Author's Note: Guys, I'm back on my bullshit. About a week and near 40 pages later, I've gotten my fever for writing back. I've started new stories, both original and, of course, for Hetalia. I don't think I'll ever let it go. So, expect more. :)

Also! I've been rereading the hospiverse, and I think it's time I've made some edits. Particularly to Little Sunflower. Is it beating a dead horse? Probably. But, regardless, I plan to rework some of my older stories. Not majorly, but enough that it reflects my current level of skill, some flaws are removed, and they quit bugging me!

Arthur only really knew one thing about his father, and it was that he was a whore.

It wasn't that he had anything against the man – he didn't know enough about him to justify it, really. All Arthur had to remember his father, an airline pilot he had only met a handful of times, were the three children aside from Arthur he left in his wake during his travels in Europe. They were scattered, almost comically so. England. Scotland. Northern Ireland. Wales. Puddle jumps away from each other, but scarcely more than failed pen pals.

Seamus and Dylan, though present in photobooks and stories passed down from Arthur's mother, were vaguely more than memories. But Alistair was different. The way it turned out, Alistair's mother had terrible taste in men, beginning with Arthur's father and ending with the bloke she married afterwards. Though he only had Alistair's own accounts to go by, Arthur knew he was a loud, nasty man, and far too eager to pour a glass. By Alistair's teen years, he was sick of it, and reasonably so.

Desperate to get far, far away, as far as possible, Alistair had left Scotland during secondary to join Arthur and his mother in America. Arthur was never certain why he had chosen them over the other two and their own families, but usually decided not to question it. The agreement was simple – so long as Alistair attended school and generally stayed out of trouble, he was free to live with them in their home.

He was as close to a brother as Arthur could reasonably ask for.

.

"Artie," said Alistair, sitting purposefully in the seat next to him. "I think we need to have a chat."

Arthur glanced up from the textbook he was studying, or, more realistically, staring at. His head hurt and nothing was getting done – the case since the beginning of the semester. Lately, reading felt much like navigating through a heavy fog. The words kept mucking together, sometimes right in front of Arthur's own eyes, and nine times out of ten, by the end of the page, he had no clue what was on it. With finals coming up, this was especially bothersome. And Alistair was not helping.

"Really," said Arthur flatly, still pretending to read. "And why's that?"

A pause. "You're off to university next year, right?"

Arthur blinked. "Yes," he said. He was positive Alistair knew that already. "Why?"

Another pause. Alistair let his eyes flit to Arthur's book, glazing over the words for a long moment. Arthur moved his hand to cover the words self-consciously. He wished Alistair would stop looking at him. Why did everyone look at Arthur so much lately? It was driving him mad. "You want to be an English professor eventually, right?" said Alistair finally.

"Yes," repeated Arthur. Alistair was still staring and Arthur finally had to snap, "Do you have a point?"

Alistair raised a hand. "No need to get defensive. I just wanted to ask how everything was going. With admissions and the lot."

"Fine," said Arthur, perhaps a little too quickly. "Everything is fine." He closed his eyes. Dammit. If he was going to lie to his brother, the very least he could do was make it believable. He kept speaking, hoping to recover. "I was accepted into University of Chicago, you know that."

"Is that still what you're planning to do?"

"Of course, why would anything be different?" Arthur felt a hot tinge of anger. This was pointless, utterly pointless, he needed to go back to studying… whatever he was studying, history maybe? Biology? He glanced down at the book – maths. Of course. "Alistair, honestly, I need to get back to work-"

"I saw your grades, Artie."

Arthur's mind turned to TV static, white and meaningless, a tangle of too many thoughts. "What?" He suddenly felt naked, exposed, stripped of his dignity and thrown to the wolves. Alistair knew too much. He knew too much, and Arthur was overcome by a strange urge to run. He wondered how much else he knew. "How?"

"You left it open on the computer."

Did he? Arthur had no recollection of signing into the online gradebook, but he supposed it was possible. His fingers tapped rapidly against the table. "Wonderful," he said low. Yes, his grades had taken a significant dip in the past few months, but did it matter, really? He was a senior, nearly graduated. He was tired. Just tired.

