his best not to groan - he doesn't want to do this today. Or tomorrow. Or yesterday. Or ever again, for that matter. Emma isn't bad, she really isn't. She's lovely, beautiful, sexy even. Her short blonde hair falls prettily above her shoulders, always held back by a headband, and her body is attractive, Alfred supposes. And she's a sweet girl with only nice things to say and she's kind to people. But even through all of that, Alfred wouldn't say he's attracted to her, that he likes her, because he doesn't. Not in the way she hopes he does, or his friends assumes he might. Their interactions are exhausting and forced on her behalf; Alfred can't bring himself to communicate with her on a more intimate level. He doesn't want to.
He feels there may be something wrong with him. Every other boy he knows would kill for Emma to take an interest in them. Every other boy he knows fights for a girl's attention, but Alfred can't be bothered. He doesn't understand them at all. (Maybe he can, but not in their way and, again, he doesn't think too hard about it.)
"Hi guys," Emma says when she finally reaches the table. She looks specifically at him. "Hi, Alfred."
"Hi, Emma," he says to be polite. He doesn't look at her. She takes a seat on his left and crosses her arms above the table to lean on them in his direction. She has a big smile on her face. He wonders if she knows he's uncomfortable and is making him fidget on purpose. He clears his throat, which is too loud for the quiet that has enveloped their table. "How are you today?"
Her smile grows bigger, showing more teeth. Alfred imagines animal (or, more morbidly, his) flesh being chewed thoroughly by those pearly white teeth. Her smile reminds him of a shark closing in on its prey. He wishes he hadn't asked how her day was at all. "It was fine," she says. "Thank you for asking. Though, you could have asked me earlier in English class. I sit only two rows behind you and one to the right."
Alfred gulps and spares her a quick glance. "I didn't know that." He did, in fact, know that. School has been in session for about a month and he had known her since middle school. It was hard to not now all the names of his classmates and who was in which class. He also knows that she knows this. He almost wants her to call out his lie. She doesn't.
"You can come to me anytime you have a English question, yeah?" She inches ever so closer to him, her arms sliding across the table. They press closer together and she pushes her chest ever so slightly outwards. She's emphasising her boobs, and he knows that. But he ignores it. "Or any other question." Her voice is like a purr, a sweet one. It's supposed to be charming, seductive, but it only makes Alfred's stomach squirm.
He nods. "Yeah, sure." He knows he'll never take her up on that. Across the table, Magnus and Yong Soo look pleased. Matthew continues reading, but there's a frown on his face.
Emma gets up, gently and not so surreptitiously brushing her arm against Alfred's. "Great," she says. "I'll see you later?"
Alfred looks up at her. He doesn't know what to say. He settles on an, "I guess. In English class."
"For sure," she says with a grin, her teeth showing again. "Bye, guys." She gives a small wave to the table; Yong Soo waves back. Alfred looks at the table before he can see her walk off, swaying her hips like she always does around him.
She's persistent at getting his attention. He finds it annoying because he doesn't want it.
"Wow, she's hot," Magnus says when she's out of range. Matthew snorts, nose still deep in his book. Alfred doesn't comment.
After this encounter, Emma's pesterings become worse as two weeks go by.
"Alfred, why don't you sit with me today at lunch," she'd say.
"Alfred, could you help me with this assignment?" She was the one to offer help in English in the first place; why she needed help from Alfred was beyond him.
"Alfred, are you doing anything this Friday? Do you want to see a movie with me?"
It just so happens their English teacher is assigning a group project that day, something Emma has been looking forward to. ("Alfred, you'll be my partner right?" she asked the day prior. Alfred hadn't answered her.) He sits, waiting for the bell to ring to get the project over and done with. He doesn't have a clue what it could be about, only the faint impression it's on Romeo and Juliet, only because that's what they've been reading in class.
His teacher walks in the instant the bell rings. Alfred gives him his full attention, if only so he can pretend Emma isn't watching him. "Good morning, class," Mr. Presley greets, getting a halfhearted response in turn, which Alfred doesn't participate in. "We'll be starting our group projects today." There's a nervous titter among the classroom. "Now, before you pair up, let me explain what you'll be doing.
"In groups of two, you and your partner will be modernizing Shakespeare's script, to understand it better. You will have three days of class time to work on it, and then two weeks after that it will be due. I will be assigning your scene. Now, I want this to be school appropriate, you're turning this in for a grade, but if you feel the need to put in slang terms such as… whatever words you kids use nowadays… 'lol?' Or 'omg?' That's fine. No cussing. Does everyone understand?" Mumbles serve as a response; Alfred slinks lower in his chair.
He hasn't the faintest clue what to do. Shakespeare English might as well be a completely different language for all he can understand of it. Not to mention, he doesn't even want to think of modernizing it with Emma as his partner. Of course, Mr. Presley has said they can get in their groups now, and Emma has gotten up to come to him, and-
The guy sitting to his right is lazing about in his seat, book open to the right page. He doesn't have a partner yet and Alfred nearly cries in relief.
Quickly, before Emma can demand his attention, he shifts in his seat to angle away from her and towards the boy. "Hey, do you have a partner yet?"
The boy, whose name Alfred thinks is Arthur, blinks in surprise. "Me?"
Alfred smiles, trying to come off as friendly (which he is). "Uh, yeah. Do you want to work with me?"
Maybe-Named-Arthur hesitates, still looking ever so slightly confused. He glances over Alfred's shoulder at, Alfred's guessing, Emma. His eyes flicker back to Alfred and Alfred notices they're a brilliant shade of green; a brighter green than the green in his hair. Alfred sends him a pleading look and Maybe-Named-Arthur seems to acquiesce. "All right."
He sighs in relief. "Great!" he says cheerily, maybe a bit too loud, but he can't be bothered. "Name's Alfred, nice to meetcha." He sticks out his hand for his new partner to shake, which he does.
"Arthur," he says in return and Alfred is quite proud of himself for remembering.
Arthur is a looker, Alfred observes; punk fashion style withheld. His hair is disheveled, highlighted in green, and looking for all the world fluffy. His face is soft set, pale, with a dabbing of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He has two piercings in his right eyebrow, three in his left ear, and two on his right ear. He has a single piercing in his lower lip, and on in his left nostril. On any other day, Alfred would have been too intimidated to talk to him based on his face alone; hideous and over exaggerated eyebrows notwithstanding. He wore dark clothes, mostly black, with a chain hanging off his pants. The pants, Alfred realizes, are skinny jeans that hug Arthur's body seemingly uncomfortably tight.
He fears he may have stared too long. But when he allows his eyes to travel back up and into Arthur's, he learns Arthur has been staring too. They realize this at the same time and look away. Thankfully, they are saved from whatever awkwardness that might have entailed by Mr. Presley walking over with their assignment.
Mr. Presley, oddly enough, looks a little nervous and put off. He clears his throat before saying, "Act one, scene five." He strides off onto the next pair of two, glancing over in Emma's direction. Alfred looks over at Emma as well and sees her pouting, arms crossed, semi-glaring down at her desk, sitting next to another girl.
