AN: Updated Chapter #4. And holy fuck this one is long.
Arthur was safe, for now.
It took a surprisingly short amount of time for the murmuring to quiet down and the grey clouds overhead to be broken up by light. It wasn't perfect, and it never was, but it was manageable. That was all Arthur could reasonably hope for.
He had quickly collected himself once the episode had passed, as it was hardly gentlemanly to stay squatting on the ground like some kind of animal, and stationed himself on a bench near the edge of the garden. The inside of the hospital was still… too much. Arthur was safe and there was no reason to risk it.
Things were at complete peace for a while. Some time passed before Arthur heard anything at all, something not quite like clopping, but more like… footsteps. Then there was no more peace. They were approaching quickly, too quickly. Cold sweat bloomed on the back of his neck. He braced himself to run.
But then Arthur looked up and saw that the thing approaching him was not it, but it was, in fact, Matthew. Arthur quickly collected himself, smoothing down his shirt and crossing one leg neatly over the other. The picture of sanity. "Hello, Dr. Williams," he said as if nothing had happened.
But of course, Matthew was not so easily fooled. "Feeling better, Arthur?"
"Yes, yes," muttered Arthur, lifting a hand dismissively. He turned his head to hide his burning face. "I just needed some air, it seems." He paused, debating, and then finished in a low voice. "I apologize for all of that."
"No need to be sorry. I'm just glad it passed." Matthew walked to the bench and sat down next to him. "Did you want to talk about it?"
Arthur wondered what he could say. His episodes were like a bad dream – the details were impossible to remember, but the effects were impossible to shake. He felt a shudder of panic tingle up his spine, across his skin, into his mind. Arthur bit his lip. "I'd rather we didn't."
Matthew nodded. "Alright."
Arthur let out a silent sigh of relief. One thing he liked about Matthew, he never pushed. It definitely made things easier.
"Hey, Arthur? Did Alfred tell you he's planning on coming back next week?"
Arthur's relief shattered and fell to his feet, right along with his stomach. He had completely forgotten. His world had been flipped upside down, and after all this nonsense, it had slipped his mind. Now it was all coming back, as strong as a punch to the gut.
"He did," he said. A quiet, menacing hiss followed. Arthur whispered. "Shut up."
Matthew tilted his head. "I'm sorry?"
"Nothing, nothing," said Arthur loudly, perhaps too loudly, in an attempt to drown out all the other noises congregating around him. "He's coming on his own this time?" It was not as much of a question as it was a personal reassurance.
"Yes. Just like he did the first time," said Matthew firmly. Arthur clung to the words. "Unless you don't want him to."
Arthur looked up. "Pardon?"
"I was meaning to ask you… do you want me to call him? I don't want to put you through any unnecessary stress."
Yes, a voice screamed. Keep him away. Arthur wasn't sure where this thought was coming from, whether it was embarrassment or distrust or something else entirely. But he knew it was the one screaming, plotting, waiting, and Alfred must have something to do with it.
But for once, Arthur forced himself to ignore it. "That's alright," he said, this voice finally his own. "He's already made his plans, I bet. No sense in forcing him to cancel."
Matthew smiled, looking almost relieved. "Alright, then. I bet he'll be happy to see you." He stood. "I'm going to head back inside. Lunch is starting soon. Think you can join us?"
"Sure," said Arthur. But when he looked towards the building, towards confinement and walls and noise, he felt suddenly glued to his seat. "Just give me a few moments."
Matthew nodded, turned, and walked inside. Arthur waited until he disappeared behind the door, then let out a deep sigh. First the inside of the hospital, then Alfred, eventually the outside world… all of it seemed impossible. By now, his comfort zone was the size of a pinhole. He looked to the wind blowing through the trees in an attempt to clear his mind.
Even though he strongly considering going back on his word, Arthur followed through with his promise to Alfred. On a cold, miserable Friday evening in late September, he arrived back on campus to attend the first football game of the season. A strong wind whipped through Arthur's cardigan and he shuttered, pulling it closer, wishing he had brought a heavier jacket. Though he seemed to be the only one that was cold, judging by all the girls in short tops and boys in athletic shorts.
Americans. Several years in this country, and Arthur was no closer to understanding them.
Arthur trudged his way down the running track and up around to the bleachers, scanning the massive crowds. Alfred had told him Matthew would be sitting off to the left side. He wished he had been a little bit more specific, considering how many people were here. He squinted and scanned the crowd.
"Arthur."
"Ack!" shouted Arthur. Matthew had suddenly appeared next to him. He was wearing the same red jumper he was at the pep rally, and quite possibly the same blue jeans. His eyes were blank behind his thick glasses, his cheeks bright red from what looked like a combination of cold and acne. When Matthew said nothing, Arthur regained his composure and continued, "Terribly sorry, Matthew. You snuck up on me."
"I get that a lot," said Matthew. "Did you want to sit down?"
