Chapter One

America

The road to the London airport was drowning in the kind of heavy fog you can only find in those wee hours between night and day. It smothered the flickering street lamps that were struggling to keep their heads above the fog's weightless pull, leaving Arthur Kirkland to drive all but blind. Despite this, he felt himself press down harder on the gas pedal, desperate to make his three a.m. flight to Chicago. He flinched as headlights flashed at him from within the haze. Spectral eyes grew larger and larger until their bright yellow light filled the dingy cab of Arthur's car and blinded him until, suddenly, they were gone leaving only a distorted echo in the darkness, and bright patches in his eyes.

Arthur desperately wanted to slow down. He hated driving in the dark even on the clearest night, let alone in the fog. His muscles were bunched so tightly that he felt like a wind-up toy kept alive by nothing more than his own tension. He couldn't miss this plane. Everything he owned was packed in the single, ratty leather suitcase stuffed in the trunk and there was no going back. He was thirty-three, with no job, no savings, and no prospects here in England. He didn't even own the car he was driving. This was the last time he would drive it before he flew away and the junkers would come to pick up his rattling heap from the airport parking lot.

Absolutely everything was riding on this, and Arthur had never felt so petrified. He strove to be cautious and practical in all things, as all decent people ought to and only took the most measured risks that guaranteed reward and cultivated a healthy, respectable, sense of ambition. This worked in his favour more often than not, however, as with any gambling, not every wager could turn out in one's favour. Arthur had owned a rather successful tea shop in Whitby. He had started it when he was in his mid-twenties, and as an impressive young entrepreneur in his town, he stayed on top of the ageing competition.

Arthur felt his teeth clench as he remembered the feeling of pride and confidence that had come with his success. The foolish - childish - hope that had compelled him to try to open a second shop, and in Leeds of all places. The damn place was more than seven times the size of Dunwich without nearly the same kind of competition! He wasn't up against locals with their family-owned shops and traditional food, he was suddenly competing against… against… Starbucks and McDonalds and the goddamn Coffee Republic! The undertow had swept him away into the corporate sea before he'd even set foot on the beach.

So he borrowed money. He'd taken it from anyone. He'd wheedled it out of his friends, family and eventually from men in seedy bars with low standards and high interest rates, only for everything to go belly up in less than two years. In a matter of months, Arthur was irreversibly indebted to the bank, several friends, most of his family and most worryingly, a few loan sharks.

He was worth £800 000 below zero. Arthur Kirkland, officially worth less than worthless.

Moving back in with his parents had probably been the most crushing blow. After fifteen years of solid independence and high prospects, seeing his childhood room again, now converted into a guest room, was like having a red-hot machete thrust into his still gaping wounds and twisted violently.

"Of course it's not your fault darling, and you can stay here until you get back on your feet," his mother had said to him on the phone. He could hear her forced smile and it sounded like grinding cotton between your teeth. It was his fault though. He should have known better. He should have been more responsible. He should have done something, anything other than just wake up one morning to a notice from the bank telling him his account was overdrawn. It was disgusting how quickly and spectacularly he'd failed. Now he was a burden on his family, and he was quickly dragging them down like a pair of cement shoes, down into the murky depths of a river.

Not a week after he declared bankruptcy, he was approached by several men who pulled into an alleyway. They had heard what had happened to his shop and wished him the best for the future, because the other option was him being unable to pay up and that would mean they'd made a bad investment.

"Lucky for us though, we never make bad investments. Our guys always pay up… in money or teeth."

That night, Arthur was unable to sleep for all the bruises on his torso. He tossed and turned but there was no possible way to lay down without the sharp pain of several fresh bruises. He never breathed a word about them though, no need to worry his family and everything was easily hidden with a long sleeved shirt. These men were professionals and managed to cause just enough damage to send him a message but not to the hospital. No broken bones and never the face. That's evidence.

