Written for thenorthamericantwins for the RVP/VB Secret Santa 2015
Title: The Misadventures of North America
Genre: Humour/Family
Pairing: 1p2pCanadacest, possible1p2pAmericest (except they're both underage and have like a five year age difference), implied 1pFrUK
Rating: T
Summary: Matt and Matthew both lose their little brothers whilst on a late Christmas shopping trip. They eventually find the two, Matt falls a little bit in love, and Matthew's highly creeped out.
Notes: This isn't some of my best written work, mostly because I was trying to capture the mind of a child, so it's pretty simple and (hopefully) sweet. Fluff isn't my strong point—always ends up too sappy or not enough—so feel free to give some critique!
There was no place worse on earth, Al decided, than a grocery store.
The too-bright lights reflected off of everything, from the shiny linoleum floor to the garish junk food packets. There were much too many people and endlessly long aisles full of grown-up food—herbs and gluten-free everything. Why was there only one candy hotspot, right in the centre of the store so grown-ups could expertly stroll right past? Why did they only sell badly made girls toys, and why was everything so high up?
It's like they had no respect for eleven year old boys like him. How was he supposed to reach those Jolly Ranchers all the way up on a shelf twice his height? It was unfair and he couldn't sneak them into the trolley while Matt wasn't looking.
He hated going grocery shopping more than anything else in the whole world. Except maybe school, but that was justified because everyone hated school, apart from maybe Matt but Matt was a giant nerd. So, everyone who wasn't a loser hated school.
Matt was a giant loser, by the way. He hardly ever showered unless pa yelled at him about how bad he stunk, which meant that his hair was all grotty and greasy most the time. Usually he tied it back in a messy ponytail, like most of the girls that went to his school. Also, he liked Pokemon (obsessed is a better word) and ran a tumblr ask blog (Al knew because he'd been snooping around on Matt's laptop when he stumbled across it) and was probably a brony and/or a furry. Al would find evidence yet.
Because of his enormous loser-ness, it was quite difficult for Al to be around Matt in public. After all, he had a reputation to uphold, and what if someone from school saw him walking around with a stinky, girly-boy freak? He'd be ruined, that's what. Stupid pa and his 'sibling bonding time'. After this they'd have to make those dumb gingerbread cookies together, too.
Al felt a bit guilty just thinking that and tried to remind himself that he didn't need to put a dollar in the swear jar if he simply thought of a cuss. He decided to make a special gingerbread pa when he got home, just because parents can tell when you've done something disorderly even if you haven't.
The brunet pressed his nose against the cold glass of the butcher's section, staring disdainfully at the refrigerated nutrients. Meat had always been sort of distasteful to him, Al wished he was an adult so he could chose his own meals and eat whatever he wanted, when he wanted.
He held his nose so he didn't have to breathe in stale smell. Matt ordered six pounds of pink, bloody turkey and Al had to look away as the lady in the shower cap wrapped it up in a grey paper bag. Her gloves were stained with red.
"That'll be $23.04, sir," the murderer said to his older brother.
Matt accepted the package of death, and they start to stroll down the dairy aisle. The highway passage of over-priced milk and too bright light in place of the sun, refrigerated air and low humming of machinery. Instead of blinding headlights and windshields, the traffic have wrinkled faces and mediocre clothing.
Bo-ring. Just like the food his sibling chose.
"Quantity over quality," Matt recited under his breath as he placed a home-brand tub of butter in the cart. Al sent a box of chocolate yogurt a mournful look, mentally comparing it to the plain Greek style Matt chose. His family really was blind to the wonders of sugar.
And yeah, he was beginning to get a teensy bit bored. Nothing to do, no one to talk to. Matt didn't count, he was about as apathetic as a rock. As fun as one, too. Al had no choice but to hatch an escape plan.
