Dear Alfred,

Merry Christmas. It's rather odd not spending the day with you, Francis, and Matthew like we usually would. What a sorry way to break a tradition; losing it to a horrible accident. I haven't spoken to your brother or his boyfriend since the little spat Matthew and I had a week or two ago, so it looks like I'll be spending the day alone. I've gotten rather use to it, I suppose.

I still miss you.

The letters were getting shorter, Arthur noticed. Ever since the fight with Matthew the week prior, Arthur's emotions have drained from his body. He felt dull and empty, and he couldn't decide how he felt about that. On one hand, he grew numb to the pain of losing Alfred, but he missed being able to feel. He longed to feel the suspense of the silly crime shows he used to watch with Alfred, he could hardly feel emotion in his journal entries, and hell, he even missed play fighting with Francis at work and shooting petty insults at him. There was nothing left of Arthur. Time had slowly turned him into an unlucky man sucked into a ritualistic abyss. He lived each day in a blur: wait tables at work, write letters that are doomed to never be read by blue eyes, and watch water creep down the cracked tile of his shower.

It had become a rather boring existence.

Feeling weary of staring at the emotionless entry, the blond fixed his attention towards the frosted window of his study and frowned. Three children bundled from head to toe in warmth were paying in the snow in his neighbor's yard. Arthur was almost instantly whisked away into the chill of his mind. Images much like old, forgotten movie clips began to resurface in his thoughts, and Arthur saw three familiar boys standing outside in the December snow. A short boy with unbearable blond locks building a sad snowman, a boy with scruffy red hair and another with wild blond rushing towards him, the redhead shoving his boot into the torso of the snowman, the younger boy screaming out in protest only to have their mother open the front door to scold her sons before retreating back inside.

'Family,' Arthur's mind whispered as the pictures disintegrated into flames just as quickly as they had resurfaced.

It had been over a year since Arthur had last seen his family. He and Alfred were invited to a barbecue last summer and Alfred insisted that they attend. Arthur was nervous, as his relationship with his blood was often rocky, but Alfred was the light of that day. His smile shone brighter than the August sun and his presence seemed to vanquish all signs of tension between the Kirkland's. He remembered feeling grateful.

It was one of the few times in his life where Arthur enjoyed the company of his family.

Leaning against his chair, Arthur allowed his thoughts to travel back to them. Hate was a rather strong word to use in terms of his family; sure, his brothers were mean and obnoxious as children, his mother always had her hands full and his father hardly ever spoke a word, but to deem them worth of hatred? No, no, that was silly. They just weren't close, that was all. He had no right to blame his mother for not holding a strong presence in his life because she had to raise four boys virtually alone. As for his brothers, well... they were young. They seemed to be more bearable last year, although Peter was still annoying and one of his brother's failed to attend.

For the first time in his life, Arthur began to reconsider his feelings towards his family. Maybe it was due to the emptiness in his heart or the longing to just have someone there to extinguish the loneliness, or maybe it was due to the lighthearted air of the holidays; whatever the reason, Arthur considered making the call. He didn't want to be alone on Christmas.

Hesitantly and with a racing mind, Arthur reached for his cellphone and dialed the number he was obligated to memorize from childhood.

It only rang once.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded like wind chimes and Arthur curled his shaking fingers into his messy locks for comfort.

"Mum, it's Arthur," he greeted in a voice just above a whisper. There was a pause on the other line, and he almost considered hanging up and getting drunk instead.

"Oh, Artie, my baby boy! How are you, darling? Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you as well," he let out a breath as relief flooded into his system. He silently thanked God for his mother's bubbly personality; it cut the tension straight out of the air. She had always been the type of person to chat your ear off and ask you a million and one questions while slipping a pet name into every sentence. Oddly enough, it brought a sliver of warmth to Arthur's heart and he slowly grew more relaxed. It was quite a relief to hear someone sound genuinely happy for once, and Arthur's worries retired to the darkness of his mind for the time being.

"How are you, my love? You still work at that restaurant, yes?"

Arthur nodded to himself before recalling that he was on the phone, "Yes, I do. Work seems to take up the majority of my time these days."

"Oh, why? You really shouldn't overwork yourself, dear; you've always done that!"

"Just want to make sure I can support myself," he lied to her.

"Are you doing well, sweetheart? You know, you are always welcome to stop by for a visit if you need to get away," she urged.

"I'm fine, mum, thank you," another lie.

