Alfred feels uncomfortable. Actually, uncomfortable is a bit of an understatement. A lot of an understatement. Cameron embraces his sonuvabitch of a father, who is now pointedly glaring at him as if he is the root of all evil in the world and must be eradicated. Or something like that. Isn't that what goes through the mind of crazy psychos?
He knows he is gay and all but Alfred likes to think of himself as a fairly decent person. He'd been naive to think that him being a polite guest might pardon him of this man's ...whatever all those issues are. But, clearly, that's wrong. Alfred licks his lips, rocking back on his heels a bit uncomfortably. Arthur just left. He's not sure what exactly he should do.
The roar of a motorcycle stirs him from his daze and he turns jerkily to the window, nearly nervous to turn his back on Arthur's psycho dad, and peers out through the window. He sees the green of Arthur's shirt flapping in the wind, exposing the creamy white of his back as he darts away on a sleek, black motorbike. Alfred blinks a couple times, watches Arthur bend through the turn out the gate, hardly slowing. He's not sure how in the hell he managed to keep the bike balanced, as low as he got to the ground on that bank.
"Shit." Alfred mutters, watching as he straightens out the bike and speeds back the way Alfred had come. Back toward London. "Shit." He mutters again, clutching the leather album to his chest. Arthur left him here? What an asshole! What an absolute ass! He doesn't want to be here alone! Defenseless, without a way of escape. Damn it. Alfred speeds past the two on the floor, hurtling down the stairs so fast he nearly trips, and bumps into Alistair heading for the front door. Alistair throws it open, cigarette dangling from his lips as he stomps out into the grass of the front drive. Alfred runs to catch up to him, breathing heavily. Alistair rakes his hands through his hair. The stress keeps his shoulders taut and his back incredibly straight.
"Damn it." He mutters, pausing to force his jittery hand to take the half burned cig from his lips. He lets out a long breath, releasing the puff of smoke into the air.
"Where's he going?" Alfred asks, breathless. Alistair stays silent, watching the empty road as if that will bring Arthur back. "Hey," he asks again, "not to nag you but - your dad sort of doesn't want me here. And I'm pretty sure the only thing keeping him from throwing me outside just ran off on a motorcycle." Alistair seems to huff once more, taking another long drag off his cigarette.
"It's just like when he left." Alistair mutters. He shakes his head. "Father learned nothing in his absence." He sighs heavily, seeming to be talking more to himself than to Alfred. Alistair takes another drag. "Don't worry, Alfred. This is normal." Somehow, knowing that Arthur's normal is storming off in a rage on a motorcycle doesn't really comfort him that much. It's a stark contrast the the book reading grouch that he met in America. Alistair throws his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with a thick soled boot. "I know where he'll be."
"You do?" Alfred asks, hopeful. Alistair nods, squinting off into the horizon like it's going to give him some kind of answer.
"I do. There are a few stops to make. But he'll be at one of them." Alistair sighs, and Alfred wonders why in the world it sounds so heavy.
"Isn't it...a good thing you know where he's at?"
"We're going to need a bucket." Alistair says, turning back to the house. "And an overnight bag." Alfred doesn't like the sound of that, but he follows Alistair back into the house anyway.
Alistair decided to take one of the less nice cars. He and Alfred had stuffed a bag of Arthur's things in the backseat, along with some headache pills, a bucket, and a towel. Alfred may not have had much alcohol in his life, but he knows what that means. And it worries him. He twiddles with the handle of his own overnight bag, and has been doing so for the past thirty minutes. It's all covered in his sweat now, and beginning to wrinkle under the abuse. The countryside seems to drag of forever, even though when he looks out the window he sees it flying by in a blur. He doesn't look at how fast Alistair is going. He's sure he doesn't really want to know. All that matters is that they find Arthur because from how Alistair is acting, there's no telling what trouble he;d get himself into. To keep his mind distracted, he's been asking Alistair questions, and it seems, that once you can get the man to open up, he'll actually hold a pretty decent conversation.