However, months passed and as Arthur feel further and further behind o n his payments, he began seeing non-descript black cars and mysterious figures all over the place; most worryingly, circling the block outside his parent's house.

He realized he had to go, soon and in secret. He remembered looking through the boxes upon boxes of his mother's keepsakes, looking for the Christmas card that would turn out to be his golden ticket to freedom.

Every year for the past twelve years, a Christmas card was sent to his mother from the United States, Chicago specifically, from an Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams. It was always filled with vague, but heartfelt, well-wishes and one American dollar, though in recent years, the amount had gone up to twenty. His mother had always assumed it was from her nephews as she had a sister living in Montreal who married a Williams. They weren't particularly close but she hadn't been surprised they had moved to the States without saying anything. Still, it was a lifeline.

Arthur used the most recent return address to track down a phone number and made the call. He had been ready to beg, grovel, barter and demean himself in any way he had to, but that turned out to be unnecessary. As soon as he told the voice on the other end who he was, the deal was struck. He hardly had the opportunity to ask for a favour before his request was granted.

The eagerness was highly suspicious, but Arthur could no longer afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Alfred was apparently around twenty-five years old and infinitely better off than Arthur. Living in Chicago was not cheap and from what he had gathered Alfred was living rather comfortably. He too had thrown himself into self-employment as the owner of a gun range, but apparently had a better business sense than he. Arthur arranged to stay with him until he could establish himself in the States. He'd told him about his business going south and how he felt he could be successful again in the US. He decided to leave out the bits where he was a fugitive from illegal debts and leaving in such a hurry that he had no time to go through the altogether proper channels to legally stay as long as he intended to. Run first, questions later. All he needed a fresh start, and it was waiting for him right outside his now parked car.

Arthur glanced quickly at his blocky digital watch, 11:36 its green, segmented numbers read. He was three and a half hours early. Three and a half hours early and still panicking. His old 1978 Austin Allegro was the last thing he was going to see from his old life, and it desperately needed an air freshener. He reclined the seat a little so he could lay down and consider. The ceiling of his car was stained and, now that he was looking at it, obviously sagging a little in the middle. How it had kept running this long on nothing but faith, trust and pixie dust was a mystery to him. He sighed as his stomach knotted itself into thistly tangles. Wasn't this a little rash? He still had a chance here, in England. With people who had proper accents, drove on the correct side of the street, measured in goddamn metric for Christ's sake! He sat up in his seat and felt his hand turn the ignition key without his permission. The Allegro coughed back to life. He couldn't do this, it was too much. He hadn't even been to bloody Scotland before! His hands were shaking, and so was the rest of him. He nearly threw up as nervous shivers wracked his body. He felt like a chihuahua and it was humiliating.

He had to do this. It simply had to be done. He was in debt and in over his head. America was the land of opportunity. He would work hard, make money and start over. No looking back.

The cold night air pushed the breath from his lungs when he kicked his car door open violently, not caring in the slightest if he damaged anything. He'd never see it again. The dim lighting of the airport parking lot was just enough to find his way by and nothing more. Suitcase in hand, he slammed the door shut and walked determinedly into the night fog.

~ O ~ O ~ O~

The next morning, Arthur was in Chicago. Jet-lagged, hungry, sore and nervous, he tried to navigate the gargantuan airport in search of a decent cup of tea. After a while, he realized he would have to settle for mediocre airport teabags as every restaurant there was eagerly overcharging desperate travellers. At least, he assumed they were… dealing in dollars, everything tended to look ridiculously expensive.

The airport was stylishly designed (as many international airports are, trying to make a good first impression, Arthur supposed) with curved windows and walls that swooped high into the air to give one a feeling of smallness. Sun was streaming in and lit up the white hallways with a lovely natural light seldom achieved in rainy England. This simple fact, along with the meager caffeine in his system, greatly lifted Arthur's mood. This was going to be a brand new start.

