Chapter 2

Bridge

"My word, Alfred." Arthur examined the many photos mounted and framed on Alfred's wall. "These are incredible." he touched his own chin as he marvelled at the professional pictures. Everything was just breath-taking.

"Thanks, Artie." he grinned and set down his camera. "It's all because of this baby." he patted the camera now sitting on his messy desk.

"It's Arthur." the author sighed with annoyance.

"Care for some coffee?" Alfred walked over to the kitchen part of his studio apartment and started a new brew. The older man simply shook his head with disgust.

"No thank you. I don't understand how you can drink something so grotesque."

"What? Coffee?" Alfred turned on the stove to boil the water. "I know some people don't like it, but I don't think they would consider it 'grotesque'. That's a little harsh." Alfred leaned against the counter and glanced over at the author still glazing at the photographs. "Any particular ones you like?"

Arthur stared at the one picture in the centre. "I quite fancy this one." he pointed at the black and white photo of a hand holding a baby chick in the middle of its palm. "It's cute." Arthur smiled warmly. "Who's hand is that?"

"Oh! That!" Alfred pushed himself off the counter and jogged over to the Briton. "That was when I visited a friend's farm back in the U.S. And that's my hand by the way." he grinned.

"Hmm..." Arthur smirked. "Well, I guess that's not surprising, considering its massive size. That poor chick." he feigned a dramatic sigh.

"That was cruel!" Alfred stuck his tongue out at the smirking author.

Arthur chuckled but couldn't help but feel a sense of security from the picture. The way that chick was warmly nestled against Alfred's palm brought him a sense of acceptance and tender care that was missing from his life for all those years by the people who should've cared for him. But for some reason is wasn't the chick's look of bliss that comforted Arthur, it was the fact that it was Alfred's hand that provided that tenderness that calmed him. It almost as if he had finally found that warmth that he had been looking for all his life through the picture. But of course he couldn't let the younger boy know that. He'd probably never let it up knowing that type of person he was.

"So would you like tea instead then?" Alfred said, finally breaking the silence and snapping Arthur out of his daze.

"Oh, yes that would be nice." he laughed nervously as he tried to compose himself to not look like an airhead.

"So British." the younger blond mumbled as he made his way back to the kitchen, earning a curse from Arthur.

"You don't happen to have more photos do you? These can't be the only ones you have."

Various objects clattered as Alfred tried to look for the forgotten tea leaves given to him by the nice lady living below him. He was never much of a tea person so the gift was eventually forgotten about and tucked away in his cupboards. The tin container did have a nice colour though, but it wasn't enough to make him drink the tea let alone try it. He finally spotted the small box and pulled it out of the cupboard.

"Yeah, I have tons." he fumbled with the box until he finally yanked the top open, spilling some of its contents on the counter in the process. "Hang on a sec." he panicked and tried to scoop up some of the tea leaves back into the tin box, earning s faint 'ugh' from Arthur.

Alfred whimpered and decided to just throw the handful of leaves into the teapot. It wasn't as if he knew how to properly make tea anyways. And plus, how hard was it to actually make it? It was probably exactly the same as making coffee. The American poured the boiled water in the kettle and left it there. "Alright. Let me get them out for you." he rushed over to the living room drawers and took out a number of thick folders. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Goodness."

"Yeah, am I blowin' your mind yet? I still have more but those are in storage, so you're gonna have to come back another time for them." he grinned.

Arthur opened the first folder and studied the various portraits of people, animals, and plants. Again, they were all professionally done and not a flaw was found in any.

"When were these taken?" Arthur asked, still flipping through the photos.

Alfred went over and sat on the arm of the couch next to Arthur. "Those date back to high school. I'm kinda embarrassed. They all look so noobish!" he laughed.

"What? How can you say that?" Arthur flipped through them. He just couldn't believe that Alfred would say something like that about his work. Even the ones he considered to be his worse work were beautiful to Arthur. Despite their professional level, that wasn't the only thing that drew Arthur to his works. Even Alfred's most "noobish" work seem to capture the very soul of whatever was photographed. The people in his photos are not like the ones you would see in magazines or in someone's random photo album on those social networking websites. Rather, they were candid shots of people in their most natural state. There was no fakeness in their smiles or postures. And they did not look like they had to prepare for the photoshoot by fixing their hair or smiling correctly, or even posing in a certain angel so they wouldn't appear "fat." They were just natural. Just naturally beautiful. Men, women, and children alike, all being natural and just... beautiful.

