Alfred wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up into the bright, cloudless sky. The heat was nearly unbearable today. The sun scorched his skin, strung his eyes, and left his head spinning after completing a set of suicide drills. Conditioning was killing him; his state of mind was worse.

It had been a day. One day of packing, traveling, little sleep, and vigorous exercise was all that separated Alfred from his afternoon at the hospital. Twenty-four hours, and he was back across the country, right back in the same routine. But Alfred did not feel the same. Instead of focused and fired up, he felt distracted and disoriented, and that had little to do with the temperature soaring into the nineties. He felt far from himself, and he was damn sure Arthur was the one responsible for that.

Leaving Arthur in the courtyard took more effort and will than flipping a tire across the field (which Alfred had not long ago, albeit pretty sloppily). It felt strangely, yet undeniably wrong, and Alfred had not been able to shake the feeling even as he kept going, and going, until he hit New England. It was as if he didn't want to leave until things were back to normal. That must be possible, he told himself about a million times.

As a result, the further away the hospital got, so did his thoughts of this… 'new' Arthur. Alfred thought only of their time in high school the whole way back. Within a hundred miles, he could barely even remember his flat expression, disjointed words, or vacant eyes. None of that had a place in any of his memories.

And the more he thought about what things were like a decade ago, the more confused he got. Alfred just didn't get it. If Arthur was so sick now, supposedly, then why had he seemed perfectly fine back then? Yesterday had to be a misunderstanding, a fluke. It had to-

"Alright boys, line up. Time for another drill."

Alfred looked away from the sky and came back to reality at the sound of his coach's voice. Coach Davie was young for his position, probably barely pushing forty, and his shaggy blond hair paired with the spray of freckles across his nose only made him look younger. Compared to other coaches Alfred had worked with throughout his career, Davie was different in the sense that he almost never got angry or yelled. Through some magic, his kindness only seemed to whip the team into even better shape.

Alfred responded to the direction immediately. He trotted over to the fifty-yard line, sun beating down on his bare shoulders, to join the rest of his team. A shuffle, scrape, and tackle drill was starting, which entailed little more than two players charging at each other. Alfred usually loved watching this sort of thing before actually doing it. It put fire in his veins, hungered him. Today, his gaze, as well as his head, was in the clouds.

Davie blew the whistle, a humid gust of wind sputtered through the air, a few men startled talking loudly to each other a few feet away, and Alfred tried to think. Grunts and the sound of helmets crashing together sliced through his concentration. Think, he told himself through the shouting and whistles and wind. There must be an explanation. Must be a reason. If only he could go back, right now, see him again, ask more questions…

The linebacker next to him swatted his shoulder, and Alfred blinked dazedly against the realization he was being spoken to.

"Jones? You doing okay? Come on, you're up."

"Oh, sorry, yeah! Let's do it!" shouted Alfred as he ran up to the start. God, it was hot. His vision blurred at the edges as he shuffled through the blocks. He tripped a bit, nearly lost his footing, and cursed under his breath as he started again. The simple step patterns felt impossibly complicated today. Midway through, he wiped his clammy palms on his shorts and swallowed with a dry throat. He reminded himself to focus. This shouldn't be so hard. It was just so hot.

Alfred reached the end of the end of the obstacles, and suddenly, chillingly, like ice down his back, a piece of the puzzle flew into place. He had forgotten a few things. Things he could not quite place. Maybe he could, if he was only able to pause for a moment, think, breathe-

The linebacker Alfred had forgotten about rammed into him with the speed, intensity, and possibly weight of a freight train, something he should have been expecting but wasn't. Unprepared and defenseless, his feet were out from under him before he could so much as look down from the sky.

Memory hit as the ground did.

...

Somewhere around the time the leaves turned orange and the wind turned cold, Alfred decided that he and Arthur had better spend some time together beyond lunch and passing periods if, in his own words, their relationship was going to go anywhere. After a surprisingly minimal amount of pleading, Arthur had grudgingly agreed.

It was unseasonably cold for early October, and Alfred had to shove his hands deep into the pockets of his newly acquired varsity jacket to keep them from going numb. Arthur was walking next to him, and of course, he had already bust out a wool trench coat and scarf that he pulled on over his sweater before exiting the school building.

