Hello, everyone~! Another chapter up, just for you guys. Hope you enjoy it and let me know how i did! ;)

There was no way I could've imagined this. How could I have foreseen anything less than happiness after the lovely holiday Alfred and I had just spent together? It was as if we had come together for Christmas…to celebrate the last time we'd ever be on the same wavelength. Because not long after, our lives went back to hell.

Mr. Walton passed away right as the New Year was welcomed in.

I could tell how hard it struck Alfred, how difficult it was for him to accept this. It hadn't been very long that he'd known the geezer, but it was obvious he'd formed an irreplaceable bond with him. Another American man…one who could tell him stories all day that involved things he actually wanted to hear. It was different when you were with someone who was like you. That had been his only connection to the country he had been born in.

News of the elderly man's passing came to us in the form of a letter. It was addressed to Alfred, of course, but since to most he was legally dead, it made me a little suspicious, so I opened it. It was quite easy to recognize the old man's style of speech in the scrawling, shaky handwriting that unevenly littered the page. As I read farther and farther, I could feel my heart sinking. He'd sent Alfred the letter to let him know that the shop was now his, which only meant one thing; Mr. Walton had, just a week after our meeting, passed on.

It was completely heartbreaking to actually tell Alfred, to hand him the note and watch his usually-ecstatic face be twisted by the grief and pain of the situation. By the time he got to the end, there was no sign of MY Alfred, the smiling, idiotic Alfred I'd grown fond of. For the first time since I'd met him, he looked completely devoid of any miniscule joy. Then, hugging the bomber jacket closer to himself, he yelled at me for opening the letter and disappeared into his room to fall into pieces privately.

Later that night, while I was lying awake in bed wondering what the bloody hell had happened in this stupid life, he came into my room, looking completely miserable.

"Arthur…" he started, his voice hoarse.

I interrupted him. "You don't have to be sorry," I told him, trying to be gentle. "You're perfectly right, of course…it was wrong that I opened the letter. I'm really sorry…"

It was obvious he was trying to hold back the tears as he stared at me, his face slightly contorted from the effort. "That's not it…" he muttered, seeming embarrassed. "Uh…do you remember when I was little and we had no place to live and stuff?"

I nodded, not seeing where this conversation was headed.

"Well, whenever I got upset…you would…y'know…let me sleep in the bed with you…" He looked away, letting the words sink in.

Was this really happening? "Alfred…are you saying you would like to sleep with me tonight?" I asked him, my face flushing lightly at the strangeness of the whole situation.

Still not meeting my eyes, he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"You're way too old for this," I grumbled, but I scooted over to make room, acting aggravated to hide my impure happiness. "What are you now? Fifteen?"

"Fourteen!" he corrected, a small grin in his voice as he climbed in next to me. "Artie?"

I glanced over at him in the darkness, watching the moonlight from the window as it reflected off his brilliant oceanic irises, and felt my heart start throbbing. "Y-yes?" I breathed, looking away before he could read my expression.

He put his arms around me, pulling me into him. "Thank you…for everything."

Not trusting myself to speak, I just grunted and tried my best to shove him away.

The next morning, everything went back to normal. Alfred was back to acting the way he had when he'd been hiding his job from me, sulky and brooding. I suspected the reason behind his mood change was that he'd finally registered the reality of the situation he was in. After the death of his friend, he was now in charge of a whole business on his own with no one to guide him any longer. Of course I'd be there to help when I wasn't busy with my own job, but being a waiter was actually fairly grueling work sometimes. Plus, he had school every weekday.

There was no possible way to keep his AND Mr. Walton's dreams alive.

Selling the store was a serious option, but every time I suggested it, Alfred got furious and stormed away, clearly not caring what I had to say. He was going to keep the store and that was that, he said. As it was an old man's dying wish, though, I tried not to butt in too much. Persistence clearly wasn't going to change Alfred's mind in the slightest; he'd become nearly as stubborn as me.

Our relationship had definitely changed as he'd grown. When he'd been little, it had been easy to dismiss my desire to spend time with him as a brotherly, even paternal thing. There were times that I'd felt more like a father than a brother. But now…I felt as if there couldn't possibly be more tension. I was no longer a big brother in his eyes. Somehow, I'd lost that status. Actually, it seemed that I was MORE like a parent to him now than I once had been. Because everything I suggested, he just threw back in my face angrily…just like any other teenager with their parents.

Funny thing was, he didn't realize how much it hurt every time he yelled at me, told me I was wrong for having taken him off the streets, told me I was just another stupid adult trying to take away his freedom. I'd only done these things because I cared for him. Once upon a time, he HAD realized that. And appreciated it, too. But now…now…I was nothing more than a roadblock to him, stealing all the possibilities of ever reaching the real world.