Alfred was an odd one, but Matthew was making him look almost painfully normal. Arthur nodded and followed. Matthew led them both up the bleachers, hands shoved in his kangaroo pocket, until he settled in a spot far removed from the riotous crowds. Relived, Arthur sat down next to him.
"I must admit, I'm not all that familiar with this game," said Arthur, trying to make small talk.
Matthew shook his head. "No, neither am I." His glasses reflected the field lights, almost sparkling. "But, it's important to Alfred, so I try to pretend."
"Sure," said Arthur. He looked out onto the field, where a row of cheerleaders were leading a chant. The game hadn't started yet. "Alfred was so excited about making this bloody team."
Matthew nodded. "You should have seen him when he got the jersey. Nearly bowled me over in the hallway."
Made sense, Arthur supposed. "What number is he?"
"Thirteen."
"Ah."
Arthur wondered how he had gotten that number, but immediately scolded himself for being superstitious. Another cold gust of wind blew past, rocking the shoddy metal bleachers. Several minutes passed in silence. Arthur barely noticed and took to people watching. Despite being a senior, he never really went to these events before. Just never could be bothered. He watched as groups of friends ran around, laughing, roughhousing, carrying on. He watched for what was possibly a moment too long.
"I'm sorry," said Matthew suddenly, snapping Arthur from his voyeurism. "I'm… not the best at making conversation."
"No worries," said Arthur honestly. The silence had been comfortable. Plus, he could barely call himself a master of banter. A loud noise erupted, and his attention was brought back to the field. "Looks like they're starting. Thirteen, you said?"
"Should be," said Matthew. He perked up and leaned forward. "Ope, there he is."
Following Matthew's gaze, Arthur saw a blond boy barrel out onto the field, helmet tucked under his arm. The number 13 sat brightly on his back. His hands punched the sky, unhinged. Yes, that was certainly Alfred, Arthur thought to himself amusedly.
And then Alfred lost his footing and landed rather triumphantly on his face.
"For heaven's sake," groaned Alfred. He looked away to be polite, while the stands erupted in laughter. "Goodness. He'll never live that one down."
Matthew shrugged. "Eh, he'll be fine. That's the thing about Alfred. He doesn't get embarrassed."
"No?" asked Arthur. He couldn't exactly say the same.
"Nah. He takes it all in stride."
Sure enough, Alfred peeled himself off the ground and waved cheerfully to the audience. Arthur smiled to himself. "What a moron," he said.
"No," said Matthew quickly. "No, Alfred isn't stupid."
"Of course not, it was tongue in cheek," said Arthur. Maybe he should choose his words more carefully. Sometimes he forgot not everyone was as crass as the Brits. "Perhaps that was rude," he said apologetically.
"Sorry," said Matthew, his voice softening. "It's just, our dad is pretty tough on him, and…" He shook his head. "Never mind, sorry. Forget about it."
Arthur recalled the phone call from the other night and immediately felt guilty. Though he never got the full story, he could only imagine Alfred's father had some choice words for him over that exam. While the silence before had been pleasant, the one that followed that awkward exchange was just uncomfortable. He tried to focus on the game. Arthur watched Alfred as much as he could, though he could never be sure what was going on. After some time, 13 caught the ball and dove for the end of the field. Immediately after, the crowd jumped to their feet and roared.
"That was good, I'm assuming."
Matthew was still seated, but he clapped. "That one, I understood," he said. "Alfred just scored a touchdown."
Arthur had heard that term once or twice, thankfully. "Oh, good."
"You know," said Matthew as those around them settled back down. "Alfred was so excited to tell you about making the team."
"So I figured," said Arthur, though he still couldn't understand why. "I was a little surprised to be the one he called."
"Well, yeah. Don't tell him I told you this, but Alfred is fascinated by you."
"Oh." Arthur blinked, feeling confused. "Oh, really?"
"He hasn't stopped rambling about his "cool British friend" since his first day of classes, it's so… strange," said Matthew. He looked away and fiddled with his jumper sleeve. "Sorry, no offense."
No, it was strange, thought Arthur. "It's fine," he said. He couldn't say he was used to Americans being fascinated by him, save for the occasional comment about his accent. He glanced back to the field, where Alfred was doing a discombobulated little dance after scoring. An older gentleman he assumed to be the coach waved a scolding finger. Arthur smirked. Fascinated. Well, maybe that went both ways.
The rest of the game passed uneventfully, Arthur alternating between chatting with Matthew and watching in silence. Despite the bitter winds, obnoxious crowds, and the dreadfully uncomfortable metal seats, it was the most fun Arthur had in quite some time.
Alfred's team had won the game. Matthew and Arthur made their way out to the school gates, waiting for Alfred to emerge from the locker room. Within minutes, Alfred barreled outside, cheeks flushed, and hair matted with sweat. He threw his arms around Matthew, assaulting Arthur with his duffle bag in the process.
"Did y'all see that?" asked Alfred. He flipped his damp hair out of his eyes and ran a hang through it, grinning widely.