He decided that, since he had no place to be quite yet and still had to phone a taxi to Alfred's apartment, he could afford to just sit for a while and take in the hustle and bustle of an American airport. He sat in a waiting area by a window, just sipping at his tea and looking out to try and see the famous skyline he'd heard so much about. That is until two hands clapped down roughly on his shoulders.

"Artie! Hey! I've been waiting for ya by the door for forever!" an excited, American voice sounded from just above his head. Arthur spun around so quickly he splashed himself with tea, scalding his fingers.

"Ow!- what? Hey!" He grunted, looking down at his ruined shirt with a frown. "What do you think you're doing?" He looked up to see a tall blond man with blue eyes and rectangular glasses looking apologetic, but not really moving to help.

"Oh dude, sorry. I hit people harder than I think sometimes." Then his face broke out into a grin that, now that it was on his face, made his concerned look seem unnatural in hindsight. "But hey! I found ya! Welcome to Chicago!" He held out his hand warmly to Arthur who was busy wiping his own hands on his pants to try to rub away both the tea and the pain. "Call me Al!" Ah. This was Alfred. Arthur was relieved to know it wasn't some stranger who happened to know his name. Now that he was looking, he thought that the blond of their hair and the cut of their jaws were vaguely similar, although Arthur's green eyes had never once looked so openly cheerful, he was sure. He finally took Alfred's hand with a curt smile. "Arthur." Alfred let out a barking laugh as he throttled Arthur's whole arm. "I knew that already dude, it's written on your suitcase. Now come on, we got a lot to see!" The man never seemed to stop yelling and as he bounced away down the hall, Arthur had no choice but to follow him.

"I didn't know you were going to be here, I just assumed I would take a taxi to your apartment." Arthur said, "I'm sorry that I made you wait." Alfred just beamed at him.

"Y'know what? Your accent is super fun. It makes me so happy just to hear you talk." Arthur suddenly felt very self-conscious and a little miffed at being outright ignored. "Anyway, I'm parked like a million miles away dude, so let's get going."

As they made their way out of the airport and across its expanse of a parking lot, it seemed Alfred tried his best to make conversation without really knowing how. "So, you're gonna be staying with me for a while huh? Aunt Brittany told me you were having some money troubles. Well don't worry about it, you can live with me rent-free, buddy! Well, I mean, until you get a job that is. We're gonna have so much fun! I'm gonna take you around Chicago and show you the sights, introduce ya to all my friends, take you to my favorite bars… we're gonna watch football! How'd you end up broke anyway? Booze? Drugs? Gambling? Was it a girl? It's always a girl. Probably got ya wrapped around her finger and took ya for all you're worth, huh Art? Well…" Alfred was clearly a rambler. And the only thing worse than a rambler was an overexcited rambler. Which Alfred, again, clearly was. Arthur couldn't get a word in edgewise and it was getting on his nerves. He was almost starting to regret this arrangement. Hopefully, it would get easier to talk to him once he (and his accent) stopped being such a novelty. So he smiled politely and tuned him out until they reached the car; and what a car it was. A top of the line, red 1993 Cadillac Allante, looking fresh off the lot and shining like a commercial. Its white top was down, leaving the leather seats exposed to the elements, Arthur couldn't even imagine leaving his own clunker unlocked while he ran into a store, let alone leaving the top down on a brand new car to wait for hours in the airport. He gaped at both the car and Alfred's casual disregard for safety.

"Pretty nice right? Just got her last month. Drives like a dream and she's a total babe magnet." Alfred winked, noticing Arthur's expression and running his hand down the hood of the car. Then his smile turned mischievous. "Say, you wouldn't wanna... drive it would ya?"

Alfred Jones was unequivocally Arthur's favorite person.

The pair cruised around Chicago all morning, going sightseeing and stopping here and there for photos and to meet up with Alfred's friends. Arthur was a little wary of being thrown into so many social situations before he even got to put his suitcase down, but he was grateful for the warm reception he supposed. Nonetheless, he was relieved when Alfred told him that he was hungry, so the tour was being put on hold for a late lunch break.

