As the lights peered through the thick curtains, Alfred realized that the day was going to be musky and looming. Rain or even snow clouds slowly began to tumble their way into his petrified environment. Alfred found it bitterly humorous how the bags under his eyes had laid dormant. Restless nights subconsciously took over his life and the notorious nightmares were like flood gates
Preferring to ignore the obvious obligations when it comes to sleeping little and comparing it to the lasting sleep you're supposed to get. It was hard to contemplate a resistance in sleep, but it felt too time consuming, overbearing, downright insufferable. Too many things to get done, and not enough time it seemed. He lives a fast life, but not fast enough because karma seemed to be catching up to him. Longing to stretch the time be between the relevance and deprived attitudes he realized the lack of priorities were not straight enough.
Two sat in silence, nosiest noise to hear with tension as high as Mount Everest, promotion lack of confidence, the lack of confessions and tears would go one ear and out the other, an epiphany of contrasting solutions. One say he'll do better, lie through his teeth, think of all the ways his solitude would help conclude an arrangement of heart and consolidate his ways. But he was stubborn, just like his father, he couldn't see past one point of view without a push. It was enough to think back on that solution, but wasn't enough to have trust in a result that had no mind.
So option two. Go out there and shut himself down, a downward gaze of suppression and lack of emotional morals, he doesn't mind this too much, he worked so hard he might as well take the easy way out. Give this kid the benefit of the doubt. But he was emotional, he had his morals and they were well-known. Stuck in a rut that wouldn't seemed to budge, so option three. Maybe it's the both combines, lie through his teeth, and suck in a breath of this mess he don't mind. He was trying not to regret his actions. He was a bigger man than this. Tired of the recluse and deduce of destruction. Paint himself over from his past self and start again. But this time bolder and more aware.
Hours later, the nurse had walked in, with papers that needed signatures. Latex-like gloves were expertly placed on her hands as she walked over to him.
"I'm going to need you to lay back and place this tissue on your unoccupied nostril." She instructed, removing the tape that kept the tube in place.
"Does it hurt?" Alfred asked lowly.
"Not from what I know of, but there is said to be irritability." She warned with a lackluster smile.
The blond wasn't surprised, stoically nodded as she proceeded.
The tube was kinked and her fingers pressed gently and pulled. It was more than irritable, but it was less than painful. Indescribable it was, but as it was tugged out finally, he finally found the reason why the tissue was there. Mucus seemed to spring up. Gross.
"There we go, now we're just going to remove this IV, and let you dress, after discharge papers are signed you'll be free to go."
Blond hair locks swayed as he nodded, the IV removal was swift and painful. But what would you rather have, discomfort or pain..? He'd rather feel pain.
Pain. Alfred felt pain to be a lack of understanding. If only we could understand it all, would we feel no pain? Alfred thought so. Amusing as it was, pain was a choice compared to discomfort. Discomfort was like eyes staring back at you in the pitch darkness. Harmless, but If you stepped closer. You might get burnt.
But, God must feel no pain. Only joy.
Does this mean even our suffering pleases him?
"-your other father brought you different clothes." The nurse places a hospital bag on the bed in front of him, "He thought they'd be a bit more comfortable than your other ones." For obvious reasons, she drew the privacy curtain, but he took his time. It was hard to stand up. Staying in bed for a couple days with hardly any movement wasn't the best thing in the world. Back was aching throat was throbbing, and karma was a bitch.
The outfit was mostly grey. The sweater was a size too big, and the sweats were comfortable. The look wasn't bad, but the shoulder seemed to slip, creating a disorganized look, but…comfortable. Alfred had been given brand new clothes. Clothes he certainly didn't have in his wardrobe. And they were certainly expensive clothes he didn't feel he deserved. New shoes. A light grey with a mixture of a tan tint. It was soft inside and on the rim a fabric seemed to fold. Creating a beginning winter boot look.
Glasses were finally placed. He felt completed and less blind so to speak.
The curtains were drawn back.
"Would you like anything while you wait? Water?"
"Yes please."
She nodded and made her way out. Eyes attempting to adjust to the near clear view in front of him felt relieving. The door opened, and what came in wasn't the nurse with water he desperately needed. It was Arthur who so kindly seemed to silently snarl at him.
Again, he avoided eye contact, drawing himself down to the attention of slipping on some warm socks. Slightly fuzzy and black. More importantly, warm. He didn't deserve so much.