"It just seems strange." The accusations were left unsaid, but Arthur could see them in Alistair's eyes. "You were always an A student."

"Yes, well, things change."

"Artie... Arthur." Alistair looked at him pointedly, his usually cheerful green eyes looking too dark and too serious. He raked a hand through his wild red hair. "I'm worried."

"Don't you think this is a little dramatic?" Resigned to not getting a thing done today, Arthur closed his textbook with what was probably more drama than necessary. "The classes I have left are nothing more than a time fill, anyway. I've been accepted to university. There's no sense in stressing over it."

"They can revoke acceptance, you know."

Yes, Arthur knew, as made clear by the warning letter he had received in the mail a few weeks ago. But they were only trying to scare him, surely. "Well, they won't."

"Arthur, is there something you aren't telling me?" Alistair met his eyes, and Arthur looked away, uncomfortable. Maybe things would be easier if everyone stopped bloody looking at him like that. "Is something wrong?"

No, nothing was wrong, not as long as Arthur refused to entertain the idea that there could be something wrong. So what if he was having trouble studying? So did the rest of the blasted population. So what if he was getting a little less sleep, or the wind sounded a little louder, or he kept forgetting things like where he put his house key or his locker combination? It happened. It could happen to anyone. And it didn't mean a thing.

Arthur spoke in a jumble. "No, nothing is wrong. Glad we have that settled. Goodbye, Alistair."

Before Alistair had a chance to speak, Arthur collected his things and left the room, leaving his brother and his baseless accusations behind.

.

During times like this, Arthur could just cover his ears.

The hospital was usually loud, but Arthur was used to that. Mathias spent the majoring of his free time shouting, laughing, or crying. Gilbert and Ivan did little else than fight with each other. Besides the other patients, there was a constant parade of doctors, nurses, orderlies, visitors… without fail, someone was always running around and causing a racket. And if it wasn't one of them, Arthur could count on the noise in his own head to scream at him. After a certain point it became white noise.

But this, this was ridiculous.

From what Arthur had seen, family therapy was almost never productive. In fact it seemed to be the opposite, with strangers bumbling around, pretending to understand, inevitably pissing off the person they were there for before returning to their privileged lives back in the real world. Arthur was positive everyone involved knew it was a load. But half the damn country insisted on showing up every single time regardless.

So, as the endless barrage of strange people and strange noises assaulted his senses, Arthur sat on the sofa and covered his ears. Usually, he would stay in his room and wait out the chaos. In the first two months he was there no one ever bothered to come for him. But now there was Alfred, who would be here any minute.

And, according to Matthew, Alistair would be, too.

It baffled him, why Alistair would make such a promise after years of not being present in his life. After Arthur's admission to the prestigious university of his choice had been revoked, and after he had slipped away to a local community college out of shame, he made a conscious effort to ignore everyone, to hide from everything. Even his own brother. Even Alfred. Considering the spiral that had occurred shorty after he left home, it was probably for the best.

But Alistair had found him somehow. It should not have surprised him, considering Alfred had done the same. Maybe Arthur was not as well hidden as he would have liked. But now Alistair was just another thing Arthur had to deal with, another reminder of how things were before his life came crashing down on him.

So, Arthur covered his ears.

But even a moment of peace was too much to ask for. Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder that he immediately jerked away from, turned, and saw Matthew looking at him. "Hey, Arthur," he said, a little too patronizing for Arthur's liking. "Everything alright?"

"Fine," said Arthur. "Everything is fine."

Matthew just stared, and Arthur immediately knew he did not believe him. Oh well, did it matter, really? "Try not to stress too much. It's only about an hour, after all."

Arthur slowly lowered his hands and began to pick at his lounge pants. "Why is he coming?"

"Who? Alfred?"

"No." Arthur pursed his lips. He didn't know why Alfred kept coming, either, but it was habit that had already been established. "Alistair. I never told him where I was."