"Well, we're having a little get together tonight for Christmas," she pressed on, just as stubborn as usual, "you really should pop on by!You can bring Alfred too, if you'd like! That boy is always so bright. And he's a bottomless pit, too! He could eat us out of house and home! At least someone appreciates my cooking."

Everything evaporated into white noise at the mention of his name. Arthur held the phone up to his ear and sat in silence, unable to form any intelligent words. The worry crept out of the darkness and began to wrap himself around the man yet again. He was beginning to feel cold.

"Arthur, sweetheart? Are you still there?"

He emitted a shaky sigh and tried to regain his composure, "Yes, yes, I'm well..."

"What's wrong, Arthur, is everything all right," she saw right through his facade. It made his stomach twist into unruly knots.

"Alfred, he..." he was sick of lying, "Alfred got into a car accident in October, mum. He's um... He's actually been in a coma for quite some time now. Two and a half months now, I believe..."

The silence on the other line was excruciating. The Brit sighed heavily as impatience seared through his veins. It was very unlike his mother to sit in silence.

"Oh," she squeaked out after what felt like hours, "Oh god... Are you all right, sweetheart? Is he doing well? Oh, why Alfred..."

Arthur swallowed nervously, somewhat surprised at how well he was maintaining his composure. Hell, he wasn't even faking it, "I'm fine. It's just been hard is all. I haven't had the chance to see him since the night they admitted him into the hospital. Their mother apparently wants to get reinvolved in his life, and she won't allow people to see him. Well, minus Matthew, I guess..."

He heard his mother shuffling about nervously on the other end. Another wave of silence engulfed the pair and Arthur was about ready to say goodbye. He didn't feel like bringing Alfred into conversation.

"Come over tonight, dear," she urged, her voice uncharacteristically stern, "I know how you get when you're upset. I might not have been there for you when you were growing up, but I am your mother. I know my children better than you may think, Arthur. Hiding away in your house and working your behind off won't fix your problems. Please visit, Arthur. It'd do you well to get away for a while."

He sighed as he fingers found comfort in blond strands yet again. He didn't want to be alone today. He was sick of being alone. He had nobody there for him but the bitter comfort of his home.

Spending a day with his once dreadful family was better than wasting away another day with loneliness.

"Okay," he decided, "I'll go. Just please do me a favor and let everyone know about Alfred? I don't want him to be a dinner topic."

Deeming him nervous would be the understatement of the year.

Arthur sat in his car in front of the house he grew up in as the heat swarmed madly around him. While he certainly refused to spend Christmas- or any day now, for that matter, alone, he was afraid to face his family again. What if they acted cold towards the situation with Alfred? What if the air would revert back to being awkward and tense without a certain bright smile and sunshine eyes to lighten the it?

"Shut up," he scolded himself under his breath, "stop worrying." Before his mind could wander off and spread more worry throughout his body, Arthur turned off the car and pocketed his cell phone into his jeans. Forcefully, he cleansed his mind of all the antagonizing 'what if's' and stepped out into the December air. As he hurried up the driveway, he took the time to observe his old home. Being here always granted him with a wave of nostalgia no matter the situation; the large suburban "mansion", as he viewed it in his youth, was practically unforgettable. It held a handful of unpleasant memories, but being within its proximity blessed Arthur with an odd sense of calmness. He wasn't too sure why, but he decided not to take it for granted. He rang the doorbell.

He was greeted with loud, mindless chatter that slipped through the fiberglass door before it even swung open.

"Arthur, sweetheart, I'm so glad you could make it," his mother exclaimed with a smile not nearly as contagious nor obnoxious as Alfred's. She made no hesitation to wrap her arms around her taller son's waist and give him a squeeze.

"Me too, mum," he tried to convince himself as he returned the embrace. She smelt faintly of honey, and the aroma filled Arthur's lungs.

"Come on in, come on in" she pressed as she nudged her child inside, dirty blonde hair bouncing with a peculiar sort of rhythm, "everyone's here and dinner is just about ready!"

Feeling somewhat self conscious, Arthur closed the large front door as he stepped inside his old home. He watched his mother head back into the kitchen with a bounce in her step.

He was greeted before he even had time to register anything.

"Hi Arthur," the youngest son, Peter, called out from his spot on a large red sofa. A mop of unruly long strawberry blond hair whipped its attention towards Arthur.

"Art," he called, "long time no see, man! You still look like shit."

The man in question frowned as he slipped his shoes and heavy coat off before pacing towards a recliner and getting comfortable in it, "I see your hair still houses rats, Dylan."

