In the days following prom, Arthur tried to pretend he was not avoiding Alfred. He had no reason to, after all. Alfred had gone with a girl, just as many boys their age did, and he had kissed her, again, just as many boys their age did. It was no big deal. Deep down Arthur knew why he was treating it like a big deal, below several layers of denial. But for now, he simply rushed in the other direction whenever he saw Alfred approaching, convincing himself he had a pressing matter to attend to.

It did not help, of course, that on the night of prom Arthur had lied to Alfred. He did not intend to do it – though he was not sure what the alternative would have been. He certainly wasn't going to tell Alfred the truth: that after two warning letters, three failing grades, and one final letter later, University of Chicago had revoked his admission.

Arthur really didn't mean for it to get this bad. Of course he didn't mean to, but after all was said in done, there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Somehow, it had all gotten to be too much. Little things. Waking up on time in the morning. Figuring out where he had left his bookbag. Hell, on one occasion, spelling his last name. Schoolwork had gotten to be the last thing on his mind, and when he tried he couldn't understand it. He tried to tell himself nothing was wrong. That this kind of thing happened to everyone. But after he had received that letter, red lettered and deadly serious, everything got to be, much too real. He knew this was not normal. But he had no idea what to do.

So, Arthur did nothing.

"There you are!"

Arthur cringed when he heard the voice: loud, booming, and unmistakably southern. It had been three days since he last heard it. He was caught between grateful and terrified. "Oh, Alfred," he said, trying to sound casual. "How are you?"

Alfred appeared in front of him in the crowded hallway, his lips drawn into a pout. "Don't 'how are you' me!" He crossed his arms, which Arthur fought not to laugh at. Alfred trying to be serious was quite adorable. "Artie, you haven't said three words to me since this weekend. I know somethin' is up."

Arthur stiffened. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Really, Alfred," said Arthur. "Everything is fine."

"You know, I would be a little more inclined to believe you if you weren't lying the last time you said that."

Alfred took a few steps to the side and leaned against a locker, still pouting. Arthur sighed – he had no choice but to have this conversation. "It's nothing serious," he said. "Things have been a little hectic, with graduation and all that. It's all making me a little irritable."

"You're always irritable."

Arthur scoffed indignantly. "I am not!"

Alfred smirked at that, and Arthur realized he had made his point. He rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he continued, "it's nothing personal. Now, please, I have a class to get to." Then, he tried to walk away.

"Wait." Alfred stepped out in front of Arthur again, blocking him. "There's gotta be something else. Artie, I really don't mean to pry, but I feel like something had to happen to make you ignore me for damn near a week."

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, feeling trapped. He hated this. He hated that things had gotten so out of control that he had to lie to Alfred, to keep lying to him, even if he was the person Arthur trusted the most at this point. But his pride would not allow him to even think about that letter, much less talk about it.

So instead, he asked a question that had been nipping away at his mind, the other reason he had been dodging his best friend all this time. "Are you dating that girl, Alfred?"

"Huh?" Alfred scrunched up his nose. "Who? Mei?"

"Yes." At that, Arthur felt a pang of poorly repressed anger. "You kissed her, didn't you? That must mean you're in some way involved."

"Oh." Alfred flushed a bit at that, and Arthur felt his anger grow to some furious and unreasonable. There was no reason for this, he told himself as his jaw tensed. Alfred continued uneasily. "Well, uh. She… she kissed me, Art, it wasn't exactly something I planned."

That made Arthur feel better, if only a little bit. But when the image cropped up in his mind again, he stopped caring about the specifics. "You didn't exactly stop her."

Alfred's head jerked back. "Why do you care so much?" he asked. "You're making me feel like I did something wrong, here."

And again, Arthur was faced with a question he couldn't answer. There was no reason for him to care so much. But he knew why he did, and that just made him angrier. "I just think it's a tiny bit uncouth, that's all."

"Uncoo…" Alfred shook his head again. "What?"

"Uncouth, Alfred. Impolite. Trashy." He nearly spit the words and they left a bitter taste in his mouth. Alfred did not deserve this, he didn't do anything wrong, not really. But still Arthur could not stop himself, could not sooth the horrible feeling in his chest. "To lead on a nice girl like that. To allow her to kiss you when you had no intentions to start anything serious. It really is a horrid look, Alfred, and you should feel ashamed."

The hall was suddenly too warm, the air too thick and too still. "That's not fair," said Alfred quietly.

No, of course it wasn't. But nothing about this was fair. "Look, I get it. You're a young, hormonal teenager. I'm just saying you should get it together before you develop a reputation."

Alfred frowned. "I'm only two years younger than you."

