The book about the last days of the Roman Empire lying on Alfred's desk hadn't been touched in days. He had not counted how many but estimated a week.

The room was silent. Because the house was silent. The mattress underneath his body was silent. Peter had headed outside. Occasionally Alfred heard footsteps upstairs and his heart involuntarily sped up thinking it could be somebody else than whom he knew it was.

His head was silent as well. In fact, it would be more effective to list off what was not silent, for example the few voices coming from the streets, the light clinks from Wendy's paintbrush when she tapped it on the rim of the glass containing water, the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, the outer door which simultaneously opened.

And the brief conversation when Jack, who had just come downstairs, met Matt.

"Hiya, Matt! You good?"

"I think so, yeah. Are you?"

Pause.

"As good as one can be. You here to see Al?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe he would join a study session."

"That'd be good for him."

The next time Jack spoke his voice was farther away.

"Study good, you two."

Matt snorted inaudibly. Then came the soft knocks on Alfred's bedroom door followed by a "I'm coming in, Al."

Alfred didn't turn his head when the door creaked open, but he could see Matt standing ever so timidly in the doorstep. He didn't say anything, however. Successfully he waited until Alfred turned in the bed, now facing away from him.

"Does it look like I'm in the mood for studying?" Alfred muttered to the wall.

"Pas du tout," Matt simply replied, "But I never said anything about you studying."

With great strain Alfred looked over his shoulder before fully rolling onto his other side.

"I study better when you're there, so I'm asking you to join," Matt said and took another step into the room. Then he just stood there and looked anticipatingly at Alfred.

Except for mealtime, going to the bathroom, and the occasional work, Alfred had mostly been lying in bed and staring at either the ceiling or the wall. At night it was the same, as Alfred lay soundlessly while he listened to Peter's slow breathing next to him. It wasn't that he was being lazy or tired, but he found no point in getting up from bed. He would put his feet on the floor, then what? Though, he did also spend a little bit of time in the living room. Trying to feel familiar again. Trying to strike up a conversation while knowing damn well how hard it was for them all to keep it going. Trying to breathe. Trying to get used to seeing two other people in lieu of the one who had been there before.

Thus, Alfred hadn't seen Matt in a while.

"Whatever, man."

With a liberating yet bothered sigh, Alfred swung his feet over the bed and got up before silently following Matt to the Bonnefoy house. Silence reigned there as well. Not only was it silent, but there was an effort to uphold the silence as well. The biblio was only for use if they made sure not to make a sound. The third floor of the house, the atelier which Alfred had been in once or twice in his life, had been completely shut off.

Like a dog Alfred waddled behind Matt who was picking books from the shelves before leading the way to his room. As always, they were books dedicated to medicine, math, science, physics, biology; All the things and more that Alfred's little brain could not understand. Matt was a walking encyclopedia if he understood how thermometers worked, the chemical composition of a human, how the universe worked, if it were possible to reverse death. In other words, how to play God. And Alfred was alright with the fact that he was completely outperformed by him. Alfred could study day and night and follow whatever guru-advice to become a better human, but not in a single aspect of life would he catch up to the ones he looked up to. And that was fine. He wasn't planning on trying anymore.

He would instead watch them from the sidelines. When Matt one day would come back to Smalltown with a diploma in his hand, Alfred would make sure to be the first person he came running to. If one day Elizabeta got a job in the city where she could fatten her wallet, Alfred would be first to write her letters and ask how much her hair had grown. When Antonio had travelled to every country on the face of Earth, Alfred would make sure no one was going to know before himself. There was a joy by proxy in watching others succeed in life. One day Peter too would finally know what to do with his life and Alfred prayed to God that He be more merciful with him. If Alfred in the future got a letter from Peter saying he got his dream job and was going to marry a fair lady, being a proud big brother was the only success Alfred needed.

As Alfred's gaze roamed across the room from where he lay on the bed, he briefly made contact with Matt's. Alfred intended to look away but quickly noticed that Matt wasn't letting up. Matt closed his books, now that an hour of studying had passed. Pushed them aside. He left his desk and sat down on the bedside by Alfred's knees. A tiny movement with his index gestured Alfred to sit up. And with his gentle, violet eyes attentively fixated on Alfred, he asked, "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?"

Ah.

How long it had been since Alfred last heard that phrase.

'Just my tender physique,' he had replied.

"Nothing," Alfred said inaudibly and looked away.

"What do you want, Al?" Matt patiently tried again, and Alfred swore he heard the sound of something shatter.

Just a little more.

"Don't touch me," Alfred hissed quietly when Matt reached out his hand to him, "Don't fucking touch m-"

Alfred was unfortunate enough to make the briefest of eye-contact with Matt. And Matt just sat there in all his warmth and soft fortitude like he always did, with the compassionate eyes that felt like a home.

Please, just a little more.

"I said don't t-"

Matt looked away to give them space, and opened his arms.

Alfred fought with every strand of his pride to keep the walls up. How laughable. Even after all this time, this was the only way he knew how to deal with his crippled mind. Childish, wasn't it? Immature, and absolutely hypocritical. Paradoxical. Stupid. Silly. Naive. Ugly. Unwelcome. Burdensome. Impulsive. Loud. Obnoxious. Insensitive. Weak. So, so weak. Nobody would want to invest their time in someone like him.

Except Matt.