Dylan, the second youngest at twenty years old, smirked from his spot next to Peter and fixed his attention back to whatever video game they were occupying their short attention spans with.

"Where's dad and John," Arthur pried after the look-a-like's failed to present themselves.

"Helping mum in the kitchen," Peter replied without breaking his blue gaze from the rather large television screen, "damn it, Dylan, you killed me! I thought we agreed not to kill each other!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Then don't do it," the youngest growled and slapped his older brother's arm in protest. As the bickering between the pair grew hotter, Arthur caught himself grinning.

He oddly missed this, it seemed.

It could've been the warmth drifting from the fireplace, or perhaps it was the air from the freshly baked ham, or maybe it was his imagination playing tricks on him in order to dull the pain he faced the past few months? Whatever the reason, Arthur was beginning to feel happy. His insides were glowing with warmth and he was genuinely happy for the first time in what seemed to be ages as he shared a meal with his family.

"So Peter," the eldest, John, initiated in the midst of the meal, "how's the tenth grade treatin' you?"

The short blond squirmed in his seat on the left of Arthur as he took another scoop of his third baked potato, "It's going fine."

"He's failing half his classes," Dylan countered from the right of Arthur. Peter's blue eyes widened in betrayal as their mother choked on her water.

"Peter Kirkland! You're failing?"

"Yep," Dylan began with a smug grin as the youngest attempted to reach behind Arthur, swinging his fork viciously at his older brother, "he came home last week and tried to hide his report card in the trash, but I got a good look at it."

"You promised you wouldn't tell," Peter retaliated. Arthur tried to ignore the bickering of his younger siblings and focus on his meal.

"Arthur," his father spoke to him for the first time since he arrived, "are you planning on going back to school?"

His freckled cheeks flushed everso slightly as he regarded the man sitting next to the son who was practically a replica of him, "Ah, I wanted to be an English professor for quite some time, but I don't really have the time for school."

'Nor the motivation,' his thoughts added bitterly.

"Yeah, I'm with you on that, Art," the shaggy mess of hair contributed, "I'm just set on sticking around here forever. It's a miracle I even made it through high school."

"You most certainly are not, young man! You're almost twenty-one years old now; you should be fixing on moving out soon, and frankly..."

Their mother's further scolds went unnoticed by Arthur when a furious rumble against his leg grabbed his attention. Using the argument as a distraction, he fished his phone from his pocket and frowned upon observing the cause of the interruption.

Matthew Williams.

Arthur nibbled on his lip irritably as the device shook rapidly in his palm. He had zero interest in speaking with Alfred's brother; the two hadn't communicated since their little spat, and Arthur was content on keeping it that way. He didn't have time to listen to Matthew's accusations of how "selfish" and "stupid" he is just because they care about the same man.

The blond stuffed his phone back into his pocket without further thought.

"Who was that, love?"

"Nobody important," he replied with a small smile as he stood up and gathered his plate. Deciding to cut some slack off his mother, Arthur grabbed Dylan and Peter's dishes as well and followed his mom into the kitchen.

He felt a familiar, annoying sensation against his thigh and sighed heavily as he placed the dirty dishes into the sink. Arthur clawed out his phone and glared at the ID. Matthew was apparently very needy this evening.

"Stupid bloody..." he hissed under his breath. In a fit of annoyance, Arthur ignored his call and turned off his phone.

"Who keeps calling you," his mother inquired as she cleaned the night's worth of dishes and silverware. Arthur exhaled deeply and rubbed the back of his head.

"Matthew. We had a little spat a week or two ago and we haven't talked since. I'm sure he was calling to talk about it, and I really don't want to hear it right now."

"He seemed like a sweet boy," she replied over the roar of the faucet, "his name always seems to slip my mind, though. He's dating Francis, isn't he? Oh, I sure do miss that boy come to speak of it, he was always so flattering! But what did you two fight about, pumpkin?"

Arthur decided to ignore her comment about Francis. He bit his lip in embarrassment, "I got a bit drunk and called him. He came over and I thought he was Alfred. I got upset because he doesn't allow me to see him and he got all pissy with me and left."

The short woman nodded, her blond locks bouncing as they always seem to do, "Ah, you and John both seem to have a drinking problem. You boys get that from your bloody father... Just be careful with what you say, all right dear? Alfred is Matthew's brother and he loves him; you're not the only one who's hurting."

