"Alfred! The door!" called Arthur. Arthur Kirkland stood in front of his apartment, hands full of groceries. His eye twitched. "Alfred?"
He waited a few seconds before sighing, setting down his bags of groceries, and rummaging through his pocket for his key. He found it in his left pants pocket under a spare handkerchief. He unlocked the door. Alfred was probably playing video games or getting a little into a baseball or American football game.

On hearing the door click open, Arthur returned the key to his pocket and picked up his groceries with a huff. He kicked the door closed behind him before setting the bags on the kitchen table. "Alfred, I couldn't find the macaroni and cheese you usually like, so I just bought you this Draft brand kind . . ."

Alfred didn't respond. Not wanting to yell and make the neighbors hate them, Arthur chose to search for Alfred. Given that the apartment didn't really have many separate rooms, there wasn't anywhere he could really be hiding. Just the living room/kitchen, the bedroom and the bathroom.

Arthur walked into the bedroom and did several circles around it. It had a single window across from the door and a bedside lamp for lighting. The bed was unkempt; the blue sheet and red-and-white-striped duvet were twisted into a single worm and one pillow was thrown halfway across the room. Alfred had been just waking up when Arthur left that morning and hadn't bothered making it, as usual. The fluffy royal blue carpet had a smattering of t-shirts and jeans strewn across it. The rocking chair in the corner next to the window had a few ties hanging on the back, as well as a neatly folded dress shirt on the seat. The laundry basket next to it was overflowing.

However, in no corner did Arthur see his boyfriend. He turned to check the bathroom.

While the bathroom looked a little bit cleaner, there was no Alfred to be found in it.

Arthur shrugged and unpacked the groceries. It was mostly packaged meals, some beer, and lots of Cola for Alfred. Arthur picked up the last plastic bag to toss it in the rubbish bin, revealing a small blue sticky note that had been under the bag. Arthur held it up to read, setting down the bag. There was only a single word written, in all caps: "PITTSBURGH."

His eyebrows knitted together. Pittsburgh: a city in Pennsylvania known for steel. Arthur and Alfred had talked about nice US cities before, but Pittsburgh hadn't come up, at least not memorably. Had they even said the word "Pittsburgh" to each other before? Was this even Alfred's handwriting? The all caps made it harder to tell.

Planning on demanding an explanation, Arthur picked up his mobile phone and called Alfred. It went immediately to voicemail.

"Wanker," muttered Arthur, hanging up.

He attempted a call once more, but gave up and began attending to the overflowing laundry basket.

xox

The laundry was clean and dry, but Alfred still wasn't home. Arthur called again. His attempt was fruitless, as Alfred's phone seemed to be turned off, still. It was not rare that someone's mobile phone died while they were out, but given the creepy note and the fact the prior to today, Alfred simply didn't leave the house before ten ( his internship in physical therapy in a close hospital allowed him to do so); Arthur paced around the apartment with anxiety.

He made the bed.

He attempted to figure out which t-shirts and jeans on the floor were clean by sniffing, but gave up and put everything in the laundry basket.

He did more laundry.

He vacuumed every inch of carpeting in the apartment.

And then, having done everything else to rid himself of anxiety, he baked some scones.

Arthur, being a freelance writer, felt inspired by the sweet smell filling the apartment. He started writing a personal story about how he used to eat scones every morning on the train, until he moved to America, At the end, he wrote his favorite scone recipe. People loved Do-It-Yourself things today. This story might sell!

Finished with the first draft, he checked the clock. It was well past lunchtime, going on 2 o'clock. He realized he was starving, but his stomach twisted into knots when he thought about actually eating.

Instead, he made himself a cup of Earl Grey and read an old copy of the New Yorker. He lay on the sofa, his feet propped on one armrest and his head propped on the other. The stories started to wind themselves around him, lulling him out of reality, until his phone buzzed in his pocket.

It was a text message, but it wasn't from Alfred. It was from his little brother, Peter, reading: "GUESS WHAT I'M IN AMERICA!"
Arthur ran a hand through his hair and groaned before replying. "I'm sorry I don't have room to accommodate you during your stay." He dropped his phone on the floor afterwards, planning on ignoring whatever came next, but then a horrendous, quick knocking could be heard from the door. It turned into a desperate banging.

He carefully placed his magazine on the coffee table so it was open to his last page before he opened the door.

"'Ello, Arthur! Will you take me to see the Statue of Liberty?"

"Peter, are you traveling alone? How can you afford this anyway?" Arthur's voice filled with genuine concern.
Peter ignored him. "Statue of Liberty? Please?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "No. I'm busy."

"Busy with what?"

"Just bugger off."

"What are you busy with, Art?"

"It doesn't make a bloody difference to you."

Peter looked offended.

Arthur attempted to close the door, only for Peter to stick his foot in the doorway.

"Just tell me!"

"Fine. I'm part of a secret operation for the US government. Now get the bloody hell out of the doorway and go see that piece of French trash on your own because you don't have anyone else to go with."

Peter's hands curled into fists. "That's just insulting!"

"Yes. it is quite, isn't it?"

"Will you at least go to MoMA with me tomorrow?" he cried.

Arthur sighed. "Maybe. Now if you please . . ." He pulled the door back and slammed it into Peter's foot.

Peter shrieked withdrew himself from the doorway and Arthur locked the door shut.

He returned to the couch and checked his phone. No new messages. No Alfred.

xox

It was seven in the evening and still nothing from Alfred. Arthur turned on the oven to heat up a frozen pizza and wondered if he would even eat it. The television was turned on the news, as Arthur had little better to do than watch it.

His phone rang. It was Matthew, Alfred's little brother.

