He didn't raise his head when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps coming to his door, and knew without having to see or hear the person outside who it was. Arthur had come back again. It didn't seem to matter how often Arthur came and cursed, begged or pleaded at his door only to storm away in frustration, he always came back. Arthur called his name, but he didn't respond. He should respond, he knew that, but he couldn't seem to make the thing inside him care enough to respond.

He knew his actions were hurting all of them, his father, his friends, his precious brother, but he just couldn't care. Something had snapped inside him, the part of him which made him feel emotions, and when it broke it left him an apathetic mess. His body felt like it was made of lead, thousands of tons of weight pulling him down like gravity was increasing on him. And he was tired. He was always tired, these days. Exhausted, but no matter how much he slept, it never got better. All he could do was lie on the floor, awake, but unable to move, and hear the world move around him.

And eventually, the world stopped coming. Eventually, Arthur stopped yelling and pleading and begging and scolding. Stopped calling his name.

"Alfred!"

He stopped altogether, on a different plane of existence than Alfred. And Alfred wondered how that would have made him feel, If he still had his emotions.

But there was one thing that never stopped, gentle footsteps, carrying that gentle person, and the sound of even breathing. Poor, gentle Mathew who didn't understand, who used to ask him questions from the other side of the door, questions Alfred himself couldn't answer, ones he didn't know the answer to. Eventually, the questions stopped coming, and in their place, Mathew told stories. What he'd done that day, Alfred's friends and teachers that had asked after him, people that missed Alfred.

Somehow that just made things heavier too. The only barricade between Alfred and the world was a thin wooden door, but to Alfred it may as well have been thousands of universes. Somewhere, in a different world, there was his family and friends, Arthur's sharp words and broken sobs, Mathew's breathing and stories, but it was so far away, so distant. Alfred's only connection with this other world was the food outside his door.

He didn't want to eat, honestly. He called it 'food' but it all was nothing but cardboard to Alfred. It tasted like cardboard. When he chewed it was endless like he was chewing cardboard. And like cardboard, it settled heavy and uncomfortable in his stomach. He didn't want to eat it, and he wouldn't, he would just ignore the rumbling, the hunger pains, ignore his body's protest. He would, if not for the shaking voice on the other side of reality.

"Please, Al."

A shaking and delicate tone so close to collapse. Collapse. That was what Alfred did. He was standing tall and large, like a house of cards, magnificent and impressive to the outside eye. Then without warning, not a single gust of wind or vibration, his house of cards fell in, and Alfred collapsed. He didn't have the energry left to put himself together again. So he lived a hazy existence, trapped in a dark place of his own volition, listening to the sounds of a different world where he used to live.

And the sounds grew less and less frequent, till all that remained was the sound of breathing on the other side, rustling of clothing against wood. And that was all he had left. If only he had the energy left to rebuild himself, if only he had the energy left to step outside that door, if only he had enough energy to go back.

But Alfred didn't even have enough energy to move.

He laid still and listened to the other world. He listened as Arthur blew up and broke down and eventually stopped. He listened as his friends berated and begged and cajoled,and eventually stopped. He listened as Mathew begged for answers and told stories, and eventually stopped. And he listened for when the breathing on the other side of the door finally stopped.

All he could do was listen.

He heard the fight, the shouting and vibrations, and for the first time, felt just a bit of something. Nothing good, but something all the same. A sad familiarity. Arthur's shouting. It had stopped some time ago.

But he heard something unfamiliar too, and it took a second to place it. Mathew's own voice, raised in response. There was a reaction he should feel in response to that, but Alfred didn't have the capacity or energy to understand it. And then, too soon, familiar footsteps, a familiar thud of back against wood, familiar breathing.

"Al," His own name, so fragiley spoken. A voice so thin and brittle he barely recognized it. And then, "Sorry."

And then no more breathing. Still Cardboard, left on the other side of that wall, but no more breathing.

And what was Alfred supposed to feel about that?

Empty, blank, nothingness.

That world continued without Alfred, and Alfred's world continued without them. Peaceful, silent.

Too silent.

And for the first time since Alfred collapsed, he felt something, an emotion he'd forgotten, one he can't even name. It's uncomfortable and itchy.

He tried to ignore it. He failed. Something was wrong. Something was off. Something felt tight and inescapable in his chest. The more Alfred tried to ignore it the more uncomfortable it felt, and the harder it was to ignore.

Until suddenly he couldn't ignore it anymore.

Until one day, when Alfred woke up, gravity didn't seem to weigh so heavily on him. He felt like something was beginning to burn in his chest again, a bit of the fight he used to have. Was it anger? Or annoyance? Or frustration? It had been such a long time since he'd felt anything that Alfred couldn't place it, but it was definitely something along those lines. And just as he was beginning to understand this, there was a clatter of a dish set down outside. That cursed cardboard again.

Why should he have to eat it? Alfred felt a surge of pettiness. He didn't need anything from that other world, he was fine alone in the dark. Why should he force himself to move, weighted limbs dragging like lead, to est something he didn't even like? He'd just leave it there, and it would go bad and rot, and he'd stay where he was, and also go bad and rot.

He was already rotting.

Then, oddly enough, a familiar sound of back against wood, that familiar and gentle tone.