Arthur laughed dryly. "Yes, well, sometimes you act a bit younger than that. Dafter, too. Maybe that's why you failed the eighth grade."

Alfred reeled back as if he had been slapped, and Arthur immediately knew he had gone about a million miles too far. Alfred had told him that in confidence, and here he was, throwing it back in his face like a weapon. The sick feeling Arthur had been trying to get rid of with this doubled over. "Alfred, I didn't mean…"

"You know what, Arthur?" Alfred was not crying, but the redness in his face and the quiver in his lip suggested it was not far off. His haneds were balled, shaking, barely contained. "You can be a real jerk."

And then Alfred tore down the hallway, scaring everyone to the sidelines with his quick, thunderous steps. Arthur didn't move. He couldn't; not after what he had said to him. He was rooted to the spot, stunned, ashamed, appalled with himself. He felt as though all eyes were on him, judging him, mocking him. He would certainly deserve it. He would deserve it in the same way he did not deserve Alfred.

.

And finally, September. Alfred walked into the hospital with a certain reverence, as this was going to be his last visit before the first game of the season. In less than twenty-four hours, he would be over twelve hundred miles away in Miami, Florida. This was his last stop before the airport. Alfred was not sure whether to be excited or sad, but tried to not let that cloud his mind.

At this point, Alfred was used to running into his brother as soon as he stepped through the door. "Hey, Matt," he said, raising a hand in a lazy greeting.

He was not used to Matthew grabbing him, however. "Alfred," he said, clutching his jacket in a death-grip. "A word, please."

Alfred tried, unsuccessfully, to pull away. "Uh…"

"My office." Matthew was already walking, dragging Alfred along with him. "Please."

There was no point in arguing. Alfred trailed behind him, stunned silent, until Matthew tugged him into the tiny office down the hall and shut the door behind them.

"Am I in trouble again?" asked Alfred, recalling the last time Matthew had yanked him into this room.

Matthew waved his hand. "No, no. Nothing like that." He removed his glasses, wiped them with the cuff of his flannel, and put them back on in a series of fidgety, quick movements. "It's Arthur."

"Well, um, yeah, I would assume." Alfred leaned against the door, the picture of nonchalance, when really it was to steady himself.

"Really, I shouldn't disclose this, but I'm going to go ahead and assume Arthur isn't keeping anything from you at this point." Matthew looked at Alfred pointedly and for a moment he had to wonder how much he knew. Matthew had grown so perceptive since starting this job, Alfred wouldn't doubt he understood the situation before Alfred himself had. "Anyway, as you may already know, we recently changed Arthur's medication."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, he told me. He couldn't remember the name exactly, but since I read all those books and did some googling I figured out he was switching to Brexpiprazole. You had him on Risperidone before, right? About ten milligrams a day? I know that one is kind of an older drug."

Matthew's expression went flat. He blinked a few times, then shook his head, regaining focus. "That's… exactly right, actually," he said. "But yes, I made the decision to switch his regime because we weren't seeing much improvement with his negative symptoms."

"Have you tried Chlorpromazine? I know that one is more typical."

Matthew knit his eyebrows together. "No."

"What about Haloperidol?"

"Alfred," said Matthew. "I'm glad you've done your research, but I think I can handle this."

Alfred nodded. "Sorry, sorry. I hear ya."

"Anyway, Risperidone isn't ideal for long term use because of its effects on the nervous symptom. Which… I guess, you knew." Alfred nodded cheerfully, and Matthew blinked back another stunned expression. "We started cross-tapering shortly before family therapy day. He's been on the full dose of Brexpiprazole for a couple of days now."

"Oh, okay." At least Matthew was talking to him like an equal for once. At the same time, Alfred knew that could not be the extent of it. "And…"

"And, as you're probably aware, any kind of psychiatric drug has the potential to cause a tough adjustment period as the patient gets used to it." Matthew paused, took a deep breath, and continued quietly. "Some harder than others."

Alfred was suddenly very cold. Funny, it was warm out today. Unseasonably so, even. "What are you trying to say?"

"Arthur… he isn't exactly adjusting well. Not yet, at least."

Oh. Alfred should have expected it was going to be something like that. He crossed his arms, attempting to warm himself in the suddenly frigid room. Someone must have turned up the air conditioning. "He's been acting kind of funny lately," he said, almost shivering. It was just so damn cold.

"This kind of thing always gets worse before it gets better," said Matthew quickly. "I suspect we're going to see significant improvement soon. This is… a speedbump. I just wanted to let you know."

A speedbump. Of course. Alfred straightened, smiled. "Can I still see him?"

"If he's up to it. But…" Matthew straightened, too. "I have to insist I accompany you this time."