Arthur's nostrils flared slightly at his mother's advice, "Yes, very well, but I care for Alfred too, and Matthew is the one who gets to see him. I don't care how damn awful their mother is. Alfred is important to me and I have every right to see him," he snapped, his voice as cold as the December air. There was a silence between the mother and son as the heat in Arthur's eyes flared viciously. The clanking of pots and the roar of the water was the only noise between the pair, and the man began to grow uncomfortable under the silence. His mother was usually upbeat and talkative, but had a tendency to fall silent when she grew sad. Arthur fidgeted awkwardly upon realization that he had hurt his mother.

"I need some air," he muttered. He was growing oh so tired of upsetting people. Before his mother was given an opportunity to reply, her son slipped out of the kitchen. Paying little mind to his younger brothers in the living room and the absence of his father, Arthur quickly put on his shoes and coat before reintroducing himself to the chill of the night air. With a defeated sigh, the exhausted blond dragged his feet through the snow and began his descent towards the driveway.

"What're you doing out here?" Startled by the unexpected voice, Arthur whisked around towards the source of it. John was sitting on a bench in front of the house, a cigarette between his lips and a bottle in his hand.

"I just needed some air," he explained, feeling rather awkward. Arthur and John never got along very well as children and the two never kept in touch. The redhead didn't even attend the summer barbecue last year due to living out of state. Hesitantly, as if he was afraid to even breathe, the blond approached the older man as he puffed out a thin wall of smoke.

"You want one," he gestured to the bottle in his grasp, "sure look like you need one."

Arthur initially extended a pale hand towards the bottle, but quickly decided against it, "No, no, I'd rather not."

John nodded, his fiery hair bobbing much like the way their mother's does. The pair fell into an awkward silence that made Arthur feel rather uncomfortable; he was tired of awkward exchanges.

"So," he began, fixing his green glare on the snow beneath their boots, "how... How have you been?"

A puff of grey enveloped John's sharp face as he spoke, "Fine. I'm getting married in the spring."

Brilliant eyebrows knitted together and Arthur flipped his gaze on to his brother, "What? I wasn't even aware you were engaged."

John replied with a swift nod. The younger of the two stared at his brother. John was practically the spitting image of their father, from the bright hair to the dull, quiet conversations. Arthur wondered what had become of the spunky, boisterous child he had grown up with. There was an odd change in his family that Arthur had failed to grasp before: John had become a man, Peter was flunking school, although he was still the same child he had always been, and Dylan had no intentions of doing anything with his life, but that wasn't all too surprising, honestly. Hell, Arthur even wondered if his father was truly always this quiet, this distant, and this absent... Now that he thought about it, Arthur never spent quality time with his dad. He didn't know how to feel about that.

Everyone had grown up. Everyone was developing into adults and Arthur had no idea because he refused to stay in tune with his family for years. He wondered what kind of opportunities he had let slip away from him. Maybe he and John could have gotten along better if Arthur wasn't so distant, maybe he could've been there for Dylan to rely on, maybe he could've helped Peter with school, and hell, maybe he could've spent more time with his mother and father?

Arthur Kirkland had thrown away every opportunity he ever had to be close with his family, and he wasn't too sure how to feel about it.

"If you're done staring at me," John spoke, ripping the blond out away from his thoughts "we should go back inside."

The younger of the two, still confused by his conflicting emotions, gave the redhead a nod and stood up. He was ready to usher back into the warmth of the house until a cold, calloused grip on his shoulder grabbed his attention.

"I've never been good with this kind of shit," John began uncertainly, the cigarette still between his teeth, "but chin up, Art. Everything will be fine."

It was a rather small and even a bit of an awkward gesture, but it made the fire in Arthur's heart burn against the ache in his chest.

There were tons of them.

Plain black frames, fancy wooden frames, silly frames with debatable phrases such as "Family makes a house warm"; pictures of the Kirkland boys as children, wedding photos, and even pictures with faces Arthur hardly remembered. He never realized how many frames holding friendly smiles lined the tan walls of the narrow hallway upstairs.

He traced his thin fingers along the image of a little boy with angry green eyes and black eyebrows glaring at him with a ferocious look and a pink unicorn plushie tight in his fist. He frowned at the reflection of his younger self and turned his solemn gaze to the next photo. He was greeted by a pair of devious green eyes. The young redhead, who had to be around eleven years old at the time, was leaning against a shorter, younger child who possessed a jungle of strawberry blond hair and a dopey grin. A short little runt with equally ratty hair was sitting in the background glaring at his brothers.

