Stuck with Al's POV for this chapter, with a brief foray in Mattie's at the end. This is the previous Christmas Mattie remembers in the beginning of Chapter 5 of TYD. Al is halfway through his junior year and Mattie his sophomore year.
Content warnings for language (per usual) and alcohol use.
Al stumbles into the front lawn, hollering obscenities at the large blond boy who shoved him out the door.
"Go home and sleep it off, Alfred; you're making an ass of yourself."
"Well you're an ass already, so who's the real ass here?!"
His assailant, Gilbert's uptight square of a younger brother, only rolls his eyes and shuts the door, leaving Al standing stupidly in the warm glow of the Christmas lights.
Alfred doesn't drink. He doesn't smoke or cut class either, even though his best friends frequently do all three. But things—things being Arthur—have been insufferable ever since winter break started, and when Al left home this morning he was ready to do whatever he could to get back at him.
Gilbert was drinking heavily spiked eggnog in the garage when Al got to his house, and that seemed like a good place to start.
Now, however, it seems to have been less of a good idea than he thought. Standing out in the snow, he's hot and cold at the same time, and he can't feel his face. Not knowing what else to do, he starts walking home, muttering to himself.
"Stupid Ludwig. Ludwig. Huh! Stupid name. Motherf—!"
This last expletive is because his toe hits a gap in the sidewalk and, losing his footing, he skids sideways into a mailbox, which topples him completely to the ground.
He doesn't think he's hurt, but he also doesn't think he can get up. So he sits there, swaying and getting increasingly dizzy, until he gives up and flops backward onto the snow-crusted grass.
It's snowing. Was it snowing before? Al can't remember. But he stares, transfixed, at the flakes spinning down through the blackness like stars shooting past him.
"I'm flying," he whispers. "I'm flying."
. . .
When he finally stumbles home, up the steps, and into the front hall, he's soaking wet and shivering, and there's not even a warm house to welcome him. Like the heat, all the lights are off, and he's just resigned himself to freezing to death in the dark when a figure appears from the sitting room.
Thankfully, Al realizes after a moment of panic, it's Matthew. The relief is short-lived, however, as his brother proceeds to do his best Arthur impression.
"Where have you been?" he whispers shrilly.
Despite how numb his fingers are, Al becomes keenly aware of the bottle between them. "Out," he mutters.
He sees Mattie's gaze settle on the vodka, and braces himself for whatever reaction is coming, but there's only silence. Then, "Come on. I'll get you some dry clothes."
Al blinks, but follows his brother into the sitting room, where the fire is down to ashes and it's barely warmer than the hallway. He stands by the fireplace anyway, letting cold water begin to drip from his coat onto the hearth. Mattie disappears upstairs, and Al can hear the floorboards in their room creak. When his brother reappears, Al lets him help peel off his clothes and wrestle him into a sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants. Mattie must be able to smell the alcohol, must be frustrated with his clumsiness and lethargy, but he says nothing, only nudges him toward the couch, where there's a blanket and pillow waiting.
Al sits, then flops sideways onto the pillow and wraps the blanket awkwardly around himself. Only now that he's starting to get warm does he really feel the cold shuddering through his bones. He opens his mouth to say thank you, or apologize, or something, but he's so tired, and the wrong words come out.
"You have to go out and look at the sky, Matt," he mumbles. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before."
Mattie swallows the lump in his throat as he straightens Al's blanket. "Sure, Al. Now go to sleep."
"'Kay. M'rry Chr'zm'z, Matt."
"Merry Christmas."
Mattie picks up the mostly empty handle of vodka from beside the couch and goes out to the front steps. It's still snowing, and when Mattie looks up it's like the sky is falling down around him. So he looks down at the bottle in his hand, lifts it to his lips, and, before he can think better of it, he throws back his head and swallows the last mouthful. Then he stares into the night again, waiting for the alcohol to show him whatever it is that Al thought was so beautiful.
Okay so after a trifecta of Al angst I'd like to promise the next chapter will be something different. We'll see xD