"Man, you look so 'fisticated in that getup," said Alfred as they walked out into the city streets. "Did you leave the top hat at home?"

Arthur's red scarf covered his chin and most of his mouth, but Alfred swore he saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a slight grin. "One, the word is 'sophisticated,' Alfred, and two, I don't think of that as a bad thing." After a moment, he mumbled, "Who in God's name owns a top hat…"

Alfred laughed, and it sounded far too loud in the nearly silent, frigid street. "Never said it was, buddy!"

"Yes, quite." Arthur's nose was already tinged in pink from the cold, as well as his cheeks. "Now, can you please tell me where we're heading? You haven't told me a bloody thing."

"That's probably because I haven't the slightest clue myself." Arthur glared at him, and Alfred threw a hand up. "Hey, don't look at me like that! I was thinking we could explore this big old city."

A pause. "Neither of us knows a thing about it."

"That's why it's called exploring! Come on, it'll be fun! I'll even get you a coffee or something."

"Tea," said Arthur, probably out of instinct. He sighed in a puff of white. "I suppose it isn't a bad idea to get to know the area."

"Great!" Without bothering to think, Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him down the grey, quiet street, their location unknown. Alfred babbled excitedly the whole way. It was like an adventure, and they were going at it together. That made him happier than it probably should have.

About an hour later, Alfred had managed to drag Arthur to an alternative music store, a second-hand shop specializing in sports memorabilia, about three alleyways that ended up going absolutely nowhere, and whatever else happened to catch his attention. Arthur had grumbled the entire way – about the cold, about the crowds, about Alfred's pace and tendency to touch everything he looked at – but Alfred got the feeling he was having more fun than he let on. He caught him smiling a couple times, although Arthur would always immediately frown when he saw Alfred looking.

Now, after a good bit of aimless wandering, Alfred found himself in a quaint little café fulfilling his initial promise.

"Good afternoon, ma'am!" said Alfred to the woman working the register. She smiled at him. "Hmm, I'll have a large hot chocolate, a slice of that cake over there, and, uh, a cup of the most British tea you've got!" She shot him a look at that, and Alfred hastily added, "It's for my friend. He should be around, somewhere…"

Once he paid and the woman set off to fill his order, Alfred looked around. Arthur must have wandered off somewhere. They had walked in together, when the grey clouds began to hang oppressively low in the sky and drops of rain dotted the sidewalk. Now he was nowhere in sight.

A minute later, with the drinks in his hands and the cake perched awkwardly on his forearms, Alfred still had no idea where Arthur was, and he set off to find him.

"Arthur?" said Alfred loud enough for a handful of customers to turn and look at him. He smiled at them, adjusted his increasingly uncomfortable hold on their order, and continued through the dining area. "Arthur? Did you run away?"

No answer. Alfred groaned, and for a moment he was sure Arthur had gotten sick of him and ran off. Then, when he was about a second away from giving up, he saw a flash of messy blond hair, wool coat hanging loosely from his shoulders, sitting backwards on a chair by the window. It was pouring now, Alfred noticed.

"There you are!" Alfred called out. Despite his volume, Arthur did not turn around. Brows drawn in confusion, Alfred walked over to him, set their order on the closest table, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Art?"

"Oh, oh," Arthur stuttered, blinking rapidly as if breaking free from a trance. He whispered. "So loud…"

Alfred just looked at him. "Huh?"

"Don't you hear it?" Arthur squinted at the pouring rain, transfixed. "It sounds like… hooves. But I can't see the horses."

Alfred listened closely, and then shrugged. He heard nothing but rain. "I'm afraid I don't hear a thing." Arthur was still staring, lips parted, eyes glossed over. Alfred blinked. "You doing alright, there?"

"Oh, yes. Seems it's nothing. I apologize." Arthur shook his head as if to clear it, blinked a few times, and then turned his chair towards the table. He spoke as he always did. "Good lord, Alfred, do you think these drinks are big enough?"

Alfred laughed raucously and sat beside him, the strange incident already forgotten.