"When we get out of here, mind the snow." Arthur warned lightly as Alfred struggled with these damn shoes.
"Wow, you're acting like I can't handle myself." He scoffed as he finally slipped the first shoe on.
"We established this last night, don't get mouthy with me."
"I'm not getting mouthy with you, I was just saying-"
"Then just don't talk, I don't want to hear it right now."
"But I was trying to explain-"
"Stop! We'll talk about it when we get home!"
Alfred was nearly fuming. Angrily attempting to tie his shoes. "First you want to talk about it, then you don't. You want to hear what I have to say, then you don't. Cute, I get it now." He sounded nearly resentful and hurt. His emotions have been showing through like they weren't supposed to.
Throwing his weight to his left foot, Arthur threw his head back in discontent and with a sigh, "Alfred, we're not doing this here." The man seethed and narrowed his eyes. Running his fingers through his hair.
The boy ignored him and rolled his eyes. The shoes were unintentionally tied too tight but he didn't care. He wanted to go home and do something. Anything to get his mind set correctly.
He was in pain though, his throat ached, and the headache still stayed alarmingly protruding and humming. Definitely there, and definitely antagonizing. It was making him feel nauseous and as he stood up; he almost fell from dizziness.
Quickly forcing himself to grip the side of the hospital bed – Arthur rushed towards his son in an attempt to help him stand, "Well, don't fall." The Brit tried to enliven the room slightly.
"I'm fine, get off."
He rubbed the hand off his shoulder, piqued by the blatant visibility of his unconscious will to be accepted. Alfred felt the action to be derogatory and insulting, he was old enough to stand on his own, and he wasn't a kid anymore.
"I'm sorry, I was just trying to help…"
"Well I don't want it."
But that doesn't mean he doesn't need it.
Francis didn't sleep well that night.
The man felt that he was congested yet somehow underworked.
These were risky water though, title waves could barrel over at any given second, whether they were home, or suppressed to just a hospital bed, he had to realize that at one point; maybe this was a patch of water he didn't want to get wet, or step in. He did once before and nearly got soaked.
He feared he wouldn't be able to swim out of this one.
The feeling of cold air was wrapping over him obnoxiously that no amount of coffee or blankets could help. Tea was out of the question, and wine just didn't exist at the moment. A scary thought from his past, seemed almost normal now. He felt the comical embrace, and maybe even the irony of it all. The Frenchman hated being in a hospital although worked for one. The bloody stretchers and even discoloured clothing is what he would sometimes come home to. Even when he stepped through those door he never felt as vacant as he would have normally though. Long hours and days barely left him home. They were understaffed, and volunteered to take shifts when he needed to – so not working right now was odd.
He just wished his last two days off wasn't for such morbid reasons. Pivotal moments like these was now a great deal of importance and overbearing at times. The time something like this took was something Francis just couldn't seem to provide. No matter how much time he took from work, no matter how much time he took from life, there just wasn't enough of it. This conclusion didn't rip him in just two pieces. It ripped him into a billion and then some.
For the majority of his life, he always wondered how much time someone had. His realization was fortunate to come before death, as – he realized there wasn't that much. Living the life for the time he has is the best option.
"Papa, are you okay?"
Francis jumped, some coffee from his cup dripping onto the floor.
Matthew gave a squeal, "…sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
"Ça va! No worries!" Francis tried to reassure. Gently placing the coffee cup on the marble counter top.
He grabbed a roll of paper towels and ripped a piece off, bending over to clean up the mess. Matthew was slightly more conscious to the atmosphere. The young boy was scared slightly. Francis had noticed his youngest stiff movements.
Throwing the used towel into the garbage, Francis knelt back down and opened his arms.
"Come come." The Frenchman urged. Lifting Matthew on his hip he sighed.
"Dad and Alfred will be home soon." The man informed as he poured himself more coffee. An odd obsession in a world where you had to move fast, but a treat that ironically seemed to make things move even slower.
Resting his head on Papa's shoulder, Matthew hummed and closed his eyes.
"Should I make you something to eat?"
His son shook his head, "No, you seem really upset, I don't want to make you." He whispered calmingly and subdued. Tucking his arms into Francis' house robe to keep warm. It was only the beginning of November and cold air was threatening them already.
"How do you suppose I'm upset?" Francis whispered back lowly.
"I heard you talking in your sleep. Daddy said when you're upset you sleep talk."
"Ah." Blond hair exclaimed leaning on the counter. "He means when I'm stressed, not angry; dear boy." Matthew realized the correction and blushed.