There were several possible routes of escape, the closest located to the right. Only con: that's the way Matt was heading, therefore it's the way Matt was most likely to look. On the left, there are less people. Minimal obstacles, minimal witnesses. However, excessive amounts of running will be required, heightening chances of being spotted.
Behind them, however, there's an aisle with hiding places scattered all over, a lone trolley, an unpacked box of produce, a step ladder. That was Al's destination.
With a mischievous smile, Al checked the enemy for signs of emotion. No, he was disinterested, as per usual. Distracted. Al feigned curiosity, skipping over to a lone display and inspecting the goods. Matt does not look his way.
Then, Al stole away like the prices Matt was so swept up by.
No matter how hard Matthew Williams tried to carefully manoeuvre his squeaky trolley around the masses, someone always seemed to crash into him. It's like they didn't even notice he existed. Well, they certainly seem to only after disaster struck. Typical inconsiderate Americans.
Matthew was just an average high schooler. He may be more calm than most of his classmates, and a bit more aggressive when it came to hockey, but all-in-all he was an ordinary guy, the type who tends fades into the background due to his lack of unique qualities. He did his best to keep it this way, and unfortunately, it worked out a bit too well.
Now he was cursed with self-diagnosed "passive personality disorder", or PPD for short.
Several symptoms include:
• Accepting/allowing others to get their way.
• Tendency to go ignored.
• Having a fear of conflict and arguments.
• Submissive behaviour.
• Taking the blame for no reason.
• Lack of resistance towards unfair circumstances.
It was totally legitimate and extremely dire. Well, he had googled it and apparently it wasn't a thing, so he was determined to become a doctor/psychologist in the future and raise awareness. Or at least… As determined as somebody with chronic passiveness could be. Maybe that was why there was nothing on the net about it—anyone afflicted with it was too indifferent to tell people. Ooh, it was worse than he thought. How would his parents react when they found out he was crippled with a debilitating disease?
Well, as somebody with life-ruining PPD, shopping with Alfred was… Frustrating, in Alfie_words.
Alfie_words was something his dad had come up with. It was basically just censoring yourself around the youngest child in Matthew's family—dad didn't want the same thing that happened with Matthew to repeat itself. That situation, in Alfie_words, was best put as: "expulsion due to colourful vocabulary around kindergarteners."
Alfred was kind of a do-over. His parents had messed their first attempt at successfully raising a child (although Matthew thought he turned out perfectly fine, thankyouverymuch), so they decided to give it another go. They spoiled Alfred rotten, hardly ever disciplined him (punishments at such an early age had rendered Matthew flighty and nervous—possible link to his PPD), and were extremely lenient. As a result, Alfred had turned out brash, arrogant, and at the risk of developing type 2 diabetes before his teen years.
He was also a right brat, (possibly) without meaning to.
Every time he went to select something, Alfred would politely stop his hand, grab the item, then place it in the cart himself. It was quite tiresome, especially when the little boy insisted on being lifted up when he couldn't reach. Dealing with younger children was a difficult experience, that's for sure, so Matthew settled the problems by sending Alfred out on his own little expeditions.
"Do you got another order for me?" Alfred asked, tugging on Matthew's pant leg. "I can do it, trust me!"
"Hmm, let's see." The older blond pretended to think intently. "Could you do me a big favour and hop on down to the breakfast cereals? We need more Lucky Charms and Frosted Flakes, and you can grab something for yourself."
Matthew did not trust Alfred enough to get the proper ingredients for gingerbread houses—the boy could hardly spell his own name yet, how was he to know the difference between self-raising and plain flour?—so he instead settled in his trust of the memorable covers and mascots found on kid's cereals. Tony Tiger and Lucky the Leprechaun were his heroes.
"Of course, Mattie!" Alfred grinned widely at the thought of being responsible for something. He puffed out his chest, marching off to fulfil his duty like a strong-willed soldier. He was a future Superman in the making, really. He just knew it. He was already helping people so much at five years old.