...

"Jones! Alfred, are you okay?"

Alfred opened his eyes, slowly bringing himself away from that cold, grey afternoon, and back to this hot, bright morning. He'd only been on the ground a few seconds. It felt like much longer.

"Yeah," he said, his throat dry and his head throbbing. Before he could pull himself up, Davie was standing over him, hand extended. Alfred took it and clamored to his feet. "Thanks. I zoned out for a minute, there."

Davie pursed his lips. "Why don't you come inside for a second?"

Alfred felt his face warm, and this time it had nothing to do with the scorching sun. "Oh, no, really, I'm-"

"Come on, Alfred."

Alfred resigned to the fact that he had absolutely no choice. He trotted along beside Davie, and the other players immediately started hollering at him. "Oh, screw you guys!" shouted Alfred over his shoulder, flashing his middle finger jokingly.

"Keep going with those drills, boys." Davie attempted to sound firm, but the side of his mouth twitched into a grin. He patted Alfred once on the back. "I just want to talk to you real quick."

The locker room was empty, silent, and cool. It did nothing to cool Alfred's burning skin. He was embarrassed, not to mention mad at himself. He spoke about a second after Davie closed the door. "Look, Coach, I'm sorry. I'm just having an off day."

"I can tell." Davie did not sound angry, or even mildly irritated. If anything, he sounded confused, if not concerned. "Why is that?"

Alfred wasn't sure if he could answer that. Maybe he just didn't want to. Fortunately for him, the question ended up being rhetorical.

"Are you eating how you're supposed to?"

Alfred nodded firmly. "Yes, coach."

"Getting enough fluids? It's a hot one today."

"Uh-huh!" Alfred waved his water bottle in the air for emphasis. Davie raised an eyebrow at him, and Alfred rushed into what he hoped was a distraction. "Pretty dang hot for June, ain't it? Feels like a sauna out there."

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"That accent of yours is coming back."

Alfred shut his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose. Damn it. If he had one tell, that stupid twang was it. "I guess I'm a little preoccupied," he said carefully.

"What's up, sport?" Davie clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder; summoning that familiar fatherly tone Alfred had never, ever heard from any other coach. It relaxed him, a little. "I'm here to help."

So, Alfred took a breath, and told him. About finding the yearbook, about missing his old best friend, about searching the Internet only to come about with nothing. About talking to his brother and getting the biggest bombshell of his life. Davie raised an eyebrow but kept silent, and Alfred went on to explain how that day at the hospital had gone. He explained Arthur's strange words, his dead eyes, his diagnosis. But more than anything, Alfred explained to him that the old Arthur was in there, somewhere. Maybe he was only reminding himself.

After Alfred fell silent, Davie gave a low whistle. "Damn. No wonder you're out of it."

"My apologies, sir," said Alfred immediately. He might have a reason for preforming badly, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was excuses. "I shouldn't let it get in the way."

"That's alright, Al. I understand." Davie crossed his arms. "When are you planning on going back there?"

"Next week, I'm hoping."

Davie nodded, looking down momentarily. He regarded Alfred with raised eyebrows. "How will that work when the season starts?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes, a bit taken aback. "That isn't until September."

"Yeah, but I'm thinking you'll want to keep on seeing this guy."

That caused Alfred to take a step back. People had always told him he wasn't very good at thinking ahead, and only now was he starting to believe them. Would he be going to see Arthur in September? Then Alfred realized – in all honestly, no matter if it was unrealistic or not, he was hoping Arthur would be out by then. He simply said, "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Alright. In the mean time, let's pick it up." Davie swatted Alfred on the lower back. "Get out there and give me four laps."

Alfred nodded swiftly and dashed out onto the field as quickly as he could. He would be lying if he said Arthur wasn't on his mind for the rest of the day, but right now, there were other things to worry about.

It would be next week in no time.

.

The bloody light kept flashing.

That was all Arthur could think as he sat in Dr. William's office for the millionth time, listening to questions he heard just as frequently. The florescent light above their heads was flickering, hissing, whispering to him in a language he understood but didn't want to. Arthur can only concentrate on that blasted light. The office was quiet, but for him, it was loud. It was suffocating.

