On the other side of the city, Alfred F. Jones stared down at his last dollar bill, a pout forming across his face as he eyed George Washington's green, wrinkled face. It was still a grey, rainy day, and the half-lit fluorescent lights above his head only gave off enough light to make out the loopy signature on the bottom of the bill.

"Excuse me sir?"

Alfred looked up at the cashier, who was still holding his bag of fast food with a dull expression. "Sir, I said that would be $5.34," the man repeated.

Alfred gave a weak laugh. "Err, sorry, I, uh…" he slowly tucked the bill back into his pocket. "I-I left my money in my…other pants…"

The man sent him an annoyed glower. With another nervous laugh, Alfred stepped out of the line. "I-I'll just go then…" he mumbled, then backed out of the store, his hands tucked deep into his pockets, one hand still curled tightly around the single dollar bill.

By the time he stepped back outside, the rain had become a faint drizzle. Even the sun had begun to peak out from behind the grey clouds, revealing a faint mist above the pavement. Alfred smiled slightly, craning up to look at the sky above the buildings. He'd never seen a rainbow before, but he was pretty sure the conditions were right.

A walker suddenly clipped his arm, then another man walking past almost stepped on his foot. Alfred jumped, managing to get out of the way as a few more pedestrians squeezed past on the crowded sidewalk, and almost stepping out onto the busy street.

Oh right, people, Alfred thought, maneuvering himself through the crowd and away from the street. He sighed softly, keeping with the crowd until he managed to squeeze into a small alley off to the side.

He stood there for a moment, then leaned against the wall, folding his arms and turning to watch the people passing by. Most of them were staring ahead, or talking rapidly on their phones, or staring toward the ground as they moved through the crowd. Alfred found himself wondering where they were all off to in such a rush. And kind of wishing he could be like one of them, with a place to go.

Alfred couldn't leave the city. Even if he'd had a car, or the guts to try hitchhiking, the farther he got from a huge city full of people, the less his human body could hide him. Because demon powers were hard enough to hide as it was. He just had to stay put and hide until things died down. As long as his human body stayed intact, he was sure he could do it.

He sighed to himself. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He was broke, homeless, cold, tired, and hungry. Mostly hungry. If only he had five more bucks. Then he could…

…he could…

…well, he could what exactly? He could eat a sandwich, and then he'd be wandering through the city for another couple of hours until sunset before finding a bed at whichever homeless shelter was open. How exciting.

He sighed, fixing his glasses (he wasn't sure why he had them fixed, it was kind of a waste of money).

He stood in the small alley for at least ten more minutes, before the rain finally stopped completely. Grinning, he brushed his damp bangs out of his eyes. Well at least the weather was cooperating. He glanced up at the sky. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could've sworn there was a rainbow peaking out, just past the buildings. He was sure Arthur would've assured him he was just imagining…

…

…

He shook that thought out of his head quickly, and straightened up, shifting his ratty backpack over his shoulder as he slipped back out of the alley. He wasn't sure where to, but walking always helped clear his mind when it started wandering.

And his mind wandered a lot.

His feet carried him a few blocks before he slipped into another building. He sighed and shrugged his backpack off onto the wooden floor, leaning backward and landing with a plop on a small bench. He stretched his arms, glancing around, giving a polite smile toward a familiar person behind the front desk who nodded in response.

Oddly enough, he found himself in a small library. He actually slipped in here more often than he would've liked to admit. Mostly because they didn't kick him out for not buying anything, partially because sometimes they let him look at the small collection of comic books they kept in the back. No one there asked many questions or cared that he was obviously high school age and not in a high school. They just let him be.

Alfred started rummaging through his backpack for a comic book to read. He didn't have very much in the backpack, but he kept it around for cheap bags of chips and cool little trinkets he picked up here and there. Mostly just stuff to occupy his time, distract him from the fact he was homeless, and hungry, and had no one he could turn to and talk to for reassurance that he was going to be fine and not be killed and he was doing the right thing.

His hand brushed against a paperback book deep in his bag. He jumped, yanking his hand out to glare at the papercut he received, then angrily pulled the book out. Of course, it was Romeo and Juliet. Its pages were yellowed already, from his constant flipping through, just to look at the cramped handwriting in the margins. He'd even started reading the actual story once or twice.

