The house of the Moore couple was nearly empty at this point. The rugs had been cleared out and half of the furniture had been moved into the moving vehicle. The few things that were still standing and would continue to stay were the kitchen appliances and the couch, as well as the shelves along the living room's walls. Otherwise, boxes filled to the brim with books, tablecloths, kitchen rags, candlesticks, pictures, and the like, covered the floor to the degree that it was nearly impossible to navigate without having to tiptoe in-between.

"Do all old people own this many things?" Alfred asked as he lifted one of the boxes, making sure his heels were firmly planted in the floor.

"'s always the women," Mr. Moore chuckled from his chair. A spatula flew from the kitchen and hit him in the head, accompanied with Mrs' unhurried, heavy footsteps.

"Don't you call me materialistic for having medical books, Ellis," Martha grunted, taking back the spatula that Ellis was holding out to her, "Who bought all that fishing gear in '94 that was never used?"

As she shuffled back to the kitchen, muttering something that could impossibly be friendly, Alfred found himself laughing internally at them. There was such a charm with people who constantly quarreled but still managed to stay together. Although he knew better than to rush the flow of time, he had often wondered who he would grow old with. Whether that person existed at all. Perhaps it was someone already within his circle, but without him knowing? Without him ever knowing? Fate, if it existed, had such a grotesque tendency to be merciless.

"The airplane show today was spectacular, huh," Ellis sighed, putting down his newspaper to light a cigarette.

"Sure was," Alfred replied, picking up another box to move to the entrance.

"You young people, you're carryin' the future," the elder man continued, Martha shooting in a sarcastic, "He already knows that, Ellis."

But as he carried on and immersed himself in the topic of generations, Alfred tuned more and more out. To the point where his words were just that: Words. Words without meaning. Linguistic sounds that his ears picked up the same way as his eyes when he read. He caught nothing, because Alfred had just found the old photograph of Dad standing on the shelf.

He put the cardboard box slowly to the floor again and approached the framed photo. Unlike last time, he could now properly look at the details. He was able to discern the subtle lift of an eyebrow and the slight crinkle by his eyes caused by the cheeky grin. Despite the attitude that differed so greatly from the Arthur Alfred knew, it was the little details of how his facial muscles worked that gave away his identity. He wished the picture had colors so he could see his two green eyes as well. Perhaps in the far future.

Alfred snapped out of his daze when he heard Martha's footsteps next to him.

"I should have put it away before you came," she said, looking at it as well.

"That's alright," Alfred replied, trying his best to keep his tone carefree and lighthearted. He had cried and been on the verge of it too many times these days, sometimes it had given him an awful headache.

"Why don't you keep it?" Martha suggested. Alfred looked at her with a slight urge to protest, but she pushed the photo in his hands to his chest, giving it a light pat. She was trudging back to the kitchen before Alfred could say anything, so he simply looked at it for a few more seconds before putting it back on the shelf. He promised himself to remember to take it home. As he proceeded with moving the boxes, first to the entrance and then to the moving vehicle outside, he wondered what to do with the photograph. He thought he wanted to bring it with him to Newcastle. But wouldn't that be the most selfish act in history? was his initial reaction, but on second thought he considered once again to take it with him. Not only because he wanted it for himself, but he wanted it for Peter. In the state the poor boy was in, Alfred barely wanted to think about how unhealthily attached to that photograph Peter had the potential to become. It simply wouldn't serve anyone.

Having started his workday late due to the big event earlier today, it was only natural for Alfred to come home late as well. About to open the door, the door handle went down and stumbling out came Peter and Wendy. In the wink of an eye, Alfred hid the photograph behind his back, hoping he didn't look as suspicious as he thought.

"Where are you two heading?" he asked the children.

"Just out before bedtime," Wendy said before she and Peter disappeared down the main street. Playing outside right before bedtime certainly was a new addition to the household.

Alfred put his toe ball to his heel and dragged his shoe off, before doing the same to the other shoe. Before heading upstairs, he made a short detour into his bedroom. Now that he and Peter temporarily shared the bedroom, the chances of the little rascal finding his stuff were significantly higher; His glasses being a prime example. In a box under the bed was impractical because Peter too had a box under the bed, and if he chose the wrong box, it would be over. Alfred considered cutting open his pillow, but Peter would easily find it there given that they shared a bed. As a final solution, Alfred realized that the bedroom would not be an ideal place. Therefore, he made his way to the basement.