Alfred can't find it in himself to feel bad for her.
Instead he tells Arthur, "I have no idea how to understand Shakespeare."
Arthur purses his lips and nods slowly. "Brilliant. But understandable. Shakespeare is quite difficult."
The longer Arthur kept talking, the wider Alfred's eyes grew. His face lights up in amazement and his smile grows big. "Dude!" he exclaims when Arthur finishes. "You're British! That's so cool!"
Arthur, for his part, is bewildered. He blushes a bit and says, "English. Not British. There's a difference. Now, about the play-"
But Alfred can't stop once he starts and continues, "You must be really good at knowing what Shakey-Pear is saying then, because, you know, you're English like he is. I picked a good partner. Right? I'm right, right? Right, Artie?"
"Arthur."
"That's what I said."
Arthur sighs, sounding kind of resigned. He stares at Alfred a bit, like he's expecting him to continue, but Alfred keeps his lips sealed tight and waits for Arthur to say something. "About the play," he starts again. "Act one, scene five is when Romeo and Juliet meet for the first time at the Capulet party he snuck into. However, it starts out with a couple of servants talking about the preparations."
Tino Väinämöinen sat across from Matthieu Bonnefoy, a former character on The Alfred F. Jones Show. He had played Alfred's cousin, and later thought of as his brother. He was a man of thirty-one, fair haired, with simple glasses perched on his nose and dressed semi casually. The producer had brought him in as one of several interviewees, and was the only one of them who had been allowed to speak on Jones's behalf.
To start off the interview, Tino's predetermined lines went as such: "Mr. Bonnefoy, where would you place the beginning of the end, in regards to Alfred Jones's realization that the world he lived in was fabricated?"
As the scene cut to Bonnefoy, a name-box came up on screen as well reading Matthieu Bonnefoy on top and Matthew Williams - Cousin/Brother on the bottom in a slightly smaller font. His face was composed, showing no emotion. He took a moment to think of an answer before saying, "I think that Alfred had subconsciously known for most of his life. And I say this because he was constantly asking to leave town, even if it was just for the day." He shifted a little in his seat before continuing. "But if you want a more secure date, then I'd have to say when he first met Arthur. After they met, Emma's advances towards him went through the roof, and the push to keep Arthur away from him was almost too obvious. I think it was then that the idea that something wasn't all right really cemented itself in his mind."
Tino nodded. He kept eye contact with Bonnefoy as he asked his next question. "You mentioned that Alfred was always asking to leave. Why do you think he wanted to? It was something that was brought up a lot in the show - that he couldn't leave."
This time, Bonnefoy had an answer prepared and launched right into it. "Alfred saw people around him who could leave, who had left, who had come in. He knew that it was possible for him to leave if other people had, especially the people around him. He would look at all of us and know that we knew what outside of New Haven looked like and that he had been left behind. He wanted to experience what we had experienced and it really frustrated him that he couldn't."
"Do you think that meeting Arthur alleviated that wanting, if only for some time?"
"No. I think Arthur was only a distraction from it. If anything, he made the feeling worse."
Sometimes life works a little unfairly. Alfred first learns that when he's seven and his dog, Betsy, died. She was a good girl who provided him many cuddles. The next time he is treated to unfair life - truly unfair life - is when his father drowns. Before then, he and his dad loved going down the water and spending all day there. His dad had taught him to swim and even surf a bit. But he drowned. Alfred always vaguely wondered after that event that his dad's death had been planned in someway, that he was purposefully killed. But no one else seems to think his dad was murdered except him. (But, then again, Alfred had never shared that thought with anybody else.)
George Jones was a good man. His wife, Martha Jones, is a good woman. His son, Alfred Jones, is an okay teenager.
Alfred Jones is an okay teenager because he doesn't know how to trust completely. He knows he trusts the people around him, but he doesn't trust them completely. Except for Matthew.
Matthew Williams is also an okay teenager. He has secrets, but who doesn't? He tries to lie, but Alfred knows how to tell when he lies, so he doesn't lie to Alfred anymore. Most of the time. Alfred never tells him how he knows that he lies.
And because Alfred knows that Matthew can't lie to him, he trusts Matthew the most. Even still, Alfred doesn't trust him with everything.
Sometimes Alfred wonders if even trusts himself with everything. He knows there are things he doesn't think about. He knows there are things he's too scared to think about. He knows that he should think about these things. But he doesn't. Except, maybe he has and he's denying that, and maybe he's beginning to think about them more.
Martha Jones is the best mom. She is in Alfred's opinion. But she's also the only mom he's ever had and he can look at other people's moms and sometimes he thinks maybe she's not the greatest, but he's pretty sure everyone thinks that about their own moms. She keeps him safe, she feeds him, clothes him, does everything in her power to make sure he is loved.
"I'll raise you like a prince," she said. "You'll be a prince, my prince. You'll rescue your princess one day and you'll treat her like a perfect gentleman." By the time he turned seven and had been completely enamored by superheroes, she had changed tactics. "I'll raise you to be like a hero. You'll be a hero, my hero. You'll rescue your damsel in distress one day and you'll treat her like a good hero."
Alfred had gone along with such musings without much thought, but by the time he was eight, he realized he didn't want to rescue a princess or damsel. He wanted to fight bad guys and hang out with his friends. Girls had cooties, but boys were his friends. He liked boys. And that went on until he was nine and he realized that cooties were all a lie. His friends started getting crushes on those girls and asking him who his crush was. He hadn't had an answer. He liked the girls fine, but he had no notion of saving any of them.
His first thought of having a crush had come when he was ten. When he realized what it was, he cut it off, clamped, pounded it down until it was unrecognizable and nonexistent.
Those thoughts remained in that state for six years. He kept them guarded, hardly admitted it to himself. No one else was like him, that much he was pretty certain. If they were, no one else showed it. So he kept it to himself.
It had been six years since then. Six years had passed. There was no use in thinking those thoughts. And yet something had changed.
...
Arthur Kirkland has eyes Alfred doesn't want to look away from. It's a thought that terrifies him. It's a thought that excites him in a way he hasn't known too many times before.
They're a shade of green. Alfred's pretty sure Shakspeare has a sonnet about them somewhere - he has to, or else Alfred wouldn't know what to do, how else to explain such beautiful eyes. They are enchanting, almost. They capture attention like no other eyes Alfred has come across. They twinkle at any given moment, even inside and far away from the sun. They downright glitter whenever Arthur gets particularly invested into whatever he's saying - and Alfred's only seen him like that once, but he hadn't wanted the moment to end. He could listen to Arthur for hours if it meant seeing a continuous pool of glittering green eyes. They are such a brilliant shade - jade or emerald; pine or grass; kiwi or lime; crystalline sea water or cooling mint ice cream.
