The sun was already past its peak when he woke.
He cautiously headed downstairs in his pyjama bottoms along with the slightly ratty black tee he'd worn the previous day.
"Finally acting like a teenager, eh?" Steve laughed when see saw the bleary eyed Arthur enter the kitchen. "Don't worry, Kiku and Tony have already gone home"
He poured some left over water from the kettle into a mug. Making tea first thing was an important element to actually waking up for Arthur.
"Ah, sorry. It was boiled a while ago."
He could already tell from the way the tea bag refused to produce much flavour.
Sitting down at the table he felt the necessity to attempt light conversation with his father.
"So it looks like I'll be leaving tomorrow. I know I didn't say yesterday, but they called me last night and it can't wait." His father looked apologetically across to him.
Lukewarm tea ran down Arthur's arm like piss as the shock caused him to loosen his grip.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, sorry kid. I didn't mean to land it all on ya. Alfred already knows."
Arthur trudged through to the sitting room cradling the poorly made drink, his t-shirt still damp. Throwing himself down onto the sofa, disturbing the boy sat diligently doing his homework.
"Still here then"
"Looks like it" He glanced across at Alfred's messy handwriting. His fingers stained slightly black from a leaking ballpoint pen. From the look of it the issue was some sort of algebraic formula, black scribbles littered the pages from small mistakes.
Arthur took a small sip of the remaining tasteless tea.
From where he sat on the sofa he would see out to into the cold autumnal abyss. In the UK he'd never much seen a need for raking leaves but a thick blanket of red and orange now smothered the lawn around the house.
The house he'd grown up in didn't have even a small garden, it was just a grey concrete slab squashed into a cramped estate. His mother lined the window sills with plants, beautiful flowers that smiled out over the kitchen sink. They long since withered and died, after all there had been no one to look after them.
The peaceful silence they shared, occasionally interrupted by their father hastily packing upstairs, fell about until the afternoon.
Arthur eventually moved himself to infront of his computer screen hoping to work on some writing assignments. He fingers rested lifelessly atop the keys. The words had piled up over the screen but every time he'd tried read them over none of it would make sense. Sentences started, drifted off and only to returned with an entirely separate point. In his mind, however, he was solely focused on the tightening knot he felt in his stomach. He slammed the lid shut.
Raged boiled over him as if it were the hot water in an unattended pot. Somebody needed to lift the lid and release it, but Arthur couldn't bring himself. He knew his emotions just had to be abandoned and suppressed, the was no point to causing a issues in a situation that was only temporary.
He rested his forehead against the plastic surface of the table. It was slightly warm from the heat of the laptop. After a moment he rolled his head to the side, small wisps of messy hair stuck to the plastic with static tension. The bright led screen of his phone lit up the table as he checked his messages.
Only then did Arthur notice it had started growing dark.
To his slight surprise he found no new messages, not from Gilbert or Francis.
He typed out his thoughts into a long message, not with any particular intention to send it. The rhythmic typing just acted as a cathartic exercise.
"Maybe when you write it all down, it helps you to process what's happened?" The soft voice rang gently in his ear. If he was thinking about that, then he knew he was near the edge.
For a second his finger hovered over the send button, a dark smile stretched across his face. What would happen if he let it all out? If he let go of all the pieces of himself he'd painfully held together.
"Arthur! Food!" Alfred called from the door, banging it harshly as he crashed past. The suddenly noisiness caused him to drop the phone, it's touch screen slipping out of his fingers and grazing his cheek on it's way to the desk.
He abandoned it where it landed, after all he could delete it later.
"I thought it would be nice if we all had a proper family dinner," Steve grinned.
The kitchen table had been cleared and set, it wasn't fancy but it was kind of nice. Arthur shrugged as he sat down.
The large crock pot contained some kind of stew, it had a good sweet smell.
"It, er, looks good," Arthur could make out some kind of beans and sausages in the mix, "What is it?"
"Baked bean casserole, it's Al's favourite," Steve scooped a gigantic portion out onto a bowl already brimming with mashed potato, "Actually, second favourite to hamburgers"
The plate was a daunting challenge, he'd didn't know if it would be possible to finish it or even how to start. Alfred had already dug in. It was good, maybe a little too sweet and the mash a little overly buttery for his own taste.
"It's, mmm, really good dad," Alfred, somehow managing to speak through his mouthfuls.
"How about you Arthur? Do ya like it?"
He paused, "Yes, thank you."
"I'm glad. Hadn't had much of a chance to cook since you've been here, sorry 'bout that," Arthur just nodded politely in response, "Actually I thought we could take this time to talk about me being away."
Ah, here it comes, he thought, the ulterior motive.
"I trust you both, don't be stupid and wreck the house. I'm leaving some money for food but please try not just to eat take out," Steve gave Alfred a pointed look, "I'm sorry to be leaving this one with you. He can be a handful."
"Not funny dad, Artie and I are good!" Alfred huffed gently, but turned to smile at Arthur.
"It all sounds fair to me," he paused, "Steve."
Maybe it wouldn't be quite so bad after all. He scooped another mouthful of the casserole into his mouth, it was a little like how he was finding life with the Jones'; a little overpowering at first but great once you were used to it.
Returning upstairs Arthur re-read the message still displaying on the screen of his phone.
Dear Family,
Fuck you all.
Feel free to fuck me and my life and my plans over as you wish.
I'm so fucking sick and tired of just being used, pushed around and abandoned. The single person in my life who actually gave a flying fuck is dead. You, my delightful worthless brothers, shipped me off halfway around the fucking globe to get rid of me. I bet you're all enjoying your carefree lives now that I'm out of the picture. All whilst I have to sit around like a rancid stain in my own Father's little family. Who wouldn't want to find out that the dad who abandoned them has another son that they love and cherish. It least here I am useful, if only as a babysitter.
You all like to sit on your goddamn bloody high horses, I wish I could drag you all down into the dirt to fester with me you miserable arses.
Is there much point in living such a worthless life as this? I think not.
Yours bloody sincerely,
Arthur Kirkland.
Perhaps he should change his surname. That would surely sever his ties with that god awful lot. Smirking he held down the backspace key.