Matthew gave him a playful push. "The part where you landed on your face? Yes, Al, I think the entire world saw that."
"Eh, whatever." Alfred turned to Arthur. "Art, buddy! You made it!" He paused, perhaps hesitating, before bouncing forward and embracing him.
Arthur's chest jumped violently. After a moment of stunned silence, he lifted a hand and patted Alfred's back a few times. "Yes, yes," he said. "Congratulations on winning."
Alfred pulled away, cocked his hip, and placed his hand triumphantly on it. "I said I would win it for you."
"Of course," muttered Arthur, though his chest continued to seize. "Well, anyway. Tremendous first game. I should be heading home, it's late."
"Home? Arthur, are you sure?"
"Well, yes. Why?"
"There's an afterparty," said Alfred like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "One of my teammates is hosting it. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I brought a pal."
"Home sounds great, actually," muttered Matthew.
Alfred slung his arm around his brother. "Not a chance, Mattie."
No, thought Arthur immediately, the word already on his tongue. No, of course not. He had never been a party person, just could never be bothered.
Similar to how he could never be bothered with football games, or friends. Arthur pursed his lips. Even though he could not understand it, he realized he was not quite ready for this evening to end.
"Sure, why not," he said before he could stop himself.
Alfred beamed. In the reflection of his glasses, Arthur watched a shining red car peel out of the school lot.
…
About twenty minutes, a few blocks, and a series of second thoughts later, Arthur arrived with Matthew and Alfred at a large house in the nicer part of town. The thrums of music could be heard from down the street. Upon reading the front lawn, Arthur quickly realized this was not the small soiree he had for some reason imagined. Teenagers gathered in groups outside, drinking from red cups, laughing and shouting over each other. Tucked between a few trees was a large beer keg. Recalling the drinking age in this country, Arthur wondered briefly how someone managed to get their hands on it. But he supposed that hardly mattered. It IS a party, he thought to himself, almost scoldingly.
"Alfred," mumbled Matthew. "I'm not sure about this."
Arthur liked Matthew. In fact he was quite sure he had liked Matthew from the beginning, but now he was really sure. At least someone had a good head on their shoulders. "I'm inclined to agree," said Arthur.
Alfred shook his head. "No fun, neither of you." He took a few steps closer to the doors. Neither Arthur nor Matthew followed him. Alfred turned back, for a moment looking almost hurt. The expression was gone so quickly Arthur may have imagined it. "I mean, y'all don't have to stay if you don't wanna. I just thought it would be fun."
Oh, realized Arthur suddenly. Because Alfred was new here. He didn't exactly strike Arthur as someone who would have trouble making friends, but school had barely started two weeks ago. For some strange, incomprehensible reason, Arthur was perhaps the first acquaintance Alfred had made in this city.
Arthur looked to Alfred, who was looking at him like a golden retriever. He recalled what Matthew had said back at the stadium. Fascinated… No, he was not an acquaintance to Alfred. "Friend" was a much better word.
"I suppose I can stay for a chat," said Arthur. He exchanged a look with Matthew, something between agreement and solidarity. "Not for too long, though."
"That's more like it!" Though Alfred would surely never admit it, he sounded close to relieved. He turned and barreled through the front doors of the absurdly large house, and Arthur figured he had absolutely no choice but to follow him. Exchanging another knowing look with Matthew, they waltzed into the belly of the beast.
The inside of the house made the outside look like an old folk's home. Arthur could barely hear himself think, much less whatever Alfred was saying to him. Something about the game, he assumed. Every couple of seconds someone would come barreling through and invade Arthur's personal space. A few minutes in, he realized with disgust that someone had spilt some sort of sticky liquid on the hem of his sweater. Arthur removed it and tied it around his waist indignantly.
"Jones!" called a voice, somehow managing to be louder than everything else. "There you are! Get over here!"
"Teammate," said Matthew, so quietly Arthur could barely make out half the word. Matthew pointed and Arthur looked to see a monstrously tall teenager, or at least he assumed was a teenager, though he could probably pass for twenty-five. He was wearing the same kind of jersey Alfred was.
"Hey, guys!" called Alfred. He lifted an arm and waved spastically. Then he turned to Arthur and Matthew, who were both doing little else besides staring at him incredulously. "Come on, guys, let me introduce y'all."
Arthur glanced behind him and for a very long second considered making a run for it. This whole situation was loud, sticky, tiring. It was obnoxious. A headache was settling in on his temples and his feet hurt. But then Arthur looked back at Alfred, at his bright eyes and unwavering smile. A few strands of blond hair fell to his cheeks, flushed and freckled. He needed a haircut. And perhaps a drink of water, something to slow him down. Alfred never seemed to stop moving, not since the moment Arthur met him. Fascinated, thought Arthur again, despite himself. And then he nodded and followed him.
Arthur found himself in some sort of sitting room, thankfully away from much of the chaos thrumming about in the kitchen and foyer. Wrapping around the corner of the room was a quite lovely white leather sectional. Several boys wearing the same jersey were spread around it, some with girls, others chatting amongst themselves or passing around drinks. Arthur hoped none of them would mess up to couch. It looked quite expensive.
