AN: Second official rewritten chapter! A lot of the old scenes have been replaced :)

Today was the type of day to roll the top down. Alfred drove through the familiar city streets with ease, sunglasses on, the warm wind in his hair and rolls of adrenaline tingling across his skin. A fast-tempoed rock song blasted from his speakers. He was speeding, more so than usual, but it was still not fast enough.

Alfred was not exactly sure what he wanted out of this. He hadn't slept well the night before, turning that question over and over again. If anything, it was to give Arthur a piece of his mind, to ask why on earth he had ghosted him like it was nothing. Beyond that, though, he just didn't know. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling. Angry? Excited? Smug? Who knew? But Alfred quickly pushed the thoughts away. If it was like anything else in his life, it would work out just fine.

Alfred pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes later, leapt out of the car, and locked it with a click of key fob. He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and took in his surroundings, squinting into the sun. All these years, and he had never once visited Matthew at work. His red, white, and blue Porsche looked a bit strange in the sea of grey Toyotas and Hondas, but whatever. The place looked pretty normal.

As he strode through the monstrous parking lot to the even bigger building, Alfred could not help but feel a bothersome tangle of nerves settle in his stomach. It had, after all, been ten years. But that was okay, he told himself. It was better late than never.

And then there was… whatever Matthew told him last night. Alfred rolled his eyes and pushed through the front doors with an open palm. Arthur had always had a flair for the dramatic; a case of the sniffles practically left him bedbound. Whatever was ailing him, Alfred was sure he could snap him out of it. If he could score a winning touchdown, outrun the paparazzi, and make it to a charity benefit all in one day, surely he could cheer up an old friend who just so happened to get stuck in a place like this. Surely.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" said Alfred when he approached the front desk. He grinned at the man behind it, leaning easily against the counter. "Hope all is well. I'm here to visit someone, if you could tell me where to go."

"Which department?" he asked without looking up, his accent slightly German.

"The, uh, what was it? The psych something or another." Alfred took the sunglasses from his head, held them to the light, the rubbed at a smudge on the edge of his shirt.

"Oh…" He shook his head, looking a little dazed, but then just shook his throat and answered evenly. "Psychiatrics."

"That's the one!"

"Right," said the man. He handed Alfred a form, something long and complicated that he skimmed. "Visiting hours end at 9 pm. We ask that you silence any devices, do not bring anything sharp, any illicit substances, or any of the items specifically listed in the third paragraph-"

"Alright, yeah, rad," said Alfred hurriedly, scrawling his signature on the last line so largely it obscured the last few sentences. "Which way?"

The man looked at Alfred pointedly, his glasses sliding the bridge of his nose. He pressed his thin lips together. "Take the orange elevators to the third floor, take a left, and follow the signs."

"Thanks, dude!" said Alfred almost before the man finished, already moving. "Take it easy!"

As the elevator dinged upward, Alfred flicked away a few notifications on his phone and practiced his speech. "Funny meeting you here," he mumbled at the screen. The twitter bird whistled at him. Not witty enough, he decided. "College must have been rough," he said. He smirked at his own joke. The elevator door opened, revealing a mostly white hallway. There was a large poster plastered on a far wall. It read NO WAR STORIES in a heavy font. Alfred wondered what it meant. He looked down at his phone again.

"Long time no see," he said, turning left. Can't go wrong with a classic. Another Twitter notification. He placed his phone in his jeans pocket.

Walking down the hallway, Alfred studied the faded flower paintings hung on the ways. The frames were dusty. "Did you forget your email password?" he asked a particularly sad looking sunflower. "No worries. We all have a busy decade or two."

And then, finally, he approached an archway that read psychiatrics.

The longue, thankfully, does not immediately give Alfred any One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest vibes. Really, he had not expected it to. The Arthur he knew would never be caught dead anyplace like that. In fact, Alfred could not see Arthur, or anyone else here. It was like the entire place was deserted.

For a moment, Alfred was almost certain Matthew was playing a trick on him.

"Hey, Artie! You here?" Alfred called into the emptiness. "Artie, Arthur, yoohoo! Remember me? Alfred F. Jones, high school hero?"

A small, airy response, in an all too familiar accent. "Huh?"

And that was when Alfred saw him. Clinging to the edge of the wall, pale-faced, looking into the room and staring right back at him, was Arthur. His eyes were just as bright and green as Alfred remembered.