"Arthur?" Matthew nearly whispered. Arthur forced himself to hear, to look. "How are you feeling today?"

Arthur tightened his hands into fists at his knees, thinking. The static always made it difficult. Today was… bearable, he supposed. He did not hear the clopping as much as he did other days. More importantly, it was under control, for now. "Quite alright," he said eventually. The light flickered, Arthur's eyes burned. He squinted.

"Just alright?"

"I'm just-" There it was again. Arthur turned his head sharply, but as soon as he looked, it was gone. It was pink this time. Then he heard something, faint and murmuring. He ignored it. "I'm just fine, thank you."

"How are your hallucinations? Better, worse?"

Arthur pursed his lips. He hated that word, 'hallucinations.' It was… a fair term, he supposed, but hearing it again and again only reminded him that the world he lived in was fake. The mumbling and pounding and flashes of color in his vision were as real to Arthur as the sky above him. They were real enough to force away his sanity and toss him in this dump, anyway. But no one else could see that.

But maybe, said a small, hissing, familiar voice, everyone else is just wrong. Wrong about us. Wrong. Wrong…

"Hard to tell," he mumbled finally.

"Alright. We'll keep going with the current medication regimen, then. You're not having any problems with side effects, right?"

The light flickered again, static hissed through the air and clawed at Arthur's ears, demonic, unrelenting. Poison, they said, the pills are poison. Arthur bit his lip, shook his head. His skin burned. His vision blurred. The light was burning him now. Poison.

Matthew tilted his head. "Arthur?"

Arthur could not stop himself from asking, "What will it do to me?"

"Oh." Matthew looked a bit taken aback, but explained anyway. "Well, what you've been taking is an antipsychotic, as I told you when they were first prescribed. It's called risperidone. What it does is intervene in nerve communication in the brain, thus lessening your symptoms." Matthew smiled. "Does that make sense?"

Arthur knew Matthew had explained this to him before, and it was a perfectly logical explanation, but…

He's lying. Lying to you. Lying. Arthur took a deep, shaking breath. He tried to focus on the very light that was driving him mad. No, no… Lying. Poison. Don't take it. Don't listen. Stupid. Worthless. Poison. There it was again, pink, green, the floor was moving. Pounding. They're coming. They're watching.

"Arthur? Are you alright?"

Arthur wrapped his shaking hands together. "Yes," he said, though he could barely hear himself. "Can you… can you hear that?"

Matthew paused, looked down, and scribbled something on his clipboard. More lies that made him look crazy, Arthur was positive. "I'm not sure what you mean," said Matthew finally. "Can you describe this sound to me?"

He's making that noise. He's lying. Lying. Don't listen. Don't look.

"Never mind. It's… it's gone." Arthur cleared his throat and wrung his hands together once more. It was approaching him, faster, faster, louder… "Must have been the air conditioning."

You filthy liar, that blasted light hissed between flashes. Arthur shot a glare at the ceiling. "Not today," he breathed, barely audible even to himself.

"Okay," said Matthew slowly. At least he hadn't heard him. "I think we can move on, then. There's one thing I've been really meaning to ask you."

Arthur blinked a few times and nodded, as if he was not being blinded, deafened, attacked from all angles. He wanted to believe Matthew. Wanted to trust him. For a split second, everything was quiet. Relief washed into Arthur like a tidal wave.

"Alfred showing up yesterday must have been quite a shock. Can you tell me how you feel about all of that?"

Twice as quickly as it stopped, it started against full force. Too many voices assaulted Arthur at once. He could not tell them apart. The light flashed, and the beams were coming at him, into his mind, reading his thoughts and sending them… out. Out where? He wasn't sure. Something was coming. He turned his head and saw nothing, the voices picked up. Arthur wanted to run. He wanted to scream.

Instead, he forced out, "It was certainly… shocking."

Maybe he had wanted Alfred to come. All those years ago, he had certainly wanted…

A voice cut the thought off before it could get too far. He brought him here. Spying on you.

Matthew nodded. "I bet. Any thoughts beyond that?"