Matthew blinked. "He was your emergency contact, Arthur."

Arthur must have filled out those forms at some point but had no recollection of doing so. He wondered if Alistair had been alerted, or if Arthur himself had told him and forgotten about it. He wondered if there had been an emergency since he checked in; if this entire situation constituted as one. He wondered if someone here had simply told him, maliciously, behind Arthur's back, for no other reason than to ruin his brother's image of him.

Did it matter, really?

"Guess he would find out eventually," muttered Arthur. For a moment he heard the hooves. Then he looked to the window – rain. Buckets of it. Pounding against the window and into his head. Arthur sighed. More noise.

Matthew was about to speak again when he looked away. Arthur followed his gaze to a large blond man he recognized as one of the hospital's surgeons, stony-eyed and abrasive. He was making his way to Gilbert.

"I have to get going," said Matthew quickly. "I'll be right back, okay? I'll let you know when it's time for your session."

Arthur didn't bother to respond or even nod. It wasn't like Matthew was listening to him anyway. So he just sat, managing for the most part to drown out the voice in his head telling him he was in danger. It was a good day. If he was able to tune it out, able to sit still and be present even though he was exhausted, it was a good day. Arthur watched, perhaps too eagerly, for Alfred. Since their reunion, Alfred has seen almost nothing but Arthur's bad days.

This would be nice.

After a few minutes of scanning the crowd and eyeing the door, Arthur saw a flash of red hair. Alfred would be here soon, he told himself, but this would have to be dealt with first.

Arthur straightened and raked a hand through his hair, self-conscious suddenly, and stared. Alistair had not changed much. The same messy hair, the same bushy eyebrows, the same burly chest and imposing height. He had a beard now, short and well-kept. He was older now, evidently, but Arthur had forgotten his age. Maybe mid-thirties.

He stood, uneasy on his legs. "Alistair," he said, taking a cautious step forward. Where would he begin, exactly? What was there even to say? "I'm –"

But before Arthur could form a single sentence, he came to the strange realization that Alistair was not alone. Behind him were two men, one with the same red hair, the other a brunette. Arthur blinked, for a moment sure he was imagining this. No, he could not have possibly…

"ARTHUR!" cried the other redhead, loud enough that Arthur had to cover his ears again. Then they were running at him, practically charging, and oh god what was going on… "Long time no see, boyo!"

"I…" Arthur felt as if someone has shoved a wet rag down his throat. He had expected Alistair, prepared for Alistair, and now this was hitting him, assaulting him, out of nowhere. If this was not a good day, he would have succumbed to the alarm bells already. But this was a good day. "Alistair?" he said finally, weakly.

"Artie," said Alistair finally, pushing his way past the other two men. When he smiled it was almost apologetic. "You remember Dylan and Seamus."

Arthur was glad he introduced them because he had completely forgotten their names. He could barely remember the name of his hometown or what he had for damn breakfast, how was he supposed to remember the half-brothers he had probably met twice? "Of course," he said anyway. "I just… did not expect to see them today, is all."

Alistair opened his mouth only to be interrupted by Dylan. At least, Arthur thought it was Dylan. "Arthur, buddy," he said, reaching out to touch Arthur's shoulder. Arthur flinched away, something uncomfortable swirling in his gut. "We missed you."

Missed him? Arthur was not sure whether to laugh or cry. How could they possibly have missed him? These men had barely known him when he was healthy, let alone when he was confused, sick, and miserable. They were mere blips in a life he had been forced to leave behind. Arthur didn't respond.

"Artie, listen," Alistair was speaking now, his words drowning in his thick Scottish brogue. Arthur just stared at him. "I know I should have told you ahead of time. I thought more support would do you good."

"More support…" Arthur shook his head, this mind tangled with too many thoughts, too many possibilities, too much noise. But this was a good day and he could handle it, surely. He brought his voice down to a low hiss. "You do realize this is part of my treatment, yes? To discuss… all of this, with family?"

"We're your brothers, Artie."