They make Alfred feel good about himself. That may be a bit ridiculous to say, but the way Arthur made Alfred feel is overall a bit difficult to explain. (Or it is actually simple to explain, but Alfred is refusing to find the right words.) Arthur's eyes exude confidence. They're warm in a 'I'll hug you if you need it' sort of way. They don't judge, only offer up silent pick-me-ups. It's almost like Arthur only wants to look intimidating. It's almost like he uses his punkish exterior to ward off people who don't bother to get to know him.
Alfred wants to get to know him. Alfred wants to be looked at by those eyes that welcome, those eyes that don't care if they land on somebody they like or hate, only to make whoever it is feel like they're the only one in the world. Alfred wants Arthur to only look at him.
He wonders if he's taking it too far. By now, he would have dropped it and tried to adamantly look away. But there's something about Arthur.
He can't tell what's different about Arthur. He doesn't understand why Arthur is breaking through his six year tall wall. What about Arthur makes Alfred not put up his defences but willingly lets them go?
The school day is long over. It's almost dinner. Yet, Arthur hasn't left his thoughts since third period. He had barely taken part in the lunch time conversation, or paid any attention in the classes that followed. He's been staring at his ceiling - had been for the past few hours - without a care for his homework. (Well, he has a small care for it. But he feels reflecting on his thoughts is much more important and he is in no way, shape, or form procrastinating.)
He hears a knock on his door. It's light and unassuming. It's Matthew. He knows this without the door opening. For a brief moment, he considers not answering and have Matthew leave him alone. He hesitates for what he feels is too long and he thinks he can almost hear Matthew begin to leave when he calls out for him to come in.
Matthew is a timid person. He always has been. His shoulders naturally slump forward, his head stays down, and he doesn't talk much in any given situation. The only person Alfred knows of that Matthew consistently talks to and talks a lot to is Alfred himself. Alfred doesn't understand why his brother doesn't talk more - if he did, he would have way more friends; Matthew is a kind person after all, with passions and opinions. He's loads more interesting than he lets on.
As it is, Matthew steps into Alfred's room without much grandeur. He hovers by the door, looking unsure if Alfred let him in just to be polite. "Hey," he says.
"Hey," Alfred parrots. He wonders what Matthew wants to talk about. Alfred wants to stare at the ceiling a little while longer.
Matthew rubs his knuckles on the top of his thighs - he's uncomfortable. Alfred frowns at him. Why is he uncomfortable? "Um" he says. "Have your homework finished?"
Alfred sits up. "No. Why?"
"Just wondering." He brings his hands up to rub against each other and Alfred's eyes narrow. He quickly puts them down again and looks away. "Anyway, your mom was asking about Winter Formal." Alfred groans and plops back down on his bed, bouncing a little. Matthew huffs out some air that closely resembles a laugh, but Alfred knows Matthew would never dare laugh at him. (He would. He does. A lot.) He comes over and sits by Alfred's hip. "I know. Any plans to go?"
Alfred lifts his head up to stare pointedly at him. "What do you think?"
Matthew pushes his head back down. "I think she's gonna bother you until you give in."
"What're you, chopped burger?"
Matthew laughs and Alfred cracks a smile. "She knows she doesn't have to try as hard with me." He looks over at Alfred with eyes that say 'You know it's true.' It reminds him of the last time Matthew gave him that look.
They had been thirteen and Alfred had been trying to skateboard for the first time. He had illusions of being the greatest skateboarder in the world. He wasn't a fan of actually practising to get better, so he attempted as many tricks as he could right off the bat. Matthew told him it was a bad idea and that he would break his arm if he kept what he was doing up and had given him the same look he was giving him now.
"I'm sure she won't be that bad," Alfred says and looks away to stare at the ceiling some more.
Matthew snorts. "Yeah, right. Okay. Well, dinner's almost done, so get your lazy bum out of bed and try to do your homework sometime."
"Whatever," Alfred dismisses with a smile. Matthew leaves and Alfred is sad to see him go. He needs distractions. Especially if his mom is going to bombard him with questions about winter formal.
He had broken his arm after all.
...
It's early in the morning. Alfred is half asleep, along with the rest of the school population save for those inhuman few. Yong Soo is a part of those few; he never seems to fall short of energy at any time of day. He used to be unbearable in the mornings, but Alfred and the rest of Yong Soo's friends had long since grown accustomed to it. In the past, teachers had asked him how much coffee he drank in the mornings, but Alfred has never seen him touch coffee. (Probably for good reason. If that boy had so much as a drop, he would never go to sleep again.) Ironically or not, he was currently discussing with Alfred the effect of caffeine on a human subject. Or rather, he was talking at Alfred without much hope for a response.
"It's actually really dehydrating," he says. "That's why you need to drink a lot of water before and after consuming it. I've heard from some family friends that Dunkin Donuts Original Blend Coffee Medium Roast is some of the best coffee you'll ever have. And it's just under twenty dollars for a forty ounce bag - what a steal!"
Magnus stumbles over to where they are by Alfred's locker. His hair is askew, so it's immediately obvious that he slept in and had to rush this morning. "Hey, guys," he greets with a wide yawn. "Didja watch the new episode of Everybody Tolerates Jack last night? It's on ABC at ten-nine central every Wednesday."
"Yeah!" Yong Soo crows loudly, too loud for Alfred's sensitive morning ears. He jerks away from Yong Soo a few inches. "I was rolling on the floor laughing!" This makes Alfred frown; Everybody Tolerates Jack has never been particularly funny. He'd seen about the first five episodes at his friend's insistence, but he couldn't get into it. They claimed it was one of the greatest shows currently on TV, but Alfred would beg to differ. "What did you think of it, Al?"
Alfred grunts. He still hasn't told them he isn't caught up with it even though it was now well into its second season. He knows this because his mother also dutifully watches the show and had watched it after dinner yesterday. Sure, Alfred and Matthew had been in the room, but that was more so for appearances than anything else. He hadn't really wanted to go back to his room right away. (Procrastination of homework is one of his many talents. And the background noise of the TV gave him the perfect opportunity to think about more things that he usually didn't think about.)
Magnus and Yong Soo continue talking, but Alfred tunes them out. He's too tired to think too much and instead stares blankly at the sea of students walking through the corridors around them. A lot of them were half slumped over. Off in the corner of his right eye, he notices a familiar figure walking towards them. He tries not to groan, but he's pretty sure a little whimper makes it past his lips. Magnus raises an eyebrow at him before he notices Emma as well.
She smiles brilliantly when she finally stops, too close to Alfred for him to be comfortable. "Morning," she greets brightly. Her gaze lingers on him and she absentmindedly tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear before looking at her shoes. The move seems practiced, fake enough for it to register in Alfred's sleepy mind as something unnatural. He wonders if she's about to tell a lie. "You're looking nice today, Alfred."
Ah. That's a lie. Alfred doesn't consider himself to look nice any day. He knows he should acknowledge her and repay the compliment. It's hard to, though. Somehow, he manages and it has the expected outcome. Emma's smile, looking very much like a panther's today, widens and she places a hand on his upper arm, squeezing a little. She could dig her nails in him, hooking them underneath his skin, and he would probably be the only one to protest. Magnus and Yong Soo seem to be pleased by this 'progress,' as Alfred is sure they would call it.