The bistro Alfred had picked was out of the way and situated in one of the more rundown neighbourhoods. Despite it being lunchtime, the smoky and dimly lit inside was quiet and almost empty, while the generically Italian music playing softly from the speakers in the ceiling only seemed to emphasize its desertedness. Booths lined the brick walls while a couple round, wire tables were scattered in the center of the room. It was a little intimidating, to be honest, but Alfred swung easily into the second booth from the door and gestured for Arthur to sit down. Then to Arthur's horror, he inhaled deeply… and yelled at the top of his lungs, "HEY FELI! COMING OUT TO SAY HI OR WHAT?"

Arthur was mortified. The two other people in the restaurant sent the two death glares but Alfred didn't seem to notice at all. Soon, a small man with light brown hair and olive skin scurried out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a flour-covered apron.

"Alfred! Hey, long time no see!" He bent down to hug Alfred, leaving white powdery stains on the man's brown bomber jacket. "And who's this? New friend?" he said with a wink, nudging his shoulder with an elbow. Alfred laughed, as loud as ever, earning some more glares.

"Ew dude, he's my cousin! And like, a dude." Arthur blushed and reconsidered Alfred's rank as his favorite person. Thankfully, the brown-haired man, (Feli?) was not nearly so socially inept. He leaned casually on the table and held his hand out for Arthur to shake.

"Feliciano Vargas. So happy to meet you! Any friend of Al's is a friend of mine!" He seemed to have the same kind of face as Alfred, that is to say, it seemed like smiling was the only expression at home on his face. This smile seemed a little softer when compared to Alfred's loud one; if smiles could be loud that is. Somehow, Alfred's managed it.

"Um, Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

"OOOOH! An Englishman!" Felciano squealed. Arthur supposed he would have to get used to things like this.

"Er, yes. I just moved from Dunwich-"

"Is that in London?" Alfred interrupted. Arthur resisted the urge to freeze up in shock.

"No, Dunwich is a town."

"Yeah? So how far away is it from London?"

"Um-"

"Nevermind him, Arthur. He really doesn't know anything," Feliciano whispered, "When I told him my family was from Rome, it blew his mind that it still existed." Arthur chuckled a little at that.

"Hey what are you guys whispering about?" Alfred asked, kneeling on his bench so he could lean across the table. "Secrets?" He asked with a grin.

"Nothing at all!" Feliciano said, standing up straight and making a pen and paper appear from seemingly nowhere. "What can I get for you two gentlemen?"

"My regular and Artie here's gotta try your Calzones," Alfred said with a grin. Then he turned to Arthur and gave him a wink. "Trust me, you're gonna love 'em." Arthur was a little peeved he didn't get to make his own choice but wasn't going to pick a fight on his first day.

"No problem guys! I'll be right back!"

The two made small talk while they waited for the food. Alfred bombarded Arthur with questions about England and the Queen and his accent and the food and the plane and it just went on and on, but Arthur was relieved that at least he didn't have to be the one to hold up the conversation. Not that he was incapable, but was still severely jetlagged and could barely focus on anything right now.

"Hey one second buddy, I gotta pee." he said, suddenly getting up and rushing off to the little hallway in the back marked Restroom. Arthur was a little stunned by the man's abruptness but unsurprised.