One night, a few months after he'd turned fifteen, after he'd told me how worthless I was when he needed me, I finally broke and fought back. That wanker had screamed at me for the last bloody time. This had to stop.

"Alfred F. Jones," I snarled between my teeth. "YOU are the most pathetic excuse of a decent gentleman I have EVER seen. You've been nothing but rude to me for nearly a year now and I'm sick of having to hear someone I care so much about holler painful obscenities in my face every time he's around me! I only did what I did because I wanted what was best for you and now you're going to shove my mistakes in my face like I'm some sort of perfect person?" I could feel myself getting choked up, looking at the surprise on his face. "Fine. If that's what you think, then great. But I'm tired of it. So, Alfred, either get the hell out of my house or straighten yourself out, because you better be damn sure that the next time you insult me and expect me to leave the door unlocked for you, I'm afraid that you're going to come home to find everything you believe you own GONE. You'll never set foot in this flat again."

It hurt to say those words, to watch his face as I did, but they had to be said. I couldn't do this anymore. His hormones didn't give him an excuse to act like a total ass.

For awhile, he just stared at me with uncertain, somewhat angry eyes. Maybe it was just a glimmer of false hope on my part, but I was fairly sure I could see the sadness in him, the desperation to be forgiven. This anger wasn't who he was and he knew that. He scowled deeply, his eyebrows turning up in a sort of melancholy way before he turned to leave the room with a nearly silent, "I'm sorry…"

The minute he was gone, I went into my own room and let a few tears escape. "Damn him…" I hissed into my pillow. "Why do I have to love that idiot so much? What's wrong with him?"

I raged quietly, spouting curses, until, exhausted from the building stress, I fell asleep, wishing that little Alfred would just come back already and save me from THIS mean dragon…

When I woke up, I could feel something was off.

The tension that had been nearly tangible yesterday had dissipated. In its place, a strange emptiness had emerged inexplicably. Was it because of how awful I felt for yelling at Alfred? Deciding that was it, I got dressed and went to have some breakfast, wondering if I should maybe wake him up and tell him I was sorry before I headed off to work.

It was when I went into his room quietly that I knew. I didn't even have to register the note on his night table to know he was no longer here. Alfred being Alfred, he had taken my words seriously. When I'd told him to leave, he'd done it. Maybe he'd just wanted to leave me all along. After all, I was the bad guy. I was the one who'd taken away his so called "freedom."

This was more than supported by the words in the small letter he'd written and left for me.

I'm sorry for what I did to you, Artie. I knew you were in pain…but I just couldn't stop myself from hurting you. All I wanted was my freedom…and I couldn't have that while you were standing in my way, protecting me just like the great brother you always have been. I'll never forget what you did for me, dude…and I really did appreciate it. I've just been wishing I'd been old enough to make my decisions then, and now that I am, I'm going back to America. I love you, Artie! Good luck

-Alfred

America. He'd run off to America to live his stupid, selfish dreams all alone. Despite everything I'd done for him, he'd just left me all alone in the end. My heart contracted, my throat tightening. Trying to hold back the sobs that I could feel building, I went and got my breakfast as usual. There was no way he could get to America on his own. He wasn't that smart, nor did he have that kind of money on him. I managed to force a grin, though my eyes were brimming with tears.

He couldn't really be gone.

There was no way he'd just up and left.

He wouldn't make it over there alone.

He needed me to take care of him.

Suddenly, I started with a thought that had been hiding in the back of my mind since who knew when. What if…what if he didn't need me? What if he'd never needed my help? After all, it had been my sorrow that had brought us together to begin with. Was it remotely possible that I was the one who had needed him all along?

It was absolutely the truth. Unable to hold back any longer, the tears slid down my face, dropping gently, rhythmically into my tea as I cried. If only he would have said goodbye to me…if only he hadn't left to begin with. This was all my fault. If I had never threatened to slam the door in his face to begin with, he wouldn't have felt as compelled to leave. He would still be here now, safe with me in our home. I had to call him, had to contact him in some way so I could hear his voice once more. Who knew when I was going to see him again?

Quickly, wiping the tears away, I yanked the phone out of its cradle and dialed his cell phone, closing my eyes and praying for the first time in a long time. Please, please, please….and then it started ringing in his room, playing that annoyingly chirpy song that he enjoyed so much. Defeated, I threw the phone on the ground, starting to cry again.

This time I just let the stupid tears flow, not bothering to stop them as they poured out. This wasn't fair…I'd never gotten the chance. Any chance I'd ever had of being happy had drained the minute he'd left this place. So why bother, then? Why bother acting as if nothing had happened, like I could move on from this? Alfred had hurt me so many times…but this one seemed to sting the most. It was honest proof that I'd always loved him, but he'd never loved me. At least not in the way I'd wanted.