Alfred scanned the room for a vent, some sort of fan. Something must have been causing this cold air. "Sure, whatever," he said. He waved his hand and grabbed the doorknob. "Come on then, bro. I only have so much time before I hit the road!"

Alfred tried to ignore Matthew trailing behind him as he walked out of his office and down the hall to Arthur's room. He heard Arthur's voice when he approached the door and wondered if his roommates were back. Alfred glanced quickly back at Matthew, not even long enough to read his expression, and then turned back and knocked on the door. "Artie?" he said, and then louder, "Artie?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Alfred took a heavy step back, the air leaving his lungs in a startling rush. He could hear Arthur talking, mumbling, intangible things that he could not make out. He swallowed hard and took a cleansing breath. He was educated now, he reminded himself. Alfred had signed up for this. "It's just me, Arthur."

The strange mumbling continued. Alfred stared at the door, fighting the urge to turn back to Matthew for reassurance. He waited for a response, for anything, but could hear nothing but mumbling and his own heartbeat in his ears.

"Arthur, Alfred would like to visit with you," said Matthew after a long moment of this. "Would that be alright?"

"No, no, God, no!" he shouted. "You'll scare them!"

"Scare what?" Alfred grabbed the doorknob. "I won't scare anyone, Arthur. I promise. Okay?"

"Alfred," said Matthew. He grasped Alfred's arm, stopping him. "Maybe Arthur needs to be alone right now."

"And just leave him like this?" Alfred was glued to the spot, unable to either open the door or let go of it.

"No. Alfred, listen. No one is leaving him." Matthew's nails were digging into his skin. Alfred didn't feel it. "My staff and I have been keeping a very close eye on him since this all started. He's safe. He just wants to be alone. Everything is under control."

Everything was very clearly not under control, thought Alfred as he listened to the tangle of sounds. "I want to talk to him." He had to. Had to see him, had to help, had to fix this. Arthur could not be alone.

"I know. But sometimes, it's best…"

Alfred caught one string of words out of the confusion. "What do I do… I don't know what to do…"

Alfred turned the knob and flung the door open.

Arthur crouched on the floor, his legs tucked almost bird-like underneath him. His hands hovered a few inches from the ground as if trying to hold something down. He didn't look at Alfred. Did not move at all.

"Hey, Arthur," said Alfred, taking a few steps into the room. He heard Matthew start to say something, start to follow him. He ignored him. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"They're going to make it go away." Arthur waved his hands and said something intangible under his breath. "They're going to make it leave, if I could just… if I could just get them to come out."

"Arthur, what do you believe is happening right now?" Matthew was beside him and Alfred was overcome by a powerful urge to tell him to leave. "Can you explain what you're doing?"

"I just bloody told you!" Arthur fell out of his crouch and landed on his behind. "God! You ruined it! You RUINED it!" He grabbed his hair in his hands, pulling, his eyes closing tightly. "What the hell are I supposed to do now? It's COMING!"

"What's coming?" asked Matthew. "Arthur, I believe it would help tremendously if you told me what you're afraid of."

"You don't listen! You never listen! I told you!" Arthur pulled harder on his hair and it took all Alfred had to lunge at him, to stop him, or maybe just simply be sick all over the floor. "The UNICORN! I can hear it! It would stop if I… It's coming, it's so loud, I… I don't… it…" His words were only getting faster, making less sense. "My God, make it stop!"

"Arthur, I promise you that you are safe. Now, please, if you could take a deep breath and tell me–"

"Artie, buddy," said Alfred, cutting Matthew off. On unsteady legs, he walked to the end of the room and brought himself to the ground, sitting a few inches from Arthur. "I'm here. Everything is okay now."

"No!" cried Arthur, using his feet to push himself even closer to the wall. "No, no, get away from me! You're bringing it here!"

"I didn't bring anything," said Alfred. He tried to recall the books, the studies, anything, but now there was so much pressure and his mind was blank. All that mattered was making Arthur feel better, and it needed to happen now. "Arthur… you know nothing is coming." He must have known, thought Alfred through the cloud of panic settling in his head. Surely, he must…

Matthew interjected, "Alfred."

"Matthew, I got it!" shouted Alfred because he desperately wanted to believe it. He turned back to Arthur and kept talking. "None of that stuff is real," he said, insisted. "You know that."

"What the hell do you know?" Arthur was looking at him with wide, unblinking eyes, his mouth open, his breathing labored. "Get out! Just get out!"

"No," said Alfred. "I'm not leaving you." He reached out with a trembling hand a tried to take Arthur's.

