LONDON. THREE YEARS (AND 3 MONTHS) LATER.

The years seemed to have done favours for Alfred. Although he looked dishevelled — a faint touch of delirious — his shoulders had broadened out, and the soft boyishness Arthur remembered had given in to harder, admittedly handsome, angles. His heart was still pounding though, and his stomach had already begun to feel queasy, as if nothing had really changed.

"Alfred…" Arthur croaked out, and he had to clear his throat before standing up to shut the meeting room door. Even so, he was sure the receptionist had already shared her speculations with his co-workers about this surprise visitor of his. "It's been a while."

Alfred grinned, dropping himself down onto a chair. "Yeah, man! It's been like, what? Two years?"

"Three." And a quarter, he thought with a grimace.

"Three!"

Arthur nodded, and he lingered at the door waiting for Alfred to say something more. About where he had been all these years, about how curious he was about Arthur's own life after university. But he knew Alfred wasn't here on a trip just to see him – there was no way he'd suffer an eight-hour flight just for that – and he expected to be asked for some favour. He could tell he was right before Alfred even opened his mouth again.

"So Artie, I know I'm kind of ambushing you with this, but remember those ghost hunting videos we used to make?"

"Vaguely," Arthur said as he took his seat opposite of him. A bold lie. He remembered it all too well.

"I had this awesome idea the other day – what if we brought the gang back together, and did one last episode? For old times sake."

Arthur furrowed his brows, a knee-jerk feeling of anger at the sound of that – for old times sake. "What?"

"You know, get everyone back together so we can do another –"

"I know what you meant. I'm just –" Arthur straightened up and back in his chair. "Why? What for?"

"What for?" Alfred chuckled, and it was that familiar incredulous one, often followed by: "Arthur, please."

"What?"

"Don't be weird about this."

Arthur sat there and stewed, biting back the poisonous remarks that were ready to pounce out of his mouth before he could do anything about them. He straightened his shirt and got up to pretend he had better things to be doing, to indicate to Alfred that this conversation was over. "Whatever it is you've cooked up this time, Alfred, I'm not taking part."

"Wha— I'm not 'cooking up' anything! Jesus, give me more credit than that."

"Trust me, I already have."

Arthur wished he'd left that remark in his mouth. The look on Alfred's face had changed, and although it was nothing more than a bemused look, it somehow managed to turn his insides into an unsolvable knot.

"Everyone else have said yes."

"And why would any of them ever do that."

Alfred shrugged, leaving it up to Arthur to figure out if it was worth doubting him. He couldn't picture any of the others being gullible enough to fall for Alfred's shenanigans, yet he wouldn't put it past Alfred to get creative, either.

"I don't suppose you have a location in mind?"

Alfred's stupid grin faltered. He glanced down at his watch. "Hey, um. Tell you what." He looked back up at Arthur and there was now something quieter, something more pained in his expression. "What do you say we get out of here? Let me buy you lunch."

.

Arthur didn't really know any good places to eat nearby. His usual lunch place used to be a nearby pastry shop, which was delightfully quiet, but he stopped going there eventually because the shop owners came to know his name and wanted to strike conversation every time he went — and that was just too much for Arthur to handle. Homemade lunch alone at his desk was the new normal now.

So he and Alfred walked for a good twenty minutes through London streets — long enough to be sure that Arthur wouldn't bump into coworkers on their lunch hour. He didn't tell Alfred this, naturally, and pretended to have known exactly where he was going when he spotted a reputable burger place. They were guided to their table by a window at Alfred's inexplicably childish insistence (it wasn't even sunny out). Besides, it put Arthur close enough to the door for a quick escape if necessary. He uneasily eyed the camera bag that Alfred set on the table, but said nothing. The camera wasn't out yet, at least.

The waiter came up to them and took their orders, leaving them in awkward silence when he left. Alfred had his arms crossed over on the table, and Arthur could feel the vibration of his bouncing knees. He felt a strange nervous knot in his stomach, himself.

"So, did you…" Arthur started, but his voice was raspy and he had to clear his throat. "I'm assuming you've moved back to the U.S."