With a determined smile and skip in his step, little Alfred Jones toddled his way around the supermarket. A few of the more maternal shoppers send worried glances his way occasionally, watching over him warily. Of course, in Alfred's mind, he's the one watching over them, protecting them all from an imaginary villain.
The store is a maze and it's his job to retrieve the treasure so he can win the fair maiden's heart (that's Mattie). He beamed joyfully, humming to himself as he walked.
"It's a bird," he amplified his speed, jogging at a slow pace with his arms spread.
"It's a plane," he jumped over a fallen loaf of bread.
"No! It's Alfie, world famous superhero," the whole world whizzed by in a blur. He was going so fast! He was definitely the fastest runner in his whole class, no doubt about it! Screw Ivan, Alfred would beat him next time in sports class if it's the last thing he did. Ivan was a fattie, anyway, so he'd probably get too tired or eat so much he'll be to heavy to run. Alfred giggled delightedly—
—and ran smack-bang into one of the displays, landing on his backside. His mouth open and closed in shock. The red-blue-green stand seemed to mock him, ugly colours laughing at him, jars of creamy caramel-coloured substance staring him down.
Alfred gave the plastic villains a disapproving look. Of course it would be peanut butter.
He'd always hated that particular spread. It was gross and stuck to the roof of his mouth, and made his best friend Kiku get ugly looking red things on his face. Plus, in Science he had learned about how everything on earth was either solid, liquid, or gas. Peanut butter was none of those things! It was weirdly stuck between being solid and liquid, which just proved that it was not natural and really icky. Why couldn't it just chose one to be? (Alfred was a solid himself.)
"I hate you," he said. "You freak."
Then, since he was a hero and knew what was right and what was wrong: he apologised. Because that's the good thing to do and grown-ups always forgave you once you say sorry. No matter how much you didn't mean it.
Al looked around in boredom. There wasn't anything to do! Nothing to play with, no friends to stir mischief with, no Matt to bug... Not that he'd react anyway.
All around him were your typical, unremarkable shoppers, all unimaginably average and dull. Middle-aged moms and dads dragging along poor children like him, senior citizens bumbling along slowly and generally just getting in the way, starry eyed couples patrolling the aisles together with intertwined fingers, and occasionally a lone teenager or two.
Except for that really pretty girl in aisle number four, hello. She had curly blonde hair and a red headband, which was Al's favourite colour, by the way. Al brushed nonexistent dust off of his pants, smoothed back his hair and cleared his throat as he prepared to approach her. He had taken several steps when a tanned brunet with bright green eyes and a smile that belonged only in toothpaste ads walked up to the blonde and kissed her square on her glossy pink lips.
Damn it. The older guys always get the girl.
Sighing, Al looked away, staring instead at a kid sitting in front of the peanut butter section. He looked completely out of it.
… And fun to mess with.
"Hey!" Al yelled, stomping his way over to the little boy. Alfred looked up with wide eyes.
He tipped his head to the side, cautiously taking the boy in. He didn't look very nice. He looked mean. He was a big kid. "Who are you?" He asked, trying to put on his hero voice. If this person turned out to be a villain, Alfred could just easily beat him up, of course.
"I'm Al," the boy grinned cockily, winking one of his dark brown eyes. Instantly, Alfred's fears were forgotten in favour of excitement.
"Whoa! Really truly? My name's Al too! Well, it's actually Alfred." He clapped his hands together excitedly. "You can wink? That's so cool! I can't yet but I've been practising heaps, maybe one day I'll be able to properly. Hey, can you teach me how?"
The older Al raised one eyebrow. Alfred wanted to know how he did that, also. "Why should I?"
Alfred gulped. Did he say something wrong? He mentally went through the list of good manners dad had taught him… Nope, nothing. Darn, he knew he should have payed more attention! Dad was just sooo boring, and outside it had looked so nice, freshly cut green grass just waiting to be played in. Why did dad always chose the nicest days to teach Alfred stuff? Maybe he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, because everyone knew that Alfred wasn't listening.