"So this is normal, huh?" Alfred asks, fiddling with the air conditioning vent. Alistair snorts at the question, eyes peeled on the streets as he slowly drives through the city. Night had come on their way to the city, so finding Arthur will be more difficult than Alistair had made it seem. Alfred is relieved to see the twinkling of city lights fast approaching.
"You mean Arthur getting angry and storming off without a word?" He slowly pulls to a stoplight, turning left. Into the city. "Yep. Sounds pretty normal." Alfred thinks on it, and decides that Alistair does have a point. On Christmas he'd done the same thing. When Francis pissed him off he'd done the same thing, now he shouldn't be surprised Arthur had stuck to that routine. Annoying as it may be. Alfred understands why he left, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it. Especially since Arthur potentially left him to the mercy of his crazy psycho dad. Alfred still doesn't understand Arthur's dad. He doesn't understand what kind of person he is, or why he would be acting the way he's acting. He can't wrap his brain around it. The things that he said to Arthur. The complete disregard of his son's wellbeing...Alfred doesn't know who he would have reacted if his own father told him he didn't deserve to live.
"Point taken." Alfred mutters, looking back out his window to help Alistair look. "Though I can't really blame him with what your dad said to him earlier." He's so angry about what he witnessed in that room that he can't really be that angry with Arthur for fleeing...even if he did just brashly leave him behind. How in the hell did Arthur grow up dealing with that? Alfred knew he was strong. He'd always known that, from the day they met, but he had no idea what he's had to go through.
"Pray tell, what did Father dearest say this time?" Alistair seems so blase about it, like it's nothing new. And maybe it's not, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. Clearly, it didn't hurt any less because Arthur had stormed off like he did. Clearly, everything his father says still takes a toll on him, no matter how much he wishes he didn't care.
"That he didn't deserve to live." Alfred says bluntly. Alistair looks stunned for a moment, then shakes his head, whistling lowly.
"Well that's a record." Alistair pulls to a stop, letting out a heavy breath. They seem to have pulled up to some kind of bar, though Alistair still sits in the driver's seat, staring at the wheel. Alfred is unsure what they're doing, but jumps as Alistair punches the dash, and then shakes his hand, screaming in rage.
"Hey! Dude, chill out!" Alfred shouts, grabbing his wrist. "You gotta chill out!" The man's chest heaves. He takes a deep breath, breathing out heavily.
"I know." He breathes out slowly. "I know. But that piece of shite bastard." Alistair mutters, raking his hands through his hair again. "As if what he did last time wasn't bad enough. We all should have stopped this ages ago." He looks lost. Lost in a whirlwind of the past. Alfred doesn't know what memories are plaguing him, but it seems that they aren't pretty by the pain in his eyes. Alfred is enraged this went on for so long. He's enraged that Arthur had to leave his home to make it stop...he had to run to America to build a life for himself. It shouldn't be that way. It should never have been that way.
"Why didn't you?" Alfred asks. Alistair quiets at that question.
"How do you?" He mumbles. He raises his hands in defeat, scoffing at himself. "I don't know the answer to that question. Neither did our mother. Arthur's answer was to run away. I just try to take care of him because I can't do anything about Father." Alfred hums in agreement, not really knowing an answer to that question either. Alfred claps his shoulder gently.
"I'm sure he appreciates that." Alistair sighs, shaking his head instead of answering. He unbuckles his seatbelt and leaves the car, apparently done talking about it. Alfred purses his lips, following him out. "You guys sure aren't big on feelings." He mutters, too quiet to be heard. Alistair doesn't go directly in the bar, instead he peers around the side alley. But Alfred doesn't have to look to know what he's found.