Arthur smiled and handed the folder back to Alfred. "You shouldn't say your work is bad no matter how much you think so."

"But-."

"They're fine, Alfred." the man interrupted.

Alfred laughed. "Whatever you say."

However, the same thing can't be said about Arthur. Whenever the author looked back at his old works, he had to do all he can to restrain himself from ripping up his manuscripts. Not only was his writing far from being at the professional level back then, but those were dark times. Completely dark times that befell him as he struggled to become what he is today. The many tears, heartbreaks and wild emotions that cut through him like a storm left scars that still come back and haunt him today. It was only through burying himself in his writing that he was able to get through life. Otherwise...actually he didn't even want to imagine the alternative.

Arthur reached over at the thinner folder. It was still thick though but it was still noticeably thinner than the first. The older man opened it and the vibrant colours practically exploded in his face after getting accustomed to staring at the black and white photos.

"Wow, just wow." he laughed.

"They're just an explosion of colour, right? Kinda like Skittles."

"I'll say." he admired the beauty in them all, noting the sudden mood change that the colourful pictures suddenly brought him.

Everything from the zoomed in picture of a bumblebee in a bright orange flower to the sublime shot of the greenery in a forest just gave off a hopeful outlook in this world that Arthur lost faith in a long time ago; the same world that Arthur considered the embodiment of everything but beauty and purity. It was just ironic that the source of Alfred's photos came from such a horrible world. Maybe the world was beginning to change after all. Or perhaps it was because Alfred looked at the world as something that was beautiful and pure, and that in turn enabled him to create something beautiful. Could it be? Could Alfred be the one making the world a beautiful place for Arthur? Could something as simple as having a different outlook on the world change the way a person lives?

Arthur kept his smile as he went through the giant pile of photos until he stumbled upon one that looked as though it was ripped in two and then tapped back together. It puzzled the author because he couldn't figure out if it was genuinely ripped in two or if it was a new style of art. He held the ripped photo of a small bridge overarching a pond in front of him.

"What happened to this one?"

Alfred paused after realizing the photo that the Briton had stumbled upon. His look softened as he turned his gaze away and headed back to the kitchen. "I think your tea is ready." he walked over to the counter and checked the kettle.

Arthur merely stared at the young man and then back at the photograph. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the boy didn't want to talk about anything concerning the picture. Either Alfred really didn't like the way the photo turned out, or there was an underlying meaning the photo had for him. But for some reason the author knew it was the latter. Regardless, if Arthur was going to keep pressing him about it, then he would be the biggest idiot in the world. He only hoped the young photographer was alright.

"What do you want in your tea?" Alfred asked with his back facing Arthur.

"Oh, anything's fine. Thank you." Normally Arthur would be picky as hell with the way his tea was prepared but even he knew that now wasn't the time to be picky. The last thing he wanted was for someone to feel the same kind of hurt he felt in the past because of unhealed wounds. The least he could do was think about someone else besides himself for once.

The Briton kept his eyes on the photograph. Obviously with the way the picture was ripped, it wasn't accidental. It looked more like someone blatantly took the picture and ripped it in half in a fury. The only thing that bothered him was why Alfred would do such a thing, especially if he claimed that photography was his one passion. Maybe it's another mystery he'll never have the answer to. But it was still a sad thought though. The picture expressed so much beauty, and something must have greatly affected Alfred for him to go as far as to rip it. The warm colours of the Autumn weather surrounded to bridge standing in the middle perfectly. There was even a few people passing by on the bridge, making it all the more natural looking. It was so perfect that Arthur could say that it was probably his favourite out of them all. It was just a shame that that might not be the case for Alfred. The poor boy probably felt so awful about ripping it that he quickly taped it back together. Although the rip did add a certain flair to the whole thing...

"That was for my brother."

Arthur looked up to find the younger blond standing in from of him with tea in one hand and coffee in another. The author nodded and accepted his cup. "Thank you, Alfred."

"It was one of my last works back in my amateur photographer days." he took a seat next to Arthur and sipped on his coffee.

Arthur took a small sip of his tea and tried not to scrunch his face up at the flavour. He placed his cup down on the coffee table in front of them. "If it was for your brother then what happened to it?"

Alfred sighed and took the photo from Arthur. "It was his birthday and I thought it would be nice to give him a nice portrait to hang up on that plain white wall in his room." he smiled and kept his eyes on the picture.