Arthur closed his eyes. That name. That nickname would have to stop, immediately. It reminded him of places, people he could not pin down to specific times, specific emotions, like a puzzle thrown to the ground and shattered, its pieces missing and mangled and wrong.

Alfred called him that. But that was different.

Dylan and Seamus were talking amongst themselves now, laughing and joking like they were in a pub rather than a hospital. Everyone was staring. He could feel it.

Arthur curled his fingers into his palm tightly enough to feel his bitten fingernails dig into his skin. "Yes, well…" A mumble of noise stung the back of his mind, but he brushed it off and kept going. "Just because we're related doesn't mean you give a toss."

He could have directed the words at the other two, but Arthur let the accusation include Alistair and he let it sting. They had had a relationship, a lifetime ago, to the point that Arthur could have seen this going well if it had only been him. But Alistair had to be so daft, so unbelievably inconsiderate, that he rounded up every European who shared Arthur's bloodline and brought them along to see the freakshow. And they didn't even have the decency to take it seriously.

Alistair just stared at him, mouth agape, and blinked a few times. "I wanted to help," he said quietly. "I miss you, Artie. We all missed you."

Arthur glanced over Alistair's shoulder. Dylan and Seamus were shoving each other about, cursing and laughing loudly, absorbed in their own little world.

Clearly, they had missed him terribly.

"This is absurd." Arthur turned, if only to hide his burning face and preserve the last bit of dignity he had left. He spun on his heels and marched swiftly down the hall, leaving his brothers and their noisy chatter behind.

Arthur rounded a corner, praying no one would follow, and gripped his hair messily in his hands. Damn it, damn it all to hell. His first good day in weeks, maybe months, and Alistair had to do THIS to him. Arthur strode over to the wall and kicked it hard enough to leave a scuff mark. He had left for a reason all those years ago, now everyone needed to just leave him alone.

"Arthur? Where are you going?"

Arthur could barely fight the urge to shriek. Matthew. Of course. "Nowhere. Just taking a walk," he said evenly. "And I would appreciate if you left me be."

Matthew ignored the request, and before Arthur knew it he was by his side. "What happened in there?" he asked. And Arthur was so sick of that gentle voice. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

Arthur took a slow, cleansing breath, and spoke. "Alistair was supposed to come. I knew that. That was fine. But for whatever reason, he decided it would be a brilliant idea to drag my other brothers along, who I haven't spoken with in eons. I barely know them at all. They do not understand my situation. Their being here is utterly pointless."

Matthew hummed in acknowledgment. "I see. That must be very difficult, having this sprung on you. It certainly wasn't very fair of him to do that," he said. "Are you feeling threatened by this, Arthur?"

"Threatened?" Arthur rubbed at the scuff mark with his toe. He looked up, zoning out for a moment as he watched the rain pour down outside. There was a loud crack of thunder. He listened for voices, for clopping, for anything he was used to. It was there, but faintly. Like tinnitus rather than a symphony. Because this was a good day. At least, it was supposed to be.

Finally, Arthur threw up his hands. "No, nothing is threatening me. I'm pissed, Matthew. Am I still allowed to just be pissed?"

Matthew reeled back, bewildered. "Of course you're allowed. Whatever you're feeling is completely valid. I just wanted to make sure you were handling this okay."

"Yes, fine. Everything is just fine."

Arthur turned around if it to prove his point. He walked back into the lobby, less huffily, only to freeze when he saw Alfred standing amongst the crowd. Beside him were two unfamiliar women. Arthur almost laughed at the sheer absurdity though he felt on the verge of tears. Was it a requirement that everyone bring an entourage today?

Arthur watched as Alfred said a few words to the women, smiling, and shook both of their hands. To Arthur's almost dizzying relief, the women immediately left Alfred's side… and strode immediately to Ivan. Arthur blinked. Slightly dazed but feeling a tiny bit better, he took a few careful steps in Alfred's direction. He walked past his brothers, ignoring them.