Hmm, now he wanted to back home. He liked helping papa garden. They grew all kinds of things; pretty flowers like tulips and petunias that papa liked to give to dad (who usually turned as red as the roses), yummy fruits, strawberries and apples and pomegranates—he was the only first grader who had a pomegranate tree, no one else even knew what they were. (Sucks to be them.)
So yeah, he was pretty special.
He was really special. He was a super-duper fast runner and had an older brother who gave him important duties and a pomegranate tree!
Alfred whooshed out a big breath, imitating the Big Bad Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood. He was tempted to say, "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down!" But that wouldn't make any sense because big kid Al wasn't in his house right now and Alfred couldn't blow it down even if he huffed and puffed all day long. Unless Al lived in a paper house or something.
"Umm, because I don't know how and you do." As a quick afterthought, he tacked a sassy, "duh," on the end, trying to hide his smug smirk. He sure showed big kid Al!
"Huh. Good point." He laughed, exposing a missing gap in the front of his teeth. Alfred thought that looked kinda cool. He hadn't lost any teeth yet, but papa told him that he was supposed to really soon. Dad had read him stories about a magical tooth fairy who would give you money for your baby teeth, which sounded awesome. Alfred was planning to try and catch the tooth fairy for show-and-tell. Ha! He'd upstage Ivan and his stupid space model any day! Maybe he'd even bring a model of the moon, that'd show him.
"Have you ever met the tooth fairy?" Alfred asked. "What did she look like? Or was it a boy? Wait, no, boys can't be fairies*."
Al nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter. His bottom lip quivered. "Y-you sure do talk a lot."
Alfred started chewing on his thumb. "Yahh, thowwy." He mumbled around the appendage, probably not even fully aware of the habit.
"How old are you, anyway?"
Alfred popped his thumb out his mouth, a little saliva thread snapping. Al thought that was kinda gross, and now Alfred had drool on his chin. Little Al is clearly still a baby, even if he was almost the same height as Al. He's kinda fat, too, especially on his fingers, even if they are really tiny like the rest of him. "I'm this many."
When Alfred holds up five fingers, Al grinned and bragged about how he didn't have enough fingers. Alfred's eyes widened, obviously in awe of being in the presence of a superior. "Wow, that's much older than I thought you were! Coz you're like, really short. Are you sure?"
"Hey!" Alfred winced at the harsh glare sent his way.
"Uh-umm, but that's okay 'coz I'm really tall. I'm the tallest in my class, honest!" He rocked back and forth on his favourite sneakers (they lit up!), blinking earnestly.
"Yeah. Okay." Al made an unhappy face, his mouth twisting downwards and his forehead wrinkling. Alfred started sucking his thumb again.
Well, the conversation had taken a significant turn for awkward town, population rising steadily. Little Al probably hadn't even noticed the dampened atmosphere, seeing as he went on to ask, "why aren't you white?", not five seconds after his previous statement.
"Uhh…" Al stared at the blond in disbelief. Sure, he knew that kids tended to say things that could be seen as rude or offensive, but didn't his parents ever teach him manners? God, he sounded like a grown-up. It was probably because of all the time he'd been spending with boring, practical Matt.
"You know, you shouldn't say stuff like that," he hesitated, not wanting to sound mean. "Some people could get angry."
"Why?" Alfred's baby blues were filled with innocence.
"Just because." Al thought that was a pretty solid answer. "And, if you must know, I'm Native American. That's why my skin is dark."
"Oh. Cool. I don't really know why some people would get mad about that, I was just asking, yeah?" Alfred nodded and hummed, as if agreeing with himself. "Though sometimes I say stuff and dad gets real mad, and usually he tells me off even if it wasn't that bad. I don't get it."
"Yeah." Al was beginning to grow disinterested in speaking to the child. It was like getting a new game or something; fun one minute then dull the next. He wanted to do something else. So Al turned away, spying a section selling movies. He could try slipping one or two into his jacket, maybe four maximum. He'd cross his arms so nobody would see.
