Before walking into the hospital, Matthew took a few deep breaths. Behind him, Arthur followed, molding his face into a look of concern. Matthew dashed up to the receptionist. "Please! My family in in here, somewhere. They nearly died in a fire? Are they all right?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Can I see them? Please?"

The receptionist gave him a look of intense pity. "Of course. Your family would be named . . . ?"

Matthew opened his mouth to answer, but remembered that none of the reports had given a name.

"Oh of course!" continued the receptionist. He picked up a paper. "The Karps. Mary Karp should be . . . here," he jotted down a room number, along with notes on the ward. "The rest of them are in the adjacent rooms."

Matthew nodded. "Thank you so much, sir!"

"Oh, and, by the way," the receptionist cut in before they could leave. "Neither of you would happen to have been sick in the past twenty-four hours with vomiting, a fever, or similar?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Good to go, then."

They walked to the hospital room. Matthew played with his key ring.

"I've never had to lie like that before."
"I'm shocked that Gilbert hadn't gotten you into trouble like that!" said Arthur.

"Gilbert and I-" Matthew started. "Gilbert and I liked each other. And he may have gotten me into some, well, compromising positions, but-"

"He never made you do the lying," Arthur finished.

Matthew didn't respond and double-checked the room number on the sticky note.

"Don't you think it's a little strange they didn't have a nurse or anyone take us there?" Arthur wondered aloud.

Matthew shrugged.

Arthur then proceeded to make a tasteless joke about paying for health care personally versus through taxes. It wasn't funny and only made the search for the fire victims more awkward.

"Here she is," said Matthew, gesturing to a door to their left. He opened the door for Arthur and then walked in. It was as bland as any other hospital room. The walls were a grey-white, the lights a head-splitting fluorescent light. A woman sat in a hospital bed, leafing through a magazine. She had burn marks on her arm. Roses sat on the window sill, evidence of a lover of some kind.

"Who are you?" asked the woman, presumably Mary Karp.

"I'm Arthur, and then is my acquaintance, Matthew." Arthur poked Matthew in the arm. "We have a few questions for you."

"I don't want to talk to the press," she said. "It was a fire, I don't know what started it."

"We're not involved in the press," said Arthur quickly. "Well, at least, not at the moment. We're trying to . . . solve a mystery."

"Really?" Mary leaned forward. "Tell me about it and maybe you're worth my answers." She rested her head in her hand, and her long, dull brown hair gathered at her neck.

Arthur told her about not finding Alfred in his apartment, about not finding him anywhere, but getting notes about cities. He talked about Alfred's little brother, Matthew, calling wondering where in the world his brother could be. He left out the part about dating Alfred, not sure if being gay was all right with this woman living in a tiny pimple of a town.

Mary picked at her nails. "Fine. You're probably worth my answers. But why do you think I'd know anything?"

"My brother-" Matthew started. His voice was accidentally a little too loud. "My brother looked up to heroes a lot. We think he might have tried to be a hero, somehow, in these towns, and tried to save people like you."

Mary thought for a moment. "I really wish I could help you two. I really do. But how would I even know if I had seen your brother?"

"Well, he's practically identical to Matthew."

Mary shrugged. "I don't remember anyone like him at the scene. My daughter, Isis, across the hall might know. Or my son."

Arthur sighed.

"Thanks for your help, anyway, Ms. Karp," said Matthew.

They walked across the hall. The room was identically sterilized, but there weren't any flowers. A teenaged girl lay in the bed, reading a book. She had dull brown hair like her mother, but it was cropped short and spiky.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"What are you doing in here?" demanded the girl.

"We had a few questions about the night you were rescued."

"Can I see some identification?" she asked, tapping the cover of her book with her nail.

Matthew looked at Arthur with worry. Arthur took out his wallet. He rummaged through it before picking up a blank rectangle of paper, which he held up to the girl. Isis, wasn't that her name?

"Are you trying to do something like psychic paper? Because it's not working, you fuckwit. Get the hell away from me." The girl lifted her book directed in front of her face, aggressively ignoring them.

"You like Doctor Who?" Arthur exclaimed.
"I told you to fuck off. I'll scream if you don't leave."

"Look-I'm not a policeman or anything. But I'm looking for my-uh. My roommate. And I think you might have seen him."
"It's not his roommate. It's his boyfriend," added Matthew.

Arthur choked on his breath. What the hell did he think he was doing?

"How the fuck would I know your boyfriend? And why do you have a fucking roommate when there aren't any dorms or apartment complexes for miles?" The girl had put her book down on the table, at least.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "We don't, erm, well I think you've gathered. I'm not exactly from around here. I moved to New York to live with my boyfriend, Alfred. That's his brother-" He pointed at Matthew. He then proceeded to tell her what happened. He added a few embellishing details: he talked about Andy Warhol's mummy foot and mentioned writing articles for magazines and newspapers. At the end he held his breath.

"Fine. Whatever. But don't you dare fucking come near me. Ask me whatever you want." The girl crossed her arms.

"Did any of the firemen or paramedics you saw look a lot like Matthew?"

"I don't really remember them, in all honesty. I remember feeling like curling in a ball and sleeping, but at the same time I felt like puking and my throat was burning with all the fire of hell. I wasn't too occupied with anyone around me."

Matthew shifted his weight.

Arthur sighed. "Does Matthew look vaguely familiar to you at all?"

She snorted. "No. Can you leave me alone, now?

"Sure, thanks," said Matthew. He pulled Arthur out of the room. "I don't think the boy is going to know anything."