A jolt of energy tore through Alfred's body, his mind, until there was nothing left but blinding joy and excitement. He was teleported back to fifteen. "Arthur!" Alfred tore across the room and wrapped Arthur in a hug. "Dude, it's been forever! How are you, buddy? You look great! What are you even doing here, huh?"

Alfred did not really expect Arthur to hug him back, knowing him. But he did not expect him to gasp as if he had been slapped, did not expect him writhe out of his hold, and certainly did not expect him to, without any of the sophistication Alfred would expect from him, stumble through a response. "What, what in the bloody, blasted… what? What are… why are you doing here?"

Alfred chuckled lightly and grinned. "Huh? Arthur, it's me! Aren't you happy to see me?"

"No!" said Arthur immediately, shaking his head almost like a dog trying to dry off. "Who sent you? Who sent you? Who sent you?"

"Um… sent me?"

Arthur shook his head again. "Yes, quite, someone must have… must have… ran with the doors, coincidentally, as it always said before. Looking at me. Through that blasted window over the horizon."

Alfred furrowed his brow at the odd mix of words, too confused to speak, an odd knot forming in his stomach. He looked into Arthur's eyes then… really looked. They were the same green, but something was different.

"Shut up," said Arthur, shattering the silence. "Shut up, bloody hell, just shut up!"

"I… didn't say anything." Alfred's voice dipped to a near whisper. Everyone in the room was staring at them. He didn't care. In fact he barely noticed, because his stomach was sinking, his hands were shaking, and he was really, really starting to believe he should listen to Matthew more often.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Matthew appeared around the corner barely a moment later. "Arthur," he said, even gentler than he usually spoke. "Everything is fine. You aren't in any danger."

"Did you bring him here?" Arthur's eyes flicked to either side, his hands wrapping around each other like dough being kneaded. "Did you bring him to… to what, spy on me and the lot?"

"No. No one is spying on you," said Matthew. "I can handle this, Arthur. Everything is fine. Go back to your room and lie down, okay? Everything is fine."

Alfred wanted to scream, at the very top of his lungs, that everything was not fine. It could not be fine, because someone had taken his friend, and replaced him with this… this crazy person. Alfred wanted to say all of that, but something was not allowing him to. All he could do was stare, frozen and confused, down at the familiar green eyes that were regarding him as a stranger. Looking at him now, Alfred could only see a stranger.

The long moment finally passed, and Arthur mumbled something intelligible under his breath before retreating down the hall. He even walked differently. Alfred remembered the first time he had seen Arthur walk away, all perfect posture, poise, his head held high and his arms straight at his sides. Now, Arthur was slouching. His arms were crossed. Instead of a sweater vest, he was wearing longue pants and a t-shirt. A moment later, a door opened, and Arthur was gone. Alfred continued to stare.

Matthew took a moment to speak. He took a breath, then whispered. "Alfred…"

Alfred turned to face him. Suddenly, he was very cold. He crossed his arms, pulling his bomber jacket closer to his chest. A chill ran down his spine. "I… wow," he said. What was there to say, really? He looked towards the wall, searching for a thermostat, maybe a fan. It was just so cold. "What happened to him?"

"Right now, the diagnosis is schizophrenia."

Alfred listened to the word, repeated it back in his head. He thought it backwards and forwards, pictured how it was spelled, broke it into syllables. He crossed his arms tighter. Then, after a long moment of this, he nodded.

Matthew regarded Alfred evenly. "I don't know how long he's had symptoms, but this kind of thing usually doesn't show up until later in life. I'm sorry, Al."

At least he didn't say 'I told you so.' At least he did not call Alfred a fool for coming here, for starting this search in the first place, for expecting to pick things up where they left off ten years ago. Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat, tried to piece a sentence together. "I didn't expect… that."

"I know." Matthew reached out and rested his hand on Alfred's arm. "I know, Alfred. I didn't expect you to grasp the situation right away. I understand this must be extremely difficult to accept."

"So…" Alfred cleared his throat and glanced down the hall. Still no sign of a fan. It was still freezing. "This is what he's like now?"

"Well, yes and no. Arthur isn't always as… incoherent, as you just heard. Seeing you was quite a shock, I'm sure, and the more agitated he gets, the more disorganized his thoughts and speech tends to be. His auditory hallucinations will usually pick up, too."

