i saw its birth, i watched it grow
i felt it change me
i took the life, i ate it slow
now it consumes me
-AFI

Arthur and Matthew arrived in Vancouver a day ahead of Alfred; Alfred's military school let out earlier, but he wanted to spend a week with his father, who was on a rare leave, before visiting with his cousin. Arthur didn't know how to feel about it - he wanted to see Alfred but he was scared to but...

He fidgeted and chewed his cheek until it was raw and bloody, and half the time he didn't hear Matthew when he tried to make conversation; once or twice, staring straight at the Canadian and daydreaming of Alfred, he had answered and called him 'Alfred' by accident. And then he'd apologize, but Matthew only smiled, a little sadly and a little pityingly, and smoothly changed the subject to something else.

They landed at Vancouver Airport, walked out past carved totem poles and indoor waterfalls, took a cab to the Williams' Vancouver residence in West Van. Vancouver was beautiful in the summer - green trees and blue sky, sparkling sea on one side and the tall gray mountains on the other - but Arthur hardly noticed. He stared out the window and was quiet. Beside him Matthew plugged into his iPod and bounced his knee along to the music of Nickelback (not that he'd ever ever let anyone know)

When they arrived at the Williams' house, there was no one there, the house remained empty for most of the year - Matthew's parents still at work in Ottawa and Quebec, and Matthew away at school in Europe, but the house wasn't too dusty (cleaning service, Matthew explained and Arthur pretended to care and even made comments about vacuums and his favorite type of cleanser that he forgot as soon as he'd said them.) They kept it because it's pretty in a pretty city with a pretty view, but they lived their lives elsewhere.

They settled in, Matthew even carrying Arthur's luggage for him (he'd been eating less, sleeping less, growing even thinner, since Alfred had left - sometimes when he'd been writing his exams, he had dropped his pen from shaking fingers. Matthew had seen him do it.) And then Matthew left to wander around the area after Arthur had told him he wanted to rest from the long flights (they'd had to transfer planes).

Arthur stayed in his guest-room and unpacked, methodical and neat, folding his clothes and sorting them into the chest of drawers. He paused over one shirt - the same white uniform shirt as the others, button-up, collared, starched into straight neat lines - but this was the shirt he'd worn when Alfred had confronted him in the council room, the shirt he'd deliberately unbuttoned in front of the American boy, fingers dancing over the plastic buttons, clenching around them to hide the shaking...the shirt he'd dropped on the floor as he crawled into Alfred's lap...

He took it into the bathroom, locked the door of the bedroom and then the door of the bathroom so there'd be two doors in between him and the rest of the world, fingered the thread where the missing button would be - the one he'd wrenched off in a spasm when Alfred shouted at him and asked "Why?" and he'd never replaced after. It was how he knew this was the shirt. He buried his face into it and inhaled.

He stripped naked, stepped into the shower and turned it on - the water fell like warm, sweet, soft rain - to hide the sounds as he reached down and touched himself softly - the first time in a long time - and for the first time in a long time he felt his body responding, blood moving in tingling rushes, his breath coming heavier. He thought of Alfred. He thought of Alfred's eyes rolling back into his head, Alfred's face flushing redly. He thought of Alfred, coming to this house where Arthur was, and of being near Alfred - being with Alfred - again.

He came and the shock of the pleasure was so great he fell to his knees, knocking his head against the tiled wall.

The next day, Alfred arrived, and Arthur lurked in the living room off the entrance-hall, watching quietly. Matthew happened to be out - picking up groceries for the big meal his cousin was sure to demand - and Alfred let himself in, having a spare key mailed to him for the purpose. Arthur drank him in with hungry eyes.

He looked more adult, now - stood a little straighter, his face even more angled than it had been when he left. His hair was cut short, military cut but growing out, and somehow a tiny curl sticking up in front the same as always. His clothes - the same jeans and t-shirt and leather jacket combo he always wore, but neater, ironed, jeans belted. Arthur felt himself fill with a strange tender yearning.

"Mattie?" Alfred called out, and Arthur sighed quietly. Even his voice had changed - deeper, a bit, and shaded with hints of an American accent, Southern-style, he'd always had from his father but more pronounced with his year in West Virginia.

Then Alfred caught sight of Arthur. He stopped dead-still. Arthur felt his heart pounding against his rib-cage, felt his head spin a little. He swallowed hard, took a step closer, smiling tentatively.

Alfred cocked his head to the side - that same puppy mannerism that he'd had always, that made little-Arthur crow with laughter when his baby Alfie had done it - and looked at him.

"...so how'd you pay Mattie for this vacation? Handjobs or blowjobs? Or did you let him fuck you?" he asked, in a polite, distant tone of voice, like someone asking about the weather.