"This bridge was where we used to play all the time back in elementary school. I mean, we didn't always play there, we also hid there from the bullies that messed with us and sometimes from grownups that scolded us."

Arthur nodded to encourage him to continue on.

"And being the poor teenager that I was, I thought this would make a nice birthday present since I couldn't afford anything else that he would like. But-." Alfred's smile died down and he sighed. "Sorry, this is probably depressing you." he laughed.

"No, no. Go on." the author pressed knowing full well that he could be treading on private territory that Alfred might not welcome strangers. But then again, if the boy didn't want to talk about it, he probably would've brushed it off and ignored it. It's not like the older man would have forced it out of him if he didn't want to have anything to do with it.

Alfred nodded back and looked at the picture again. "My parents have always hated the idea of photography and me going together. My brother was studying to go to med school and they wanted me to do the same. To continue the family tradition, you know?" Alfred fidgeted uncomfortably, and as Arthur was about to open his mouth to tell him that he didn't have to continue on if he didn't want to, he continued.

"So one day I came home with this." he pointed at the photo. "And my parents found it before I could even give it to him. The next I know, they rip the thing in front of me and told me to stop distracting myself and my brother with useless crap."

Arthur just couldn't believe what he was hearing. It definitely wasn't something that he expected out of someone as cheerful as Alfred.

"I didn't think too much about it at the time, but I just told myself that everything will be alright as long as I went back to the bridge and take another photo to give to my brother in private later on. But-." Alfred paused.

"But?"

"But.." he took a deep breath and his voice quivered. "But when I went back they were tearing down the bridge." he laughed. "Isn't that just the darndest thing?" he continued laughing as if he heard a funny joke. "Apparently the locals were complaining about some safety issue or something like that! I just couldn't believe it!"

"I-I suppose..." Arthur replied sensing the obvious hurt in Alfred's voice despite his laughter, which raised all the more concern in the older man.

Alfred's laugh died down and a sense of sadness weld up in him that even Arthur could see. "When I went home I said some really nasty things to my parents. Then I told them I was going to be a photographer and that they can take being a doctor and shove it up their ass. They kicked me out and said they never wanted to see me again, and now here I am." he quickly finished off. "Sorry for the long story."

Arthur shook his head. "It's fine, lad." he tried to smile warmly to reassure Alfred.

They sat in silence for a while after that. Alfred just stared into his coffee awkwardly while Arthur sat there still flipping through the photos, except now he wasn't really taking them in the way he was before. He was merely using them to distract himself from the horrible story that just came out of Alfred's mouth and also trying to figure out a proper way to break the silence.

"So what's your story?" Alfred turned to Arthur and smiled. "I know you're an author and all, but I was just wondering if-."

"You're not alone, boy."

"What?" Alfred blinked.

Arthur hesitated and set the photos back into their folder and onto the coffee table. "I'm just saying, you're not alone. You're not the only one who feels like that." Arthur swallowed hard. Normally he wouldn't let a stranger into his personal life, but this was an exception. Never has he had someone who experienced the same kind of pain as he has. And it was Alfred out of all people.

"Just...if you ever need to talk..." he said awkwardly.

Alfred stifled a laugh. "Thanks."

Arthur nodded and finished his tea. "So how were you able to get here from America anyways? If I remember correctly, it's quite far and you did say you didn't have much money."

"Yeah, I was a bit worried myself when I left my home with nothing but my stuff and only enough money to get me by for a week. I was lucky I got in touch with an online friend living over here who let me stay at his place for a while." he took his and Arthur's cups and placed them in the sink.

"Want any snacks?" he asked from the kitchen.

"No thanks. And you trusted this online friend of yours?" Arthur asked with confusion. He didn't know if it was his untrusting nature or because of the horror stories he heard about meeting online friends, but the idea irked the older man.

"Sure! Kiku's a nice guy. We met through this mmorpg and talked pretty much every day. I should introduce him to you sometime." he grabbed a chocolate bar from the counter.

"And how long have you've known him exactly?"

Alfred opened the chocolate bar and bit into it while thinking. "Maybe two years?" he said with his mouth full as he shrugged.

"Well, you're not dead, so I suppose that counts for something." Arthur replied.

Alfred laughed. "It'll take more than someone like Kiku to kill me, dude. Besides, he wouldn't hurt a fly."

"If you say so." Arthur said getting up from his spot.