"There he is!" said the boy who had called out to Alfred earlier. He stepped forward and clapped Alfred on the back. "Great first game today!"
Arthur searched the boy's face, protective all of a sudden, for a trace of insincerity. He didn't find any.
"Thanks! I'll try and keep my face out of the dirt next time," said Alfred.
That earned a laugh from the room. And they seemed to be laughing with him, rather than at him, which left Arthur feeling strangely relieved. Matthew seemed to be right, Alfred must not get embarrassed. Speaking of Matthew, where had he run off to? Arthur looked to either side of him and realized he had disappeared.
"Arthur, this is…" Alfred said a name but the music happened to swell at the same time. He didn't want to make him repeat it, so Arthur just nodded. "…and this is my good buddy Arthur!"
"Cool," said the boy. "Alfred, did you want a drink?" He opened a cooler that was set up carelessly at the foot of the sectional and fished out a can.
"Sure," said Alfred. He took the can and opened it, taking a cautious sip. He drew his hand away and grimaced. "Oh, gross. Never mind. Arthur, do you want this?"
Arthur shrugged and took it from him. It was some kind of American light beer. He generally preferred rum, but he liked lager enough. And he got the feeling that no one would be offering him a drink, at least not directly, so whatever. Arthur took a long drink.
"Do you guys have any coke?" asked Alfred. Someone handed him a red can a moment later.
"Nice sweater," said the boy. Arthur realized with a start that he was speaking to him. "Late to the country club?"
Arthur looked down and realized his sweater was still tied around his waist. Not the best look for this kind of thing, he thought grimly. Flushed, he forced a short chuckle and ripped it off, lobbing it to a dusty corner. He would grab it later. Stupid, said the voice in his head, a bit more aggressively than usual. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Arthur blinked away the harsh thoughts, embarrassed and overwhelmed. There was so much going on, between the music and the crowd and everyone around him scream-talking. A thrum of anxiety tingled its way up his neck, which Arthur forced down with a long drink.
Alfred was oblivious to Arthur's distress, drinking pop and joking around with another player. Arthur quickly finished the beer and tracked down another one.
"Hey, Alfred," said another teammate. "I want to introduce you to my friend."
To the other side of him was a tall, slim Asian young lady with her long hair tied in a low ponytail, a pink flower clip holding a stray piece back. She wore a red sweater and a white tennis skirt. "Hello," she said, smiling brightly, "My name is Mei."
"My pleasure!" said Alfred, crossing the room and taking her hand in a shake. "My name is Alfred Jones. Lovely to meet you, darling." He winked. Mei chuckled.
"Laying it on a bit thick, are we?" said Arthur so quietly he was sure nobody could hear him.
He went to take a sip from his second beer and realized it was empty. He opened the cooler and pulled out another. He wasn't sure who's beer he was drinking but figured it didn't really matter. There was more than enough to go around.
Another hour, and Arthur was sat rather awkwardly on the armrest of the sectional, sipping on whatever number can of lager he was on. He had lost count, but it wasn't a big deal, Arthur knew his limits. Alfred was sat beside him, pressed to the corner of the sectional with that girl he was introduced to – Maya, was it? Or Mary? – talking about some TV show Arthur had never heard of. Alfred had been talking to her since she walked in. He had tried to include Arthur in the conversation at a few points, but it just didn't flow as nicely as it did when it was between the two of them. Figures, Arthur thought, it seemed Alfred could talk to anyone. Really, there was no reason for Arthur to be here at all. And where in the bloody hell was Matthew?
"Dawson is a neat character," said Alfred, leaning into the seat. "Little bit dopey sometimes, but I guess I can relate."
"I don't know about dopey," said the girl Arthur had forgotten the name of. "Charming is a better word." She lightly touched his arm, and Alfred smiled into a bashful response.
Oh, for crying out loud. Arthur decided he had better things to do than watch Alfred flirt. "Alfred," he said loudly, probably too loudly. The room was a bit fuzzy at the corners. "I think I should go find Matthew."
"Shoot, did we lose track of him?" said Alfred, looking to either side. Matthew had been nowhere to be seen since they got here, but it seemed Alfred had not noticed at all.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Anyway…" Arthur pulled himself from the armrest, stumbled a bit, and lost his hold on his drink. It landed spectacularly on Alfred's lap, splattering amber liquid all over the leather sectional Arthur had been so worried about. His stomach sank to his feet, but he was suddenly very dizzy, and all he could say was, "Oh, bugger."
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Jeez, Arthur, like a bull in a china shop!" Alfred brushed the liquid from his shirt, staining even more of the leather. "No worries, I'll go fetch a rag– "
He kept speaking, but Arthur began to tune him out when he realized the rest of the room was laughing. A couple of them went as far as to openly point at him. And this was not the same friendly laughter they had shared with Alfred talked about tripping, no, they are laughing at him. Even though Arthur could barely string a thought together, he had the good sense to know that much. A wave of nausea hit him like a truck.