Arthur's hand fell to his side as Dylan and Peter's bickering traveled upstairs. He missed out on more than he originally thought, it seemed. His younger self hardly ever seemed to be happy in any of the pictures. That sad fact remained constant as Arthur's eyes traveled further down the decorated wall. Unhappy green eyes and furrowed brows stretched out for what seemed like miles and Arthur's heart began to hurt.

And then the cycle broke.

Held by a simple white frame was a photo of two teenage boys at an all too familiar scene. They were sitting cross-legged under the watchful eye of a black light post. A tan boy with sun kissed locks and eyes that brought a whole new meaning to the word blue had an arm swung around the hunched shoulders of an older, more sophisticated boy with freckled cheeks, bright eyes, and a small yet sincere smile.

Arthur could not recall taking the picture, although based upon Alfred's acne plastered forehead and cheeks, he presumed it was taken during the latter's freshmen year. Cautiously and full of undignified fear, Arthur's white hand reached up and touched the glass enclosing the image.

He smiled.

"Arthur, dear?"

His head snapped over to view his mother standing near the stairwell. She wore an unreable look upon her freckled face and Arthur's chest lit up in pain. He felt terrible for hurting her.

"Mum, I'm-"

"Come with me to my room, love," she interrupted, "I want to talk to you."

Arthur nodded, taking one last glace at Alfred's grin before obeying her request and following his mom across the hall and into her room.

"Sit down, sweetie," she commented as she sat down on top of pristine sheets. Arthur obeyed and glanced expectantly at his mother.

"I want you to be able to talk to me, dearest," she began softly, "I know you're hurting and I know it's hard, but I'm afraid that you haven't been speaking to anyone. I know you don't get along with Matthew, and Francis, bless his heart, you have a... difficult time opening up to. You're my son and I love you so much, Arthur. I know how you act when something is troubling you and I want to help."

He wasn't expecting that. Arthur stared down at his mother with a sad regard and racked through his brain in hopes of finding the right words. She was staring back at him with hope illuminated in her blue orbs and Arthur was momentarily reminded of whom he had lost.

"It's... hard," he began hesitantly, "It's been so damn long and I still miss him, but I'm starting to give up, I suppose. I don't know what use there is in waiting if he may never wake up, but at the same time, I care about him too much to just let go. He's always been such a huge pain in the neck and I can only bear so much of him, but Alfred is my best friend. He stood by my side for years. I just don't know what to do anymore."

Arthur paused and turned his gaze away from his mother before continuing, "I... I don't know how I feel about the fight I had with his brother. I'm not very... fond of Matthew, really, and it's not fucking fair that he gets to see Alfred while I don't. You know, it's probably one of the reasons why I'm considering giving up. I've debated it for a while now, but then I remember him. I remember all the hell Alfred and I put each other through and all the hell we've overcome and I don't want to lose that. I don't want to lose him, mum, and I guess I rather push him away myself than to have him be lost to something else. I rather stab myself than to have him do it for me. And then I remember that I promised him ten or so years ago that I would be there for him, but here I am doing the opposite of that. I care about that stupid buffoon so damn much, but I don't know what to do anymore."

Arthur felt a warm presence against his shoulder and turned to see his mother leaning against him. She wrapped a trembling arm around her son's back and smiled gently, "As much as you claim him to be annoying, you've always been happier with Alfred. I've seen you grow up around so many different children, but it always went back to Alfred. You spent time with so many different boys, but at the end of the week, it was always Alfred's go-lucky face that greeted me at the door."

She sat up and turned to face her son with an understanding smile in her eyes, "Arthur, my love, you are my son. I know that I wasn't really there for you lot as you all grew up, but I know each of my boys like the back of my hand. You never brought home girls. You had one girlfriend in middle school, yes, but after that? You only brought home Alfred. A mother is not blind to the way her child feels. You fancy him, and you have for quite some time, haven't you?"

Arthur was beginning to crack. His lip trembled and he smiled bitterly, "Since I was seventeen. He's so stupid, but I never loved anyone as much as I love him, and it kills me some days."

"Oh, honey," he felt her arms curl around him as his eyes began to grow warm with tears that he didn't think existed anymore. Arthur leaned against the shorter woman's shoulder as his emotions began to pour back into him at an unbearable speed. He felt everything. He felt the pain of the sad, ritualistic life he sucked himself into, he mourned over how truly lonely he was, his chest ached at the thought of the fight with Matthew, his heart split because Alfred was still gone, he wept for his family and how awful it was that he pushed everyone away and blamed everyone but himself. He felt the reality of what had happened to himself and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. The pain was flooding his lungs and he couldn't believe how truly low and dreadful he was. Alfred would not be happy. Alfred would not be proud.