Alfred trailed behind him, following him all the way to the films. There were lots of exciting looking covers, bright colours and attractive actors. He could not read the titles, but he recognised the green, muscly figure of the Hulk. Alfred loved the Hulk.
He lightly fingered the DVD cover, leaving trails of grubby moisture in his wake. He drew a smiley face. Would Mattie be willing to buy it for him? He'd been really good all year, except for that one time he tracked mud inside after forgetting to wipe his shoes. Oh, and when he had a temper tantrum and broke Mattie's brand new iPhone. Then there was what dad and papa referred to as the 'beehive incident.'
… Well, maybe Mattie would buy it because he loved him no matter how naughty he had been. Yeah, that would work.
"I want this one," he announced, picking it up and waving it around.
"Good for you."
"Which ones are you getting?" Alfred stood on tip-toes to see what Al was looking at.
"I'm thinking The Avengers, because Barbie doesn't really do much for me." At least half of the section was dominated by the pink, plastic doll's movies, and she kind of gave Al the creeps. He didn't know how girls could stand watching the same person over and over again, no matter if the fairy wings were switched with a mermaid tail. It didn't make much sense.
"I love The Avengers! My favourite is Captain America, what about you?"
"I like Captain America as well."
Alfred's eyes twinkled with glee. "Whoa, that's crazy! We're like twins, huh? We have the same name and both like superheroes and I'm a superhero, ya know so that's even better so we should be friends!"
"Hmm?" Al gave the preschooler a dubious look, who stared back with a hopeful expression.
"Uhh… Sure, kid. Why not?" He gave a friendly look, ruffling the blond's hair.
When Al smiled, his brown skin crinkled up like wrapping paper. Alfred thought that looked pretty cool. His new friend was super-duper cool.
Matt already knew that his little shit of a brother had probably fucked off to somewhere he's not allowed to be, just like always. The little punk was always looking for trouble, and thus in some wildly unfair domino affect, getting Matt in trouble. It was rather ridiculous how the blame always seemed to be placed on the older sibling.
Matt just hoped that he manages to find Al before one of the staff, or, even worse, a bossy senior who think it's their place to lecture Matt about keeping an eye on his dearest brother, blah blah blah. They didn't know shit.
As much as he'd love to put it off in favour of actually getting the shopping done, he had to find Al before he did something illegal. So, he headed straight for the confectionary first. He scoured the place up and down, left and right and checking every nook and cranny, before deciding to stop stalling and get a move on.
Not too much time passed before he spotted the familiar jacket and hair colour of his sibling by the DVDs. He rushed over before Al could try his hand at stealing anything, towering over him and the boy he was with.
"Alain," he said simply, and both adolescents jump. He didn't care much for the other child, instead focusing on Al. "If you run from me again, I'll let pa know." It's a flimsy sort of excuse, threatening to tattle-tale on him, but it was effective in getting the job done.
"Who's that?" Alfred whispered, leaning into his friend. "Why'd he call you a lame?"
Al spluttered indignantly, pushing Alfred away. "It's Alain. That's my name, dumb head. And it's Matt."
"Oh?" Alfred smiled and introduced himself. Matt silently acknowledged the other kid as an Al clone.
"Yeah, he's my bro."
"Wha- really?" Alfred looked between them both, first assessing Matt in all his disheveled, frumpy glory, then squinting at Al in confusion. He repeated this action a number of times before crossing his pudgy little arms.
Al warily asks, "what now?"
"Well," the little boy's forehead wrinkled up. "I was just wondering because it doesn't make sense. Al, your skin is brown, right? That's because you're Native American. But here's Matt, and he's white as paper and I'm just a bit confused—"
"Alfred! What did I say about saying things like that!"
