Chapter 4 - A Memory of Rain
Arthur had first had an inkling when he had picked that suit out for Alfred. He had spent longer shopping for it than he should have, and spent far too long anguishing over how to present it to him. He had shoved it on Alfred because of embarrassment and really, it was just a suit and the kid needed to dress better.
When he thought about it later, he decided that he had been being silly. Alfred was clearly growing apart from him and had been for some time, and a suit wasn't about to help that. But, surely the pain he felt at the thought of Alfred leaving him was just a result of misplaced brotherly affection. He had taken care of Alfred all these years, and he was being ungrateful. That was it; righteous anger, righteous pain. But sometimes he would catch himself thinking about how to keep Alfred close to him, and sometimes he thought about kissing him to make him stay, and then he would go to his room and close the door and do paperwork and pretend that Alfred didn't matter.
Arthur hadn't accepted that Alfred mattered so much until he was on his knees in the mud and the rain, crying, with his gun on the ground in defeat. He didn't think about what that acceptance meant. He just knew that his heart was breaking.
When he returned home after that day, he took his meals in his room or while he was doing paperwork, too distracted to notice what he was eating. One day, however, he finally decided that he had felt sorry for himself for long enough, and he took his dinner in the dining room. There was a clear glass vase of roses in the center of the long table. Dinner was sirloin steak. He cut a piece carefully, his mind elsewhere, and brought it to his lips. He bit down on it and suddenly realized that he was absolutely, completely alone, and he couldn't stop the tears.
That was when Arthur figured it out, but Alfred had already moved on.