She held him closely as he wept. Their minds both scolded themselves and neither of them could handle it.

"Sweetheart," she choked through her gentle tears and lifted up Arthur's wet chin to look into his sad eyes, "I love you no matter what. Despite any mistakes you have made, I think you're perfect. I'm so, so sorry I wasn't there. You probably know this now that you're older, but life gets very difficult sometimes. Raising you four was one of the most challenging things I ever did, but I do not regret it. Your father was never around for me or our family, so it was all up to me and I regret not being there for you. You don't have to forgive me, just know that I'm so sorry for being an awful mother."

"Don't apologize," Arthur countered between soft sniffles, "I'm the one who pushed my family away."

He watched her wipe her pink cheeks as the pain in his chest slowly began to subdue, "I wish you would've told me everything sooner, sweetie. I'm always here for you. Please don't give up on Alfred. Life gets hard, but it's supposed to be that way sometimes. You love Alfred and he needs you to be there for him. Please don't give up on him. I know how it feels to want to give up, and I thank God that I never gave up on my sons. Make yourself proud. You and Alfred are both so incredibly strong; you've been through so much. You're a Kirkland, my love; we're built like an empire."

All Arthur could muster was a nod. He wouldn't let his mother down, not again.

"You know," she added, "your father and I plan to move back to England once Peter graduates and heads off to college. I don't know if we're going to end up dragging Dylan with us, Lord give me strength, but you are always welcome to come along with us."

It was an unexpected offer, but it made Arthur feel warm nonetheless. He supposed he wasn't truly alone afterall, "I'm flattered, mum, but I need to be here for Alfred."

"I never said he wasn't invited."

The smiled that stretched across her round face proved to be contagious. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he felt his lips pull into a smile as wide as the one that night.

Midnight was slowly approaching by the time Arthur said goodbye to his family. His mother, stubborn as always, urged her son to spend the night, but he had refused. The mother-son pair shared a long, loving hug; one that Arthur hadn't experienced in ages. He promised to call her when Alfred was well. She said that they were invited over when Alfred could leave the hospital.

Arthur exchanged a friendly nod with his father and announced that he would consider going to college once things in his personal life straightened out, which appeared to please his father. Arthur wished John luck in his marriage and told Dylan and Peter to behave themselves.

Arthur felt like a renewed man as he dragged his feet through the snow and towards his car. He was finally starting to come to terms with his mistakes. He would not give up on Alfred, no matter how rocky the waters might be. He would make calls to his family and start to visit more once Alfred was well enough. He would go back to school and maybe even convince Alfred to go with. He would confess his feelings to his best friend and hope for the best. Hell, maybe he'd even sit Matthew down and have an adult conversation with him; try to be friends.

Arthur wanted to get his life back; it's what Alfred would want for him. He wanted to make his best friend proud, he wanted to make his mother proud, and he wanted to make himself proud.

Feeling rather confident, Arthur slammed the car door as he nestled himself into the drivers seat. Arthur reached into his pocket and fished out his phone, turning it on with a content grin.

It vibrated aggressively three times in a row. He had forgotten about Matthew.

"Why was he still trying to reach me..." Arthur's green eyes glanced down at the device as his heart thumped against his chest, threatening to break lose. He had two more missed calls from Matthew, along with a text message from him.

Arthur opened the message as a familiar sense of nervousness began to make home in his veins.

[Matthew Williams]

Alfred woke up you inconsiderate piece of shit.

[Message received: 11:38PM]

I'm so sorry for the wait guys, oh my goodness, I really need to learn to update faster ;w; It took me, what... Almost exactly 3 months to update? I'll try to start updating quicker, but no promises, sorry!

Anyway, my gosh, this is the longest chapter as of yet! This is actually the longest thing I've ever written, it's a little over 5,000 words! There was no way I could've stopped it sooner since Arthur's interaction with his family is very important, as is Matthew's text message at the end. I hope that the length of this dialogue heavy chapter makes up for the wait! This is actually my favorite chapter so far. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that this is probably the half way point? Maybe? I'd say it's either this chapter or one of the next two. I can't tell you guys how many chapters this will have, but I'd like to say maybe 12? 13 maybe? 14? Something like that.

Well I hope you guys enjoyed this one! There are no connections to the true story in here; that won't pop up until the next chapter! I'll try my best to update quicker, but I can't promise.

Let me know what you guys think! I hope you're enjoying My Love Won't Fade Away aka "I am never happy with the story summary".

See you guys soon, I hope!