More Ivan and Alfred, this time in college. :) Its going to be a dark fluff trial, so try to bear with me.:)

Hope you guys enjoy!


It was a cold Tuesday, and almost like clockwork, there was a soft rap on my window, and the feint scratch of converse shoes on brick wall. I didn't need to look at my clock to know it was 10:01, nor did I need to move the curtains back to inquire who was there.

The window opened with a slight creak, followed by the ruffling sound of brown paper bags and shake of ice against Styrofoam. And Alfred's voice coming out light and hearty as he pulled himself up into my room effortlessly.

"Hey," he gave a loose salute and million dollar smile, offering one of the Mc Donald's bags to me, though I declined like I always did. He gave a shrug, something I loved to see because it always flexed the muscles in his shoulders and back as he walked past me, slurping on one of the Cokes.

I knew he would sit in the bean bag chair, take the IPOD head phones out of his ears and take out his 'Usual', two Big Macs no pickles, three large fries, one apple pie and a chicken nuggets. And though he always bought dinner for me, and I always refused, he still managed to devour the entire meal.

We sat in silence after I had gotten comfortable on my bed, arms crossed under my chin as I watched him eat and I contemplated about the person who was Alfred F. Jones.

You see, I had moved here when I was real young, and even though I never talked to other children at school, I managed to catch the attention of Alfred, who, for as long as I can remember has been throwing rocks at my window, or climbing up the tree to knock on the glass.

Never has he seen the rest of my house, never has he come through the front door.

And the same every time. He'd bring food for the both of us. Never would I touch a bite but he'd still smile and stop his music, asking between bites about my day, dropping a few hints of his own, and then sitting in a blissful silence as he watched me study.

But I never studied. Instead I'd stare at the pages and wonder more about Alfred F. Jones, stealing glances at him when he'd yawn or rest his head lightly on the desk as if to sleep a little before he left.

I liked the time we spent together. It was peaceful. It was nice. He never pressed about anything, never raised his voice, never argued anything even if a debate flaunted itself.

I knew he came here for peace and quite, because his father was a loud drunk whose hands wanted Alfred in line at all times. Behind those blue eyes I saw tears buried, and every once in a while a bruise was blooming on his cheek, or his lip was split, or red finger prints could be seen as vicious grab marks laced around his arm, but he never said a word about them. It was almost like he wasn't even aware of them.

Instead, he'd just eat and nap, and ask me how I was, or what I was up to, always so polite and shining, bright as mid noon as he lounged around.

Tonight a dark circle was ringed around his eye, almost like a raccoon's as he took a greedy bite of hamburger, legs kicked up and crossed as he flittered his eyes from the open window, my door and then to me.

"So I saw you got accepted to Brightvale Academy. Congrats." Though his tone meant to be pleasing and frothy as always, there was an utter twang of regret and maybe even...jealously?

"Ya, they sent my letter this- Wait! How did you know?"

"I read your mail." the way the truth rolled off his tongue was sinful. Almost like saying an obvious fact.

"You looked through my mail? That's illegal!"

"I couldn't wait. I...I was excited to see you get in. After the mailman dropped it off, I just had to look." His eyes didn't meet mine this time, because he knew I was glaring at him repremendingly. But I couldn't stay mad with this face looking so down cast.

"Well, so you know. I got accepted."

"You don't sound happy."

I stiffened a little at his observation. Though he didn't really seem happy about my acceptance either. I felt like I shouldn't feel great about it, even though this was the school I had been following since 9th grade, the school who drove me to abandon outside socialization so my grades would be sky rocket high.

"Are you mad?" The words fell like awkward broken shapes from my mouth, my eyes narrowed in distaste as he licked the salt from his fingers and drank up more soda with a loud slurp.

"Why should I? You just got into one of the highest ranked schools with a whole entourage of scholarships to pay your way through. You get to be a bazillion miles away from this hell hole, you get to go off and study your micro whatevers and the semi circulation thingies," his words were losing strength as his voice grew almost spiteful. Alfred sounded absolutely hateful.

His hand swirled the cup of ice as he drew a huffed breath, "You'll be in a great dorm with loads of cool geeks who will help you with homework and actually understand all that stuff, and eat salads with little croutons like rich people have and you'll meet some girl who has pretty eyes and she might not be hot, but her brains and glasses cover that up. You'll ask her on a date and she'll blush and of course say yes. Y'all might grab some coffee. Then it turns into dinner. Hand holding turns into kissing, and soon you have her pinned to a bed, and between pants you'll wonder how you got there. The next day she doesn't talk to you, but after you graduate, you guys meet up again and for whatever reason try whatever that was again. You'll marry her, and have a few kids, and trade in your Mustang for a van and your diploma will collect dust in a back room on the wall that you painted an ugly color because your wife wanted it, and you just can't say no to her. And...and..." his chest was heaving, pulse rapid as he laid his forehead in his palm, his knees coming up to his chest as if he was going to collapse in on himself.

"Alfred, please stop, you're giving me a headache. Besides, none of that is going to happen-"

"YES! Ivan yes it will! And you won't remember this town and won't ever come back even though you said you would,"

"Fredka, you're acting like a child. Stop this." I had raised my voice to overpower his, but the baritone made him shy away, fingers tips shaking around his cup as he set it down. "Alfred, look at me. What's wrong? This can't be about the college."

A pause faded in as he thought. I noticed the breeze was blowing in from my windows, carrying the trickling yells of Alfred's father as he smashed a vase. Alfred's eyes closed as he turned from me, the bean bag chair sagging against his weight as he moved.