The final fortress burst down and before Alfred had the time to think his selfish action through, he scooted closer and lunged forward with every fiber of his broken heart. He grasped wherever his hands could find stability, holding the safe haven that was Matt so it wouldn't slip away. He felt a gentle force push his face in the crook of Matt's neck. Being hidden away and shielded from the world, Alfred had never deemed it safer to let his restrained thoughts and emotions spill over. So he let out a few sobs as if to test the waters, before he erupted into a wailing, grieving, wet mess that lamented the hilarious failure that was himself.

Alfred was simply hanging onto Matt in a sloppy hug, and Matt was stroking Alfred's hair. It had quieted down. The remains of the minutes that had passed was the tingle inside Alfred's forehead, the reddened cheeks, and Matt's tear- and snot-stained shirt.

"God doesn't want me to go anywhere, and I should have listened. Maybe some disaster will break out if I do, yannow?" Alfred said with a quavering voice, letting himself be soothed. However, the thought of an all-mighty deity having restricted Alfred to roam within Smalltown's borders with no hope of escape except by some sick equivalent exchange… And that everything he had done had been thrown right down the drain… With a trembling inhale, Alfred grinded his teeth at the thought.

"... But did He have to take Dad?"

He could feel a little nodding motion from Matt.

"So you're not going?"

"I don't know what else I'll lose if I do."

Matt didn't exactly take his sweet time in pulling away after all these dramatically emotional minutes. Rather, he gave Alfred a little shove and looked at him with the most deadpan eyes Alfred had ever witnessed. An exasperated sigh escaped Matt's lips before he clasped his hands together.

"I'm an atheist, Al."

"And…?" Alfred asked, confused.

"And- I'm not saying that what I think is correct, but- To me this whole conspiracy theory of yours that God is out to get you is the biggest load of- of bullshit I have ever heard coming from you."

With a suddenly straightened back and risen eyebrows, just like in his faint memories of being called out by his preschool teacher in front of everyone after having placed a bug in his own nostril, Alfred watched as Matt got to his feet and began gesturing back and forth.

"So what if the Bastille falls again as an indirect result of you going to university?" Matt started, "And I'm not saying that losing dear people in your life is a simple 'just', but have you considered the possibility that it might not be that way?"

Alfred forgot to sniff as something tickled down his philtrum.

"Humans didn't come to Earth because God had a grand scheme. We came here by chance and our existence is meaningless, and that's why we search for ways to make meaning out of the information presented to us. That's how human psychology works; That's how your absolute pea-for-a-brain works."

Feeling slightly on edge, Alfred was about to get up and protest but Matt quickly shut him up with a swift show of the palm.

"Sit down, Alfred, I'm not done. I'm just trying to remember what I was about what to tell you before I realize how stupid I sound."

There was a slight creak as Alfred slowly sat down on the bed again and watched as Matt removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ah, oui-" he suddenly said as he snapped his fingers. He turned toward Alfred so he was fully facing him, his glasses pushed up and into his hair. Without the glass barrier as a safeguard, Alfred adjusted his position slightly as Matt leaned in threateningly close.

"What did Karl Marx say about religion?" Matt asked, voice low. Alfred leaned slightly back.

"Th- That it's the opium of the people?" he tried, terrified of getting the answer wrong.

"Which means?"

"Which means that people turn to religion to deal with their hardships instead of trying to fight themselves out of-?"

"Exactly," Matt said, Alfred letting out a whimper when Matt jabbed his index finger into his chest, "You can blame all you want on religion, but your fear of going to uni comes from somewhere else."

For a second that felt too long, the boys stared each other down waiting for a reaction.

"... But what about Peter?" Alfred hesitated, "This change is too sudden for him-"

Once again, Matt interrupted him. This time with a chuff, before straightening up. His voice was no longer low and threatening, but low and calm. Like being stroked on the cheek by a hand with slightly rough skin.

"You run your race, and he'll run his."

While Matt looked toward the window, Alfred gaped at him and could barely contain the bewilderment and cognitive dissonance he was experiencing. In a moment of accumulated defeat, he laughed.

"Sometimes you say stuff that makes me want to just smooch you, man," Alfred said and sniffed, to which Matt suddenly stiffened up and turned bright red. Ah, that was more like him. Quickly wiping a few tears forming in the corners of his eyes, Alfred got to his feet and thought about leaving, but stopped as his hand rested on the doorknob.

"Did your voice get stronger?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at Matt, who swiftly grabbed the half-filled bottle with a straw, and hummed into it for a brief second.

"Good for the voice," he smiled, "Papa taught me."

For just one second the boys exchanged an inaudible snort, a moment of calm and well-meaning sincerity. Alfred wanted to linger but opened the door anyway and exited. Exited the room, exited the quiet house.

Halfway home, in other words the tenth footstep from the Bonnefoy house, Alfred caught sight of Wendy carrying a shopping bag, her back seeming too arched for her own good.

"Hey, lemme get that for you," Alfred insisted and approached her, but she immediately turned down the offer.

"No, thank you, I can manage myself," she said and kept walking, "Your eyebags are more defined than ever, by the way". At the very least Alfred opened the door for her.

Translations:
- "Pas du tout" French: "Not at all"
- "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?" French: "What's the matter?"

A/N: An estimated 10 chapters left yall! We're in for the home stretch!