He sat in awkward silence by himself until he heard the bell on the door give a little jingle. He turned to see who had entered. He felt his mouth fall open a little as he saw the huge figure that had just entered the restaurant. He was wearing a long grey coat and white scarf to match his similarly silvery-white hair. Why his hair was so pale, Arthur couldn't imagine, he was clearly only in his mid-thirties at most and it did not seem dyed. Upon closer inspection, he supposed the colour could have been considered blonde? He had a very prominent nose and a generally hard look about him, not helped by the intimidating aura cast by his size and posture. He was hunched over the table in his booth, taking swigs from a flask and scowling. Arthur imagined that, underneath that coat, he was well-muscled and probably scarred. He looked the type to be. Then suddenly, the man's eyes met his. They were a cold grey that sent shivers down Arthur's spine. Unthinkingly, he held the man's gaze, then realized with a sharp fear that he had been staring for at least ten seconds straight. He dropped his eyes in a panic and he heard the man huff and take another drink.

It wasn't long until Alfred emerged from the bathroom. He rounded the corner of the hallway, still wiping his hands on his t-shirt, when something caught his eye. His grin contorted darkly and he stood up a little straighter. Instead of coming back to his own table, and his waiting housemate, he made a beeline for the big newcomer's table. He sauntered in what he must have thought was an intimidating way, his thumbs in his belt loops and chin held high, but he only succeeded in looking like a little kid playing cowboy. Which, judging by what he said next, might have been a little too apt a description.

"Didn't think you'd have the guts to show your face around here again, Ivan." he smirked, finally reaching the booth. The man didn't look up, but took a swig from his flask. The restaurant had somehow gone even quieter and the two men who had been quietly chatting had turned to watch. Arthur saw them each place a 20 dollar bill on the table in front of them. This was clearly not the first time this had happened. "What, cat got your tongue, comrade?" Alfred said, a little louder, leaning on the table and placing his hand right where Ivan had been about to set his drink. Arthur hissed through his teeth. A poor choice on his cousin's part. There was no way Alfred could take that titan. Sure, Alfred clearly worked out and was impressively built but, no. This guy was another level. Arthur expected to see Alfred sprawled out on the floor in a total KO in two seconds flat, but that was certainly not what happened.

"Why hello Alfred! I didn't see you there. How are you feeling today?" the man asked, turning to look at Alfred with the softest smile Arthur had ever seen. The plastic happiness on Ivan's face was probably scarier than any anger he could have expressed. It was a mask, and like all masks, was inherently scary not only for its own uncanny fakeness but the uncertainty of what it could be concealing.

"Great, actually. I think you need to get to the gym more, Matthew hit me harder than you. Bruise already cleared up." Alfred said with a grin.

The man hummed happily. His russian accented voice was higher and more soft-spoken than Arthur would have guessed. "That is wonderful to hear. I pride myself on knowing exactly how to beat a man without leaving too much evidence." What? What was Alfred doing? Why did he enjoy poking bears?!

"Sure dude. Maybe you just got a couple lucky shots in, but obviously they weren't lucky enough cuz I'm still standing." Alfred countered, leaning down to get into the man's face. The man just continued to smile.

"I've always been a lucky man Alfred. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you. Remember that." The room suddenly went cold as all the heat in the room was sucked away to power the hate-filled coal fire that was burning across the room.

Arthur was incredibly relieved when Feliciano popped out of the kitchen with an armful of styrofoam containers.

"Sorry for the wait, I saw Ivan come in and I had to go re-pack your food," he whispered, setting down the pile of food, he seemed both on edge and completely exasperated. "I hope you don't mind that it's to-go," he looked genuinely apologetic and very put-upon, "please just play along, it's better that way." Arthur shrugged and nodded, watching as Feliciano went to take Ivan's order, 'accidentally' shoving Alfred to the side. He seemed a little upset about it until he realized that that meant he had food of his own. He practically ran over to their table with a big grin, but it fell into a look of confusion when he saw the to-go boxes. "I could've sworn we were gonna eat in…" he said, scratching his head. Arthur gave him a shrug and steered him out of the restaurant.

"I definitely heard you say to-go, c'mon, we're leaving."

Arthur dragged Alfred into the parking lot by his elbow while Alfred was already chewing on a slice of pizza he had snagged from the box.