"I should find Matthew," muttered Arthur, and then he bolted from the room.
Arthur pushed his way through the loud, loud, loud house and out into the front yard. The cool air rushed into his eyes and nose. It had started to rain, a fine mist blowing in with the wind. His stomach settling, Arthur sat heavily against the front steps and rested his forehead in his palms. He felt like he was on a carnival ride, spinning away. Maybe he hadn't known his limits as well as he thought he did.
"Arthur."
"Jesus," mumbled Arthur, surprised but almost too exhausted to react. He looked up and saw Matthew standing over him, glasses speckled with rain.
"Are you okay?"
"Been better," mumbled Arthur. What a disaster this had been. "Where have you been this entire time?"
Matthew shrugged. "Just walking. Parties aren't really my thing."
"Smart." Arthur tilted his head towards the sky, letting the quickening rain fall against his face. He wondered where Alfred was, if he was laughing with his new friends about what a moron Arthur had made of himself. Well, if anything, Alfred would not need to use Arthur as a security blanket any longer. They barely had anything in common anyway, it would make sense that they would only talk for a handful of days. "Fascinated" his bloody arse.
"Arthur! Oh my gosh, are you alright?"
Alfred was barreling down the steps, carrying a red cup, whatever was in it sloshing over the sides. He sat down and thrust the cup in Arthur's hand. Water. "Fine, I'm fine." Arthur gestured with the cup to Matthew. "I found him."
"Oh, hey, Matt. Drink the water, Art."
Not up to arguing, Arthur swallowed down the entire glass.
"Little too much to drink?" asked Alfred, smiling sympathetically.
Arthur fought the very powerful urge to lob the cup at his head. The last thing he needed was someone several years his junior to lecture him about drinking. "I am just fine, Alfred."
Alfred lifted a hand. "Whatever you say, bud." He took the cup from Arthur and set it next to him on the stairs. "Did you want me to walk you home?"
Arthur's immediate thought was yes, he did, but he was humiliated at the idea of Alfred taking care of him like a child. "Shouldn't you be with your friends?"
"Oh, no, I was about to hit the road anyway. Got church in the morning." Alfred glanced down the road and then back at Arthur. "Oh, you know what? My new friend Mei drove here tonight. I could ask if you could give us a ride. She's parked…" Alfred pointed to the end of the driveway. Sitting alongside the curb was a shining red car.
Another swift strike of nausea hit Arthur in the gut. He was not sure why, but all he knew in that moment was that he did not want to be anywhere near that car. Clenching his stomach to avoid being sick, he rose shakily to his feet. "That won't be necessary. I'll see myself home."
"Art-"
"Goodbye, Alfred."
And so Arthur sauntered home, pushing the thoughts of the disastrous evening away with the falling rain. When he entered his kitchen, his answer machine was blinking. Three missed calls from Alfred.
The week passed far too quickly for Arthur's liking. Which was quite the oddity, actually, considering every other week he had spent here passed like each hour was twice as long as it ought to be. But this time, seven days had passed before he realized it.
And so Arthur was left to wait, and wait, which such tension that the barrel of a gun might as well been pressed to his temple, until he looked the window saw the gaudiest red, white, and blue car he had ever seen in his life pull into a space near the entrance. He had never seen that car before, but he could easily assume it was Alfred's. No one else would own such a thing.
Matthew entered the room then, so quickly it was as if Alfred's arrival was controlling him… Arthur pushed the idea from his head.
"Alfred is here. He just called me," he said.
Liar… "Oh." Arthur's vision slowly clouded, like it had begun to snow indoors. His mouth opened and the words fell out like marbles, jumbled up and beyond his control. "Seems… the flag he has, decorated on the headlights..."
Matthew's expression fell blank, but a moment later he shook his head with jolt and blinked a few times. "Oh, his car. Pretty ridiculous, huh? That's Alfred for you." He smiled, too gently. Patronizingly. "Deep breaths, Arthur."
Arthur hesitated. "Of course," he said, as if reminding him was simply unnecessary. Invisible hands pulled at the stings attached to his heart, forcing it to hammer and pound against his ribs.
"I suppose I'll send him in, then."
Before Arthur could even look up, Matthew was gone. Snatched away, a voice insisted, or perhaps hiding like a demon in the shadows. It was still pulling the strings. Arthur could do nothing but ignore it, and wait.
The footsteps came first. Even those had character, Arthur noticed through his partial panic, like a heartbeat or a voice against the floorboards. He kept his gaze low and saw the floor shake, warp with every step. What should have been nearly inaudible tapping was an earthquake in his ears. The voice was like a warning siren, shrieking over the hills and penetrating windows and walls to warn civilians of the imminent danger.
"Hey, Artie! How ya doing, buddy?"