"Really," she asks. "I didn't even try that hard today!"
Alfred wants to bang his head against his locker repeatedly. What was the point of complimenting her if she wasn't going to take it? He settles on briefly glaring at her and shrugging his shoulders a bit to try and get her to release his arm. It only marginally works; she lets go, but then settles her hand lower on his arm. Her green eyes are ravenous in the way she watches him, like he's prey again. He swallows the lump in his throat and tries again to shimmy away from her, but Yong Soo has somehow inched his way closer to Alfred's other side, making it impossible to get away without looking rude. When is the warning bell going to ring?
She presses closer to his side. "So, what're you doing later today?" Her cat eyes look up at him through her eyelashes. It reminds him of two mysterious glowing orbs peering out of a bush on a dark night. His heartbeat speeds up the longer he doesn't say anything, the longer she expects an answer.
He doesn't have one. He wishes he did, but he knows he has nothing planned. He's going home after school and sitting in his room to be bored out of his mind. The way she's looking at him tells him she knows this. He could lie and say he's going to the arcade, but Yong Soo and Magnus would see past that; he only ever went with them. He could lie and say he had to finish his English project, but she knew it wasn't due for another two weeks. He could lie and not give a specific excuse, which is what he's probably going to end up doing, but he couldn't find words to say this. He's scrambling for an answer he doesn't have and the longer he flounders the more obvious it will be he's lying.
"We're going to help prune the garden," Matthew's voice cuts clear over whatever Alfred had tried stuttering. He jumps a little and is shocked to see Matthew standing just behind Magnus's shoulder, rubbing his hands awkwardly together - he hadn't been there a minute ago. But for now, he's Alfred's savior. He sighs in relief. "Aunt Martha asked last night and told me to pass on the information to Al. Thanks for reminding me."
Emma looks Matthew up and down; he quickly pulls his hands apart and sticks them to his side instead. Alfred holds his breath in anxious anticipation for whatever she's going to say next. "Oh," she says. "All right then." She looks back up at Alfred, her panther grin ever so slightly dimmer, but still as menacing. "Next time maybe." He nods stiffly as the warning bell sounds.
They say their good-byes, Emma's hand lingering on his arm until she really had to let go, and he and Matthew head to class in the same direction. "Thanks," he says.
"For what," Matthew asks innocently.
Alfred looks over at him and he pretends not to notice, still looking straight forward. He shakes his head fondly and punches his shoulder lightly. "For being the best brother ever." Matthew finally looks at him and smiles, but he can't but thinking a small part of that smile is pained.
...
When third period English comes around, Alfred is much more awake. That isn't to say that he now feels more prepared to take on any work pushed his way, but he definitely has the energy to at least do some of it. He takes his seat next to Arthur, who doesn't look up from his notebook, and flips his English book open to the correct page.
Yesterday, he and Arthur had gone through their scene together so Alfred could understand what they were going to be transcribing into modern speech. He had taken notes so he wouldn't somehow forget. Today, they were going to do what most groups had discussed yesterday - context.
Mr. Presley settles down the students who are talking after the bell has rung. "Today, you're going to continue working on your projects," he says. "You'll get tomorrow as well to work on them in class. After that, we're moving on, so you'll have to finish outside of class. Okay?" Enough students nod their heads. "All right. Get started."
Alfred immediately angles his desk closer to Arthur's. He waits patiently for Arthur to talk first because, if he's being perfectly honest with himself, he doesn't have a clue as to what context they should be putting Romeo and Juliet in. From the groups around him yesterday, he had heard some people were doing World War II Era Romeo and Juliet, and others were doing Civil War Era, one was set on the Titanic, and others still were doing gnomes of all things. That left a lot of options open for he and Arthur to choose from.
Arthur examines him with an unsteady assertiveness. "What ideas do you have?"
His patience sours and his hopeful expression drops into something more disappointed. "Um," he says. "Um. Maybe, like…." He trails off. He shifts in his seat and sighs. "I dunno. A TV show?"
Arthur's eyebrows jump up. "A what?" His voice is laced with surprise and something else Alfred can't quite name.
"A TV show," he repeats, proud that his first idea off the top of his head isn't all that bad, "Y'know, like The Brady Bunch or Gilligan's Island. You have a TV, dontcha?"
"Yes," is his automatic response. He seems to have calmed down from whatever surprised him, but Alfred is still unsure of how to talk to him. "How would you apply a TV show to Romeo and Juliet?"
This stumps him. He hadn't thought this through and now he would have to defend his idea. Taking a deep breath, he began to bullshit his way through. "Well, maybe like competing television stations? Or, no that's stupid, like a TV show, like…. Maybe something like the news? Interviews for the silly-keys and the rest shot like a normal TV show?"
"Soliloquy," Arthur corrects. "And while that's an original idea, I'm just not sure we can pull it off." Alfred nods, humbled. He knew it wasn't the greatest idea in the world and he definitely wasn't all that disappointed to let it go. "What about pulling a common trope from television," he suggested.
"Like what?" He knew some people were doing a jock and nerd type thing. What other common trope from TV was there?
Arthur thinks a little, his nose scrunching up. It reminds Alfred of a pug almost, cute and vying for attention. After a while, his face relaxes and he sighs and drums his fingers harshly against his notebook. "I don't know."
Alfred sits back in his chair and looks around the classroom as if inspiration was somewhere there, just waiting to sock it to him. "Santa Claus and Satan," he says.
"What," Arthur squawks.
"Winter and summer."
"I'm not sure I follow."
"Veteran and veterinarian."
"That's a bit-"
"World War II, civil war, Titanic, gnomes, jock and nerd."
"Those are all tak-"
"Pillsbury dough boy and Aunt Jemima."
Arthur pitches into a fit of laughter much too loud than what is acceptable in a classroom and Alfred finds himself joining in. (Laughs are extremely contagious in any given situation, especially inappropriate ones.) They sit there madly giggling and wheezing and so clearly not doing the work they're supposed to. A couple people around them catch the laughing bug without knowing why.
Mr. Presley comes over looking stern and Alfred can't seem to sober up as quickly as he should. "Are you two gentlemen doing your work," he asks, hands on his hips, already knowing the answer.
Arthur is still snickering, but he attempts to answer anyway. "Ye-e-es, sir." He glances over to Alfred who is stifling his giggles behind his hands and it sends him into another small round of laughter.
Mr. Presley is unimpressed and is giving them the look that says they're about to be in trouble so Alfred forces himself to sit properly and swallow whatever bubbles of laughter are threatening to pop. "Sorry, Mr. P.," he says, fighting down a smile. "We wanted to put a joke in our script and I guess it was just too funny." He coughs to cover up a chuckle. "We'll get back to work." Mr. Presley stares them down a bit, Arthur seemingly having gained control again, and decides they won't cause more trouble and walks away. It takes everything in Alfred's power to not burst out laughing again and, from the way Arthur's shoulders are shaking, he's doing the same.
He's kind of sad, though. Arthur had a nice laugh.