"What the hell was that Alfred?" Arthur asked as he slammed the passenger side door closed. Alfred had already lept into the driver's seat, calling dibs.

"What was what?" Alfred looked genuinely confused, his voice muffled by his mouthful of pizza.

"You, trying to pick a fight with that russian bloke! Do you know him?"

"Well duh I know him, I'm not gonna just get up in some random guy's face." Alfred said, exasperatedly waving his pizza around, accidentally flinging some cheese onto the seat. Arthur was relieved to hear that at least.

"Ah, I see, so it was just an odd... buddy thing you do?" Arthur tried to confirm. Alfred began to laugh. Loudly. Arthur was concerned he was about to choke on his pizza

"N-Nah," he stuttered between guffaws, "I hate that guy. Waitwaitwait, check it out," Alfred gulped down his pizza and began to lift up his shirt. Arthur was suddenly very uncomfortable and glued his eyes to whatever he could see out the windshield. "I was kinda lying when I said the bruises already faded, he hits pretty hard. Not as hard as me though. Obviously." Arthur peeked over and did a double take when he saw the familiar huge splatterings of purple tinged with green and yellow that were peppered all over Alfred's torso. He was a little surprised the man could even move. It seemed Ivan wasn't as subtle as he claimed to be, but he clearly knew what he was doing. Big bruises over the kidneys, solar plexus and gut were the largest with a smattering of smaller ones along the ribs. Arthur guessed Ivan hadn't wanted to break them. Arthur felt his hand reach out to ghost over the bruises, but he snatched it back. He shouldn't try to touch them.

"He got a couple lucky hits in, but I bet he looks worse." Alfred smirked. If that was true, it was no wonder the man was so miserable looking.

"What the fuck were you fighting about?" Arthur breathed. He'd done a little brawling in his time, but this was… methodically savage. Alfred shrugged.

"Eh, the usual. He was cheating at cards, I called him out for being a commie creep, he got offended and the rest is history." Arthur's face fell into his hands in exasperation. If Feliciano hadn't shooed them out, Arthur had no doubt they would have gone for round two. Or perhaps round twenty would be more accurate from the way people acted around them.

"You are a complete idiot Alfred Jones," he moaned. Alfred just laughed again and grinned.

"I'm a hero, Artie," he said, revving up his car and pulling out of the bistro parking lot at high speed.

On the road again, Alfred soon seemed to have forgotten all about his encounter with Ivan and was instead singing at the top of his lungs to the radio as he drove. Normally, that could be endearing in its own way, but…

"AND I-EE-I WILL AAALLWAYS LOVE YOU-OO-OO-OO-OO-OO!" Alfred sang, or rather, yelled. The top of the car was still down and there was nothing to shield innocent passerby from his musical assault. Arthur had to hand out shrugs and apologetic glances to try and distance himself from his cousin's impromptu concert. He felt himself begin to sink lower and lower into his seat.

"Would you please quiet down Alfred? People are staring!" Arthur hissed up at him from the car floor. Alfred just shot him a look that said are they? I hadn't noticed and cranked the music louder.

Hopefully they would get to his apartment soon. Or crash. Arthur really had no preference at this point.

Through some mercy of the universe, they did eventually reach a more residential area of the city and Alfred toned it down. The street was lined with well-manicured grass and what Arthur always referred to in his head as "city trees", evenly planted, and precisely trimmed little things, proudly sporting their fall colours for the few weeks before the notorious Chicago wind stripped them naked for winter. The buildings were much the same, never much taller than three stories, the stocky red and white brick buildings with decorative archways and window accents had a uniquely American charm to them. Practical, uniform, and optimized for space, they radiated a dense urban atmosphere that Arthur couldn't help but like.

Alfred swung his car into a parallel park outside one of the buildings (Arthur would have to learn the number as it was practically identical to all the other buildings on the street) and jumped out of the car over the door rather than opening it. Arthur opted out of that particular display.