The voices got louder, more insistent, and Arthur finally gave in and believed them. He nearly shouted, "You brought him here. I know you did."

"No, Arthur, I didn't." Matthew spoke firmly, he gaze on Arthur solid and unmoving, just as he responded at least a hundred times before. "Alfred may be my brother, but he came here all on his own."

"You must have told him." Arthur could not stop now. He was on autopilot. "How else would he have found me?"

Matthew faltered. He glanced briefly at his hands before looking back at Arthur, his brows furrowed and his eyes less certain. "Well… Alfred was already looking for you."

Arthur blinked, balked. The fog cleared for a moment. If Alfred had been looking for him, after all this time, even, perhaps-

Don't be stupid.

Arthur flinched in pain. Matthew was speaking again, maybe he had never stopped, maybe he had never been speaking to begin with. The hissing started again. The light blinked again. Something flickered in an out of view. Arthur could no longer tell any of it apart.

"…When he asked me questions, I answered them. That's really all you need to know."

LIAR. LIAR.

"No! He must have wanted something, he…" The sound was right next to Arthur now. He could barely hear anything over it – Matthew, himself, even that god forsaken light – it all got lost in the bloody clopping. Arthur looked to one side, saw nothing, looked to the other, saw nothing… where was it?

Matthew was speaking again. "Alfred only wanted…"

Arthur exploded. "For the love of Christ, where is it?"

A pause. Matthew blinked, perhaps a bit taken aback, but not as much as he should be. "Where is what, Arthur?"

"The bloody, blasted…" Arthur lifted his hands to his ears, but it blocked nothing out. "The UNICORN! I know it's here! It would help me if I ever bloody found it!"

"Arthur, remember what I told you," said Matthew calmly, far, far, too calmly. How could he whisper when everything else was screaming? "Stop and assess. Try to list five things you can see, four things you can hear…"

"To hell with that rubbish! All I hear is the bloody CLOPPING!"

"Arthur, really, I can't hear anything unusual."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, raised his hands to his head. "You're LYING!"

The same force drove all of this, Arthur was certain. Whatever was causing Matthew to lie to him, to paint him as crazy, must have been throwing these… things, into his world, from the voices to the lights to the strange flash of green that occasionally flew across his field of vision. It was all connected, all coming after him, all keeping his saving grace away. Alfred's sudden appearance was only part of the scheme.

"Arthur, I'm going to need you to stay with me…"

"No! You brought him here! You brought all of this here! I don't trust you!"

Not safe. Not safe. Get away.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. It was all suddenly too much. He felt exposed, vulnerable, attacked, the walls were closing in, and that light was threatening to engulf him. Something was laughing at him; something else was screaming in his ear. So Arthur did all he could think to do. He got up and ran.

Arthur did not have a destination. He just needed to get away, away, away, until this constant internal hell quieted down enough to breathe through. The lobby passed by in a blur, and before Arthur knew it, he was outside. He was in the same courtyard he had met Alfred in just yesterday.

The clouds were too low in the sky, only getting lower, threatening. It must have meant they were outside now, Arthur decided immediately. There truly was no escape. It was coming. His pulse grew painful, his head light.

"Leave me alone," Arthur first whispered, and then screamed, "Leave me alone!"

You can't ignore us, Arthur.

The stone walkway was rough beneath Arthur's knees. He all but folded himself in half, hands over his ears, and gasped for air he wasn't sure existed. He heard something approaching, even felt it, but there was simply no energy left to stand again. The clopping was gone. This was the end. Arthur was completely certain this was the end. At this point, he wanted it to be.

Why now, a voice whispered. Arthur took too long to realize the voice was finally his own. Why this. Why me. As always, he had far more questions than answers. Nothing happened. He kept waiting.

We're coming. Coming for you.

A pause.

Not yet.

The air was back. Arthur bit down on his lip, his head nearly touching his knees and his fingernails leaving imprints on his skull. He was bracing himself, always bracing himself for something that never came but always felt close. A moment of peace was all he wanted. It was all he wanted since he was eighteen, and ten years later he still didn't have it. Nothing had changed.

Nothing ever changed.

To be continued...