Once they've really calmed down, Arthur clears his throat one last time and says, "In all seriousness, we need context."
Alfred smirks at him. "We've heard my bright ideas, what about yours?"
They have a staring contest. Alfred wins. He thinks he hears Arthur curse under his breath, but he can't be sure because he hasn't met many people who curse. It figures Arthur would though; he looks the type, even if that does sound like a stereotype. He looks back into Alfred's eyes and says with smug determination, "Slytherin and Gryffindor."
What and what? Alfred's eyebrows furrow. Those were unfamiliar words, but Arthur's looking at him like he should know what they mean. He stares a little longer, but Alfred just doesn't get it. "Huh? What's a slithering griffin door?"
Arthur's proud smile falls and he looks like he goes a little pale. "A Slyth- it's - nevermind. It's an English thing." He turns away from Alfred and starts flipping the pages of his text book like it's the most important thing for him to be doing at the moment.
"Ah," Alfred voices in awkward understanding. It makes sense, but he feels kind of bad for not getting it. They don't say anything for a minute or two and he laments not going along with a slithering griffin door and instead questioning it. So, in an attempt to resurrect the flow of ideas, he asks, "Is it, like, an English TV show or something? Or a movie?"
Arthur's pretty eyes meet his again, looking a little impassioned. "A book, actually," he says. "Or rather, books. There's seven of them. And, oh, I guess, they've been made into movies." Alfred leans forward in interest. He prefers comic books over novels, but he does love movies. "It's about this boy named Harry who learns he's a wizard and -"
Mr. Presley is suddenly standing over them again, having snuck up on them quietly and without warning. Alfred startles away from Arthur - barely wondering on when they had gotten so close - and avoids Mr. Presley's gaze. "Are we discussing the play and your project," he asks them cooly. Alfred wonders why teachers ask these questions when they always already know the answers to.
"Yes," Arthur says and Alfred tries to look confident. "I was explaining to Alfred why J.K. Rowling's wizarding world would work perfectly with Romeo and Juliet, whether it is between a Slytherin and Gryffindor, or a wizard and a muggle. He hasn't read the books, so I took it upon myself to shortly summarize the plot."
Mr. Presley's eyes narrow and he regards Arthur with barely contained disdain. "Original ideas, please, gentlemen. Do not steal from other sources."
Arthur looks like he wants to fight and Alfred can't see that ending well, so he cuts off whatever Arthur's about to say. "How about just a wizard and a human? No slitherings or whatever. Just a group of magical people against a group of non… magical… people." Mr. Presley looks like he doesn't want to agree with him. "Just using Jake Rolling's thing as inspiration," he adds quickly. "We can use things for inspiration, right?" Reluctantly, almost begrudgingly Alfred would say, Mr. Presley agrees and leaves them alone again. Alfred breathes a sigh of relief. "So," he says to Arthur, who is is looking at Mr. Presley with a sour expression on his face. "I guess we're doing a wizard and a human."
Arthur drags his eyes away from their teacher and gives Alfred a look of approval. "I guess we are." He smiles and Alfred finds it's the easiest thing in the world to smile back.
They spend their remaining time adapting Romeo and Juliet to a world in which wizards exist. Like Arthur had said, it works pretty well.
They were sitting in front of computer monitors. It was the remnants of the big Sun Room of The Alfred F. Jones Show, where everything had been run from, where all the shots had been called. Sitting at her former desk was Mei Wang, a pretty woman who didn't look a day over twenty-five but was in truth nearing her forty-fifth birthday. She had been a sound engineer for the show for only three years before it was cancelled. She was chosen over the others for the interview because of her close relation to Kiku Honda. Though he had been almost a decade older than her at the time, they had an "office romance" and had been married a year after the show ended, only to file for a divorce five years after that. She had been the third of five failed marriages Honda had under his belt.
Tino pushed such thoughts away - not every marriage could be a happy one like his - and focused on the task at hand. She was smiling brilliantly at him (or rather the camera), expecting him to start the interview. He cleared his throat and said, "Ms. Wang, as someone who was in the control center rather than out in the field, where would place the beginning of the end?"
The camera cut to Wang who sat up straighter with determination deepset in her brows. The bottom left corner would have a box reading Mei Wang - Sound Technician when production was finished. "That's difficult to say," she said, releasing a breath Tino hadn't known she was holding. "Um, I think I'd place it around the time when Alfred began to think of his friends as limitations." She made no move to elaborate so Tino asked her to. "By that I mean he realized that Magnus and Yong Soo were holding him back from something, he didn't know what, but they did. And I think that really frustrated him. Of course, it was my job to catch everything he and others said and to not think too much on his feelings, but it's kind of hard not to when you're watching him for hours in a day, you know?"
Tino nodded as if he understood. He looked briefly down to his notecards to read over his question before he asked it aloud for fear of tripping on his words. "As a sound technician, you had to pay close attention to what could be heard and, probably most important, what Alfred heard. Out and about, would he hear things from extras that he shouldn't have?"
Wang laughed. "Oh, plenty! I didn't work there for long, as you know, but I'm sure you remember the episode when Alfred first asked about the 'eff' word. He heard it from an extra. In my time there, he overheard from a group of extras about Hurricane Walter down in Texas and we had to hastily make a broadcast for the New Haven News so he could watch it on TV when he got home from school. There were many other instances, but I remember those two the most."
"The cast and crew all had to wear a wireless headset so Honda could communicate with everyone at any given moment. In particular, he would tell the people closest to Alfred what he wanted them to say to him as the conversation was happening. Were there some actors who would not listen to what Honda wanted them to say to Alfred?"
She blew out some hair as if deflating. "Yes," she said, almost like it was a secret. "Most of the time, they would do as told, but sometimes his mom and dad would change the lines slightly, or the teachers would, The kids almost never did this, they were very good. However, that Arthur Kirkland almost never listened. Since he was a mindless extra Alfred had never paid attention to until that one day, he didn't have a headset - he hadn't needed one, so that first day was really off the book and we hoped for the best." She leaned back in her chair, looking fondly down at her monitor. "After that, he would continuously say what he wanted to. His defiance was one of the bigger reasons why Kiku was pushing him out of the show - the biggest was that he wasn't supposed to be in the show to begin with, but Alfred did have a mind of his own no matter how much Kiku tried to control it. To him, it was only a matter of time before Kirkland said something to Alfred that was irreparable."
"And that time came."
"It did," she agreed quickly. There was no denying it. "Other than that, towards the end, Matthieu stopped listening as well. Oh sure, sometimes he would do as told, but he thought he knew what would be best for Alfred and would constantly butt heads with Kiku about the affairs of Alfred's heart. Between you and me," she said, leaning in closer, "I was on Matthieu's side."
Tino raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what side was that?"
"I don't think it was right trying to force a relationship on him. I truly think if they dropped that aspect, if only for a while, you would not be making this documentary right now because the show would still be running."
He nodded. She was probably right. He wondered how much of this interview would be cut in editing. But he still had one last question. "That night, before Kirkland was taken away, did either of them have a microphone on them? Do you know what they talked about that night?"