"Hey, Artie!" said Alfred. He waltzed over, thankfully alone, and cautiously opened his arms. Arthur rolled his eyes but accepted the hug a little too quickly. Alfred's leather jacket was damp and smelled like the rain, mixed with something suspiciously close to ketchup.

Alfred patted Arthur on the back a couple times, then released him. The room felt suddenly colder. "Dude, you would not believe the trip I had. Did you know your roommate has sisters? It was like, crazy weird. I was in West Virginia and – "

Arthur tried to cling to the words, knowing full well he would not be able to follow this story, and nearly had a heart attack when he realized Matthew had appeared beside them. Did he always have to sneak up on him like that?

"Alfred. You made it," said Matthew dryly. "You do know this is a family therapy day."

Alfred nodded. "Yep. Arthur asked me to come."

"Yes, well, after you insisted." Arthur looked away, scratched his head. "But yes, I suppose I did ask."

"Well, if that's what you want, Arthur." Arthur gave a short nod. "Of course, Alfred cannot sit in on your session. I would prefer we keep those family only. However, I have a few sessions to get through before yours, so if you want…"

"I would like to be with Alfred alone, please." Arthur did not even think about the words. He tried to recover. "He hasn't finished telling me about his trip."

"Oh. Well." Matthew glanced between Arthur, Alfred, Arthur's brothers, the rest of the crowd. The storm cast their bodies in dark shadows, pacing the room like ghosts. Matthew's sympathetic gaze meant Arthur must have looked pleading, which embarrassed him. "Tell you what. I'll have a chat with your brothers first, and we can reconvene later. If you feel more comfortable in your room, feel free to speak with Alfred there."

"Sure, quite." Arthur tried to ignore Alfred's wild grin. "Come on now, Alfred. Goodbye, Alistair." He gave a short wave across the room, to which Alistair stared at him blankly. A flash of lightning reflected off the red in his beard. Arthur just kept walking.

Arthur opened his door to a wash of white, cast grey by the raging rain. White walls, white sheets, two white beds strewn messily apart. The only made bed in the room had a pink unicorn perched on top. Arthur made a sweeping motion with his arm, as if to present something. "It's not much," he mumbled.

"Uh, I've been here before, Arthur." Alfred walked to the center of the room and stared at Arthur's bed. "Mind if I lay down?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Alfred lifted his hands. "Not trying to be weird. I just had a long trip."

Of course, he was tired. Arthur immediately felt silly for the fluttering feeling in his gut. "Fine, fine," he said, flicking a hand towards the bed. He closed the door behind him.

Alfred practically dove for the bed and collapsed into the quilt, sighing loudly, messing up the blankets, probably getting everything wet. He used the unicorn as a pillow. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "Man," he said, stretching out like a starfish. "Fifteen hours driving in the rain is no fun, let me tell you."

Arthur tried to remember the last time he operated a car, wondered if he ever would again. He pushed the thoughts away. "Sounds like a pain." The rain seemed to only grow louder. Arthur cupped his neck and stared out the window, feeling lost in his own room.

Alfred was looking at him, his blond hair messy and sticking up randomly from where he lay on the pillow. His glasses were crooked. Somehow, he looked better than he did in the shiny, highly produced photographs he did for magazines. "You seem well today," he said.

So he had noticed. Arthur felt an odd swell of pride, a misplaced zing of hope. He took a few steps closer. "Good days, bad days. Like anything else." In a few seconds that felt like an hour, he crossed the rest of the room and sat carefully in the tiny space Alfred had left on the bed for him. He smoothed a tiny wrinkle in the sheets. "So, fifteen hours? That long?"

Alfred nodded. "Give or take."

Arthur swallowed hard as he imagined Alfred traveling across the country, maneuvering through the storm, for hours and hours on end just to get to him. Any normal person would simply wait until their schedule calmed down, or until they were closer to New York. At the very least they would visit less frequently than ever single week. But of course, Alfred was no normal man.

"Well, thank you for coming." Arthur did not look at Alfred, only continued to pick at the bed and count the booms of thunder. They were getting closer together. "I appreciate it."

"I told you, every week." Alfred said the words firmly. He paused, cleared his throat. "You look a little tired."