Arthur looked up slowly, like a weight was tied to his neck. Alfred was wearing the same jacket as before, the same proud stance as before, and the same grin as before… even if it did seem suspiciously more careful. Arthur looked down again. "Afternoon, Alfred."
"Afternoon!"
Then there was a silence that not even Alfred could fill. Arthur's voice was shot, stolen, and he could not tell who had taken it. Alfred was still smiling; it seemed inappropriate. The pause lasted a moment but felt like a year. Alfred broke it, of course.
"Hey, I brought you a little something." Before Arthur could understand, Alfred brought his hand from behind his back and presented him with something. Arthur stared, blinked. No, how on earth could he have remembered… "You had that thing for unicorns, right?"
"Oh, Alfred, good lord!" A stuffed unicorn. Alfred had actually brought him a stuffed unicorn. Though there was no one around, Arthur felt a flush rise up the back of his neck as he snatched it away. "That… was years ago." Despite his words, Arthur looked down at the doll and gave it a small squeeze. Something almost like comfort, something familiar, washed over him.
Alfred laughed, loud and boundless as always. "Come on, Art, you act like it's been a trillion years or something!"
Was it all that much of an exaggeration, really? Arthur could barely remember high school, or his early twenties, or last spring – he could not remember anything beyond these white walls, white pills handed to him in white cups, or white hissing static in his head and in his words. Everything he had lived through felt like nothing more than a forgotten dream.
Lost in deep thought, Arthur forgot to say anything, and only remembered Alfred was in front of him when he spoke again.
"So, uh, nice set up you got here! TV and everything, huh? It's kind of like a hotel!" Arthur just looked at him, and Alfred delved directly into his next thought. "Got any friends here? Want to introduce me?"
Arthur wanted to smile at that, if only because of the sheer absurdity, but couldn't manage it. "No friends," he said low, as he didn't know who was listening. "Only…" He hesitated, looked down at his hands, and then trailed off completely as the walls spoke his name.
Arthur. No.
Arthur froze. It was watching, it knew, and it was after him again. He had a target on his back and it all spun back on this stupid toy. Of course it would hate something that resembled… Something new spoke, frantic and firm.
Get rid of it. Now. Unsafe.
"What was that?" When he was not met with an answer, Alfred waved a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Doing okay, man?"
Arthur flinched, looked away. The darkness was closing in again, it knew, it was coming… Arthur's hands burned in fear around the fabric. He should not have something like this out in the open. "Hold on, hold on…" Leaving only that, he rushed away.
It took only moments to reach his room, to figure a plan, to silence the warning voices whispering to him. Arthur shoved the unicorn between the bedframe and the wall. "There," he muttered, as he pushed those lifeless eyes out of his sight, out of anyone's sight. He glared at the ceiling. "There, happy now?"
Silence.
Satisfied, Arthur stood, blinked away the static, and walked back to Alfred with an exasperated, forced expression.
Alfred did not seem to have moved. He was rooted there, his expression controlled, his raised eyebrow calculated. "Dude, is something going on?"
"Preposterous," scoffed Arthur. "I was only putting that silly thing away."
"…Oh." Alfred cleared his throat, blinked away the trepidation in his eyes, and grinned just as obnoxiously as he had before. "So, what do you want to do, buddy? We could watch TV, or… ooh! I have some clips from my games on my phone! Or…"
"Alfred."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I think I would just like to sit outside."
"Oh." Alfred sounded a bit defeated, but his smile snapped back into its rightful place just as quickly as it disappeared. "Yeah, that's cool."
Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and ran out to the courtyard the way Arthur would imagine he ran out to the field.
When he got outside, Arthur looked down at the stone-covered ground and flinched. It was too short a time since he'd fallen to his knees in this very spot. He blinked, shook his head lightly, and lifted his gaze to look at Alfred again. He was standing with his hands in his jacket pockets, smiling up at the sun as if he'd never seen it before.
"Long time since I've seen this place, huh?" Alfred laughed… Arthur had forgotten just how unmistakable that laugh was. He had forgotten a lot of things, it seemed. It was coming back, in some strange, fleeting way, like sparks off a fire. Arthur could sense the memories but not really hold onto them. It was an odd experience. Alfred said, "How has this week been treating ya?"
Arthur glanced down for a second more. He was hit with intrusive memory among the sparks – the paranoia, the voices, the bloody clopping… "You know," he muttered, making his way to a bench. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
Alfred sat down beside him. "Cool. I had practice all week. Got tackled a few times, ran a few dozen miles, made some hella amazing catches, you know… nothing out of the ordinary." There was that cheeky grin again. Arthur just looked at him.
"Always the humble one, aren't you, Alfred?"
"You bet!" A master of sarcasm, the boy was. "Anyway, I was meaning to ask, you're getting out of here soon, right?"
Arthur blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I mean, you've been in here for what, a month or something?"
"Well… two, actually, but-"
Alfred did not even allow him to finish. It was as if he simply didn't want to hear it. "Yeah, see? That's probably enough time." His grin seemed a little disingenuous now. "Aren't you sick of this place?"