Alfred tried to swallow, but his throat felt as dry as cotton. "Hallucinations?"

Matthew slowly nodded. "Yes, auditory and visual. It's a common symptom."

"Oh." Alfred glanced towards the exit – he wanted to leave, his mind was begging him to leave, to get back into the June sun, but his feet were rooted to this very spot. "Does he hear little voices in his ear like in the movies, then?"

"Kind of. Mostly, he talks a lot about… unicorns." Matthew broke off and shook his head, as if saying too much. "I'm not really at liberty to discuss this with you. If you want to know what Arthur is going through, I suggest you ask him."

"Oh, sure. Um…will he…" Alfred closed his eyes briefly, rubbed the brown leather on his coat. Speaking felt like resigning, but there was nothing left to do. "Will he… get it? Like, is he going to understand me?"

"Oh God, Alfred, yes," said Matthew immediately. "He might be ill, but he's still a functioning human being. He's not incapacitated. You just had a bad first impression."

Alfred wanted to say his first impression of Arthur had been ten years ago, and it had been a great one, but he did not have the heart. Instead, he flashed his best photo-op smile. "He'll come around," he said. Alfred uncrossed his arms, forced away the cold, and reminded himself of his determination. He had gotten this far. No way was one little mishap going to keep him away. "I'll stick around for awhile. When he's rested up, send him outside, okay? Thanks!"

Alfred turned around before Matthew could respond, still grinning, and walked away. It was not until he made his way to a small, enclosed courtyard outside the ward that he let it fall. Alfred tilted his head back and allowed the sun to warm his face, his arms, his legs. He curled and uncurled his fingers, willing away the numbness. Soon, he was baking. Alfred pulled off his jacket and laid it beside him.

It would be fine, he told himself. He would be fine. Arthur would be fine. They would be fine. Things always worked out in his favor, after all. Always. Alfred convinced himself of it, sat down on a bench, and waited.

Arthur hated these things. He hated them more than hot summer days, more than burning his food, more than anything, really. Arthur could not think of anything more unnecessary, crass, or downright insulting than high school pep rallies.

And yet here he was, schlepped into the gymnasium for what felt like the hundredth time in his life. Arthur grimaced as he climbed the rusty bleachers, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, wondering where the rest of the senior class was or what was the point of this, anyway. He glanced towards the doors and thought longingly about leaving. Yes, attendance was mandatory, but would anyone really notice if he simply –

"Hey! English fella! Yoo-hoo!"

Startled, Arthur glanced about to see where voice was coming from. Before he had time to wonder why he allowed himself to answer to "English fella," he saw a younger student waving furiously at him from a few seats away. He was blond, freckled, wearing a worn leather jacket and a pair of faded blue jeans. It took Arthur a moment to recognize the boy as the freshman he had guided to his classroom earlier that week. Alfred, he believed.

"Come sit with us!" called Alfred before Arthur could respond. He patted the seat next to him rapidly.

Arthur paused. He was supposed to sit with the rest of his year, wherever they disappeared off to, but he supposed none of that mattered anyway. "Why not," he mumbled to himself over the onslaught of noise in the crowded gym. Arthur awkwardly side-stepped his way into Alfred's row and sat beside him.

"I'll tell ya, Artie, by the size of this school I half-expected to never see you again." said Alfred. He smiled widely and pushed his glasses back up the brim of his nose. "I sure am glad I managed to run into you!"

"Artie?" said Arthur, a bit stunned. They'd exchanged maybe five sentences and Alfred was already on a nickname basis with him. He elected to ignore that. "Um, anyway. Yes. I suppose it is quite a big school."

"You're telling me. I swear I get lost dang near every day!"

Arthur could believe that. Judging by how bewildered Alfred looked when they first met, he couldn't imagine the kid had much of a sense of direction. "It's something you get used to," he said.

"I sure hope so. Oh man, let me tell you, yesterday I was trying to find the nurse's office, and –"

"Alfred?" said a small voice. "Who is this?"

It wasn't until then that Arthur realized Alfred had someone sitting to the other side of him. He leaned forward and saw a boy that was very similar to Alfred in the face. He had the same light eyes, the same button nose and sharp, thin jaw. However, he had a head of untamed curls down to his shoulders, spots on his chin and cheeks, and thick, round glasses. He was wearing a red jumper that looked to be about three sizes too large and jeans that were too short. His boney ankles peaked out.