"Do I?" Arthur supposed that could be the case, this place was tiring in general, but he did not feel particularly exhausted. "I suppose."

"Yeah. I just thought, like…" Arthur heard Alfred shift around. "Did you want to get a little rest before therapy?"

"I'm sure it won't be very long."

"I mean, I dunno. Mattie might take a long time with some of these people." A flash of lightning cut the room in two. Alfred was always so damn insistent, Arthur mused to himself. "I just don't want you to be tired." Another pause. "There's space, you know."

Oh. Because Alfred was trying to get him to lay beside him. Arthur exhaled heavily through his nose in the place of a laugh. It seemed like something he would pull with one of his girlfriends in high school. But, after dealing with the crowd, dealing with Alistair, dealing with Dylan and Seamus… Arthur supposed he was a little worse for wear.

"You aren't my mother, Alfred," he said. But he swung his feet onto the bed anyway. Arthur squirmed awkwardly onto his back, suddenly very aware that he was only given a twin bed, and clasped his hands together on his chest, prayer-like. He stared at the white, white ceiling, at the shadows cast by raindrops.

"Were those your brothers out there, Art?"

"Yes." Arthur wondered what they were doing out there, if they were even still here at all. "I have no idea why Alistair felt the urge to bring the other two along. He might as well have plucked a couple random men off the street."

"I think you're being a little bit harsh, buddy." Alfred removed his glasses and cast them onto the bedside table. "I know you didn't know those guys all that well, but maybe Alistair just wanted you to see your family. Maybe he thought you'd want to see them."

"I'm sure he thought a lot of things." Arthur focused his gaze on the window. "Now is just not the time."

Alfred shrugged. "Sure, I get it." There was a long, still pause, long enough that Arthur let his eyes close before Alfred spoke again. "I feel like rushing into something is a never a great idea around here."

Arthur may have lost a bit of his perception throughout all of this, but something told him they were not speaking about his brothers anymore. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Alfred rolled from his back to his side, resting his head on both his hands. He looked at Arthur with tired, yet unblinking eyes. It was unnerving to see him with such a blank expression. "There's been something I've been meaning to talk to you about, actually."

Arthur's heart skipped a hard beat. "Out with it, then."

"Do you remember when I first started visiting, Art?"

Arthur was a little insulted at that. Sometimes he wondered just how sick Alfred thought he was. "Of course I bloody remember, Alfred."

"Alright, alright. I knew that." Alfred nuzzled further into the unicorn, the neon pink fur clashing cartoonishly with everything else. "But, do you remember what happened in the courtyard?"

Arthur was overcome with the sudden urge to throttle him. Why did Alfred always choose the worst times to be subtle? "Don't you think that's a tiny bit vague? Bloody hell, we've been out to that courtyard about a million bloody times…"

"When I kissed you, Arthur."

"Oh." The memory came back in a torrent of confusion, showering down on him as if Arthur had walked outside. They had not spoken about that moment since it happened. Arthur assumed they were going to shove it under the rug, forget about it, pretend it had never occurred, because it would be what was best for the both of them. Whatever Alfred had meant by that kiss, Arthur was certain he could not handle it right now. "That was ages ago."

"Only a few weeks," said Alfred.

Was it only that long ago? Considering the amount of times Arthur had replayed those events in his head, it might as well have been a year. "Why bring it up now, then?" he said a little too snippily.

"Driving all over Timbuktu gives you a lot of time to think." Alfred laughed humorlessly. "I just… It wasn't smart of me, Arthur. And I don't think I ever properly apologized."

Of course. Alfred was too decent for his own good sometimes. "No need to be dramatic. It happened and it's over." Arthur tried to will himself to change the subject, but his mind stubbornly refused to move. "Why did you do it?" It was a question he hasn't sure he wanted an answer to. He asked it anyway.

"You know, I've asked myself that a bunch of times. I always end up with a different answer." Alfred jostled a hand through his rain-tossed hair, and then rested his hand in the small space between them. Arthur could feel the warmth of it by his side. "I think I just wanted you to know I was serious. About wanting to be in your life again, I mean." Another dry laugh. "Then I got carried away."