"Get off me, you...you! You bloody tosser!" Someone groans, a few others laugh, and Alistair hurries down the alley, Alfred hot on his heels. Arthur's surrounded by a group of rough looking young adults, all drunk and swaying. They look...dirty. Dirty, tattered, and unstable. Ruffians. The very same people that Alfred was accused of being a couple hours ago. Arthur is laughing himself, totally drowned in alcohol and distant in his eyes. A cigarette hangs from his lips, a sight Alfred never thought he would see, and a bottle clutched tightly in his hand, broken.
"You bloody knob!" A man groans, holding his head. "Was juss- tryin'a show you a good time!"
"I'll have you know I-I know bloody well what a good time is! I don't need you!" Sluggishly he points the broken bottle at the man accusingly, sputtering out a laugh. "Jus' who do you think I am?! 'M no sodding…" His insult seems to be lost somewhere amid the alcohol and he furrows his brow, arm drooping.
"Art, you wasted yer drink!" Someone else shouts. "'S all on the ground now!" Everyone erupts into laughter, and Arthur's dazed eyes lock on the bottle.
"Sos I did!" He laughs along with him, tossing the bottle to the ground. As if possessing a second sense, Arthur's eyes snap all too aware to Alistair. He is clearly trashed, but somehow, there's a strange awareness in his eyes...a focus. Alistair doesn't pause at it, he just hones in on Arthur like a missile. It's a sight to behold, the tall, stable form of Alistair approaching a much shorter, much less stable Arthur. Alfred feels his nerves jostle, as he doesn't know who in the world would win that battle. Arthur braces himself immediately, putting on a complete shit-eating grin that Alfred has never seen before.
"No no!" Arthur slurs, nearly cackling. "I'll not be drug h-home like some child!" He stumbles away from Alistair's fast approaching form, bumping into one of his friends. They laugh, shoving him off of them, back toward Alistair.
"Arthur, come on," Alistair begs, "I'm not here to take you home." Arthur bristles, still looking unconvinced. He takes a heavy drag off the cigarette, raising his eyebrows at the other. A test. A challenge. Alistair presses on, grabbing both Arthur's shoulders. "Please, Art. I want to make sure you're safe." Arthur is oddly quiet, moving his cigarette from his lips. Petulantly, and with more grace than Alfred could have predicted, Arthur blows the smoke from his pretty pink lips into Alistair's face, looking utterly cocky and defiant. Alfred would find it a lot of different things were he not in this particular situation. But he is in this particular situation, and right now it only makes him sad.
"Safe? Safe like you bringing me home to see Mother? Oh, wait I still don't get to see Mummy dearest!" He drawls, leaning into Alistair's face and nearly toppling over. Alistair's grip on him is the only thing keeping him upright. "Why'd I even come at all? Just for Father to let me know I don't deserve to live?! Care to hear that?! Or are you just gonna stand on the sidelines?" He laughs bitterly, shoving against Alistair's grip. "Let go of me! I'll not go where I'm not wanted." To Alistair's credit, he just takes all of Arthur's anger without comment.
"Arthur, we want you around." He insists. "I know it doesn't seem like it but we all love you. You're our brother." Arthur growls, his friends backing away at the promise of a fight.
"I'm not! Pretty words don't change how you all feel. You all abandoned me! You let him choke me! You were there. You didn't try to pull him off of me! You let him a-abuse me! You did nothing." Arthur spits bitterly, struggling against Alistair's grip. Arthur looks like a wild animal with how he snarls his rage at Alistair. Arthur's eyes get wide and his mouth sets into a hard frown as he hurls a fist at his brother, socking him right in the mouth. Alistair grunts, sliding off his brother as he cradles his face. "You watched him beat me. You bloody watched!" Arthur's voice cracks and tears spill from his eyes. Alfred soaks all of him in: the pain, agony, guilt, sorrow, bitterness. Amid all the rage, the unending self-hatred, he still is the same Arthur Alfred knows. He still sees the man he met in America beneath all that pain. All of those things that Arthur didn't want him to know, all of the untold secrets and troubles; this is it. This is what Arthur preferred he didn't know most. How broken and sad he is.