Arthur was actually speechless at the suggestion. As if he had a choice. As if he ever did. He would like to think he could just up and walk out of here whenever he so pleased, and part of him believed that. But it was watching, always watching, even if it was not supposed to exist. Arthur had far more questions than answers and none of them lead to leaving. He was in chains.
But, just like it, they were chains no one else could see. "Maybe," Arthur said low. He cleared his throat. "You said you had something on your phone?"
"Oh, yeah, totally." His inquisitions seemingly forgotten, Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out what was just about the largest phone Arthur had ever seen. It had an American flag case on it that Arthur was half sure to be made up of diamonds. "I scored the most epic touchdown the other week! You have to see!"
Well, at least he was distracted. It never did take much.
As expected, Arthur had no idea what was going on in any of the five videos Alfred showed him. He hadn't the slightest clue what a 'first down,' 'linebacker,' or even a 'fumble' was. The bright colors were irritating and the loud noises made him anxious. However, what he did understand was Alfred's enthusiasm. How he jabbed at the screen whenever his numbered jersey, thirteen, was visible. How he tried to explain the plays, even if Arthur was hopelessly lost. How he beamed and cheered as if all of it was new to him.
"See, dude?" said Alfred as he turned the phone off. Arthur blinked back into awareness. "Isn't that sweet?"
"I guess so," said Arthur. "You must be quite passionate about this whole thing."
"You bet!" Alfred shoved the ridiculous phone back into his pocket. "Everyone needs a reason to get out of bed in the morning, you know?"
Arthur crossed his legs, uncrossed, and then crossed them again. The wind in the trees spoke his name. He ignored it, just as he did the strange pang of pain in his chest. "Of course."
Alfred was still smiling. In spite of himself, Arthur could not help but watch him. He was not used to seeing this kind of passion anymore. The closest he got from people around here was mania, senseless babbling, or, on occasion, violent rage. Alfred radiated hope and joy – even here.
Though he would never admit it, Arthur had always admired that about him. That much, he remembered. That much was familiar, albiet vaguely.
Arthur wished he could tell him that. But something, deep down within him, insisted it would be a very bad idea. And Arthur listened. He always seemed to listen.
In fact, he was listening so intently to that internal voice that he scarcely heard his name being called. "Arthur?" It was Matthew, having appeared out of nowhere. He always seemed to do that. "Group starts in about ten minutes. Just letting you know."
And there came reality. "Fantastic," muttered Arthur.
"Hey, bro!" said Alfred loudly, waving at Matthew with large swooping motions. "Artie will be in in a second. Can you give us a minute?"
From the open door, Matthew shot them a knowing glance paired with a smile that could almost be called patronizing. "Sure, Al."
When Matthew was out of sight, Alfred gave a low whistle. "They sure are strict around here, huh?"
Arthur had to force back the very real urge to laugh. Alfred didn't know the half of it. These people basically watched him bathe. "Quite," he said anyway.
"Hey," Alfred shrugged, "It ain't forever."
Again, Arthur had to fight back a laugh… though this one was mirthless. But again, all he said was, "Of course."
Then Alfred stood up, and Arthur had no choice but to stand up with him. He wondered if any time had truly passed at all. What might have been half an hour felt like thirty seconds, or thirty years. He couldn't quite be sure. One thing however, he could be sure about – everything was quiet. The wind simply sounded like wind. No hooves struck the stone; no voices fell hot against his neck, no words popped in his thoughts like popcorn kernels. It was simply… quiet.
Perhaps Alfred's presence was just too loud to overwrite. It always had been, after all.
"You gonna be alright?" said Alfred, a bit too quietly considering Arthur's thoughts. He sauntered towards the entrance, much slower than what was strictly necessary, and even then Arthur lagged a bit behind. "You know I'll be back in a week."
"I'll be just fine, thank you." Arthur crossed his arms. "I've gotten along… just fine, lately, before you came back around." For the last ten years. But, if Arthur was being honest, he could not remember a moment of the past decade. Nothing beyond random moments of staring out a window or faces in the walls.
"Guess you have, haven't you?" Alfred almost laughed. Then that smile simply broke to pieces and fell, like a house held up by centimeter-thick pillars. "You know, Artie…"
"Arthur."
"Arthur," Alfred quickly corrected himself. "I missed you a lot. Over the years, I mean. I've been busy and everything, but… you never really forget your best friend."
At a loss for words, Arthur tried desperately to wrap his head around all of this. His memories were so fragmented, so unreliable. Half of what he remembered he could not be sure had actually happened. He was still trying to remember what he remembered, if that made any sense at all. And what he hated even more, what was even more confusing and elusive, was that he was beginning to feel just as he did in high school. That he could even place that feeling, something that had existed before illness had taken over. Alfred struck something in him that was new and familiar at the same time. And he still didn't know what that meant or how to describe it. He ended up nodding, blankly staring at the trees.
"Did you miss me?"