Arthur swatted it away. "I need to try again," he said, calmer all of a sudden. He stood, swaying a bit in his stance, and waved his hands messily. "I need to… it's going to get me otherwise, I need to do something, I don't…"

Alfred did not know what Arthur was trying to do or what he was talking about and the fact he could not figure it out made him want to punch a wall. All he had was his own reality, his own sense of the world. "Arthur!" The word was almost a shout. "Nothing is wrong! Jesus, can't you just believe me?"

"ALFRED!" Now Matthew was yelling and Alfred really wished everyone would stop yelling. "Stop it! You need to let me handle this, I…"

"Go away." Arthur balled his hands into fists and beat them against his head. He closed his eyes, screamed through clenched teeth, and then shouted, "Both of you, just go away!"

"Arthur, stop!" Alfred jerked towards him, grabbed his hands, held them still even when he tried to twist away. "I love you," he said, his whole world spinning apart and breaking. "Artie, please, I–"

"I HATE you!" Arthur broke away in one hard, forceful jerk. Then he strode to his bed, picked up the unicorn Alfred had given him, and hurled it at Alfred's face. Alfred caught it. "I never want to see you again! You don't understand! You're just making it angry!"

Alfred couldn't breathe. He stared at Arthur, at his eyes that were wild and dead at the same time. He knew he wasn't helping. Arthur was sick, and there was nothing he could do about that. But that thought just drove him to do more, to say more, and now it was crashing down, suffocating him, ruining him. He rubbed the synthetic fur of the unicorn between his fingers. He couldn't feel it. Everything was numb. "I…"

And he would have said more, if Matthew had not taken him by the arm and pulled him out of the room.

Matthew slammed the door behind him, eyes bloodshot and furious. "What the hell?"

Alfred heard Arthur scream, and he closed his eyes, dizzy. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just… wanted to help…"

"This is my job. Not yours." Matthew took a deep breath. "You can't fix everything, Alfred. You're not going to fix him."

The words set in slowly, heavy and sickening. Matthew was right. Alfred had never felt so stupid, so utterly useless in his entire life. "Will he be okay?" His voice trembled.

"Like I said, this is an especially rough time because of the new medication." Matthew ran a hand through his hair – it was knotted and possibly unwashed, Alfred noticed. "But, Alfred? At some point you may need to accept that this is how it's going to be."

Alfred couldn't think anymore. "What do you mean?"

"Of course, that was extreme. But…" Matthew shook his head. "He's going to have schizophrenia his entire life. It can get better, but it almost never goes away entirely. Not really."

Alfred knew that, at least partially. "Okay," he said. His throat hurt.

"And, Arthur hasn't shown significant improvement since being here. He was completely untreated for a long time. That makes it even harder to treat him now."

The room felt darker – a cloud must have passed over the sun. "Okay," said Alfred again.

"I don't mean to be so bleak. I believe every one of my patients can get better, at least to a point of functioning independently." Matthew brought his fingertips together. "Alfred, I have to ask you a question."

Alfred nodded.

"Let's say – and I am by no means saying this will be the case – Arthur never got any better than he is right now." He looked squarely at Alfred, his expression unreadable. "Would you still want to be with him?"

Alfred's vision blurred. He locked eyes with Matthew for a moment, then, slowly, nodded again.

"Okay." Matthew almost smiled but did not quite get there. "I just think you should prepare for the worst. Just in case," he said and quickly added, "But we're doing all we can. He should be much better by the next time you're here."

Alfred swallowed roughly. "He said he hates me."

"He doesn't." Matthew shook his head. "Really, Alfred. He didn't know what he was saying."

Alfred nodded one more time. It made sense. He doubted Arthur really hated him, but that did not stop the words from sticking in his mind, tearing him apart. "Okay." He was beginning to feel like a broken record.

"Did you want me to give that back to him later?" Matthew motioned to the unicorn.

"No." Alfred squeezed the toy a little tighter. "I think I'll hold onto it for now."

Matthew nodded, and then twisted to the side. Alfred looked, too, to see a short Asian man with long hair, wearing a scarf nearly bigger than he was. He was walking towards them.

Matthew groaned and spoke low, hoarsely. "God, can nothing be easy?"

Alfred opened his mouth to ask what that was about, but Matthew rushed down the hall before he could. He watched, dumbfounded, as the man approached Matthew and asked a question.

"Afternoon, Dr. Williams. Where is Ivan?"

Matthew began to say something, and then whisked the man into his office.

To be continued...

If you want to know what Ivan and Yao are up to, you can check out Little Sunflower, my rochu installment of the hospiverse, which is completed. However, that story is currently undergoing a massive edit, and soon I'm going to start updating the chapters. So, even if you have read it, it might be interesting to read through it again. :)