But what Arthur was so wrong. This doesn't make him want to leave. All he wanted was to know Arthur. To know all of him. Now his view of Arthur is complete. Just like that; he understands. He understands what the man needs, where his brother does not. This would hardly make him run. Alfred rushes on a toppling Arthur, grabbing him before he can lose his balance.
"Easy does it," Alfred soothes, holding him close. Arthur struggles for a second, but Alfred holds him firm, despite his reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. He seems to realize who it is that's got him, and he begins to calm. "Arthur, it's okay. We aren't going back to your house." That was all he needed to hear. Arthur goes limp against him, crying into his chest. Alfred rubs soothing circles on his back, cradling the crown of his head as he sobs into his shirt. Alistair looks brokenly in his direction, leaning back against the wet ally wall. His shoulders drop, and he shakes his head as he covers his face with his hands.
"Alfred," Arthur sobs, his voice watery, "don't take me back." He whispers. "Don't take me back there." He's begging. Asking. Pleading. It kills him inside to hear that pathetic whimper. Alfred shushes him.
"Artie, I wouldn't ever take you back there if you didn't want to go." He rubs Arthur's back once more. "We aren't going back there. You're going to come back with me. Alistair's going to drive us." Arthur doesn't say anything, just sits still in Alfred's arms. "Is that okay with you?" Arthur sniffs, hiccups, and then nod's pitifully. "Good. I know you're tired. Let's get back to a bed, yeah?" Arthur sniffs again.
"Yeah." He whispers. "Sounds nice, love." Alfred smiles, pressing a kiss to the crown of Arthur's head. He'd been angry for a brief minute, but now he's just happy they've found him.
"Alright. Let's get you back to the car." He glances back at Alistair, who has been silent. A gratefulness rests in his eyes, and an admittance. You can take care of him better than I can. Thank you. Alfred just smiles, before turning his attention back to Arthur.
Arthur's steps are staggering, and he stumbles more than once on the short walk back to the car. Alfred manages to help him into the back seat, and buckle him in, though he really resembles that of a limp noodle once Alfred situates him into the seat. He just places the bucket in Arthur's lap, setting the man's hands on the edges to keep it there. Arthur doesn't fight him, just looks at him through half lidded eyes, looking distant, and so utterly defeated. Alfred smiles at him softly, doing his best not to let his concern show on his face, though he knows he probably fucked that one up big time. He shuts the car door, turning to look at Alistair.
"He's never calmed down like that for me." Alistair murmurs, glancing in the car window at his brother.
"It's because he doesn't trust you." Alfred says. Alistair doesn't fight him on that claim. "You may love him, but trust is something you earn." Alistair rubs his hands together, itching for a cigarette.
"Yeah." Alistair blows out a ragged breath. "I fucked that one right up a long time ago." He rubs the back of his neck, looking defeated. Alfred can tell Alistair tries, and he truly does care. But the man looks utterly tormented and Alfred doesn't want to ask why. Alistair suddenly turns to him, a grave look nestled in his eyes. A look, Alfred realizes, that never leaves. "Take care of him for me? Please?" Alfred grabs Alistair's hand and shakes it, squeezing tight.
"I promise." Alistair doesn't need anymore assurance. He nods, before silently heading back in the car, and getting them ready to drive.
The ride to Alfred's hotel is awkward and silent. Alistair doesn't speak, and neither does Arthur, so Alfred has no one to speak to except to tell Alistair the address. Alfred hears Arthur sniffling in the backseat, but he seems otherwise okay and Alfred really doesn't want to push him. So he stares out the window, feeling his skin rise at the horrid tension in the air. He doesn't know why Arthur is being so hostile. Well, actually he does. But Alfred is having a hard time wrapping his head around it. But there are probably bygones that aren't so gone between those two that Alfred has no inkling of. Alistair takes the turn toward the parking garage, not wanting to have to deal with walking Arthur through the lobby in his condition. Good call, on his part. He peruses through the garage looking for a decent spot.