A pause. The wordless wind blew through the trees again, and Arthur had no other place to look than Alfred. A few feet separated them. He wasn't sure what to do with the space. Then, finally, piecing together this confusion in slow motion, he said "Yes, Alfred, I did."
Alfred's eyes widened in shock – so much shock it probably should have been insulting. "Really?"
Arthur narrowed his eyes – his memories confused him, but he knew what they all boiled down to. "I'm not heartless," he said.
"Well, no, I didn't think that."
"And I never thought you did. Glad we cleared that up." Arthur suddenly went from being reluctant to see Alfred leave to desperately wishing he would. This conversation was getting too personal, the stares too intense. There was only so much of this he could take at once. This was, after all, the longest conversation he had had with anyone who wasn't a therapist in several years. He strode forward, just about brushing Alfred's shoulder in his jog towards the building. "Well, like Matthew said, I have things to do now. Goodbye, Alfred."
"Arthur, wait."
Arthur would have been long gone if it wasn't for Alfred's strong hand on his shoulder. A strange zing of panic shot through his skin, but Arthur still didn't pull away. "What is it?"
"I missed you," said Alfred again. "I missed you a whole lot."
Arthur stared at him. His blue eyes screamed sincerity, but he could not help but feel there was something behind them. Behind everything. "You said that already."
"But, do you understand?"
Arthur's patience snapped like a worn rubber band. "Alfred, I'm sick, not incompetent!"
Silence. The words hung in the air long enough for Arthur to regret them, to feel them pierce into his skin like needles. Alfred still had not released his shoulder.
"I was never too good with words," said Alfred after some time. "But you know what I was saying before, about needing something to get you out of bed in the morning?"
This was all starting to get complicated. Arthur was beginning to lose Alfred's words, all of them piling in his head like an overflowing basin.
Alfred continued anyway. "It's not always the same thing." He ran his thumb in an absent circle on Arthur's shoulder. "Like, football isn't always what keeps me going. Sometimes, it's… what I'm going to have for lunch, or the new Iron Man movie, or…" He trailed off and took a breath; visibly giving up on finishing that sentence, then lightly shook his head. "Artie…Arthur. Today it was you. And it isn't the first time."
Arthur tipped his head, almost observing, as if this was happening to someone else. Alfred was so over the top. He was just as he remembered him. Or at least, how Arthur had filled in the blanks. "Isn't this a bit dramatic?"
Alfred immediately shook his head. "No. I mean it."
Arthur shook his head, his mouth awkwardly hanging open. Meant what? This was too much at once and Arthur was overwhelmed. "Alfred…"
"I mean it!" he repeated firmly, loudly, almost childishly so. Then, too quietly, "I'll get you out of here. I promise."
It managed to happen too quickly and too slowly at the same time. As Arthur was still processing, Alfred simply… grabbed him. There was no warning, just action. Arthur did not even have time to react, much less process any of this back and forth. Then Alfred was suddenly kissing him and suddenly reality converged with fantasy, because Arthur was sure he had thought about this at one point or another, but suddenly it was happening, and he didn't know what had prompted it, or what to do, or how to breathe.
How was he meant to feel about this? Maybe ten years ago, Arthur would have that answer. But now there was nothing but messy touches and confusion.
And then, voices.
Usually, Arthur could make out what was being said to him, find the threat, and destroy it – if not simply avoid it. And sometimes he couldn't do any of that. Sometimes every source of energy in the room met and fused and morphed into a singular force and attacked him, mercilessly, like a waterfall rather than rain. And today Alfred had pushed him under the current.
And the waves crashed again him, and Arthur was swept beneath it, all the way to the ground, and screamed even as the water filled his lungs. He couldn't make out the words being said but he knew none of them were good. He couldn't make out his own heartbeat, or Alfred's voice, or Alfred's hands on his shoulders, or Alfred's presence at all. Arthur needed an escape and all the exits were boarded.
Arthur choked on all that was engulfing him, surviving on stolen breaths that made his vision go spotty. He couldn't tell real from fake or thought from action or touch from injury. The bottom of this rabbit hole was cold, flooded, and inescapable.
But no man can fall forever. Arthur eventually had to find a bottom, as he always did, and no matter how slow or difficult or confusing it was, he had to claw his way back to the surface, as he always did. And so he did. The black went away; the sun reentered. The screams quieted down. Arthur came to realize he was sitting on the cold, hard, dirty ground with his hands clapped uselessly over his ears. There was only one voice left, a real one. But for once Arthur wished it was fake.
"Oh, God. Arthur, Arthur, come on and look at me buddy, oh god…"
And slowly, Arthur looked up. "I'm…" He swallowed. "I'm fine."
Alfred looked back, but he did not answer. And then, in one surreal, miserable moment Arthur was sorely positive he would never forget, panic turned to solemnity. Alfred's innocence was nowhere to be found. Now, on the same face that looked like one of naïve teenager just an hour ago, was one of someone who had finally grown up enough to understand.
And Alfred was never meant to grow up.
To be continued...