"What else is new?" Arthur thought back to when Alfred assaulted a reporter to defend his honor and barely fought back a smile.

"But, Arthur?" A ferocious gust of wind nearly shook the building. "I don't think I regret it."

Arthur felt his face fall. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt cotton-dry. "Oh, is that right?"

"Yeah. I mean, obviously it wasn't exactly the time or the place. I'm sorry about that. But…" Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Alfred break out in a strange, guarded grin. "It felt right."

Arthur's face flushed. He twisted his hands together more tightly, almost painfully. Not this, not now. Too many emotions were pecking at Arthur and all things considered he could not make odds or ends of any of them. Again, it just was not the time. "Alfred, I don't know…"

Alfred quickly interrupted, "No, I know. I'm not trying to open a whole big can of worms. I just wanted you to know." He took a deep breath. "Look, I can't say there were no feelings behind what I did. But I know you have a lot on your plate. And I won't make it worse, not purposely at least. I just… I really, really care, Arthur. I want you to know that. So I don't mess up trying to show it again."

Slowly, carefully, Arthur turned from his back and lied to face Alfred. "Oh, Alfred," he said finally. "Did you think I didn't know that already?"

Alfred blinked, his intensely blue eyes wide.

"Of course you care, Alfred. I'm not deaf and dumb. Why else would you punch the lights out of some newscaster and spend a small fortune in gas every week?"

"Well, yeah. I just meant…"

"I know."

Arthur knew what Alfred meant. He was not so far gone that he had missed it. They both knew something was there, no matter how far down that something had been smashed down and hidden. No matter if Arthur did not have the mental stamina to even entertain the thought. It was there, and it was overpowering. It was there whatever Alfred smiled at him, whenever he touched him, whenever he left and came back again. But of course – this was just not the time. And both of them understood that.

Arthur had let his hand fall between them, and Alfred moved his own to cover it. He gave a gentle squeeze, looking Arthur clear in the eyes, and then let go. A small part of Arthur wished he hadn't. "Every week," said Alfred.

"Alright, alright. You've said that already." Arthur tried to sound annoyed, though he knew he was smiling. His skin tingled with emotion purer than he had felt in months. It was a good day, a great day, a remarkable moment. For once there was no confusion. No fog.

It was a shame it had to be tinged in sadness.

The storm had grown to something almost mythological. Lighting and thunder roared with almost no time between them, turning night to day and shaking the foundation of the earth. Arthur almost felt like he should be scared. But he could not be scared, not with Alfred so close. But, he felt so far away at the same time. Arthur chose to ignore that, just as he had to ignore many things. Instead he allowed himself to sink into the bed, to inhale the scent off Alfred's jacket and forget everything outside of themselves. Before he knew it, Alfred was asleep. And Arthur soon followed.

…

Arthur awoke to complete darkness. He sat up, for a moment panicked he had gone blind. But there was still lightning in the window, still streetlamps blurred into flashes of dull light. He had no idea how much time had passed. "Alfred," he said, reaching over and jostling Alfred's shoulder. "Alfred, wake up."

"Hmm?" Alfred groaned, audibly shifting awake. He sat up, the silhouette of his hand reaching to rub his eyes. "Oh, shit. We must have lost power."

"Figures," muttered Arthur. After a storm like this, he was hardly surprised. "What time is it, even? I thought I was supposed to have a session."

Alfred fished his phone from his pocket and switched on the screen. The sudden blue light was extraordinary in this kind of dark. "A little past nine," he said. "Geez. It's been hours. I would think Matt would have beaten this door down by now."

Arthur was overcome by the sickening feeling that something was wrong. This was only compounded by what sounded like a low groan from somewhere outside. But Arthur knew better than to trust his own ears. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Yeah, actually." Arthur elected to ignore that Alfred sounded surprised. "Oh God, Arthur, do you think it's a ghost?"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," grumbled Arthur. And he was the crazy one. "Remember where you are, Alfred. I'm positive it was just another patient."

