Things have never been easy on the one and only Alfred Jones.
Alfred was the oldest of one brother, given responsibility long before his time, to take care of a younger siblings and to look after his parents, to go through school and go to college, get a job and make money, support anyone and everything around him. Responsibility was a word, a phrase, a meaning not in his dictionary, a word he couldn't grasp, not that he couldn't understand, just didn't want to. A word that had always been thrown at him, forced upon him, even in his state.
Alfred was, very unfortunately, blind.
He had been since the age of ten, a tragic accident occurred, snatching his sight right from underneath him, unable to see the new faces coming and leaving him. Even with this disability, he'd always been forced into places he didn't want to be, never receiving sympathy, and when he did, it wasn't the right feeling.
So Alfred was always a hard worker, doing his best in school, getting proper help and passing his classes the best he could. But even so, Alfred was always different, always frowned and sort of looked down upon. It wasn't his fault, but that mattered not. Not to the students, anyway. A freak, a stranger, that's what Alfred Jones was. The little blind boy no one knew.
Words never hurt Alfred, not really, anyway. Alfred was so used to it that such things never bothered him. Despite any flaw about him, he was always smiling. He smiled because he could try. He was alive. And for what he couldn't see, he could hear. He could hear smiles, laughter, hear the sounds of heartbeats and music, and hear the happiness and sadness of people. What he didn't have, he made up for in other ways. That had always been Alfred's way.
Alfred's impeccable hearing is what allowed him to meet the one and only Arthur Kirkland.
One week before the holiday break, a cold December day where the hallways were chill and silent, footsteps bouncing off the walls and back again, Alfred was exiting the school, hearing the echoes of his feet bounce off, and knew he was reaching the entrance, where his brother would be. He felt along the wall for support, when a soft melody reached his ears, just down the hall. A beautiful sound, twirling, beckoning him, it was something he couldn't ignore. He stopped in his tracks, listening to the music as he couldn't help but follow it. Alfred had followed its melody all the way back to the music room, where he waited in the door.
One person playing. The one and only Arthur Kirkland. It was the piano being played; the soft notes being played on the white keys, mixed with black ones. He found himself smiling, the tune a sweet gift for his hard working ears. It played for a while, before finally the song came to a close. He had thought of clapping, but thought it best to stay silent, as the keys quickly began to start playing again
And he waited. And he listened.
He didn't know how long, or how much time had passed when his brother came running, looking for him. Alfred only let himself be led away from the beautiful music, hoping that he'd be playing tomorrow, and any day after. That piano had been the most stunning thing he'd heard, an inspiration, words carefully strung together in notes that only a musician could understand.
The next day, the music was still playing. He heard it, and he went. He went, and he listened. He listened as long as he could until finally the pianist stopped, and he suddenly felt eyes on him, fierce ones, but not with malice or anger, with curiosity and bewilderment.
"It's not polite to stand in the doorway, you know," an accented voice said. An English accent, that was for sure.
"I bet it isn't," Alfred replied, feeling a grin form on his lips. "Though, I didn't want to disturb you."
He heard a light hum come from the Englishman. "Well, that is polite, I must say. Tell me, why don't you have a seat? Company would be nice."
Alfred had never been in the music room. He touched the wall, before smiling, albeit sheepishly. "Could you…help?"
He assumed that there was a look of curiosity on his face. "How come…" he began, and then made a small click with his tongue. "Ah, I thought you looked familiar. Alfred Jones, the blind boy."
"That'd be me," Alfred nodded, and heard the other student stand up from his seat.
He felt a warm hand take his own, and pulled him gently, indicating for him to walk. Alfred trusted him, stepping carefully along with him, until finally he was set down into a seat. "I'm Arthur, by the way. Arthur Kirkland."
Arthur retook his seat, and Alfred hummed. "I hear about you a lot."
"Do you now?"
"Yeah. Arthur did this, Arthur did that. You're like a celebrity."
Arthur let out a small chuckle, and Alfred's smile widened at the sound. "I wouldn't say that much…"
He stopped talking and his fingers began to dance along the keys again, skillfully gracing each key with a stroke, another note encircling the room with each hit. Alfred spoke no more as he listened, finding himself totally lost in the music, a little story being written with the sound. Alfred loved it. He loved these new sounds, these new pieces that just made him happy. He let out a small sigh, and tapped his fingers on his lap contently.
Arthur finished playing, and he heard him shift in his seat. "How did that sound, by the way?"
"Wonderful. Everything…wonderful," he complimented, meaning every word.
Though Alfred couldn't see, he could practically feel Arthur beaming. "T-thank you, then. I've been practicing that for a while…"
"I know, I heard it yesterday, too. Do you practice every day after hours?"
Arthur nodded. "I do. I usually leave at about five, practicing different songs here and there. How long have you been…"
"Only since yesterday. I would've listened to you longer yesterday, but my brother came and took me away. Was a shame, really…" Alfred clicked his tongue, still smiling.
"I…see…" Arthur coughed a bit, and he sighed. "Thank you for listening, though. I'm glad someone enjoys hearing me play…"
"You're really amazing. It was the best thing I'd ever heard, yesterday."
Little things like that flew back and forth, information exchanged until Alfred's brother came to get him, exasperated, as he'd finally found him. He apologized to Arthur, and then left, Alfred in toe.
But they didn't stop there.
Alfred came back every single day until holiday break, always sitting in the same seat, listening to different tunes, but the same accented voice, both as beautiful as they had been when he first heard them. This was happiness, a carefree luxury that Alfred had never gotten to feel before.
Alfred never asked what Arthur looked like. He didn't care. Arthur was Arthur, and he was perfect, on the inside as well as the out. He didn't care what Arthur looked like, so long as he was Arthur. Arthur could've been an ugly ogre and he wouldn't have cared.
When holiday break finally came, their last day together for a few weeks, Arthur played but one song, and they spent the rest of the time talking. They opened the window, letting the chill air flow through. It was a comforting sort of cool, and they sat together on the pianist bench, talking their days away. Inside both of them was the start of a feeling they'd never felt before. It was bubbly, a sort of lift, a rush of excitement that was only just the beginning.
Perhaps for someone like Alfred, who'd been working his entire life, this was something that was completely foreign, but welcomed wholly into his heart.
Perhaps for someone like Arthur, who'd never experienced this feeling in the first place, this was something that was completely unknown, but welcomed with open arms.
But even so, even as they parted, whether or not the feeling was accepted, it was still there, ready to burst with life.
Sometimes, Alfred thought he was better off. The soul inside of Arthur was just as beautiful as what was on the outside.
And with eyes like his, he could see just that.
Just a little something I wrote a few weeks ago at 2 AM.
If the flow is off, I apologize. Like I said, 2 AM, you get the best ideas, but often times your writing is off because you're so tired.
Anyways, please enjoy.
Read and review?
-IchigoMelon