"Aw, you leaving already?" Alfred pouted with the chocolate bar still in his mouth.

"I need to get back home to work on my novel. Your pictures really did quite a number on my inspiration. I need to get my ideas down before I forget them." he smiled and grabbed his jacket. "Thank you for the tea." he added.

"No biggie!" Alfred exclaimed. "I should be thanking you for the autographs!"

Arthur smiled at the way Alfred wasted no time and dove for his two novels as soon as they walked into his place. Even those claiming to be his biggest fans didn't jump for his autograph the way this boy did. It was nice, really. To have someone admire your work the way Alfred did and to also have a nice chat as well. It was refreshing since all he had experienced for years was a sense of loneliness with no one he could really talk to about his work besides his editor who only cared for it because of the financial rewards it brought in; and no one he could confide in when his loneliness was at its peak and overwhelmed him. Yes, it was nice to feel that he can finally talk to someone again, even if they had just met a while ago.

The author smiled at Alfred and took out a business card left over from his previous book signing from half a year ago. He reached for a pen a scribbled down his private number and address. "I don't normally give out my personal number and address, but if you need to talk, I'm free whenever. It's not like I can go out anywhere when I have a damn novel to work on." he handed the card to the surprised younger boy. "Just please don't give it out to random people. I really don't need to experience THAT again." he said, referring back to a certain incident involving a certain French man that he knew and leaving Alfred a bit puzzled.

The younger blond accepted the card. "Whoa. Thanks!"

Arthur stepped into his winter boots and zipped them up. "Please come to my book signing next Monday. I would very much enjoy your company Alfred." he wrapped his scarf around himself.

"Oh don't worry. I'm there! I would have showed up even if you didn't invite me."

The older blond snickered and opened the door. "I hope you do not run around saying that to anyone. I don't think that will give off the right impression."

"I do have some restraint, Artie. So don't worry about me." he waved his hand at him.

"Right, right. See you later then." he nodded and started heading out to the stairs that lead out of Alfred's apartment.

"Arthur?"

The man turned around questionably, wondering if he was called back for forgetting something.

Alfred fidgeted again, almost appearing child-like behind the door. "Thanks for listening..." Alfred scratched the back of his head with embarrassment. "I don't get that too often. So, thanks..." he blushed and looked up to meet eyes with Arthur, who wasn't too far from embarrassment either.

Arthur turned away. Being thanked for giving a listening ear wasn't something that happened often for the author as well, so naturally he felt strange about the whole thing. Possibly even stranger than Alfred. "It's not that I..." he struggled but couldn't get the words out.

"...nevermind." he sighed. "You're welcome, Alfred." he replied with defeat.

Alfred beamed brightly. "See you next Monday." he said and quickly closed the door. Arthur heard a click on the other side of the door and resumed making his way out.

XXX

That night Arthur flushed out another ten pages before finally stopping to call it a night. The author was astounded by the rush of inspiration that hit him the same way it did during the time of his first novel if not better. It was quite strange how his source of inspiration came from the least unexpected person under the most unexpected circumstances. If he was to write a novel about the encounter he had, it would be just perfect for a fictional story because it just seemed so unreal; meeting a strange boy who he thought was going to jump off of the rooftop of his favourite building and then having him become his muse. That would be an interesting read for his fans.

Arthur stretched and shut down his laptop. He was still nowhere near the completion of his book, but this had been the most progress he's ever had for the past three weeks. Normally he would only write around three pages, so today was a huge progress for him. But oddly, his inspiration didn't come from all of Alfred's photos. They were all beautiful and he absolutely loved them, but there was only one photo that hit him differently than the others. It hit him so hard that he would have choked on his own tears if he hadn't taught himself to toughen up his emotions when he was younger.

That ripped up photo.

That ripped up photo that radiated so many emotions that it would have been hard for Arthur to stare at it for a long time with deep thought if it wasn't for Alfred there to distract him with his voice; that photo that contained so much hurt and pain that Arthur could feel the tears well up in his eyes when he was staring at it. He practically felt the pain of everything falling apart for Alfred recorded in that photo and the younger boy's heart crying out for release from his pain. And yet, it was the same pain that the younger boy wanted to preserve the same way he preserved everything beautiful he saw. Almost as if he wanted to remind himself of the importance of holding onto something that was beautiful before it faded away by holding on to the pain of his past. Yes, that pain...

That familiar pain that Arthur knew too much about.

Oh the irony.

TBC