"Oh!" exclaimed Alfred. He threw his arm around the boy, who let out a tiny yelp. "Artie, this is my brother Matthew. Matthew, this is Arthur. He came to my rescue the other day."

Arthur would hardly call it a rescue, but he elected to ignore that, too. "The pleasure is mine," he said, extending a hand to Matthew. Matthew did not take it. Arthur let his hand drop.

"Mattie is a little shy," said Alfred apologetically.

"Sure," said Arthur, unsure how to respond to that. If first impression were anything to go by, it was strange how different Alfred was from his brother. Although, he and his own brother were hardly carbon copies. At that moment, a booming pop song erupted from the speakers, and Arthur cringed.

Alfred let out a riotous cheer, which made Arthur cringe even harder. Did everything in America have to be so damn loud? "I love this song!" screamed Alfred over the noise. It sounded no different than the last three they had played, but oh well. "Oh! Look! Cheerleaders!"

Arthur looked on as a troop of girls ran from the wings of the gymnasium to the main floor and launched into a rather complicated tumbling routine. "Huh," he said. "Rather talented, aren't they?"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. Cute uniforms, too." Alfred stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a low whistle, and Arthur immediately shot him a dirty look.

"Contain yourself, for the love of Christ," said Arthur scoldingly. He could barely see Matthew out of the corner of his eye, but he swore he saw him nod in some sort of agreement.

"No fun, neither of ya," said Alfred, shaking his head.

Moments later, the cheerleaders finished their routine. Another faculty member Arthur scarcely remembered belted out another announcement, something about the next football season. Then, in a burst of confetti and yet another pop song, a line of young men in jerseys flooded the main gym floor. Their names were announced one by one as they rushed through the line of cheerleaders.

"There they are! Mattie, look!" said Alfred, slapping his brother on the knee. Matthew barely seemed to react. "Man, they look so neat."

"Pardon?" said Arthur. "Are you talking about… the football team?"

"Well, yeah." Alfred threaded his hands together, beaming, staring intently at the gym floor several flights of bleachers below them. "They're like… the heroes around here, right? Gotta be."

Arthur smirked, scoffed, his head lurching back in amusement. Four years of high school, and he'd never heard that one before. Heroes… that was a little bit too much credit. "Hardly," he said. "I mean, really. It's just a bloody high school sports team."

"But they're like, the face of it all, right?" said Alfred, his eyes still glued to the gym floor. "That's what it's like in movies. The quarterback gets the lead cheerleader, everyone fawns over 'em. That sort of thing."

"That's silly," said Matthew, barely a whisper.

Arthur had to agree, but seeing the enchantment in Alfred's eyes, he hadn't the heart to say anything. He never really understood the hype over American football. However, he couldn't deny the enormous weight it apparently had on the culture in this country. "Do you play?" he asked.

Alfred finally broke his stare and turned to Arthur, still beaming. His teeth were brilliantly straight and white, Arthur noticed. "You bet!" he said. "My dad has been teachin' me since before I could walk, almost. Played all throughout middle school."

Arthur nodded. "Very cool," he said, a bit drier than he honestly intended. "You and your father must be close."

"For sure," said Alfred immediately. "He's a little bit more focused on my grades these days, but…" he shook his head suddenly, kneading his hands together again. "Try-outs are coming up, I heard."

"Are they?"

Alfred straightened, puffing out his chest. "Next week, yeah. I've been practicing for months."

Arthur hummed in acknowledgment, unsure how to respond. It was strange, how someone he had just met spoke so openly to him. Must have been an American thing. Over the next half an hour, he and Alfred chatted about classes, about other students, and about any other random thought that seemed to cross Alfred's mind. While the pep rally raged on in the background, Arthur learned that Alfred was doing quite dreadful in most of his classes, most notably English. Essays in particular confused him. Alfred also spoke for Matthew, explaining he was the academic of the two, and a member of the mathematics team. Confusingly, Matthew was actually Alfred's half-brother and was born not in America, but in Canada. Matthew remained mostly silent during this exchange, occasionally humming in acknowledgment. Mostly, he picked at his sleeves or twisted one of his curls between his fingers. And Alfred just kept talking.

And then, after what somehow felt like the shortest pep rally Arthur had ever suffered through, they were being dismissed.