Unlocking the door and putting his hand on the handle, his hand trembled more than he wanted to admit. He took a deep breath, but it did not ease the tightness in his chest the slightest. The basement had been a locked off area for three weeks, and even ever so slightly side-eyeing the door had managed to be the reason for sleepless nights for Alfred. He had been so strict on himself and Peter not to go in there ever, because he had been catastrophizing about going in there and never being able to come out. He was well aware of the fact that it would never happen because there were people in the house who would drag whoever went in out, but the problem was simply the feeling he got by thinking of it.

He had to hurry before Peter returned-

"Hey, Alfred," said uncle Jack from the mezzanine floor, grinning with uncertainty, "You sure you wanna go in there?"

With a deep breath, Alfred removed his hand from the door handle and locked the door again. He turned around and looked up, seeing uncle Jack leaning over the rail. Alfred sighed and sloppily showed him the photograph.

"I got this photograph from the Moores, but I can't let Peter find it."

Uncle Jack came down the stairs and looked at it as well. Snickered.

"You got yourself a relic," he said, "You could have just asked me to hide it?"

"I can't help it," Alfred shrugged and handed the photograph over. He waited for uncle Jack to come out of the bedroom again before following upstairs, toward the comforting smell of dinner. Uncle Jack seemed to have caught onto Alfred's long inhale.

"Guess who made it," uncle Jack said excitedly, when they entered the living room.

"Wendy?"

"Yeah…" uncle Jack smiled sheepishly.

The following morning, the townsfolk gathered around the vehicle that would transport the Moores to where their hearts had set sights. At the gates of Smalltown, opposite side of where the train station was, people had to take turns to say goodbye. Many of which gifted them something, and Gilbert and Antonio had together given them a gift massive enough that it took half of the space in the backseat. Whatever was in there would forever remain a mystery to the townsfolk.

Amongst the chatter, it was eventually Alfred's turn to bid his farewells.

"Gonna miss havin' a sturdy man like you workin' for us," Martha grinned mischievously.

"Grow up and become a fine man, Kirkland," Ellis laughed in the seat next to his wife, in the way only old men could laugh.

"Oh, I'm gonna be the best Kirkland," Alfred assured them with a flex of his bicep. Martha smooched him on the cheek. The last one to talk to them was Francis, and Alfred moved away to give them privacy. After all, Francis knew the Moores better than most in town and probably had a million things he wanted to say.

When the vehicle grew smaller and smaller in the distance, their house became the first uninhabited residence in Smalltown.

Alfred had taken the liberation of asking for yet another slice of apple pie, which he had been granted. As he chewed it down with great satisfaction, someone threw their arm around his shoulders so forcefully that the slice nearly fell from his hands.

"So!" said Gilbert once they had settled, Antonio and Feliciano showing up as well, "Heard you're settled to become a city boy?"

"Oh-" Alfred started before chewing as fast as he could. Then he slowed down because whatever he answered here would have huge consequences. There was no option of 'Maybe' in Gilbert's head, because that meant 'yes'. And once Alfred said 'yes', everyone would know, and the pressure would be too great to say 'no' if he found out he didn't want to.

Oh.

"For sure!"

Three pairs of eyes widened in enthusiasm, and Gilbert pinched his cheek. Though slightly too harsh, Alfred pretended the tears forming in his eyes were of joy and not physical pain.

"You're putting my awesomeness to the test, man, calm down!" Gilbert snickered.

"I suppose that was your 'great scheme'?" Antonio asked, which Alfred tried his best to affirm as Gilbert nearly deconstructed his limbs with his friendly teasing.

"You're going to do wonders!" Feliciano added, "Congratulations!"

Now that that was finally out of the way, now that Alfred didn't have a choice but to go, he thought maybe Gilbert had done him the biggest favor of his life. For the first time, Alfred appreciated this whole university-situation fully and thoroughly, fiercely wanting to join in on the merriment the others shared. But he couldn't. Not with Peter's hand trembling and tightening in his own.