"Oh yeah." Alfred chuckled. "No way I'd ever stay here. No offence."

Arthur stiffened. "None taken."

Yet another awful silence fell between them; Arthur hated them. It was one of two reasons he avoided unnecessary social contact these days. The other being that he was much happier buried in books, completely unaware of his own existence. But this was Alfred, and as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he often wondered what had happened to him since they stopped speaking.

"So…" Arthur started, again. "What is it you do? For a living, I mean."

Alfred glanced up, completely devoid of interest. "Oh. Um… You know. Temp work here and there."

"Temp work?"

Alfred nodded, glancing out the window. "Yeah, uh — so what is you do anyway?"

"Well," Arthur sighed. "I finally landed myself a full-time job about a year ago. Doing…. administrative work, basically. But it pays decently, I suppose, for what I… um…"

There was a faraway look in Alfred's eyes. In his memory, they were a striking cornflower blue, but in the cold daylight of London's murky skies, they seemed little more than a pale and watery grey. And so distant. It ticked Arthur in that small, familiar way.

"I'm still working on that manuscript," he continued, "Thinking about turning it into a novel instead of a screenplay, but I'm not sure yet…"

Alfred gave an absent-minded hum. His eyes darted away, and his brows furrowed pensively. The knee-bouncing intensified. And oh, how that familiar spark of annoyance grew into an old flame of fury…

"And I recently bought myself a pet komodo dragon," Arthur said, raising his voice a little. Alfred didn't even seem notice or care. "I feed it live chickens and take it out for walks — "

"I've been in contact with James," Alfred blurted out. He froze, as they both felt the gaze of the entire restaurant on them. Alfred leaned closer, taking in an intimate sigh before lowering his voice. "We think Mattie is still alive."

Arthur could never have been ready to hear that. It punched him straight in the gut, draining the blood from his face.

"What are you bloody talking about."

"We… James may have…" Alfred swallowed, his gaze darting everywhere, unable to stay on Arthur's. "He may have sent me video proof that Mattie is still there, at St. Agatha's."

The waiter came upon them with a bright smile, placing a diet Coke for Alfred and a pint of cider for Arthur along with their burgers. God, he just knew he would need the cider. After thanking the waiter and waiting for him to leave, he took a big gulp of his cider, and then another. He set it down hard on the table. Alfred's words echoed in his head, and his grip on the cider was trembling.

"This better be a joke in extremely poor taste, Alfred," he said, still trying to catch that grey-blue gaze which was so inexplicably hesitant to look him straight in the eye. "There better be an explanation and an apology. And then I'm leaving, and that's the good outcome here."

Alfred's mouth twitched. "A-Alright, listen." He folded his arms over the table, his shoulders hunched. "Even after we left that place, James and I kept looking. Well, he was looking, being the groundskeeper and all. I was just the guy hearing all about it. Activity… really spiked after whatever it was we did there." Alfred's eyes started shine, wide in their gaze the way they became when something caught his fascination. "Some of those EVPs are like nothing I've ever heard, and the footage with the thermal cam is just —"

"Alright, now —"

"Sorry," Alfred scratched his neck. "Um. Anyway. Point is, about a month ago, James stopped responding to me. And… this is the last thing he sent me."

He pulled out his phone and set it across the table to Arthur.

"Press play," Alfred said. "And watch carefully."

Arthur hesitantly picked the phone up, feeling his breath quicken as he pressed play. There was an dreadful feeling in his throat, like a cry of horror ready to escape. He watched the shaky footage of a long hallway, waiting in the grainy silence for that unknown awful thing.

A hoarse, barely there voice: "Leave now."

"… Matthew, was that you?" an accented voice called out. James. The camera shook as he ran towards the end of the hallway, his flashlight flickering and growing dim. He turned the corner, towards a familiar spiral flight of concrete stairs, and there it was — a brief glimpse of a man disappearing down into the depths of the stairs, a shock of a red hoodie and a cloud of blond hair. The unknown figure walked straight through the wall, disappearing, before the flashlight flickered out.

The video cut, and all Arthur could do was stare at the table. He glanced up at Alfred quickly, swallowing down that lump in his throat.