After spending approximately twenty standing in front of the maple syrup section—there were just so many to choose from, Matthew got a eensy bit caught up—he finally noticed that his little brother had not returned.
Naturally, he nearly had a heart attack right there and then.
So now he found himself powering through the store and screaming Alfred's name. Well, quietly… He wouldn't want to disturb anyone. He yelled loud enough to be heard, at least. He whispered apologies whenever someone frowned at him, ever the people pleaser even while experiencing a crisis. And God, why today, why now, Arthur was going to kill him if the stress didn't first.
Matthew just can't stop thinking that sweet, darling Alfie could be crying somewhere, alone and scared without the protection of his big brother. The thought nearly brought him to tears.
"Oh, Alfie." He whimpered, his heart clenching. "I'll find you, darling, don't be afraid." His eyes were beginning to to water, so it was somewhat of a miracle when he managed to spot his baby brother amongst the holiday rush.
"Alfie," he breathed, placing a hand over his chest in relief. He was safe, thank goodness. He wasn't hurt, and he was—he was speaking with strangers! And they looked dangerous, too. He needed to make like Alfred and play the hero.
Abandoning his cart in favour of rushing over before something terrible happened, Matthew swooped in and snatched Alfred up, making the little boy squeal. "G-Good evening, I'm sorry but I have to intervene, this is my brother, he's mine."
"Mattie!" Alfred cheered, wrapping his arms around his neck. "Hi! These are my friends!" He gestured wildly to the two boys currently watching them. Matthew looked up in fear.
"Erm, hi, I'm Matthew Williams," he introduced himself shyly, gripping Alfred a little tighter.
"Matthieu Bonnefois," the tall boy said with a cold look. Everything about him is menacing, from his stance to his intimidatingly similar name. Matthew shrank back, oh god oh god he was going to die.
Matt did not know what to do. The boy—Matthew Williams—was quite possibly the most attractive person he's ever seen. Wavy twists of finely-spun gold brushed the faded red of a rag-tag hoodie—funny, he didn't dress as extravagantly as Matt would think someone who belonged on the front cover of magazines too. Somehow, it makes him all the more endearing.
He's very sure that he was turning red, and he's even more sure that his voice cracked several times when he introduced himself. Fucking typical.
Matthew watched in horror as the tall boy's face twisted into a scowl. He was so mad he was going red in the face! "W-w-well, we've got a lot of shopping to g-get done, eh, so we're going to go and, um… Do that."
"No!" Alfred shouted, surprising all four of them.
"Alfie. I said, we have shopping to get done." He tried to level out his voice. He wouldn't let his PPD get the better of him, not when there was so much at stake.
"Nu-uh! I wanna stay here with Al, thank you." The short adolescent standing off to the side perked up, his red eyes locking with Matthew's, who was frozen in fear.
"That's me."
Alfred nodded wildly, trying to wriggle his way out of Matthew's grasp. The Canadian tried to think of a child appropriate response. If he were to put this situation in Alfie_words, it still wouldn't be PG13 approved.
"…Right."
Matt decided to intervene. This heavenly being clearly had divine business to attend to, and he wasn't about to let his bratty little brother get in the way of that. And he had the perfect solution that would require future contact. God must be looking down kindly on him today. Obviously because of all the crap he'd had to put up with from Al.
"Hey, why don't we exchange numbers?" He asked casually. "That way we'd be able to organise play dates, and other things." Matt's really sure that he unintentionally emphasised dates and hopes that Matthew played along. How embarrassing would it be to get rejected in front two little kids, one of them his brother?
Matthew mentally floundered. How was he supposed to say no? Two little kids were gazing at him hopefully, trust and adoration shining in their little eyes. He nearly sobbed.
Matt mentally screamed. The blond beauty looked hesitant, as if trying to think of a way to decline. Houston, we have a rejection.