"Here we are! Home sweet home, compadre!" he said, making a full-bodied gesture to the whole building as Arthur was grabbing his suitcase from the trunk, "Mi casa es su casa!" It was actually quite a lovely building. It seemed to have three flat-style apartments, with each floor belonging to a tenant, but Arthur couldn't really be sure until they got inside. Both sides of the building were flanked by a hexagonal tower with windows on each face, and over the newly painted black doorway was a cement arch that read Est. 1942. Alfred ran over to Arthur and slung his arms around his shoulders, making Arthur flinch. "That one's mine," he said, pointing to the third floor excitedly, "I got the penthouse, baby!"

"I don't think having an apartment on the third floor really qualifies as a penthouse Alfred, but as you were," he found himself saying dryly. Alfred just laughed and gave his shoulders a shake.

"You're so funny Artie."

After putting up the roof on Alfred's car (at Arthur's vehement request) the two men walked themselves up the small sidewalk to through the large wooden door and into what might be called the lobby. It was little more than a small boot-room with a wall lined with scratched up golden mail lockers and a door that led to the stairs. Arthur was suddenly quite glad he didn't have much stuff as he wouldn't like to lug anything up two flights on that narrow staircase. Someone had put a little vase of fake flowers on a stool next to the door though, that was cute. Suddenly, Alfred tugged the suitcase out of Arthur's hand, flashed him a grin and an I gotcha buddy, and began the climb up the stairs. Arthur once again had no choice but to follow.

"How 'bout I give ya the grand tour?" Alfred said as they walked. "First off, the elevator's been broken forever and I honestly don't expect Yao to get it fixed anytime soon, so, sorry bud, you're about to get some buns of steel. There's only three floors and three guys living here though, so it's not too bad. The first floor's Yao, he's the landlord and an ok dude. He's got loads of great stories and doesn't evict me when I'm a whole two months late on my rent! Yelled a lot about it, but didn't evict me!" He said cheerfully. "You'll meet him probably tomorrow, he likes to know everybody who lives here. Don't get weirded out when you see him though, he looks my age but he's actually, like, forty. He's basically a grandpa when you get to know him." The pair reached the second landing and passed it without comment which Arthur found odd. "Oh yeah, we got a laundry room and some storage in the basement, so that's great. I hate going to the laundromat. It's such a waste of time." Alfred continued, not missing a beat. That was good, Arthur noted. He wasn't particularly fond of the strange spectacle that was a laundromat on a Sunday afternoon either. People, either half-naked or sporting their tackiest I 3 MOM / Fishing is for Real Men t-shirts, savagely competing for one of the few dryers that worked. A fresco of human nature at its purest and most unwashed.

Soon they had reached the third-floor landing and as Alfred patted himself down trying to find the keys in his hand, Arthur was hit with a sudden wave of reality. This was real. His new life was here, in America, in this apartment, with… Alfred. Not that he didn't like the guy, but being around him was giving him flashbacks to his days as a babysitter. Especially one kid, Peter. Now that boy was a handful. He was sweet enough, but followed Arthur around like a duckling and demanded to be treated like an adult despite being five and not even knowing how to tie his own shoes. At least his family paid well. Looking back now, Arthur was suddenly struck with the sneaking suspicion that Tino's tall "roommate" was probably more than a friend. His twelve-year-old mind hadn't even considered the possibility for a moment and now... well he'd rather not dwell on it.

While Arthur lost himself in a completely unrelated mental tangent, Alfred managed to find the keys he was holding and open the door to the apartment. "Ta-da!" he said, kicking his shoes off and into the disorganized closet. Arthur stepped in right behind and was a little stunned.