Alfred swallowed loudly and flicked on the flashlight feature in his phone. The bright light cast the rest of the room in shadows. It was still empty. No Ivan, no Gilbert. "Are you sure?" whispered Alfred.

"Yes, positive." Arthur stood from the bed. "If it bothers you so much, let's see where it's coming from."

"Do we really have to?"

"For the love of God, don't be a child. You know there is no such thing as ghosts." Arthur sighed, extended a hand, and softened his tone. "Come on, now. I want to find out what in the hell is going on."

Slowly, Alfred took his hand. Arthur pretended to be doing it for his sake. Then, lead by the light coming from Alfred's phone, they walked out of the room and into the hallway. The first thing Arthur noticed was that it was empty. Family members no longer swarmed the lobby, patients no longer ran down the hallways. Arthur felt a pinch of something like remorse. He wished he could have at least said goodbye to Alistair.

Still dragging Alfred behind him like a puppy, Arthur continued down the long, vacant hallway. Lightning illuminated the building every few moments, aided by the brightness of Alfred's rapidly moving flashlight. There were a few more groans; wailing, almost. If his mind was not playing tricks on him, a soft voice. Arthur followed the noise. Like a strange game of Marco, Polo, he was able to trail the mix of sounds around a series of twists and turns.

Then, finally, Arthur found Matthew. He was sitting on the floor, body twisted strangely, legs tucked clumsily underneath him, his forehead and both his hands pressed against one of the many doors. His flannel was crumpled. His blond curls were frizzy, unkempt, his head bent below his elbows in a kind of reverent bow. In that moment, Matthew looked very small. Almost broken.

It was Alfred who spoke first, his fear forgotten. "Mattie? What the hell are you doing here?"

Matthew snapped his gaze upwards and gasped. His eyes were dark and hollow behind his glasses. "God, Alfred! You scared me! What are you still doing here?"

"We fell asleep. I assumed you would come get us. Did you forget Arthur had a session?" Alfred was speaking for him and Arthur decided to let him. "Where did Arthur's brothers go? Did something happen? This is all really, really…" He broke off in an awkward stutter. "Jesus Christ, Mattie, what happened to your face?"

Arthur followed Alfred's gaze until it landed on Matthew's face. On his cheek was a red, swollen welt, raised and angry.

"Oh. Um…" Matthew raised a hand to cover the mark as if it would make it go away. "There was an incident," he finished weakly.

Alfred dropped Arthur's hand and took a heavy step forward. "What kind of incident?"

"Nothing. Oh God, Alfred, it's nothing." Before Alfred had a chance to respond, the groaning sobs Arthur had heard before happened again. He finally realized it was coming from the other side of the door Matthew was leaning on. This time, it was followed by a string of words that sounded… German. Matthew spoke frantically. "Arthur, your session was rescheduled due to unforeseen circumstances. Alistair said he would still be in town for a couple of days. I sincerely apologize. Alfred, visiting hours ended a long time ago. You need to leave, please. Immediately."

Alfred did not move. "Not until you tell me who hurt you."

"Alfred," said Arthur quickly. He did not know what was going on, but it was none of his business, it seemed. And he was not about to allow his time with Alfred to be invaded for someone else's drama. "It's been a long day. I'm sure Matthew will be more than happy to explain all of this to you in the morning. We have to get going now."

Alfred reluctantly turned to head back down the hall. Before following him, Arthur took a long moment to study the scene before him. Matthew, injured and miserable, curled up on the floor. A voice he was now sure belonged to Gilbert, wailing in a closet like a banshee. And here Arthur was, completely together and coherent, escorting out a star quarterback who had just been in his bed.

As shameful as it was to admit, Arthur felt a sick sense of pride knowing someone was finally, finally, worse off than he was. That for once he could pass as a normal man, as the person he was before the wind began to speak to him, before a sickening sense of something was always lurking behind him. That for once no one could call him crazy. If only just for the night.

To be continued...