Her smile was bittersweet. "No. And I'm glad for it."
Alfred has never wondered why he has the friends he has. He has also never wondered why he does the things he does. He's never had a reason to. On some fundamental level, he supposes he knows why he has his friends and why he does some things, but he's never had a reason to reflect on it. Life is sometimes simple like that, but sometimes Alfred wonders if life should be simple like that.
Life hadn't been simple when his father drowned. (Murdered, his mind whispers as it sometimes did. He was murdered and you know it. He doesn't know whether or not he should believe it; he doesn't know if what it says is a lie. If it was the truth, then it would be added onto a list of unexplained things surrounding New Haven.) Life had been hard then. Alfred wonders if that was the reason why people tried comforting him so much to try to bring his life back down to normalcy, to make it simple again. (He doesn't think it ever became truly simple again.) Life hadn't been simple then.
His life was verging un un-simple again. Whatever simplicity he had regained after his father's passing was fading again. The air was different, as cliche as that sounded, but Alfred could feel something coming. Something big was coming and his life would change again. He wondered if someone was going to die.
But through all of that, he thinks he knows what it is. It's Arthur, or course. A new friend, a new something else. Something new to fixate on and learn everything about.
He became friends with Yong Soo when he had moved to New Haven when they were eight. He had been a loud, eccentric child, placed in the empty seat next to his in the classroom. It hadn't been the teacher's best decision, as people were usually kept away from Alfred because he talked so much, but Yong Soo stayed there for the entire year even though they made so much noise. Alfred didn't think he had changed much since then, only the things he talked about changed. Instead of the "new Transformers toy costing only fifteen bucks," his spiel became the "new toaster oven just forty-nine-ninety-five." When they were younger, Alfred found his knowledge useful, now it was bland and overdone. But he wouldn't be Yong Soo without it.
Magnus he had met a few years before Yong Soo, in Ms. Lauper's kindergarten classroom. They, of course, sat at the same desk and had made quite a ruckus everyday, but neither of them were moved around and when it was time for a different seating arrangement, they were kept together. It was like this all throughout their school career, even adding in Yong Soo when he showed up. They were fortunate like that. Magnus was a different kind of arrogant than Yong Soo, though. Yong Soo liked to boast about his accomplishments and why people should idolize him. Magnus would exert his machismo on anyone who came too close, demanding they think of him as the greatest person on the planet, and shutting out anyone who denied him. He also had not changed much from elementary school, his childish advice turning into pressuring suggestions.
It had only been natural to become their friends, though sometimes Alfred wondered if that was the best choice. There were plenty of other children, but he never managed to hold one of them down as long lasting friends. He looked around at his fellow peers, even Magnus and Yong Soo, and seemed to be the only one with two friends, a brother, and a bunch of small acquaintances he would talk to in class if he needed something clarified. He wondered when he had become so caged in this arrangement.
What had pushed him to this? Was it chance? Was it him? Was it someone else? Had someone else kept him from becoming friends with a wide variety of others?
It felt like that sometimes. Sometimes it felt like teachers were purposefully keeping him away from other children, or his parents, or random strangers claiming to be another child's parents pulled them away in the park. He liked a lot of kids and it felt like a lot of them liked him too, but they never stuck around.
Emma had been a surprise, recently. Before, he had never given her much thought and he thought she had done the same for him. If he remembered correctly, they had known each other since sixth or seventh grade when she had been adopted from Belgium. She could only speak really simple sentences when she had first come, and Alfred had no reason to talk to her during that time and help her improve her English. Other people helped her with that. She would squeeze herself into some groups, and they had a few classes together throughout school. And now, now she seemed to be squeezing her way into their table, slithering her way into Alfred's good graces, constricting around him like a snake would. It felt like all this time from middle school, she had been sizing him up, only to go in for the kill when she no longer felt like playing with her food. The way she talked to him, always had talked to him, made him feel like a mouse: squeaky, powerless and tiny.
For some reason though, he didn't actually think Emma liked him. Maybe she did, but it wasn't for him. It was like she was being told to like him, to fight for his affections, and the only reason she went along was to gain something - but what? What could she possibly gain? Did Magnus set her up? Alfred felt like that could be a possibility. Because Magnus didn't understand (how could he?) that Alfred didn't search for companionship like others did. He didn't get crushes like other boys did.
Admitting to having a crush is hard. Admitting to a crush he shouldn't have is harder.
It would have been easier if he had a crush on Emma. It would have been simpler.
But life isn't easy. It isn't simple.
He hasn't wondered why he has the friends he does. He hasn't wondered why he does the things he does, or if the world is being pulled along by strings, or why things go the way they go, or why he doesn't like girls.
Something has to be simple again. Something has to.
Being Arthur's friend is simple. Becoming friends with Arthur is the easiest thing that has happened in a long while.
Alfred doesn't wonder how long it will last. Nothing in life can ever be truly simple. He can feel it. He can feel it in the way Arthur smiles at him, or the way he smiles back at Arthur. He can see it in the bathroom mirror when he fixes his hair, trying to get that cowlick down in under two minutes and failing before he goes to English class. He can see it in the way Magnus and Yong Soo ask him to go to the arcade after school and letting it slip that they had also invited Emma. He can see it when Emma drops hints about wanting to go to Winter Formal. He can see it in Arthur's pretty green eyes. He can see it in Arthur's pretty green eyes. He can see it in Arthur's pretty green eyes.
...
As much as Alfred is loathe to admit, he and Arthur had yet to set aside time for the project after school since that last day they had worked on it in class. They had gotten through modernizing the servants lines at the party - now weird little creatures called brownies who did things like that because Arthur thought Mr. Presley wouldn't appreciate them using house elves like in Harry Potter. Alfred thinks it had been a good decision, but now it's Monday again and the assignment is due next Tuesday.
The can't speak during class, and before class Alfred vainly attempts to improve his appearance before going to class (for some unknown reason, or a reason known but unwilling to acknowledge), so his solution is to catch Arthur after class. Except he's really nervous, which is ridiculous because he's now spoken to Arthur on three separate days, a fourth shouldn't be all that different. But there are butterflies in his stomach fluttering around all class period and no matter how many times he wipes his hands on his jeans, they're damp. His mind is whirling at the mere thought of asking Arthur to meet up sometime after school - or even during lunch! He isn't picky! But getting the words out might be harder than he imagined.
He nearly jumps out of his chair when the bell rings. He quickly packs up his belongings and sees Arthur finish with his things. Quickly, he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out and it's like his worst nightmare, but thankfully or not Arthur looks up at him in that exact moment and opens his mouth to speak, and he actually uses words.
"Alfred," he starts and Alfred's heart does a weird little thump. Honestly, he doesn't know what's with him today. "I feel we've been putting off our project for long enough."
Alfred nods quickly, relieved he didn't have to say the first word, but lamenting he didn't. "I agree," he says. "When do you have time? I'm free anytime." He wonders if that sounded as awkward as he thinks it did.