Arthur retches in the backseat. Alfred smells only the pungent scent of alcohol in it, mixed with stomach acid. He turns around quickly to monitor - Arthur managed to get it in the bucket, though his hands weren't spared. There's no food in that vile container, only liquid.
"Has he not eaten?" Alfred questions. Alistair shrugs.
"I'm not his keeper. I haven't been monitoring him." Alfred sighs at that, but knows that Arthur would have totally chewed Alistair out if he had even attempted to be his helicopter mom.
"Right." He mutters, and Arthur begins to cough, wiping his mouth on his sleeve rather than the towel right next to him.
He must be totally far gone to be ruining a perfectly nice shirt like that.
"'M fine." Arthur mutters, before coughing once more.
"You need some food." Alfred corrects him, turning around as Alistair pulls into a parking spot.
"I need some bloody scotch, is what I need."
"Sure, Artie." Alfred replies patronizingly, "because you couldn't be poisoned by alcohol or anything."
"Sod off." He mumbles, but there's no real venom in it. Alfred gets out of the car, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He opens the door for Arthur, helping him out of the car. As soon as he lets go, Arthur begins to sway and Alfred hurries to grab him, pulling him back upright.
"Alistair, could you carry the bags?" The man does as asked without any question, shouldering both with little effort. Alfred squats down in front of Arthur, motioning him to hop on. "C'mon." He nods. "I'll carry you."
"I'm not a child!" He says with a very incriminating pout.
"Then pretend!" Alfred replies cheerfully, motioning him on again. Arthur furrows his brow as if this is the most bizarre, peculiar thing that has ever happened to him in his life. Alistair looks as if he's about to comment about how much Arthur is acting like a child right now, but Alfred shoots him a warning look, and he keeps his mouth shut.
"Well - I suppose…"
"Unless you want to stumble your way to the elevator." Alfred suggests, and that makes up his mind pretty easily. Arthur heaves a reluctant sigh and unsteadily clambers onto Alfred's back.
"Don't drop me, you bloody oaf." He mumbles, looping his arms around Alfred's neck. Alfred hooks his hands beneath Arthur's legs, lifting himself up with a small grunt.
"Aye, aye captain!" He cheerfully replies, jostling Arthur just for the fun of it.
"Oi!" Arthur complains, swatting at him. "I said don't drop me!"
"I'm not gonna drop you!" He sings, keeping up the cheerful air. Arthur grumbles about how stupid this all is the whole way to the elevator, and Alistair hardly breathes a word, even to the room. Alfred tells him where to get the keycard, and he kindly obliges in getting the door open so Alfred can not so gracefully drop Arthur onto the bed. The man groans, but makes no other movement, and Alfred is content to just leave him be for the moment.
"Thank you for taking me to him." Alfred says. "He is the reason I'm here, after all." Alistair waves him off.
"It is I who should be thanking you." Alistair, for the first time since this morning, smiles at him. "You know I never thought it was right...what Father did to him. I never saw him as anything else but my brother, even if I did a shit job of showing that. I couldn't give a damn that he was gay even if I tried." Alistair sighs. "Mother misses him. We all do. I know I can't offer him anything at this point...but I am happy to know he has you." Alfred blinks for a moment, unsure of how to process what Alistair is telling him. In his own convoluted way, Alistair is saying thank you, though, and Alfred recognizes that. He glances back at Arthur, who seems to have rolled over on his side. "Take care." He closes the door behind himself, leaving Alfred alone with the mess of his younger brother. Alfred heads back to the bed. If Arthur is going to be ready for bed, he needs to shower first...and eat a little something. Alfred gently takes one of Arthur's arms.
"He doesn't give a damn about me." Arthur mumbles as Alfred heaves him up to his feet.
