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The Trouble With Americans...
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The day after New Year's, Kiku found Alfred trying to hide a handmade postcard in his mailbox. He glanced between Kiku's house and the two on either side, brow furrowed, face twisted in concentration. Kiku ducked behind the curtain to watch, amused until Alfred began rifling through his parents mail. When Kiku unlocked the door and inched it open Alfred perked up, hugged the bundle of letters to his chest, and bolted down the block.
For a few short seconds Kiku stood stunned in the sunlight, watching it reflect off the back of Alfred's bright yellow hair as he ran away, soles flapping against the pavement. Although he only looked over his shoulder once, it was enough of a distraction to send him toppling over an uneven divot in the sidewalk, face first.
Kiku was breathless by the time he caught up to Alfred, who was still trying to shuffle spilled mail back into his arms. Bracing himself on his knees, Kiku watched a bead of sweat drip from Alfred's forehead to his chin.
"Alfred," Kiku said at last. "What - what are you doing?"
With a sigh the size of his heart, Alfred released the flood of mail back to the ground before dropping down clumsily beside it.
"I wanted to invite you," Alfred offered in explanation. "Like, officially and stuff."
The heat receded once Kiku's heartbeat returned to normal, forcing him to notice the early winter chill. In the height of excitement Kiku hadn't had any time to dress properly, and now he was stuck shivering halfway down the street in paper thin pajamas.
"Invite me?" Kiku echoed. Didn't cellphones exist for a reason? "To where?"
He eased into a squatting position so he could meet Alfred's eyes, rubbing his hands against his arms in a feeble attempt to generate warmth.
"To Chinese new year!" Alfred exclaimed. A gust of wind tried to make off with a particularly scary looking bill but Alfred slapped his hand down to stop it. "Or, Japanese new year, I guess?"
Alfred pushed the postcard into his hands, face lit like a lantern. Kiku turned it over twice, carefully examining the poorly drawn pokemon and shoddy kanji. It was an invitation to come see the lantern festival in chinatown tomorrow, which was about as much notice as he had come to expect from Alfred.
"Did you write this yourself?" Kiku asked, though the answer was obvious. "It's very impressive."
"You know it!"
Someone not far off started mowing their lawn and Alfred jumped. Just a little ways down the street was the looming threat of traffic, twin headlights shining like the eyes of a demon. Kiku encircled half of the mail as he got back to his feet.
"Let's put this back where it belongs," Kiku suggested wisely. "Before my parents get home."
They started the short trail back to Kiku's house, close enough their elbows bumped. Kiku's parents weren't due home until well after five, but he could feel the familiar spike of anxiety in his stomach. It wasn't as if his parents didn't know he had friends, but it also wasn't something there was much precedent for.
"Why do your parents need a lawyer?" Alfred asked as he rifled through the other stack of envelopes.
Kiku shrugged. "It's not my business."
Refusing to dwell, he pushed the notion from his mind and put back the mail before sitting beside Alfred on the steps. He wanted to invite Alfred into his house against his parent's wishes, wanted to cook him lunch and show off the spartan cleanliness of his room while they talked about fireworks and Feliciano.
"So you're gonna come tomorrow, right?"
Kiku nodded. "Of course."
"Great!" Alfred grinned and jumped into the air. His palms were still scraped raw, but he didn't seem to notice. "Meet me at the bus stop at noon tomorrow, okay?" He almost slipped as he treaded backwards down the steps. "The one behind our school, next to the big tree!"
Kiku's eyebrows slowly and deliberately rose. "Where are you going?"
Alfred laughed. "Technically, I'm grounded." He waved away Kiku's apprehension. "Don't worry about tomorrow. Remember, twelve o'clock!"
For a long time after Alfred disappeared from sight, Kiku sat underdressed on the cement steps, considering the butchered Japanese with sweaty fingers and a fluttery feeling in his chest. Upon returning to his house, he found he'd locked the door behind him.
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