"Oh man, it's already over," said Alfred, pursing his lips in what looked like disappointment. Swarths of students began standing and shuffling out in all directions. "Well, Artie, it certainly was nice."

"Arthur," muttered Arthur, although he already knew it was fruitless. He stood, brushing his trousers. His back hurt. He twisted, groaned, and then turned to leave the gymnasium. "I'll be seeing you, I suppose."

"Hey, wait!" said Alfred loudly. "Do you think I can grab your number?"

"I… don't have a cellular," said Arthur.

"Well, that's good, I don't either. You got a home phone though, yeah?"

"Oh." Arthur blinked, a little confused. "What would you ever need that for?"

"Geez, Artie, you're breaking my heart, here. I thought we were friends!" Alfred laughed, beaming and oblivious as a stream of students impatiently pushed past him. Arthur tried to squeeze to the side of the aisle. "What if I want to chat?"

"Alfred, I feel like you're scaring him," said Matthew.

Arthur was inclined to agree, but whatever. If anything, he was just the slightest bit flattered. "Alright, alright, come off it," he said. Then, he scribbled his number on a scrap of paper he has in his bag and handed it to Alfred.

"Sweet!" said Alfred, shoving the paper into his pocket. "Oh shoot. Mattie, we gotta catch the bus. Bye, Artie!" Grabbing Matthew by the oversized sleeve, Alfred practically jogged from the bleachers and bolted from the gymnasium doors.

Bewildered, Arthur trotted down the bleachers and headed the same way. Alfred was long gone by the time he reached the doors. What an odd one, he mused to himself as he exited the building and started his walk home. It was getting to be that time of year that the sun was setting by the time school let out, so he had to squint as he walked down the sidewalk. It was annoying. Really, was there a season more depressing than autumn?

Arthur reached his street roughly ten minutes later, the almost-set sun burning his eyes. As he rounded the corner into his block, Arthur caught sight of a red car. He paused. It was recognizably a new car, almost absurdly clean. Certainly not one he had ever seen here before. It seemed almost out of place in this part of the city. After a short moment, Arthur wondered what he was staring at the thing for, and went inside.

Alfred was stirred from his thoughts at the sound of footsteps, soft and nearly inaudible against the stone. He straightened his back and turned. Arthur was walking towards him, expression unreadable, eyes cast downward. He wasn't wearing shoes.

"Alfred. You… stayed," he said, now frozen in the middle of the courtyard.

"Yeah, of course." Alfred felt his lips quiver as he grinned.

"Dr. Williams sent me out here."

Alfred chuckled, but it sounded wrong in the small, silent, deserted space. "Yeah, thought so. Mattie is my brother, you know. Did you forget that?" Arthur did not respond, and Alfred spoke only for the sake of speaking. "I had to bug the crap out of him to get the address to this place, you know. He's probably less than happy with me right now."

"Thought he looked a tad familiar…" Arthur broke off with a slight shake of the head. "My apologies for earlier," he said, so quietly the wind nearly drowned him out.

Alfred flipped his hand dismissively, even as memory shot through his mind and strange, unfamiliar guilt struck his heart. "It's cool. Sorry I kind of snuck up on you like that. I wanted to surprise you."

Arthur did not move. "You succeeded."

"You look a little uncomfortable just standing there. Why don't you come over here and-"

"How are you here?" asked Arthur, interrupting. Alfred blinked.

"I just told you. Matthew is my brother, and I asked him-"

"No. No, I mean, how are you… what is…" Arthur closed his eyes; brows furrowed, and took a series of long, slow breaths. "Why are you here? What sparked it?"

"I found our old yearbook." Arthur looked up at that, and Alfred locked eyes with him immediately, determined to see brightness and life where it had been. "I was flipping through it when I saw your picture. Then I just got to thinking, you know what, I miss my friend." He shrugged. There was no point in making the story more complicated than it was. "So here I am."

"Here you are indeed." Like a statue coming to life, Arthur moved from the spot he had been stuck in and crossed the few yards of space between them. He sat next to Alfred with a heavy breath, and then mumbled, "It has been ten years."

"Hey, better late than never." Alfred shrugged. "What's that old saying? Best time to build a tree was ten years ago, second best time is now? Something or another."

"Yes, but…" Arthur looked up, those blank, unseeing eyes surveying the clouds drifting above the building. "Things change."

