Arthur was Alfred's brother. Maybe not by blood, but in all the other, much more important ways. He'd shown up one day, out of the blue, in middle school. He was exotic then, with his funny but nice accent and his rough and tumble attitude.
Alfred had thought Arthur was a spy, that he knew James Bond personally. Not that he ever mentioned it to Arthur. Blowing Arthur's cover would have been the last thing Alfred wanted to do, so instead he attached himself at the hip to him.
At lunch they traded food, cookies for pretzels, scones for biscuits. Arthur never told Alfred where he lived, but Alfred was always more than happy to share his home. That was when Arthur would start showing up at night with nothing but the clothes on his back, his lip split or an eye swollen shut.
Alfred's mom was gone by then, and his old man hardly spared Arthur a glance. It was up to Alfred to do his best, whip out his dinky first aid kit and put on his bravest Boy Scout voice and tell Arthur he would fix everything. But he was twelve, and the best he could do was prod at Arthur with gauze and hydrogen peroxide while he assured Arthur that it really didn't look all that bad.
Arthur never gave specifics when Alfred asked what had happened to him, but he did tend to do a lot of muttering and pouting and foot stomping. Once Alfred thought he heard Arthur mention something about his mom having a new boyfriend, but that was the closest he ever got to the truth.
Alfred wondered a lot about Arthur as they grew up together. Where he would end up in life, if he'd ever be happy, if his seemingly permanent, almost feral expressions would soften. He'd grown up, gone from bristly and boyish to rugged and ill-groomed.
His thick eyebrows were dotted with piercings, his ears just as decorated. His clothes were ripped and torn, leather and denim. Studded bracelets were strapped to his wrists and his boots were tipped with steel. When he smiled it was something wild, untamed, his teeth yellowed by nicotine, a slight gap between the top incisors. His forearms were decorated with cigarette burns and tattoos crawled up his neck.
But Alfred loved him. Alfred loved him because they were brothers, family, had told each other quiet things and had been sworn to eternal secrecy. And while Arthur might drink too much, or smell like stale smoke, he never pushed anything on Alfred. He snarled and sneered at strangers, but always had a kind look in his eyes when he spoke to Alfred.
His advice was second to none, and to Alfred, he was the man to go to with his problems. That was how they ended up meeting at school these days, even though Arthur wasn't strictly enrolled anymore. He came and went during lunch, checked up on Alfred and reminded him to keep up on his schoolwork, asked if Alfred had anything in particular on his mind.
He was a punk rock counselor, and Alfred wanted nothing more. There was no better person to tell his problems to, to turn to for help and advice, or simply for a shoulder to lean on and an ear that would listen. So he was the one Alfred turned to, the two of them sitting beneath the bleachers, Alfred nibbling on pizza as Arthur blew smoke rings.
"What's it like being with a guy?" Alfred asked, his words muffled by a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.
"What's it like being with a girl?" Arthur returned, the edges of his lips curling.
"Uh, I dunno. It's kind of hard to explain, I think."
"And you think it's any easier for me to explain what it's like to be with a guy?"
Alfred frowned. "I figured since you know everything else you could explain it to me."
Arthur laughed, the noise raspy, like the bark of a stray dog. "You're a good boy, but sometimes you need to think before you speak."
"Tell me about it," Alfred said with a groan. "What's it like to be in love then, can you tell me that?"
Arthur's eyes took on a dreamy quality, like a man lost in memories. "You know how sometimes, whenever I get a new guy, I have a bad habit of not checking up on you enough?"
Alfred nodded vigorously. He could recall a half-dozen times off the top of his head where Arthur had mentioned a John, or a Scott, once even a Herbert. Names that would make him leave, make Arthur nothing but a name himself, something that sat in Alfred's head for months on end before the real thing would come back. Sometimes he already had a new name on his lips, or at least a few crude comments about the last one.
The look in Arthur's eyes faded for a moment as he leaned in, his expression slackening with his concern. "You know I don't mean to do that, right, lad? But that's what love does to you. It makes you forget about everyone else."
"Like how they say you only have eyes for them or something?"
"Precisely," Arthur said. "It's like there's too much─ too much affection in your heart, and it pushes everyone else out." He took a long drag from his cigarette, his words spliced with smoke on his exhale. "And it feels bloody good."
Alfred let Arthur bask in his thoughts for a moment, watched him be overtaken by the past again. Alfred had never loved so much that there wasn't room for anyone else, but he got the feeling that was the case for most couples he saw. He told himself that'd never happen, that he wouldn't be the guy who abandoned his friends to chase after a pretty girl, but he knew better than to think he was above it. No one else seemed to be.
"When did you figure out you liked boys?" Alfred said, piping up as Arthur's faraway smile started to fade.
Arthur chewed the inside of his cheek as his thick brows furrowed. "It was more that I realized I didn't like girls."
"Oh." Alfred nursed a bottle of coke, looking everywhere but at Arthur.
"Alfred," Arthur said gently. "Are you having some trouble with the ladies? Tell you what, I could fix you up with Anna. She's a right fit bird─"
"No," Alfred blurted. "It's not like that at all. Don't even worry about it, bro."
Arthur regarded Alfred with a certain suspicion, eyes narrowed and curious, searching Alfred's face. Alfred quickly set to work on his second piece of pizza, his tongue burning under the too-hot taste. Arthur sighed and shook his head, letting his cigarette drop to the ground and smothering it with the heel of his boot.
"If you say so, lad. But if you ever want anyone, let me know and I'll find you someone."
The bell rang, a hollow, dreadful buzz, and Alfred nervously straightened his jacket and gave Arthur a lopsided smile. "Thanks for talkin' to me, Arthur. I'll see you around, 'kay?"
Arthur ruffled his hair for the smallest second. "Keep yourself out of trouble and wear clean pants."
Alfred laughed. "Okay, mom. I'll be good."
"I know you will," Arthur said. "But if you need anything, be sure to call. Don't bother stopping by the flat, I've been staying with Steve lately."
"I'll keep that in mind. See ya 'round." Alfred gave a single wave as his hiked his backpack over his shoulder and headed back to class. He already knew his calls would go unanswered, his messages never returned. He'd be pushed out of Arthur's heart by this Steve character.
He had started to understand what Arthur had told him, about the crowding of the heart. Ivan had started to make himself comfortable in Alfred's heart after all, taken up the empty space that Arthur left when he went away for months with his names, the chunk that had been gone since Alfred's mom left. He'd slowly filtered into all the nooks and crannies, and Alfred found he didn't mind.