"Are you...jealous? That I was accepted?" He shook his head quickly, as if I was an idiot to think so.

"Are you sad that you haven't been accepted to any schools?" Again, he shook his head, uncaringly this time.

"Are you afraid that...that I'll forget about you?" Alfred made no move, almost frozen as I uttered the words, barely swallowing as the silence lingered on. "Are you going to miss me?"

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed again, and for whatever reason, my heart excited at the small movement of him. Alfred finally unburied his face from his hands, and nodded his heavy head, the bruise on his eye looking so pitiful and like a crescent moon that I wondered if his father had perfected beatings after all these years.

Finally he spoke, as a few rogue tears broke ranks and formed heated, wet lines down his cheeks. "I always thought you were cool because when you spoke, you sounded like he were trying to swallow your consonants, and you're R's were like ruffled fur. I knew you wouldn't judge or talk or say a word, so after my father locked me out I stood underneath your window, and at first I didn't think that you'd ever let me in, but for whatever reason, after I threw the first rock, you opened your window and beckoned me inside."

He wouldn't look in my direction as he continued, the cowlick on his head being brushed down as he ran those pianists fingers through his hair. "You never did ask about my scars and you never told your parents about me, and I liked how you thoughtfully asked if I wanted to sleep over, and when you read biology books it makes me feel like you're climbing mountains, growing so far away from me. And I like it even better that no matter how crappy my day is, or how hateful the things are my dad says, I can always climb up the banister and I'm safe. You don't yell, or get angry, and for whatever reason, I hate that you get to leave and you won't want to open your window to me, because at this point, I wouldn't open the window for me." His sobs grew intermingled with his words until he was almost gasping them out, and holding them back. "We're friends and we're strangers, and sometimes I think, Alfred, this is it, pack your bags and head out, ask the Grim Reaper how many days till your sentence is up, but I only make it to your mailbox, and my eyes look up and see the light on in your room, and my fingers find a stone and suddenly I'm here again and I feel like I'm absolutely on top of the world, Ivan. Life drags me through the dirt and then sends me your way and I'm sorry for that."

I wanted to interject but my chest was constricting, feeling tight as he kept rambling, tears laid so plainly, like film across the azure orbs. His lips were chapped and the silvering ghost of a scar broken between them and I suddenly wanted to kiss him, absolutely bend him backwards and kiss the life back into Alfred. The sun and light that was Alfred F. Jones was fading against the world.

His eyes finally locked on mine, looking saddened and heavy, almost dead tired and grieving.

That's when I broke.

I shifted my weight off my bed and came to him in one swift movement, enclosing my arms around him as he finally started to cry for real. I almost felt like he could shake the walls by weeping this hard, but I didn't question it. If I had to guess, Alfred was letting out every emotion he'd ever felt, ever.

-WW-

For the first time in 13 years, Alfred was sleeping in my bed, laying curled across from me, the rise and fall of his chest soft and lithe, his hair a bit disheveled as it fell in front of his face. My fingers wiped his bangs out of his eyes and I kissed him on the forehead again for the eighth time.

I couldn't help it.

I was alive with the words he had said and the thoughts he had spilled out to me and all I could think of was how I hated when he looked so small. My mind kept gnawing at everything, about me going off to college, about him missing me, about everything that had started with one rock, a window and two five year olds. I closed my eyes for a bit and kept replaying the words in my brain, his voice still in my ear.

I felt him move and I looked over at him, his eyes half mast and smile barely sketched against his face. A yawn escaped him and I kissed him again on the forehead, but this time his hands moved my lips to be on his.

I guess he was tired of me kissing his brain.

"Ivan." His voice was like a spark in the night.

"Ya?" I answered, patiently waiting for him to ask anything of me. At this point, I'd do it, anything for Alfred.

"Nothing, I just wanted to say your name. I wanted to make sure you were really here."

I didn't correct him that technically he was here, but I left it unsaid, instead, kissing him once again.

"Ivan?"

"I'm still here."

But he didn't seem to even hear me as he continued. "What makes people hate each other?"

I shrugged my shoulders, though I knew he couldn't see me. "I dunno. Maybe they just get fed up with others. Everyone has bad days."

There was a pregnant stillness, and I was worrying about what he was concerned with so late.

"You know what I think?" Alfred asked childishly, so lovely and sweet that I had to pull him closer, so he could whisper in my ear and I could feel the weight of his words as they left his lips.

"What do you think Fredka?"

"I think people have these little strings in them, and when they lose control or something terrible happens, they have to cut a string. And someday, all their strings are cut and they can't keep going on." Even though Alfred's voice was low and curious, it sent shivers through my soul. If that was how things worked, how many strings did I have left?

How many stings had Alfred cut?

"That biologically isn't correct," I laughed a bit, trying to lift the smothering weight that was falling on us with the subject, "People do not have stings like that."

"Oh."

That was all he said, and I guess he had fallen asleep because with that, he didn't say another word the entire night.

It wasn't until morning that I noticed that Alfred was wiser beyond his years, and maybe biologists had been wrong, and maybe people did have tiny stings inside of them, because the next day, I watched as someone's strings broke all at once.


Review and tell me what you think, if you liked it and if there needs to be anything clerified. :)

With lots of love, I go off to finish chapters for my other RusAme sotries! (If you want to see some Preggo!America, read my other story "We Were There Once"!)

If you have a fave couple, then tell me and I'll write a fic, tell me tell me tell me!

Love ya'll,

Suga Bee