"He does." Alfred disagrees. "But he's just like you. Doesn't know how to show it." Arthur seems to huff at this, falling quiet. So Alfred continues. "He's always worried about you. He was the first one to try and help me once you drove off tonight. And he packed a bag for you." Alfred gently bumps Arthur with his hip, guiding him into the bathroom. Arthur has a sour look on his face, lips poked out into an adorable pout.
He always hated being wrong. Alfred chuckles.
"Come on, get undressed." He orders, letting Arthur go close to the wall so he could brace himself. Alfred starts the shower for him, digging out a towel as well. "I'll go get my bath stuff for you. I brought a couple things." He leaves Arthur alone to go grab the items from his bag. When he returns, Arthur's clothes are on the floor and he's already in the shower. "Here ya go," he says, shoving them through the curtain. He leaves one of his spare changes of clothes on the counter by the towel, leaving the man to his own devices. Alfred flops down in the chair and sets to ordering Arthur some room service, though he figures Arthur won't eat most of it. Truth be told, whatever Arthur doesn't eat, Alfred will finish, because he hasn't eaten all day either.
Once they've both been ordered some dinner, Arthur appears in the doorway, his hair sopping wet and clad in one of Alfred's t-shirts and boxers. The towel around his neck is the only thing keeping Alfred's shirt from getting soaked through. The shirt is awfully big on him, and it reaches down to his thighs, but really, it's extra cute.
Especially with the grumpy way Arthur is glowering at him. His pink lips are pressed together, accompanied by pink cheeks and an adorably wrinkled brow. He looks so completely disgruntled, but the look on his soft features is so childish that he can't find it anything but adorable. Alfred smiles sunnily at the Brit, standing up.
"Feel any better?"
"No." Arthur pouts. "'M not."
"I ordered us some food." He tries again, helping Arthur back to the bed. His legs are still unstable, but Alfred can tell he's regained a bit of his own mind. At least a bit of the fight has left him. The man just hums quietly in acknowledgement. His grip on Alfred tightens when he tries to pull away.
"Stay." He whispers. "Please." Alfred nods, crawling over him to join him in bed. Arthur curls up against him, seeming so small. He's seen so much of Arthur's destroyed life today. It's hard to believe that Arthur held himself together so well for this long. Arthur's been here for days. And this shit is what happens in just one? He can't imagine growing up here. He doesn't blame Arthur at all for turning to a wild side of life to get away from his parents. In his shoes, Alfred's pretty sure he'd have done the same thing.
"Anything you want, Artie." He murmurs, carding his fingers through Arthur's hair dotingly. Arthur heaves a breath, and it shakes in his lungs. Shakes in his whole body. He nuzzles Alfred's chest with his cheek, clinging tightly to anything he can take purchase of.
"I want you." He whispers.
"Well, you've got me." Alfred whispers back, kissing his crown once more. Arthur sniffs.
"I haven't scared you off yet?"
"Hardly." Alfred scoffs. "It's harder to get rid of me than that."
"Should have known." Arthur murmurs. "You followed me all the way to bloody London." Alfred laughs.
"That's right." He agrees. "And I'd do it again." Arthur snorts, shaking his head.
"Bloody fool."
"You sure do call me that a lot." Alfred muses.
"That's because you are."
"Hm. Maybe." He agrees. "But-"
"But I love you anyway." Arthur interjects. "Yes, yes, I'm aware." Alfred laughs at Arthur's dry tone.
"You sound so annoyed."
"I'm not annoyed." Arthur mumbles. "Just tired."
"Me too, but our food will be here soon. And you'll feel better if you eat." Arthur hums quietly, but doesn't say anything further. Even their meal didn't keep them out of bed for long. Alfred did his best to force some food into Arthur, but as he was irately reminded, Arthur's not a child. He he just ate whatever was leftover, and helped Arthur back to bed. He didn't last long. Arthur was out like a light, nestled sweetly between the sheets and Alfred's chest.