The door opened directly into the living room and the place was absolutely dripping with Americana of every sort. Flags and framed sports jerseys on the walls, signed basketballs, football helmets, on the shelves, eagle printed throw-pillows, presidential bobbleheads on the window sill and across from a huge flat-screen television, a big map hanging above the leather couch. Arthur could see that there were thumbtacks placed sporadically all over it, most likely indicating all the places he'd been, which was apparently a lot. It all seemed to be a disorganized mess, but in a tidy way? There was little in the way of cohesion to the living room, but it was clear that Alfred had recently put some elbow grease into making sure things were at least put away.

The whole place was very decently sized, being that it was an entire floor. With a nicely open layout and plenty of windows, Arthur could see this being a very stylish place to live, if it didn't have the interior design of your average man-cave. The kitchen was large and connected to the dining room where Alfred had a wooden table covered in coffee rings and scratches on one side, Arthur assumed that was the side he ate on, and a pretty new-looking chrome refrigerator and microwave. The stove on the other hand, was white, kind of beat up, and too small for its enclave, leaving poorly swept out gaps between the counter and its base.

Alfred led Arthur down a short hallway with three doors, introducing them as they passed. "That first door's the bathroom, please remember to flush and you can use my toothpaste and stuff if you want but if you do, be a pal and chip in for toiletries when you can," he said with a wave of his hand, passing to the next door. "This one's my room, it's pretty sweet and you can come chill whenever, just don't wreck my saved games though." Alfred opened the door to his spacious but densely packed room. There were bookshelves on two of the four walls with a hectic collection of seemingly miscellaneous items. Comics, magazines, movies, video games and books were jumbled together with large superhero figurines and a framed photograph of Alfred and some other boy who looked quite similar to him. The rest of the wall space was papered with posters. Everything from rock bands to scantily-clad girls on motorcycles to strange conspiracy posters with alien faces and pyramids with eyes. Alfred seemed to have a wide variety of… unique interests. He even had a computer. The boxy, convex monitor was sitting on a desk near the window, the little box (a modem?) was humming quietly underneath.

Arthur realized at that moment that despite the sports car, nice clothes, gym membership and confident demeanor, Alfred was an absolute geek. A kind-hearted jock, but a geek nonetheless. Hm. It seemed his cousin was full of surprising contradictions.

Before he could comment, Alfred was already opening the third and final door at the end of the hallway.

"The living room's the one tower and you get the other! How cool is that? It's empty cuz I figured you'd have your own stuff you'd wanna put in here, but I guess you just got the one bag." Alfred said, jumping from the doorway and into the middle of the room with a flourish. Arthur followed him in, gazing happily at the semi-hexagonal, window-filled wall of the tower. But the room was indeed entirely empty and Arthur looked at his single suitcase, a little embarrassed. Alfred elbowed him in the ribs in what Arthur supposed was a reassuring way. "No sweat though dude, I got an old mattress and bedframe hidden in the basement and I know Yao's got lots of old furniture he'll sell for cheap. We can go shopping once you're all settled in!"

Arthur smiled. It looked like things were falling into place. A strange, new and unpredictable place, but a place nonetheless. His cousin was friendly and generous, if a little grating; Alfred seemed to be a popular guy, at least with italian restaurateurs,, so he had a bit of a vicarious social circle already, and this room was a totally blank slate with a lot of potential. He would make it homey in no time. This was, all in all a very promising first day.

"And that's the tour!" Alfred said proudly, back in the front room, "any questions?" Now that he mentioned it, Arthur remembered that there was something that struck him as a little odd.

"I think you forgot to tell me who lives on the second floor, I only know about you and Yao." Arthur answered. Suddenly Alfred's face fell and he was silent, a complete emotional 180 at the mere mention of the second-floor tenant.

"Oh. Yeah," he mumbled, "Remember that jerk I was talking to in the bistro? That's the guy who lives under us. Ivan Braginski."

"What?!" Arthur squeaked, he didn't know how this could possibly become more volatile

"Yeah, if I were you, I'd steer clear of him, he's one of the most dangerous mob enforcers in the city," Alfred said, his face nonchalant. Arthur took it all back, he was living in a powder keg.