"What was that?" he laughed, dryly. "Your latest forgery?"

"Arthur, you know I never did those kinds of things."

"You know, I'm still waiting for that damn apology," Arthur snapped, his voice loud but brittle. His fingers were shaking in his lap. If it wasn't a forgery, it was delusion. Yes. Alfred had primed him for it, to watch that video and expect to see Matthew's shadow. It could be anyone. It could be nothing. Alfred might still be sick with the guilt, but Arthur had already done his grieving for Matthew. He'd long ago accepted the brutal fact that he probably fell through some deteriorated floorboards, or had gotten trapped somewhere in that godforsaken asylum, or perhaps had wandered out into the woods and frozen to death. Perhaps he hit his head, forgot who he was, and was living some bizarre other life in Canada. Either way, the Matthew they knew was long gone.

And here Alfred was, kicking it all up, throwing the ashes in Arthur's face. And for what? He watched Alfred fidget there in his seat, sighing, rolling his eyes, adjusting the camera bag on the table.

"Look," Alfred started.

"Why did you come to me?" Arthur interrupted. The question stopped Alfred dead in his tracks.

"Why?" Alfred echoed back. "Because we need to go back. Because I can't do this by myself. I never could."

Arthur scoffed. "Don't insult my intelligence." He prodded the camera bag, unable to help an inner smile when Alfred reached protectively for it. "I know what this is for. That suspicious little gap. The reason you picked the table by the window."

"It's really good lighting…" Alfred said as he adjusted the bag back. There was a troubling smile on his lips. "Your eyes look unreal, man, if I somehow get to catch that green on camera —"

"Did you really think I was going to come back? For flimsy evidence like that?"

That charmer smile wiped clean off. "What's so flimsy about it? I think it's pretty damn clear evidence —"

"Your evidence is a barely visible shadow of a man from some grainy recording of a crazed, obsessed stranger who still thinks Matthew is somehow wandering around after all these years. And you are asking me, and whoever else you've dragged into this, to risk our lives again on… on some whim, on some need for a sensationalist comeback. Did you ever consider what it would do to Matthew's family? Hm? If you don't recall, they've already buried his casket. I was there when they shovelled dirt on top of it. And you just want to rip him out, don't you?"

"I was there, too," Alfred gritted through his teeth. "And I'm not ripping him out. I'm saving him. We're saving him. We're getting him out of there."

"There is no one to save! For heaven's sake, Alfred, there is nothing there, and I'm not dignifying this investigation by coming along."

"And what about James? He's disappeared for over a month now. You're telling me he's not worth it either?"

"That's your problem. Or rather, it's a matter for the authorities to deal with. Do the world a favour and curb your meddling instincts."

Alfred sighed heavily — unnecessarily dramatically — and sunk back into his seat. "You know what. Fine. I thought you'd want to help, but… Fine."

"Good. I'm glad we came to an understanding."

"Oh, no we didn't," Alfred laughed dryly, glancing down at his burger. "But uh… let's just enjoy the meal and call it a day."

To Arthur's relief, Alfred turned the camera off and put it back into its bag, fully closed this time. Their meal continued, but conversation was sparse. Every time Arthur asked him what he'd really been up to all these years — if he found a job, travelled, met anyone — Alfred only diverted the conversation in another direction. Arthur didn't have much to say about himself. Nothing he wanted to share, at least. They passed the time talking about others. Yao had apparently attempted working in China for a year after graduation, hated it, and returned back to England for a Master's degree. Francis had taken up a job in banking here in London (Arthur had no idea). And Ivan… well, no one was sure. But he still posted strange pictures of bleak nature and survivalist kits on his Instagram.

Arthur glanced at his phone to check the time and cursed under his breath. He'd been away from work for over an hour now. "Fuck me, I have to go."

Alfred choked on his drink, laughing. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Oh shut up, it's figurative."

"I didn't say anything!"

Arthur hummed doubtfully. There was colour on Alfred's cheeks, and he didn't look as tired. It was as if they had never left university, as if the past three years had passed by in no more than a day.