"Sure! Mattie would love to!" Alfred, that traitor. That hellion. He was a devil in an angel's body, representation of all darkness and pain. How could he do this to Matthew, his only sibling and companionship? Never mind his classmates, they were all only friends with Alfred for his football card collection, anyone could see that. No, Matthew had loved and cared for the little boy for years and this was how he was repaid? Unbelievable.
Meanwhile, Matt was on cloud 9. He had just scored an incredibly hot guy's number! Granted, it was all due to his younger brother… But, oh, he could just kiss that bountiful child of joy! Not literally, mind—he wouldn't want to scare Matthew off. However, he'd make sure to buy Alfred an ice cream or something in thanks. He could be a ring boy at his and Matthew's wedding, maybe a flower girl if that's what he was into. All the credit went to him of course, Alfred was the only reason they even had the chance of a future together.
"Great, I'll put our number in your mobile." Al said, waiting for the teenager to fork over his phone. He frowned when he saw Matthew's hands tighten over the device, and went to grab it.
"Just…hand over your phone please," Al grunted, prying Matthew's fingers away from the cellular device. The blond watched in horror as his precious $50 Nokia was dropped into the open palm of the scariest guy since Jar Jar Blinks (he couldn't have been the only one absolutely terrified of him when he was younger—could he?).
Matt almost swooned when his fingers came in contact with the silver machinery. This belonged to Matthew, Matthew had touched this! He typed in his number with shaky fingers, double-checking to make sure there was no typos. Wouldn't want to risk something like that happening, after all.
Then, he handed it back over with an awkward smile. Al and Alfred chatted loudly at their feet, thankfully providing some noise to reduce embarrassment via silence.
Matt really wanted to say something. Matthew was probably too shy, so the pressure was on him to make the first move. He tried to calm the arrhythmic hammering of his heart, subtly clearing his throat with a cough. This was it. Time to wow Matthew. Whatever he chose to say signalled the start of the rest of their lives together. It was of the utmost importance he chose his words carefully.
After carefully constructing an eloquent sentence is his mind, he braced himself, opened his mouth, and— "Attention all customers, we'll be closing in fifteen minutes. Please head to the registers as soon as possible. Thank you."
"Oh, it's that late already? Darn, we didn't even get a chance to grab all of the ingredients for gingerbread men." Matthew sighed, and Alfred made a sound of disappointment.
Internally, Matt cried. His one chance, brutally ripped away by an unsuspecting supermarket worker over the audio system. Then, Matthew smiled softly, bidding him adieu while gently tugging Alfred away. Matt melted into a gooey puddle of mushiness.
"Hey, don't we gotta go to the counter too?" Al queried. "Then I can speak with Alfie some more."
"No!" Matt denied vehemently, shaking his head. That would require him to be around Matthew once more, and, well—he didn't think he could work up the courage a second time today. He was already overwhelmed. "We need, uh, condiments. Ketchup. Yeah, let's go."
Matthew quickly hurried away in embarrassment, almost forgetting the trolley. All he wanted was to get as far away from the two scary looking boys, asap. Hopefully Alfred would 'accidentally' break his phone again so he would never have to talk to the hoodlums.
He was slightly caught off-guard when he walks outside. Dusk has fallen, and Matthew's always found it sort of surreal and disorientating how you can waste so much time in one place. When they first arrived, the sun had been high in in the bright blue sky.
Alfie runs ahead happily, giggling and babbling about his new friend. His LED Toy Story sneakers flashed unnatural lights, blues and greens and reds contrasting with the dull orange spotlight of a tall streetlight, his childish voice echoing through the near empty parking lot, letting any passerby (had there been any) know of his misadventure. Matthew's phone felt heavy in his pockets, and he already knew that soon he'd be pressured into calling the frightening male. See that he would take Alfred shopping again and time soon.
… That boy was lucky he was family.
* an offensive term referring to homosexuals.
Alain is a Native American name originating from France. It's pronounced AH-len or ah LEHN. Some meaning of the name are: harmony, rock (lmao), noble, and handsome.