He missed Arthur. There, he said it. Or thought it, rather. He missed Arthur. He missed Arthur a whole lot. He missed Kiku too. He missed the friends that he'd made at school. He missed his life from only a month ago. He missed having a home, and a purpose for being here. He missed his old life as Alfred F. Jones. But that Alfred F. Jones was dead.

He heard the door open and close from nearby, not even looking up from his book to see who came in. Actually, he ignored them completely until he heard a familiar voice.

"But Ludwig, the extra project thingy isn't even due for another week, I don't wanna research, and can't we just look stuff up on the internet?"

"Feliciano, you are doing this project right now," Ludwig snapped back angrily, dragging a squirming Feliciano behind him through the glass doors. "You need three more points to pass this class, do you understand me, three goddamn points, and so help me if I need to tutor you for another whole year—"

"But there're only a few days left why do we even have to start can't we just take a siesta and—"

Suddenly, Ludwig stopped in his tracks, his eyes falling on a reflection in the glass in front of him. Feliciano walked into Ludwig's back, then blinked in confusion. "Ve, Ludwig?"

Ludwig turned toward the empty wooden bench near the front doors. "…huh…?" He frowned. "Hmm, that's strange…"

"What is?"

"…no, nothing. Come on." The two walked off.

Alfred let out a shaky breath as he stood on the other side of a wall, holding onto the strap of his backpack. The shadows around him slowly started to dissipate, sinking back against the wall. He glanced around at his new surroundings. He was in a small office, standing near a desk stacked with papers. That was something he'd never done before, going through the wall. He took a few painful gulps of air, feeling his legs shaking under him. Note to self: Don't do that again, he told himself.

He managed to steady himself after a few minutes, pulling his back over his shoulders. His lungs still felt painful, but he really didn't want to stay there and explain how he got in when he was caught. But as he started forward, his eyes caught something in the corner of the room. A mini-fridge.

Almost on cue, his stomach started to growl. Alfred froze and grimaced, looking around at the empty office. He could hear noises from outside the door, but it seemed that whoever was using this office was out to lunch. Quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, he tiptoed over and pulled open the door, reaching in and pulling out a small yogurt from the back, along with a plastic spoon. Hopefully no one would miss it, right?

God, how heroic was that…

He swallowed a few spoonfuls before slipping through the office door, creeping out of the building as silently as possible. Fortunately, he was near the front doors, so he was able to sneak out rather quickly.

He couldn't leave the city. But he couldn't talk to any of his old friends either. He couldn't do anything. All he had to do was lay low and keep his body intact and…

…and continue living like this?

Alfred paused with the last spoonful of yogurt in his mouth, standing outside on the crowded street under the grey sky. All he had to do was keep living like this. As if this could be called living.

He allowed himself one more sigh as he tossed his yogurt into a trashcan. And he was back to his earlier question:

Now what?

…

Across town, several hours later, Arthur was in the same position he had been in before. Namely, face down on the couch. Staring blearily into the couch material. Hating everyone and everything.

Francis, as he had several times before, had tried to wake him up by shaking him a few times, but Arthur found himself getting better and better at ignoring him. He just had to stay limp, as if he were dead. Not that it was hard, he just about felt that way already.

He stayed there, unmoving for the longest time, even after Francis started sitting on him to watch some show on TV. He even ignored it when Francis had obviously put his hand right on Arthur's arse, which, as Arthur was starting to learn, made the frog quickly lose interest and go back to his soap opera.

Neither of them so much as moved an inch until the doorbell rang, which caused the both of them to jump.

Francis turned toward the door. "Quoi…?" He pushed himself up. "Arthur, were you expecting anyone?"

Arthur clenched his teeth angrily, willing his heart to slow down. Just because for one split second he'd thought it was…

…

…well, you know.

Francis made his way over to the door, sighing to himself. "You really need one of those small eyeholes on this door," he mumbled, pressing his ear to the door. Then another loud bang on the door caused him to wheel back.

"Hey Eyebrows! Hey! I know for a fact you're in there this time!"

Both of them stiffened, recognizing that obnoxious voice almost immediately. And then the other voice spoke up. "Err, Gilbert, how do you know he's in there?"

"Shh, shut up, I'm talking."

Francis backed up. "Arthur, say something, make them leave," he whispered frantically.

Arthur smirked, shutting his eyes. Handle this yourself, because I'm still asleep, arsehole, he thought smugly.