"Cheerio!" said Arthur, hopeful.

"Is Alfred with you?" asked Matthew.

"Oh, er . . .I'm afraid not."

"He's not answering his phone and-"
"I don't know where he is," Arthur interjected.

"Oh. Sorry."

Arthur didn't hang up and waited to see if Matthew would say anything else.

"Do you have any idea? At all?" Matthew said finally.

"Well-" Arthur started. The note reading "PITTSBURGH" sat in front of him. "Yes. I got home from the grocery store and Alfred wasn't here, but there was a note. It said only 'Pittsburgh'. Now, I'm not sure that he has any real motivation to leave New York, but perhaps something came up."

"That's a start," Matthew acknowledged. "But Pittsburgh is pretty large-"
"I know that! Do you think I'm a bloody idiot?"

"Sorry."

"You're pretty close to New York City now, right, Matt?"

"Well, yes-"
"Good. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"It's four hundred miles away, almost! And you don't even have a car!"

"You still have that truck, right?"

"Okay, fine."

xox

Arthur and Matthew first met at a Fourth of July party at the Jones household. It was also Alfred's birthday celebration, as they happened on the same day. Arthur and Mathew acknowledged each other's existence before then, in the way that you have to when someone is dating your brother, but they didn't really talk.

Alfred was lighting the fireworks with Mr. Jones, so Arthur stood next to the snack table alone. He ate a few crisps (which Alfred insisted on calling chips), but mostly he moped. Why did everyone call it the Fourth of July when it was, more importantly, Independence Day? And really, how did they make such delicious delicious barbecue? Every time he tried making it, it burned a carbon crisp.

Matthew walked up to him, hockey stick slung over his shoulder. "You wouldn't happen to know how to play field hockey, would you?"

"Not really, no."

"No one else knows how either," he sighed.

"I'm sorry." Arthur's tone was positively wooden. "If you have some sizable sticks, I do know how to fence quite well."

"Really?"

"I liked swords a lot as a kid, so I took fencing lessons. It didn't amount to much. My high school theatre group wasn't interested in plays with a lot of swordplay." Arthur shrugged.

"Cool."
And so then the two men picked up long sticks and did a mock sword fight, as red, white, and blue fireworks filled the night sky.

xox

In the morning, Arthur filled a paper bag with the scones. They were perfect, in his opinion. He stuffed a bag with clothes for the next few days, and drank some tea, waiting for Matthew.

His phone buzzed.

It was a text from Matt: "I'm waiting outside your building, but I can't find any parking."

Thank god Matthew had chosen to live in the middle-of-nowhere Ontario rather than the city. A car was absolutely necessary for this trip. Although there was public transportation to Pittsburgh from New York, it took far too long, and was filled with suspicious people.

He picked up his things and locked the door behind him.

Matthew's car wasn't what Arthur was used to seeing in New York. it was a blue pickup truck that looked like it had survived many a winter in the Canadian wilderness. Upon entering the truck, he offered Matthew a scone.

"I already ate, thanks."

Arthur shrugged. The car was silent for a few minutes before he asked, "Do you have family in Pittsburgh?"

"Not that I know-oh my, oh my gosh!" Matthew slammed on the breaks.

"No one? Anyone in Pennsylvania?"

"No," Matthew squeaked. His mouth tightened in concentration.

"In the general area? Ohio?"

"Can you stop talking to me until I get out of the city traffic?"

Arthur scowled, but Matthew's face was an impressive shade of pale blue-green, so he chose not to say any more.

Arthur hadn't learned to drive until sometime in university. He grew up in London, with little need to drive places. When he did learn, he learned on city roads. He was used to the silly decisions people made. It was very possible he would fall asleep of boredom on a country road.

"Okay, so what did you have to say?" Matthew said finally, his voice now more relaxed.

"Is there anyone you know with whom Alfred would stay in Pittsburgh?"

"Not really. We grew up in the suburbs of New York. Not too many people left the state." Matthew paused before adding, "At least not that I remember."

"You're not certain?"

"No. Hey, I have a question for you! Do you know why he might leave?"

Arthur thought for a moment. "It's not football season, so that can't be why." After a second of thought, he said, "He was probably kidnapped. I don't think he left that note."

Matthew's eyes opened wider. "Probably kidnapped? So he just . . . disappeared?"

"I suppose you could say that."
"You know, it'd be nice if he actually cared to talk to me more." Matthew leaned forward.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "What the devil do you mean?"

"Then I might know why he left. He only calls me to ask if I'm going to football games with him. Because you won't!" He flushed after saying the last sentence.

"Oh my."

"Sorry."

"S'alright." Arthur breathed deeply before asking, "What are we even going to do once we get to Pittsburgh?"

"I don't know."

"I suppose it'll be about time for lunch. Do you happen to know your way around Pittsburgh? To any restaurants?"

Matthew shrugged. "I've never really been."

"Well, I'm sure they'll have something."

Matthew's expression tightened. "How about we talk about these things once we get to Pittsburgh?"

Arthur nodded and took a novel out of his bag.

A few hours away from Matthew and Arthur, Alfred was sitting on a train, trying very hard not to look at someone who was making a scene. He asked the person next to him if he could charge his phone at their destination. The person gave a gruff "Yes."


Author's note: So they're going to Pittsburgh! Exciting, yeah? I hate to spoil it for you, but they won't find Alfred there. In fact, they will go to a number of different US towns and cities before the completion of this story. If you've ever visited/lived in a really quirky small town in the American Midwest, and you're willing to tell me about its urban legends or whatever, that'd be much appreciated! I need more destinations on this trip, as I only have a basic path drawn out for our heros.