Alfred slurped up the last of his drink, leaned back, and sighed wistfully. "Look… if you wanna join —"

"I very explicitly told you I don't —"

"If you change your mind and wanna join," Alfred said, typing out on his phone as he spoke. Arthur's phone vibrated in his pocket. "We're heading over to the airport tonight. Be there by six. We'll be gone after that."

Arthur pulled out his phone to glance at the address that was texted to him. He looked back up to Alfred. "It was nice seeing you, Alfred."

Alfred's gaze, momentarily bright, faltered with hesitation. "Um. Yeah. Same."

"But I'm not going back. And neither should you."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I figured you would say that."

Arthur stood up, quickly leaving his half of the lunch bill on the table before Alfred could protest. Stay safe, he wanted to say, but all he could do was awkwardly glance at Alfred, and leave the diner.

.

The walk back to his office was unsettlingly quiet, even in the all-constant buzz of London. His conversation with Alfred echoed over and over again in his head, each time wondering if his choice of words were right. Was he too harsh? Maybe even not blunt enough? And then he thought about how he'd left without even saying anything, and felt the need to go home straightaway, duck under the covers of his bed, and disappear from the world.

But there was work to be done. He stepped into the office and was suffocated with its stuffy warmth; it usually tolerable, but was now only a reminder that he was stepping further and further away from Alfred. It'd been so long since he'd last seen him, and the lunch with him had gone by so fast — but that didn't matter. He sat at his desk, pretending not to notice the curious glances in his direction, and picked up where he'd left off. He glared at his screen. He'd been writing an email. Two hours ago, Alfred had scared him from behind and caused him to not only leave a trail of gibberish on his screen, but to yelp and make a fool of himself in front of his co-workers.

It was strange how a smile had managed to find its way on his lips. Strange how he felt a giddiness in his chest, a burst of energy he hadn't expected. He still found himself wanting to laugh at things Alfred had said. He swallowed it all down and got back to work.

The hours passed by more excruciatingly slowly than ever. He couldn't help but keep glancing at the time, counting down the hours until Alfred would be gone. At around 4 PM, the loss suddenly hit him. When would he see him again, if ever at all?

"Don't be stupid," he muttered to himself. He hated thinking this way. He hated that ache in his chest, that need. Three years had gone by without Alfred, and just like the nightmares that need was stubborn as ever, rooted firmly within him. He tried to think of all the reasons that he left, but they all seemed so small now, so distant and irrelevant.

He sighed and rested his head in his hands. Alfred was going back there, with him or without him. He wasn't going to find Matthew, Arthur was sure of that, but he certainly was going to try in the most foolish and reckless way possible. Whether Arthur liked it or not, he had to be there, right? He had to be there to stop him this time from making yet another stupid decision.

He got up from his seat. He didn't even bother shutting off the computer. He grabbed his coat, his laptop bag, and left without a second glance. His heart started pounding. With less than two hours to pack and get to that address Alfred gave him, there wasn't any time for giving excuses to his manager about feeling ill. He left that office and walked out into the brisk February breeze, barely feeling the cold.

.

The address Alfred had given him led him to a hotel room not too far from Arthur's home. He tried to assume it was mere coincidence and not consideration on Alfred's part. He found himself standing still at the door, hesitating to knock. He could hear voices and liveliness on the other side — Yao talking loudly and Alfred responding defensively, Ivan laughing in that strange way of his, and even Francis sweetly attempting to play as mediator. It sent a pang of nostalgia through Arthur, sending him back to his university days when he shared a flat with them, always with company even during his sleepless nights.

Just as he raised his hand to knock, a sudden fear overtook him. He'd be going back to that awful place, back to where the nightmares had begun, where they had all nearly lost their lives — where Matthew had lost his. And to face Alfred again; to stupidly hope that everything could be different now.

He braced himself and knocked. The room went completely quiet. Among cautious whispers, he heard someone approach the door. It opened to reveal Alfred peering out cautiously, his gaze brightening at the sight of Arthur. And then there was that troublesome, cheeky smile. Arthur felt its warmth with a sense of impending doom, as if he was making the same mistake twice. And yet he knew that nothing could have stopped him from doing it again.

"You're just in time," Alfred said. "Come on in."