They both stayed there – content for the moment. Cars whizzed past, and cold air seemed to flow throw the cracks of the windows. Unsealed but unbothered. Feeling like the setting was a blissful moment for a disoriented family; couple. Intent of relieving certain inquiries of life that liked to bleed through. Upsetting sure, but moments like these were too promising to dismiss so suddenly. A nice bonding between the two anyways could do everyone good.
Matthew was calm. His lack of ignorance at his age was appalling and even considered a good change of pace for the household. Blond hair – quite like Francis'; curled slightly at the tips, creating a wave-like effect.
"I should make lunch for us." Francis suddenly spoke up. Not really directed towards anyone, but still there. Feeling the need to fill the air with something, trying not to fall asleep, trying not to feel comfortable and be productive, but Matthew was still clinging to him tiredly.
The boy was wiggling his way out of the grip with a yawn, small fingers climbed their way down and feet making contact with the cold tiles. When Francis tried to rub his fingers through his hair, they caught horrible tangles, but Matt refused to get a haircut.
"We really like it when you make tomato soup." Smiling as he clung to his stuffed bear even harder, "I'm sure Al will really appreciate it too!"
He couldn't help but smile back. Matthew's pleasantness is just too contagious sometimes. "That's not a bad idea, now, go watch cartoons or something…"
Matthew pattered off.
"Unlock the door."
"Hold on, let me find my keys."
"It's freezing unlock the door."
"Be patient, I'm trying to find my keys."
Alfred slouched against the car. He didn't want to be patient. He wanted to go home and be warm. Shivering as the breeze captured under his thin coat. His parents didn't prepare him for the weather and temperature. As sad as it was, wrapping his arms around himself wasn't the most pleasant feeling to have cold air biting at his skin.
Admittedly, Arthur was taking his time, spite was the main reason. But finally being able to dig into his pockets.
Alfred forced the door open as soon as he could.
"I figured you'd warm it up," Alfred growled darkly under his breath, rubbing his hands together and tucking the, between his legs. This couldn't be healthy.
"You'll be fine, calm your ass down." The Brit switched the car on and turned the heat on a medium. Arthur would admit that it was fairly cold, but Alfred was over exaggerating.
The seat was reclines and a seatbelt was in place. It was annoying Arthur realized that Alfred had just leaned back without a care. His own breath was tinting the front window in fog as he released the break.
Teen was obviously shivering, the heat was blasting but not warming the vehicle up quick enough.
"We're going to be there soon, don't get your panties in a twist."
"But it's cold as hell…" He mumbles in response.
"I know, didn't expect it to be so cold today, would have had Papa pack you something more heavy-weight."
The turn signal was flicked on.
"Papa made lunch," Arthur turned his head towards Alfred who was slumped and only slightly warm, he was still shivering slightly, and the rugged air through a cracked window seemed to bring some kind of decent ventilation to sooth a sore throat and a throbbing headache. "-and you will eat it."
Alfred scoffed, which turned out to be a bad idea because it made him nearly gag from pain. "I don't wanna."
"We all have to do things we don't like,"
"…this conversation is pointless."
"There are a lot of things that are pointless that we do."
"My throat hurts."
"We'll have him make you soup."
'Dammit,' Alfred thought as the light turned green, and his father pushed on the gas to accelerate.
The most of the car ride was laid in taut silence. Like it was a forgiving fortune, Alfred realized that there was no fighting the inevitable, and even when he finally got the chance to run away, karma was still there lingering. Biting him in the ass, and pointing it's finger.
It was a fate he deserved and welcomed with willing arms. How sad it was to remember a fate that has not which had happened. Confusing. Maybe even an illusion, deception, or a mirage, his nightmares and daydreams could not truly change things. A horrible magician he was to think that for a millisecond he could stand such a powerful force such as karma and life.
"…why won't you just give up?"
"Why would I give up?" Arthur glanced with sincere emotion. A tingle of convolution and dubiety was present.
"…it's easier that way."
Giving a mute breath, Arthur felt like he was gasping for air. Air that could reassure himself.
"Because I love you, and I want to help. Is that a problem?"
"…I just wish you would have asked for something else as a reward."
"Having you alive right now is enough for a reward, Alfred."
Alfred hated it. Everything. There was nothing sentimental. It was a 'setback' and no matter how hard he wished, and wanted to breathe honesty – it was never there.
The rest of the ride back was silent.