"Arthur? Arthur. Arth—I know you're not asleep, get up! Arthur!" Francis groaned, looking around for something to help him.

"Maybe he's 'on holiday', no?"

"What, it's not a holiday, besides I heard voices I know someone's in there." Another bang on the door. "Eyebrows! Come on, open the door, we just wanna talk a sec!"

Finally, with a deep sigh, Francis turned, cleared his throat, and with the highest voice he could make, called, "No one is here! I am just a maid!"

There was a pause outside. "…whoa, what?" He heard Gilbert snigger. "Why the hell does Eyebrows have a maid?"

"Maybe to clean things!"

"…Antonio, that's all that they do. Unless of course it's a prostitute~!"

"Why would he have a prostitute?"

"Why the hell do you think he'd have a prostitute?"

"There is no one else here!" Francis interrupted loudly. "Just the maid."

"Well, when the hell is Eyebrows gonna be back?" Gilbert demanded.

Francis paused. "Err…sorry, I don't speak English."

"Wha…? Yes you do!"

"No I don't."

"Yes you d—you're speaking it right now!"

"I am just a maid, please go away~!"

"Ugh…" He heard Gilbert kick the ground. "Whatever, come on Antonio, we can just check tomorrow."

"Wait…" Another knock on the door. "Francis?"

There was a pause. Francis froze in place. Arthur actually glanced up in surprise from where he'd been lying. Then Gilbert started laughing. "So I say 'prostitute maid' and Francis is the first thing that comes to your mind—?"

"No, it sounded almost like Francis's voice," he insisted. Another knock. "Francis? Is that you, amigo?"

Francis was beginning to panic. "Arthur! Arthur, come here and pretend that I'm a prostitute!" Arthur blinked, then quickly shut his eyes again. "Arthur!" Francis looked over. "I know you're not asleep. Arthur!"

"Eh maybe it does sound a little like him, but why would he be here?"

"Sí, and why would he be a prostitute maid in Arthur's house?"

Francis groaned. "I'm telling you, I never said 'prostitute'!" He protested.

Both of them stopped talking immediately, and Francis realized he hadn't changed his voice that time. "…damn."

"Hey, Francis!"

"Francis, open the door!"

Francis grimaced, then yanked the door open, grabbed both of his old friends by their collars, and dragged them through the doorway. "What in the hell do you think you two are doing?" He hissed, slamming the door behind them.

"What are we doing? What the hell are you doing here?" Gilbert asked, staring at his one time friend in disbelief. "Couldn't you at least stop by and say hi?"

"Gil, calm down, he's obviously on the job right now."

Both of them turned to look blankly at Antonio. He simply smiled. "…you said you're a maid now, no?"

Even Arthur groaned at that. Francis was rubbing his temples. "Why are you here?" He asked again.

Gilbert shrugged. "Well, I'd been planning on telling Eyebrows that my little brother thought he saw Alfred at the library today."

Arthur stiffened from his spot on the couch. What?

"…you…did?" Francis asked slowly.

"Ja, it's weird, no one even knows what happened to the little weirdo, so I don't know why he'd just be hanging around a library—"

"Which library?" Francis interrupted.

"…um, I dunno, probably that tiny one near our apartment—?"

"When did he see him? Were there others with him?"

"You're kinda freaking me out a little…"

"Yeah, we were only planning on talking to Arthur."

"Where is the little dummkopf anyway?"

Francis glanced toward the couch, only just remembering he was there. "He's…he's asleep," he responded calmly, although Arthur could detect a hint of worry in his voice. "Let's go talk in the other room."

"You two sleeping together or something?" Gilbert started snickering, as they both leaned over and glanced at Arthur, who pretended as hard as he could that he was asleep.

"Non, we are not," Francis replied. "Not for lack of trying of course. For some reason I'm not even allowed in his bedroom—"

"Wow, how come he has that really weird feathery blanket?" Antonio asked.

There was a long pause. No one moved. Or breathed. Until Gilbert took a deep breath and calmly said,

"HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT WHY THE FUCK DOES HE HAVE WINGS OH MEIN GOTT JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"

I didn't really want to end this here, but I figure I haven't put anything up yet, so might as well. (I was planning on putting this up right before heading to ColossalCon, but I didn't get the chance.) I'm sorry if it's still kind of slow, I promise the story will pick up soon. At the very least, I'm going to enjoy the next chapter.