Alfred wakes up to the uncomfortable ring of an old fashioned telephone. He jolts to consciousness, looking around frantically to locate the source. The culprit rings right next to the bed, behind Arthur. Alfred does his best to reach for the phone without disturbing Arthur. He strains for it, but considering he's dead in one arm it's rather difficult. With a grunt he wiggles his fingertips, and finally yanks the corded phone off the receiver. He does his best to keep the cord away from Arthur, who is somehow sleeping like a baby.
"Hello?" He mumbles groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Alfie?" Amid is sleepy brain, he places that voice as Matthew.
"Hm." He mumbles into the receiver, sighing. Why in the hell is Matthew calling at this time?
"Dude, you didn't call and tell us you landed!" He chides. "Mom and dad were worried." Alfred can't really bring himself to care at the moment, mainly disgruntled from being woken. He flops back onto his back, adjusting Arthur over his other arm. It's tingling uncomfortably. He wrinkles his nose.
"Right." He mutters. "My bad." Matthew scoffs on the other line.
"So. How's it going?"
"Matthew. It's …" He can't find a clock, "It's late."
"I don't care. That's your fault for not calling earlier." His brother teases.
"Yeah, yeah." He mumbles. He takes in a deep breath. "If you don't mind keeping your voice down?"
"Why?" Matthew's knowing smile is totally in his voice. "Is someone sleeping?" Alfred rolls his eyes at the loaded question.
""What do you think?"
"I think that it's crazy you didn't totally fuck that up." Alfred scoffs at Matthew's teasing.
"Ye of little faith." Matthew laughs, and it's a refreshing sound in his ears now that he's seen what Arthur's family is like….the family he hardly has. Alfred feels...so relieved and grateful to hear Matthew's voice. He loves his family. He wishes Arthur could say the same.
"So what's going on? You find out why he left yet?" Alfred can't blame Matthew for his curiosity, except for the fact that it's probably two am and he's tired as hell.
"Man, you know I already had jet lag and you're not really helping me out."
"Not caring." Matthew replies boredly. "Come on. Spill." Alfred sighs in concession, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah I hear you." Alfred takes a breath. "Alright. Alright. So, he left cuz his mom has cancer. Or she had cancer before but then it went away. Now it's back, and his older brother called to tell him. And here he is now. "
"Oh, my god. That's crazy. But...all's forgiven?"
"All's forgiven." Alfred sighs. "But it's a shit show over here Matt." Alfred sighs.
"I could imagine...if his mom has cancer."
"It's not even that dude, I don't think he's even seen her yet."
"What?" Matthew asks. And sparing the nasty details of Arthur's fight with his father, Alfred briefly describes the course of his day. Once the explanation is done, Matthew lets out a long breath, and the silence on the phone is telling. As if he can see Matthew shaking his head. "Boy." He says. "That's a lot." Alfred hums in agreement.
"Yeah." He says, stroking Arthur's shoulder, "it is."
"And this is just your first day there." Matthew gasps. "Hey, well, Al I'm sure everything will work out." Matthew pauses for a minute. "Make sure he takes you around London before you come home. I wanna see pictures!" Alfred laughs quietly.
"Okay. I will try." He agrees. He stares down at Arthur's messy mop of hair forlornly. "Matt...I love you." He says. "Don't ever forget it, okay?" Matthew goes quiet for a beat.
"I won't. I love you too." Alfred hears the smile in his voice. "Make it back home safe, okay? Mom wants you to bring Arthur for dinner." He smiles happily at the normalcy of that statement. Arthur must have never heard that in his life.
Maybe he will get to.
"I think he'd like that." Alfred murmurs. "I'm gonna go back to bed now, Matt."
"Okay." He says. "Don't be a stranger." Alfred smiles. Sometimes he thinks that Matthew worries about him more than his parents do.
"You bet." He smiles. "Night."
"Goodnight."