The morning air was slightly chillier than usual due to the early hours. Just two hours ago Alfred had been wandering the town's streets, and here he was yet again, but this time looking fairly more refined; With a brownish gray suit, a tie and even a hat. Today morning after uncle Jack had finished gelling his hair, Alfred could barely recognize himself; Even the dirt under the nails was mostly removed; Even his shoes were shining. Despite the strain of moving freely, Alfred had felt absolutely fantastic walking down the main street with his quartet entourage following behind. And the thought of boarding the train in such a fine attire had butterflies swarming around his belly.

"It sure will feel strange without you, hm?" uncle Francis said as he tightened his coat around his body. Admittedly, Alfred was on the verge of freezing as well, but he refused to let anything cover up his flawless fit.

"I think uncle Jack will do perfect in filling that role," Alfred remarked smugly, earning a loud exclaim of affirmation and a forceful slap on the back.

"I'm friends with everyone in town now," uncle Jack said boisterously, "So no one will be getting alone time."

"Certainly not," Wendy muttered under her breath.

Strangely enough, Alfred didn't feel too much today. Besides the confidence boost that his clothes gave him, he had quite the indifferent outlook. Whether that was a coping mechanism was up for debate, but it bothered him to some degree that he was feeling neither excited nor frightened. Perhaps he had simply felt too much these weeks, if that was possible at all.

The hand that had slapped him so harshly just a few seconds prior started patting him on the shoulder instead as uncle Jack gave him a determined nod.

"On Artie's behalf," he professed, "I'm proud of ya."

"He must be devouring his fifth pint up there," uncle Francis chuckled, Alfred laughing along. There was literally nothing he wanted more than for him to be standing on this platform as well.

"He's probably proud," Wendy interrupted, gaining a few looks at her inappropriate choice of tone, "But this doesn't matter if you're not proud too."

Her remark earned proud teasing from uncle Jack, and a nod of approval from uncle Francis and Matt.

Most certainly, Alfred himself felt proud, and would continue to do so.

He intended to pat her on the head to tease her as well, when they all turned their heads toward the honk far away.

That was when Alfred felt his gut churn.

"Alright, you go out in the world now," uncle Jack said, clearly about to ruffle his hair but remembering the hair gel at the last second. Instead, Alfred went on a little hugging spree.

First to uncle Jack. A very brotherly embrace with a pat on the back.

Then to Wendy, which was no more than a pat on the head because she was clear about not wanting a hug.

Uncle Francis. It almost felt… Motherlike.

Matt.

Oh, God, Matt.

Alfred wanted to thank him but didn't quite know what to thank him for as he hugged him, trying his best not to cry again. Matt was the first friend he had met after so many years of misery, and never for one second had Alfred had his doubts. That Matt was it. 'It' being anything, but whenever Alfred looked at Matt, the world simply clickedinto place. Every time. There were too many things to thank him for, so he didn't say anything.

As the train rolled up by the platform, Alfred grabbed his suitcase and adjusted his hat and glasses. His heart sped up significantly, and he gripped the handle slightly tighter. The steam hissed as the wagons settled, and soon a train conductor slid the door open from the inside.

Alfred barely wanted to make eye contact with the ones standing on the platform. Man, even when this was just goodbye until December! It took him a great deal of willpower to move one foot in front of the other.

It wasn't too late to run back home and go back to bed, was it…?

He would never forgive himself if he did that.

He boarded the train and put the suitcase down when he found his seat. Immediately he looked outside and opened the glass vent.

"Is it comfy in there?" uncle Jack shouted. Not wanting to wake the few sleeping passengers in his wagon, Alfred simply nodded eagerly with a thumbs up.

However, he kept being distracted by the sight of the main street behind them. He craned his neck to see if perhaps…

The murmurs of the train's engines started again before he could see any sign of him. So he directed his attention to the cheers from the quartet, smiling and nodding as if he heard what they were saying. Then again, it wasn't difficult to understand what they were trying to tell him. Eventually he had to close the vent, and the train began rolling.

His chest ached a bit now…

His little entourage moved alongside the train, and Alfred could not help but shed a tear or ten as the distance between them increased. He wanted to open the vent and shout at them. He wanted to-

Then, he saw him. A little figure came sprinting, almost stumbling onto the platform. Clutching something.

"Peter…?" Alfred breathed, gluing his cheek to the window. However, it wasn't enough. Instead, as the train's speed gradually picked up, Alfred decided to run.

Down the aisle, into the next wagon. Down a new aisle and into another wagon. Repeating the cycle while the engines hummed throughout his head, and he finally reached the last door. In the outside air, Alfred nearly hung over the rail as he saw Peter trying to catch up to the train on his hopelessly short legs.

"PETER!" Alfred shouted, but Peter ultimately fell onto the track, and reached forward the photograph that Alfred suddenly realized had forgotten to pack. His chest tightened even more, like how hard Peter clenched the frame.

"ALFIE!" The little boy cried back before uncle Jack heroically grabbed the little photograph himself and began sprinting for dear life after the train, his arm stretched forward as if it were elastic. The train, however, was far too fast for his powerful legs. Alfred tried his hardest to stay upright as the floor gradually became jello underneath his feet. He fell to his knees, leaned onto the rail and shamelessly wailed like the child he used to be. Or still was. What he was crying for could be so much. It could be the fact that he hadn't said goodbye properly to Peter. It could be because he was afraid of not being accepted in his new life. It could be because he still didn't know how Dad met his maker. It could be because Dad never told them about his struggles and that Alfred felt guilty for not being reliable enough. It could be because he forgot the photograph.

Perhaps Alfred had to admit that he felt a little lonely. That his existence was a teeny tiny bit worthless when he didn't have his loved ones to aid him. That this fancy suit didn't mean much if he were alone.

Dammit, how many things did his heart have the capacity to be consumed by at once?

But Alfred was going to become a city boy again now.

He had worked so hard, worked himself to the point of thinking that that was what his existence was all about. He had struggled, because the flow of time was persevering and unforgiving.

But so was Alfred, and the proof was that he was where he was. That he got to his feet and returned to his seat, with a little adjustment of his hat when there was a bump in the tracks.

Perhaps that was something to cry about too.