"Matthew said that too," said Alfred. Then he chuckled humorlessly and flipped a hand in the air. "You know, I don't see why everyone is so hung up on that."

Arthur blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, things do change. I get that. But like, today isn't the same as yesterday, and tomorrow isn't going to be the same as today. Things change all the time." He paused, and Arthur slowly lowered his gaze from the sky to look at him. "That doesn't mean some things can't stay the same, does it, Artie?"

Arthur paused as if to consider it, then shrugged. "I see you never learned to stop using that bloody nickname."
Alfred chuckled again. It didn't sound so wrong this time. "See? Some things never change!"

Arthur hummed, maybe in agreement, Alfred wasn't sure. "You got rid of that… voice," said Arthur, seemingly to himself. "Before, you always had that… that bloody, blasted…" Another pause, another slow, deep breath. "Twang," he finished quietly.

Alfred nodded, perhaps too enthusiastically. "Yeah, well, that southern boy charm can only get you so far. I managed to get rid of it around the time I got my first contract."

"Contract?"

"With the NFL, yeah."

"That American football nonsense?" If Arthur was surprised, Alfred could not tell. "Still?"

Alfred nodded once. "Yep. The quarterback for the New England Patriots, actually."

"Oh." Arthur lifted his gaze and looked around – at the bare courtyard, at the building in front of them, at the socks on his feet – and then looked back at his hands. "Good for you, then."

And then it hit him, even if Arthur had become so hard to read: he was embarrassed. At that moment Alfred knew, somewhere underneath this cloak of something Arthur had developed over the years, that he was still as proud as he once was.

Arthur was, after all, still Arthur.

"Hey Arthur," said Alfred, as casually as he could manage. "Remember my first game, the one I made you come to?"

The response came slow. "I do."

"Remember how I was so excited that when I ran out onto the field, I fell right on my face?"

Alfred looked for anything in Arthur's expression – a twitch of the lips, a glimmer in his eyes, an arch in his brow. "I… think," he said finally. In that moment, Alfred swore his eyes flashed for the briefest second. He swore.

"Well, that happened again last week, actually. The video has, like, a million views by now. I don't think the youtube comments will ever let me hear the end of it." Alfred could not help but laugh at himself then, a skill he had developed since he was thrust into the public eye. It was a lot easier than it was in high school – but maybe that had more to do with who was in the audience.

Arthur shook his head without changing his expression. "You moron," he said. Alfred was almost relieved by the insult. At least it was familiar. "I always told you, careful, be careful. You never listened."

"I was never very good at that, was I?" Alfred laughed. "I'm still not. Hell, Mattie told me not to come today, and here I am."

Arthur turned to look at him again. "He told you not to come," he repeated.

"Yeah. He worries too much. I obviously know best, so I didn't listen."

"Never listened…" Arthur shook his head once, then twice, threading his fingers together as if his hands were cold. "I bet you're regretting that now."

Alfred narrowed his eyes in genuine confusion. "Regretting… what?"

"Come off it, Alfred." For the first time that day, Arthur almost succeeded in snapping at him like he used to. Almost. "None of us want to be here. No one wants to be near us, either." Arthur said the words emotionlessly, detached, as if he had accepted them quite some time ago. Alfred frowned. "I'm shocked you didn't make a run for it."

Alfred would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. So, he chose not to address that at all. "I can't say I expected… everything, but I don't think I regret coming over. I wanted to see you. Besides, I don't even know much about this place yet."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, just enough to be noticeable. "Yet?"

"Yeah. I mean; I have to get going soon, since I have training across the country tomorrow. I don't have too much time today." Alfred took a breath and looked into the sky. "But like, I have time other days."

"I don't quite… understand, I'm afraid."

"Well, I was thinking…" Alfred tapped his fingers against his legs. "I want to visit you here, you know, when I'm not playing. With any luck, I should be able to get over in a week or so."

"I'm not sure if that's the best idea," said Arthur.

"Well, I think it's a great idea."

A pause. Wind whipped through the trees, Arthur rubbed his hands together, and Alfred searched for something familiar on his face. Eventually, Arthur whispered. "Do you? Really?"

"Yes, Artie. Next week," said Alfred. He wasn't sure exactly how he was going to make this work, or even really what this was, but the words came unthinkingly. "I promise."

To be continued...