"Anytime," Arthur responds quickly. "We could even meet during lunch period, if you want. It doesn't matter."
"Yeah, okay. Um, are you free today?" His heart is beating so fast in his chest he thinks he might pass out from exertion, or maybe anxiety because it feels like Arthur takes a second to nod. "So, today, then?" he chokes out, unsure if what was happening was really happening right now. "Where?"
Arthur is glancing everywhere except Alfred and he can't remember a time before when he felt so uncomfortable but elated at the same time. "The… library? Here?"
"Sure," he agrees quickly so this could end and they could get to their next classes. Arthur nods one more time before leaving. Alfred has to take a second to collect himself before he can go to class - he'll be late, but it was worth it.
He's going to hang out with Arthur in the library after school. To work on a project. Admittedly, it wasn't the best hang out (to become friends, that is), but it was the best Alfred has. So he's going to roll with it.
...
By the time sixth period rolls around, he's quivering in his boots. Matthew takes notice.
They're in French II, Alfred so he has the credits to transfer to a college, Matthew because he wanted an easy A. In Canada, they spoke both English and French, so Matthew had grown up knowing both and, though he hadn't lived there in years, he still kept up his practice. Before high school, he had attempted teaching Alfred French, but Alfred wasn't the best student, especially when he didn't have much use for the language. Not many people spoke it in New Haven.
He feels his brother gently nudge him with his elbow before he's passed a note. He unfolds it as inconspicuously as he can. What's up? it says. Alfred quickly writes a response (nothing's up) and waits for a good moment to pass it back.
It doesn't take that much longer for Matthew to pass it back. Yeah, sure. Tell me.
Alfred sighs and writes back: after class
The final note reads Fine. and that's that. Alfred crumples up the paper and stuffs it in his backpack before the teacher can notice and goes back to pretending he's paying attention.
As soon as the bell rings, Matthew is on him. If it wasn't so endearing how much he was cared for, Alfred would find it annoying. (Okay, that's a lie, he finds it sorta annoying, but it's the thought that counts, so.) "What's up," Matthew asks immediately.
Alfred tries not to show his raging nerves too much. "Nothing, really," he says because, really, it is nothing. "Tell Mom I'm going to be a while, that's all. I have to work on my English project."
Matthew stares at him like he isn't sure whether or not to believe him but believes him anyway. "Right. Why are you so nervous?"
Alfred really doesn't have an answer to that so he answers with the first thing that comes to mind. "I dunno. It's been awhile since I've spent some time with people other than you, Mom, Magnus, and Yong Soo. What if I say something stupid?"
Matthew rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You're stupid. Sure, I'll tell mom."
"Thanks." And with that, they depart, leaving Alfred to trudge his way over to the library. With any luck, he won't say anything stupid and this encounter will go just swell. He, however, does not have that much faith in himself.
There weren't many reasons for Alfred to enter the school library; thus, he could count the amount of times he had on his hands. He feels like a stranger when he enters, out of place, out of his depth, and uncomfortable to the point where he almost pretends that he's forgotten why he went in the first place. But he steels his nerves and forces himself to sit at one of the few tables to wait for Arthur. He digs his textbook out of his backpack and his notebook, finds a pencil and starts tapping it anxiously against the hard surface of the table. He's asked to stop not too long thereafter and resorts to chewing it. There are a few dents in it by the time Arthur finally steps through the door and immediately spots him; he smiles as he sits down and gathers his own things from his bag.
Once his materials are set up across the table from Alfred, he says, "So. Ready to start?"
"I guess," Alfred responds, opening up the textbook to the right page. Shakespeare is still one of his least favorite things to read, but he has to get through it if he wants to continue passing English. And, on the best possible upside, he doesn't have to do the assignment on a 'romantic' play with Emma.
Arthur pulls out their previously written script with the brownies and their lines so they could continue translating. The next section to update is with Lord Capulet, Juliet, and blah blah blah. A bunch of people that Alfred just doesn't care about. Cappy is greeting his guests and that's all that really matters, but, dang, does Pappy-Cap really have to be so long winded about it? Then Tybalt wants to kill Romeo, but Papa Cuppa says no, and on and on and on. It had been decided earlier that the Montagues would be the non-magical family for the added sake of Loco Puke-ulet not wanting T-Bolt to go and kill Romie because he was just a powerless, supposedly polite kid who was just born to the wrong family.
"He dies, right," Alfred checks because he isn't sure he remembers anymore. "Room-boom kills Tibbles, right? Or does somebody else? That sucks. Balto shoulda killed Rom-com when he had the chance."
The response he gets is less than desirable. Arthur stares at him with great befuddlement, eyebrows drawing together tightly and mouth slightly agape. "I have no clue who you're talking about."
Alfred frowns and runs over his words in his head. "Oh," he says lamely. "Right. Does Romeo kill Tybalt?"
"Yes," Arthur says slowly, looking at Alfred weirdly. "Mercutio is killed by Tybalt, so Romeo gets revenge."
Alfred nods down at his book, trying his best to remember reading that part but fails and gives up. "Who's Mercutio again?" Arthur sighs and says they should get back to their work. He stares at their script so far and wonders how they accomplished so much in the time he was effectively zoning out. He notes there were a bunch of lines cut, just for necessity's sake. Wilburt Shaman Pier wrote a lot of fluffy lines wholly unneeded for a modern audience. He never thought they would actually get there, but here he and Arthur were - translating Ro-bro and Jewelry's lines.
TYBALT. Arthur has written on his paper: I will have patience now. Killing with kindness first, only to turn to poison later. (He exits.)
ROMEO. (Taking Juliet's hand.) This hand of mine is unworthy to hold yours and yet my lips are worthy enough to use.
Looking down at the play, Alfred starts trying to decipher what's said next. He wonders how helpful he's being - he feels like all of those fanciful words are going straight through his head without stopping to be understood. They're flirting, that much is obvious. Momo wants to kiss her, Jukebox says… no? Maybe? Something about saints and palms, but does all of that mean 'no?' And they keep talking until -
"What," Alfred asks himself, staring at line 102 with immense confusion. "What does that…? How does…?"
Arthur looks up from his own copy of the play. "Problem?"
On the one hand, he doesn't want to look like a fool, on the other hand, he feels like he passed that along time ago. Still, he's hesitant to share. He stares at Arthur for what he feels like a second too long before saying, "Yeah. Um, this line," he points to it, "'Let lips do as hands do?' What does that even mean? Lips don't do what hands do. That's kind of a really bad pickup line. I mean… you know?"
Arthur clears his throat and shifts closer to him. "Well, see here, they're holding hands." His pretty green eyes glance from the book up into Alfred's and Alfred almost forgets what they're doing for a second. He's looking at Alfred like that was all the explanation that was needed, but Alfred doesn't have a clue on how that clears things up. "Get it," Arthur asks.