But I'd been wrong to love him like that. I'd never felt so much disgust toward myself, not even when I'd agreed to let Francis date me. It was wrong to want your little brother the way I did, and yet I didn't seem to be able to make the feeling leave. I was deplorable; it was no wonder everyone I ever came in contact with disappeared.

Miserably, I found myself going through the motions of getting ready for work and heading out to get to the restaurant, but my brain wasn't quite there. It seemed to be nothing more than muscle memory dragging me back to my wretched life, convincing me not to give up just yet. I dragged my feet as I walked, hearing the sounds of the world outside, but not really seeing anything. Nothing but a smiling child hiding in the back of my memories, calling me his big brother and loving me with every inch of his oversized heart.

I should've known work would be a disaster today; as a waiter, you had to be completely there. I was forced to make my customers repeat their orders at least twice before I understood. Eventually, my boss just came out and sent me home, kindly telling me that I couldn't be a "torn up faggot" when I came to work the next day.

Alone again, I just sat in my flat staring out the window, remembering everything I could.

His soft, dirty blond hair that always shined, his bright, energetic blue eyes, the pure color of nothing less brilliant than sapphire, his bright smile that could make me grin back even when our lives were crashing down around us. The way he spoke to me, with a special, protective tone, his American accent, his crazy little curl that always stuck up on the front of his head. His clothes, always much too informal, casual, just like his whole attitude of the world. Every single thing about Alfred was important to me, no matter how small. Maybe it was creepy, but I loved him.

The sky, which had been miraculously blue today, was filling fast with thick, puffy sheets of gray, a storm clear in the near future. As the sun went out, I closed my eyes and lay back, hugging my chest.

"Alfred…" I murmured. "I'm so sorry…"

Too little, too late.

And then there was a knock on the door.

Astonished, I shot up as fast as I possibly could, nearly over turning the coffee table in my hurry. Tripping over my own feet like I hadn't done since I was two, I threw the door open, expecting to see Alfred, smile on his face, ready to come back to me where he belonged. Instead, I was face to face with someone I hadn't seen since I'd run off with Alfred to begin with.

My mother.

"Mum," I mumbled, trying not to sound overly disappointed.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Mum? That's all you have to say to me after disappearing for seven years, Arthur Kirkland?" Then her expression softened and I could tell she hadn't come here to yell at me. Throwing her arms around me she cried, "Oh, Artie…I've missed you so much! We all have! I'm so very sorry that I made such a horrible decision. What kind of mother throws her son out of her home?"

I started, patronized by her comment. Me. I was the kind of MOTHER who threw her son out. I was just like my mother.

"Mum…" I said again, pushing her away. "Would you like some tea?" Before waiting for her answer, I turned and headed for the kitchen.

"Actually, Artie, sweetie, I won't be staying long. Barclay tipped me off that you were here you see, and I have a question that I've been holding in for quite a while."

Unable to face her, I just stopped, pausing to listen.

She sighed. "Yes, well…Arthur? Ever since you stormed off with that child, I've been wondering…Who was so precious to you that you'd even leave your own family to care for him? And where is he now? Did he run back to the garbage cans the second you left us?"

It was almost as if she were rubbing salt in my wounds. Uncaringly, she sat there and spoke of Alfred as if he were nothing but a street rat. But I knew better than her…he was so much more than that. "Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. That's his name. And he…he isn't in at the moment. But he'll be back." Gritting my teeth, I turned to her. "Is that sufficient enough, you old hag?"

"Yes. But I have just one more question," she said, ignoring my insults. "How…how much exactly do you love Alfred?"

My mind froze as I stared into her eyes, her honestly concerned eyes. She was worried about me. She thought I was raping children! "You've been my mother for nineteen years, Mum. I'm not a pedophile. Alfred had never been anything more than a dear little brother to me!" A lie, but she didn't need to know the truth. It disgusted me more than anyone. "Besides…I'm not much into men."

A spark flickered in her eyes, almost as if she was going to call my bluffs, but she didn't. Instead, she said, "Thank heavens…I didn't know if I could handle another homosexual in the family. Hopefully, you'll be the one to pass the line on. In fact, why don't you stop over at home sometime? Maybe we can find you a suitable woman together."

Trying not to grimace, I nodded. "Y-yes…well, thank you for stopping by. It was good to see you."

Sighing once more, she left, closing the door behind her.

The minute I was sure she was gone, I headed to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of scotch, I made my way to the couch before drowning away my sorrows the only real way I knew how.

Just like my father once had.