"He could!" Arthur peered into a neighboring room, where a ten-year-old-ish boy was sleeping. "And how did you know she would be okay with me being gay?"

Matthew smiled slyly. "The book she was reading. It was Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris, who is pretty gay."

"Really? I think I've heard of him . . ."

Matthew chuckled. "I bet your buddy Francis has, eh?"

Arthur didn't remember mentioning being friends with Francis to Matthew. He didn't know if he considered Francis his friend, exactly.

"Anyway, I think we should leave the kid alone. He looks more burnt up than the mom and sister, probably blacked out anyway. And he's asleep!"

"Fine." Arthur turned away from the door to the boy's room and they exited the hospital.

xox

Tino fiddled with a loose piece of string. "So, good news."

"Oui?" Francis leaned forward, his pupils dilated enough to nearly capsize his iris.

"They really like the idea for an advice segment. They've already asked for questions on the website!" Tino observed carefully.

"Magnifique!" Francis stood up and hugged Tino across his desk.

"Oof."

Francis's office was small, but three men sat in it. Two of them far more uncomfortable than one.

"Ja, ja, ja, you might have saved your show. The questions email address is an extension of your own, so you can already look them." Roderich sat up straighter than an average telephone pole. "You should look at them soon."

"I apologize, Tino, but I don't recall why Roderich is here," said Francis coldly.

"If your show doesn't work, which let's be honest that's pretty reasonable to assume, you'll help choose music for my show," said Roderich. One of his hairs stood up straight, which wasn't terribly abnormal, but it looked like it twitched with resentment.

Tino only nodded in confirmation. "They said they might even add your advice segment to Roderich's show, but leave the rest behind.

Francis waved his hand. "Non, non, that won't happen. We're even considering hiring for my show!"

Roderich only rolled his eyes. "Auf wiedersehen, Francis." He left the office.

Francis opened his email and began making note of the questions he wanted to answer.

xox

For lunch, Matthew and Arthur returned to the same Four Star Diner as it hadn't given them food poisoning (and the other restaurants looks like the sort that could give one food poisoning). The waitresses and waiters had a not-so-hushed discussion about where they had dropped in from. One thought they could be FBI or something similar undercover. Another mentioned that they thought they had seen Matthew near their house earlier, perhaps looking at a nearby one for sale.

After that, Matthew drove to the hotel. It looked nice for such a rural area. Matthew went to go jogging in their indoor gym (how did he know to bring jogging clothes?) but Arthur sat in the hotel room. He tried to engage himself in something writing-related, but ended up playing the podcast version of Francis's show in the background while he sifted through local news reports for anything that could lead him to Alfred.

Soon he gave up, as rural Ohio is unsurprisingly barren of news outside of reports on how the schools did that year and whiny editorials that, on a good day, three people would read.

Arthur laid on the bed, a pillow clutched to his chest. Alfred was just a kid, didn't even have a job, really. If Arthur wasn't there for him, then who was?

Though he was worried about Alfred, he was worried about himself without Alfred also. Without Alfred, was he would have never actually chosen to start writing as a career. Before, he'd been considering statistics as a career. Statistics!

"Alfred, I'm lost," he breathed. He pictured Alfred beside him sleeping and he fell asleep, too.

xox

Arthur had been on the train going home after something. He was doing a crossword, as he never wanted to talk to people on the train. Usually, when they saw him doing work, they ignored him in turn. Usually.

A teenager sat down next to him. He wore a baseball cap and had a drawstring sports backpack. Arthur had ignored him just like all the others. He bent further over the crossword book, as if it were something that needed a lot of concentration.

"Whoa, what're you writing?" asked the teenager, who had an American accent.

Arthur didn't look up, assuming they weren't talking to him.

"What are are you writing down?"

Arthur looked up, his face deadpan, though he was very annoyed. "What are you on about?"

"Are you a spy?" the teenager said excitedly.

Arthur blinked.

"You are wearing a suit on public transportation. Only spies and stuff do that."

Arthur chuckled. "Be careful," he said. "My bowtie is really a camera."
"Really, dude? That's awesome!"

Arthur had enough negative experiences with American tourists to know not much could be expected of them, but this was unprecedented stupidity. "Yes," he answered.

The boy looked into the imaginary camera lense, squinting. "It's hidden really good, man."

"It has to be."

"Hi, bowtie-cam, I'm Alfred." He waved.

Arthur felt a little awkward now that people were staring. "You know I was being sarcastic, right?" he said.

"Oh, man, you totally got me!"

"Are you quite certain you should travel around London all on you own?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, with spies about and all that."

Alfred tilted his head. "Do you mean you'd walk around with me? That'd be totally great!"

"Oh-I . . . That's not . . . Didn't you come here with friends?"

Alfred shook his head. "My bro was with me for a little while, but then he left for France and Germany. Yuck. I don't speak any of those languages!"

Arthur smiled. "Well, sure, I can show you around a little bit, if that's what you want."

"Awesome!"

And that's how they met.

xox

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Matthew asked. He was no longer wearing his athletic gear.

"I think." Arthur sat up. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"Your phone was going off like crazy while you were asleep."

He picked up his mobile and flicked to his messages. He had five from Peter (those could wait). One from Francis that said "our genius plan is working! xoxoxox" And another from a number he didn't recognize. "Ann Arbor, MI."
"I think we have to go to Michigan next," he said to Matthew.

Matthew sank down onto his bed. "Really?"

"Hmm?"

"When do we go home?" he asked.

Arthur only shrugged and rubbed his temple, wondering the same thing.

AN: Guess what? The awesome Prussia might show up soon! Cool, yeah?