Alfred takes a deep breath and says, "No." Arthur sighs and drums his fingers against the table. He looks like he's contemplating something, but he makes his mind up pretty quickly - or that's what Alfred thinks because he's suddenly sitting up straighter and looking Alfred in the eyes. Slowly, gently, Arthur takes a hold of Alfred's hand and grasps it firmly like he wants to make a point.
Any cohesive thoughts he might have left fly out the door and into a flurry of whirlwinds. Arthur is still maintaining eye contact, his pretty green eyes looking deep into Alfred's without hesitance or nervousness; they're unwavering, intelligent, super, beautiful. They steal his breath and he finds he has to look away. That helps him breathe easier, but now he's staring at their conjoined hands and just like that a slew of thoughts roar and stampede through his head.
The hand holding his is soft. It's warm and tender. It feels like his hand is receiving a hug from another hand and isn't that just the most sane thought? Alfred doesn't want to let go and that thought just sends a tingle down his arm to his fingers telling them to clutch tighter - he wants to die of embarrassment when they do just that, fluttering a little bit as the tingle sweeps through them before settling a little bit more secure around Arthur's hand.
His brain is short-circuiting so hard that it takes him much too long to remember what this demonstration is for. But he still doesn't understand so he tears his eyes away from their hands and back up into Arthur's eyes, but he can't even do that because then he'll be caught on them again, so he lowers them to stare at Arthur's lips and that's just a mistake because Arthur's licking his lips (and, jeez, his mind flickers out of existence for a second there as a swarm of butterflies invades his stomach), so he gives up and looks back down at their hands-
"Oh," Alfred chokes out. He feels his face get warm, all the way to the tips of his ears. His palm is probably getting sweaty but he can't bear to take his hand back and Arthur's still staring at him.
He clears his throat and Alfred's eyes flicker up quickly to see Arthur's own face grow a little pink. "Get it now?" He gives the tiniest of nods and Arthur responds by giving his hand a small squeeze - as quick as anything - before pulling his hand away.
Alfred's hand grows colder. It gives him an empty feeling as he tracks Arthur's hand as it makes its way back to his lap. Arthur isn't looking at him anymore, instead he's gazing at the shelves of books as if they are the most interesting things on the planet. His cheeks are still pink and in that Alfred finds a smidgen of comfort.
It takes him a while to really get his heartbeat slower and regain some semblance of regular breathing, but he still sounds out of breath when he says, "That's actually not a bad pick up line."
"It's not the worst," Arthur concedes with his own breathless chuckle. "And she has a great comback after he kisses her, too."
"Oh, really? What?"
He smirks at him. "She says he kisses by the book."
Alfred bursts out laughing and Arthur joins him, both trying to keep it down so as to not to disturb the other last two people in the library and the librarian. "What's it gonna be in our script," Alfred inquires. "Kiss by the spellbook?" That sends them into another fit of laughter before they decide to call it a day.
...
The first thing he notices when he goes home that day is that the trash has been taken out. Usually, that's his job. He goes over and inspects it and sees a hard rectangular shape pressed against the part of the bag and pokes at it wondering what it could be for merely a second before it clicks in his head - he knows what it is. He stares hard at it for a few moments before blowing all the hot air in his head out - the air that had been hot a minute earlier from incredible blushing excitedness turned quickly into anger and frustration - and unties the garbage bag to pull his book out.
Like all the times before when his mother had tried to throw it out, it's now smudged with ill, sticky, and slimy stains that will take an hour to wash away and days for the rank smell to dissipate. It's like a routine now, every few months. Routine as it may be, he didn't like it and held on to the hope that his mother would stop selfishly doing this.
He brings the book inside and goes straight to his room. He sets it down gently on his desk before going back out to get a rag; however, he is stopped by his mother in the kitchen.
She's sitting at the kitchen table, sipping at some tea, reading a newspaper that Alfred is sure he saw her reading this morning. "How's your project coming along," she asks, not sparing him a glance.
"It's going well," he says. "What's new in the paper?"
This makes her pause in her reading to give him a dull look. "We both know you aren't interested in the news. But, on the off chance you really are, then the local pet shelter is asking for volunteers. Maybe you could go help out." She fixes him with a look that screams It'll help you get into college. He isn't a fan of that look.
"Okay, yeah, sure," he hums noncommittally, hand tightening around the rag in his hand. He starts to turn away to get on with the job, but is stopped again when she calls his name. He turns back with a fake smile and a "Yeah?"
She sets down her paper and heaves a heavy sigh. When her gaze lands on him again, it's full of frustration, worry, and impending demands. "Must you keep pulling that thing from the garbage?"
He frowns and hopes his face accurately conveys how much discontent he's feeling in that moment. "I dunno," he says petulantly. "Must you keep throwing it away? It's mine." He crosses his arms and turns his head to glower at the wall instead, not wanting to see that sadness in her eyes.
"I'm just worried about you. You need to move on, Alfred."
That makes his mood fouler. It's moments like these that he wished it was socially acceptable to scream in frustration whenever someone wanted to. "I have moved on," he insists. "It was six years ago. Is it really that bad of me to want to keep some pictures? Am I not allowed to look at pictures?" He looks back at her and sees her unhappy concerned grimace has been etched in deeper to her face, making the few wrinkles she has more defined. "I'm forgetting his face, Mom. I don't like that."
She sighs again and he thinks he sees the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "I know, baby; God, do I know. I have no problem with the pictures - I look at them, too. But, Alfred, news articles? His obituary? You want to remember your father like that? Remember his death like that? Keep it all nicely in a scrapbook and say everything's okay because it also has happy pictures in there?" His eyes had shifted down to the floor and he didn't feel like moving his head back up. He didn't have the strength to pretend like he was the stronger one in this situation. His eyes were beginning to burn and he hated himself in that moment. "Is that really moving on? Re-reading those news articles about his death every Saturday is moving on?"
Alfred's hands clenched themselves into fists and he swallows hard. She isn't supposed to know he did that every week. She isn't supposed to know. Sure she had caught him a few times, but he never told her that he had done the same thing the week before, and the week before that, and the - "I don't do it every-"
"Do not lie to me, Alfred F. Jones."
He clams up, his attempt to rectify the situation drying up on his lips. He squeezes his eyes tight and concentrates on willing the tears threatening to fall away.
She sighs once more and Alfred knows that this conversation won't last for much longer. His mother works in sighs of three. It was just one of those things that never changed and almost seemed robotic, formulaic. "Your father would have wanted you to be happy, not hung up on his passing. He wouldn't have liked this, Alfred. It was tragic and you were young, but there's nothing you can change no matter how many times you read those articles and wish they said something different. I know it's not fair of me to throw it out, but I hold onto the hope that one day that it'll stay there because that will be the day that I know for sure you're going to be okay."
"I am okay," he says thickly, though he knows she isn't going to believe him no matter how many times he says it. "You shouldn't worry so much."
She gives him a small, wistful smile. "I'm your mom. It's my job to worry." He shakes his head at her and leaves the room; she doesn't stop him.
When he sees the book sitting on his desk, he ignores it in favor of laying down on his bed to stare endlessly at the ceiling. It could wait a few more hours to be cleaned. It wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.