Less than fifteen minutes had passed since Matthew had left, and Alfred was already in a forlorn state. Furthermore, his mother would be arriving home any minute from her date, which usually wasn't a good thing – for him, at least.

Just as he was thinking, he heard the quiet jangle of keys, as the door creaked open. Words of nonsense, inside jokes, and loud; hearty laughter flood the room.

Shit. She brought the boyfriend home.

"Alfred, dear!" Her voice rang, high pitched with a slight hint of soberness, "Could you set the table for dinner?"

He hesitated a while before replying, "…it's already set."

"Great! You'll be having dinner with us tonight! I've ordered take out!" and with that, she sauntered over to the kitchen, with her guest following behind tripping over boxes and other fairly large objects. Very rarely was his mother ever this pleasant; and even rarer was the fact that she invited him to join her – in anything. Of course, the only reason he was needed at the dinner table tonight was to appease her date. That was it. That was how mother saw him; a tool, used in the most unworthy situations. How many years had it been since his father left? It felt like centuries to Alfred. Yet, it only took his mother a few days to mourn, and a few hours during the funeral to hook up.

The man she chose was no "Casanova" either. The man was rude, arrogant, and crude. He made perverse jokes at the most inappropriate times; surely his dinner would be spoiled. All he knew about the guy was that he was middle-aged, and had a kid of his own – the poor child! However, Alfred knew that his mother would be angry if he didn't comply, so just like that, he was at the dinner table; a few cardboard containers in the centre. All he put on his plate were deep fried noodles.

It wasn't so awkward at first; this time the rude jokes came before dessert.

"Aha! Boys your age! I bet you get around, don't you, Alfred?" The man was drunk – Alfred wanted to punch him out, but because of his mother's sake, he tried to control himself. When the meals had finished, Alfred's mother collected up the plates – which was usually his job – and flashed them a fake smile.

"Excuse me." His mother had gone to wash up the dishes. Great, he was alone with the "world's most wanted."

"Ha! Just as a woman should be; in the kitchen!"

That was it; Alfred was enraged, his hissed, "…You should watch your mouth."

Too drunk to form any type of coherent sentence, his mother's boyfriend just slurred, "ahh… hilarious…"

His mother finished up; poorly, with the dishes, and proceeded to assist the man outside.

"Nngh! I-I can drive! D-don't worry 'bout it!" Though Alfred secretly wished his mother would let the bastard drive; if he got into a crash – even better.

After a few drunken arguments and disagreements, she had finally convinced him to take a taxi. His mother happily waved goodbye as the car disappeared into the distance. Her expression quickly changed to one of annoyance.

"…Ugh, my head." She turned to Alfred with a disgusted look, "…get to bed. We're done for the night."

Alfred was hurt. His mother didn't used to be like this – at least, when his father was still around. He almost felt sad for her; she was killing herself from the inside out.

If only he could tell her; yell out to her, "YOU DON'T NEED A MAN TO MAKE YOU FEEL VALUABLE."

…As a human being, he knew she was priceless. If only things could go back to the way they were in the past.

He didn't even bother to go to school the next day. Instead, he strolled around the dump of an arcade that Matthew was sure to be at. Different day, same pinball machine.

Matthew noticed him from the corner of his eye and laughed, "You're here early. What's wrong? Too cool for a late slip?"

When Alfred didn't respond, Matthew's tone softened, "…Hey…" He poked his forehead, "…What's up with you?"

More silence. Matthew joked.

"…You're losing betting points every second, y'know."

Alfred sighed, "…Sorry… I've just had a rough night."

Not wanting to press for details too much, but still genuinely curious, Matthew wondered just how far he could go; how much Alfred would be willing to tell him.

"…Look, if this is because I didn't get you win at that video ga-"

"No! It's just…I feel like my world is spiraling out of control." Matthew led Alfred to the torn up couch in the arcade; sitting him down, allowing him to think a bit; relax.

"…You want to talk?" Matthew questioned, crossing his arms across his chest, tapping a foot on the ground.

"I guess not." Matthew unzipped his backpack, and shuffled through it. Alfred looked up inquisitively wondering just what it was that Matthew was looking for. When he finally found it, he tossed the object in Alfred's direction.

A cell phone?

"Put your number in; and I'll give you mine. When you're ready to talk or vent, just hit speed dial."

Alfred nodded, and quickly input his own number into the phone; they switched, and Matthew did the same.

"This way, you won't have to come down here to see me; just call me during your spare or text me during class. You shouldn't be down in this part of town anyways. It's dangerous."

"Alright…" Alfred felt just a bit better – relieved, even! "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it." Matthew slumped beside Alfred on the couch.

"…Man, I haven't been to school in ages." Matthew laughed, "Arthur's been nagging at me to go back."

At the mention of their classmate's name, Alfred made a face, of which Matthew noticed, "Chill, he's been my friend for the longest time. The only difference between us is that he's a total English lit whore."Alfred stifled a laugh, perhaps he wasn't so much of a rival after all. Matthew continued, "He's actually not that bad of a person, trust me. He might seem tough on the outside, but he has good intentions." Matthew checked his watch, "…If we hurry and take a bus, we'll make it back in time for class. What do you say? I'll introduce you two there."

Normally, Alfred would've scoffed, but the atmosphere made him feel something else, "Sure, why not."

What the hell did he have to lose, anyways?

"To be! Or not to be!" The teacher began, "…These are the famous words that spark the audience in Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'!"

"Now tell me." He continued, "Why is it that we imagine Hamlet saying these lines with a skull in hand; when the play usually doesn't have a need for one?"

Arthur's hand was the first to shoot up, "It could be a possible foreshadowing for his own death. In our mind's eye, we see both Hamlet and the skull, as portrayed in many adaptations on the stage. As the audience processes the lines, they see both a very real, live, Hamlet, and a shadow of what may or may not come."

Matthew nudged Alfred, and pointed towards Arthur, "see? He's a total geek when it comes to books."

They erupted in quiet laughter.

Following after, their teacher declared free time, until the end of the day. Arthur walked up to them, scowling, "Don't think you can get away with talking about me behind my back. I'm British, not deaf."

"Yes, yes, Arthur." Matthew rolled his eyes, pouting, "You should be glad I even came back for last class."

"You should be here for class every day. You're smart, but you're just too lazy to apply yourself." Matthew didn't bother to reply; instead, he cut straight to the introductions, "Anyways, this is Alfred." He pointed to the boy who was on the verge of laughing, "Alfred, this is Arthur."

Arthur held out his hand warily, "…Nice to meet you." – he was raised to act like a proper gentleman, regardless of if the fact that he really didn't feel any positive emotions towards Matthew's new…friend?

Well this is awkward.

Arthur kept his hand out, waiting for a shake. Alfred swore he saw the boy's eye twitch when he offered a fist bump in return.

Yeah, right. They were totally going to get along.