There's so much that goes on in Al's head that I knew about the whole time I was writing TYD, but it was Mattie's story, so I'm really enjoying being able to reveal some of the these other aspects. And of course, Gilbert and Antonio are so much fun.

Per Alfred's description of events, this takes place a couple months before Chapter 5 of TYD. Only content warning is for smoking and language.

It's not fair, and Alfred knows it.

But nothing about his life has been fair for a long time, so he's just playing the game.

"So you think you can do it?" He takes a puff of the cigarette between his fingers and coughs, handing it back to Gilbert. "God, how do you do that every day?"

"Superior genetics and a can-do attitude, mostly," his companion replies sagely. Gil takes a substantially longer drag and sweeps his platinum bangs to the side. "And sure. I'll do some digging."

"'Do some digging,'" Antonio repeats in a stuffy tone. He too pulls on his cigarette, and then blows smoke through his nostrils. "You know that means he's just gonna break into his dad's office, right?"

Al knows. Gilbert's dad is on the city council, and if he doesn't personally have the information Al wants, it's going to be a good starting point.

"Yeah, Tony," Gil drawls, "Gonna be some real Ocean's Eleven shit."

Antonio flicks a cigarette butt at his friend and lights up another. "Why do you wanna find this guy anyway, Al?" He squints over Gil's shoulder at the note in his hand. "'Francis Bonnefoy?'"

Al studies his fingers, flexing them nervously, then clears his throat. "It's Mattie's old foster dad," he says finally.

Antonio's eyebrows shoot skyward, but he continues to smoke in silence. Whatever he has understood, however, Gilbert clearly hasn't gotten there yet.

"What's so special about him?"

Al coughs weakly. "Nothing, he's just—Mattie's kind of obsessed with him, you know?"

The cruelty of his words stuns him as they leave his mouth. When did he become like this? How? So ruthless that he would exploit his own brother's greatest weaknesses? So unfeeling as to casually reveal them to strangers?

Gilbert is still lost. "So how does that help you?"

Al swallows hard. "I mean it doesn't—Well, not directly—"

"God, you're dense, Gil," Antonio groans, extinguishing his cigarette against the cinderblock wall. "Just find the guy and stop hurting your brain." He stands up straight and stretches. "That's the bell; are we going to class?"

"Nah," Gilbert replies at the same time Al blurts out a relieved "Yes."

Antonio rolls his eyes. "Whatever. The mom's been on my case about grades, so I'm going."

"Yeah, yeah, Arthur too," Al mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets and following Tony.

"Ugh, you guys suck." Gil sticks his cigarette in one corner of his mouth and talks out the other. "Fine, go ahead. Maybe I'll catch up."

Once they've turned the corner and are headed towards the front door of the school, Antonio speaks.

"Do you think it'll work?" he asks, looking sideways at Al.

Al kicks some loose gravel. "I don't know. Maybe I won't have to use it."

"It's been what, like ten years, right? Would he really still leave Arthur for this Francis guy?"

"I don't know."

He wouldn't. Al knows that.

But Arthur might not.