Chapter 4
The next day, Alfred was back, and the day after that, and the day after that. Every day, he talked.
He talked about his family, he talked about cars, about sports, about his classmates. He skittered by the issue with his friends (or lack thereof), but Arthur seemed to detect it anyways.
"I had the same trouble when I was a child, although I will admit it had nothing to do with an unrestrained love for heroes," he had said, "The others thought I was showing them up when I helped them on their assignments. It wasn't my fault they weren't smart enough to grasp such simple concepts as alchemy."
Alfred didn't say anything about not understand anything either, but he appreciated the sentiment.
The days passed quickly, and before he knew it, one month had passed, and then another. They'd gone from talking about general stuff to Alfred's everyday happenings, and Alfred found that he was talking even more to Arthur than even to Matthew, his own brother whom he shared a bunk bed with at night (yes, still). If he did well on a test, he'd run to the mansion first thing after school and brag about his accomplishments, and Arthur would congratulate him accordingly. (Alfred had the sneaking suspicion that if he brought homework to study in front of the mirror, the man would even be his personal tutor – provided he knew the subject, that is.)
When Christmas had rolled around the corner, Alfred had run, blizzard or no, through the clean, smooth snow field that surrounded the mansion until he had arrived, gasping, at the front of the mirror. "Merry Christmas," he had said, with a cheer that only seemed to start filling him just then. He had opened his presents with enthusiasm that morning, but only now, bundled in winter gear and looking back at Arthur's wide-eyed gaze did he truly feel warm at heart. (He then had to proceed to explain what Christmas was; apparently Arthur's world didn't have anything quite like it.)
Arthur was always there, every day, no matter what time he went. One time, out of curiosity, he had skipped baseball practice to visit Arthur in the morning, and to his surprise the man was still there, fuzzy eyebrows and cape and all, when he called.
Alfred didn't question it much, though. It was like having a friend whenever he needed it, and it was kind of cool. He was glad he knew someone like Arthur; he doubted any of his other classmates knew anyone like him, someone who was smart, nice, listened to him, and, to top it off, could do magic (although he never did perform another spell after that first bout).
One day, though, a realization hit Alfred. It wasn't a big one, but it was enough that the metaphorical wind was knocked out of him. Matthew, who was sitting with him during lunchtime, even noticed a sudden stiffening in his expression and asked if he had a stomachache.
All this time, Alfred had been talking about himself – his world, his life, his dreams, his likes, his family… He didn't know a thing about Arthur. In fact, other than the fact that he was really nice and that he lived in a world with magic, the magician was practically a stranger to him. It wasn't Arthur's fault, though. Alfred had never given him the opportunity to talk.
Outside the mansion, Alfred buried his face in his hand. "I can't believe it," he muttered to himself, "I'm making the same mistakes, over and over again." The same ones he'd made during school, the reason why he could be friendly to everyone yet have no friends.
Today, he thought, he was going to fix this. It wasn't that he didn't have any curiosity about Arthur's world, because really, what could be more awesome than living in a world with magic? In fact, he had the feeling he'd asked a question or two before, but Arthur never really seemed to answer them. Was it on purpose, or did Alfred miss some cue altogether?
Arthur greeted him as always, and Alfred replied in kind. This time, the man was sitting in front of the mirror with a book, written in some curly language speckled with dots and circles, before Alfred had even turned into the room. When he plopped himself down in front of the mirror, though, the magician snapped the tome shut with a snap. "Hm, you seem down today. What is the problem? Did your idiotic classmates say something again?"
The boy shook his head. "No, that's not it. I just… I was thinking today," ("A rare event, to be sure," Arthur interrupted, but with no real venom) "and I realized something." He was hesitant to say any further.
The man waited a little, but when Alfred showed no sign of wanting to continue, he spoke up. "Well? What is it you realized?" he prompted.
Alfred took a deep breath. "We've known each other for half a year, maybe more, right?" The other nodded. "Well, I… This whole time, we've talked a lot. Actually, I did most of the talking… But that's the problem, right? I'm talking all the time, and I never asked anything about you." At the sight of Arthur opening his mouth to say something, he rushed on, "I know you don't really like it when I do, but it's still not right, you know? Friendship goes both ways. That's what Mattie always says. It's why I never do well in that department, I think…"
"You're doing damn fine in it," cut in Arthur, the first moment he could get. He sighed, as though he didn't really want to say the next words. "I'm sorry, I'm not very accommodating in that respect. I have been … avoiding certain questions, I'll admit. It's not any reflection of how good a friend you are."
Alfred gave a sigh of relief, glad to get that off his chest. "So … we're good?"
The other smiled, and nodded. "Yes, we're 'good.'"
"Well then," the boy grinned mischievously, "I have some questions for you…"