"Hey, Al. Arthur's not back yet, so I'm here."

Did that gentle tone sound thinner than normal? He listened for the next sounds, the meaningless words from the other world. But nothing came, just slow, even breathing. And then, finally, shifting, that gentle and kind person leaving.

And Alfred would be alone in silence again.

Except, the footsteps stopped, suddenly, close to his door. A trap, a hunter, like Arthur, and Alfred was the prey. But his brother was wrong if he thought he could catch Alfred. He didn't need anything from that other world, he wouldn't,couldn'tleave his room.

Then, unexpectedly,

"Sorry, Al."

Something inside his empty heart stirred, distant curiosity.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this from me, of all people, but I mean it. I'm sorry for everything, Al."

And then the footsteps retreated.

It didn't matter, he didn't care, more useless words that didn't affect him. Or they shouldn't affect him. Alfred's curiosity itched, not uncomfortably, but enough to let him know it was there. Mathew apologized. What for? Did he even understand?

Of course not, even Alfred didn't understand. Then why? It bothers him, tho he can't say why. Maybe, if he wasn't so uselessly tired, he'd ask his brother why. But Mathew was gone, no more breathing against the door.

For some reason the itch doesn't go away. For the first time in a long time , Alfred finds himself actually thinking, feelings stirring where there weren't any. What exactly did Mathew apologize for? Was it something Alfred deserves an apology for? He finds to his own muted surprise that he waiting, for Mathew to come again, bearing that explanation he itches for. But Mathew doesn't come again. It's Arthur's familiar footsteps that leave the clatter of dishes outside his door, but no words or explanation, just heavy sobs muffled as though Authur is coving his mouth.

Then nothing.

No Arthur. No Mathew. Alfred wonders if he's finally been left alone for good. He wonders why that bugs him. He wonders about the apology Mathew left before he stopped coming. For the first time since Alfred can remember, he finds himself wondering about the time, and eventually he can't wonder any longer. He peels himself off the floor, feeling heavier than he's used to, and seeks for the clock. Sometime, long ago, he'd unplugged it and threw it aside to avoid the telling glow of the numbers. His phone. It must be here somewhere, possibly. He searches for it, and eventually finds it, but it's dead.

Alfred throws the phone across the room, suddenly frustrated. It's bugging him. Mathew's last apology. Arthur's sudden sobs. Then, with a flash of horror, a thought strikes him. Had Mathew-

No his brother wouldn't do that! He enjoyed life, he did good in school, he had friends and hobbies-

But so had Alfred, once upon a time. Urgency strikes him, and Alfred feels more alive than he has for months. He needs to check, to make sure. He's in front of the door before he realizes it. He reaches put his hand, but his body suddenly refused to move. It's just a door, that all it is. It's all it should be. But somehow Alfred can't make himself open it. He's safe, here. That other world is loud and dangerous and Alfred needs to go back to being a "person" there. He doesn't think he can.

Alfred sinks back onto the ground, suddenly weary again. It doesn't matter to him, what's beyond that door. It shouldn't. He tries to sink back into the carpet, but it feels hard and uncomfortable against his back. With a huff, he seeks the comfort of his bed. It's less unpleasant, but doesn't bring him the comfort he's looking for. He wants nothing more than to rest, his whole body heavy and exhausted,but his mind refuses to rest.

Alfred feels like he's fully awake for the first time. He can't stop thinking about it. The unusually empty tone. The apology. Arthur's tears. He's back on his feet again, pacing back and forth, and his body feels stiff and weak from the small amount of exercise he's done. Something is wrong. Alfred can't shake the feeling. He's startled to find himself in front of the door again. It's just a door. Alfred takes a deep breath. It's just a door. He puts a hand on the knob. It doesn't feel like it's just a door. He freezes, for what seems like hours. Just a door.

He swallows. For Mathew. The knob turns much too easily for the amount of courage it took to do so. It's different than cracking the door to just grab food or push out dishes. It feels more real, somehow. The door spills open into the hall. Dark. It must be night, and somehow the darkness feels soothing to Alfred,like the outside world isn't so scary and different as he's imagined. Alfred takes a moment to breathe deeply, then a conviction strikes.

Alfred knows if he doesn't move now, he will never leave. So Alfred quickly takes a step out into the hallway. He's out fully out! He flinches, almost like he's expecting something to happen to him, but nothing happens. Nothing's changed at all, except now Alfred's outside, on the other side of the door. It's not as bad or disconnected as he'd thought. Something in Alfred is beginning to burn again. He takes a tentative step forwards, then, when nothing happens, another. Then another Alfred almost wants to laugh, but he feels like he's forgotten how to do so.

He chokes on a sound in his throat, and his throat feels sore and dry just from making the sound. The hall feels bigger than before, and in the dim light from the window, he looks around. Scratches and scuffs on the wall that have been their forever, mishaps he can't even remember but are still familiar to him. He traces the familiar ridge of the stair bannister as he passes by, feeling the thing inside burn more with each step. Another step. And another. And Mathew's familiar door, paint scratched from various hockey equipment banging against it after his practices, the spot that was forever slightly sticky from where Mathew once had put a sign - "Mathew's room" - up on his door.

Familiar, so familiar, but it still feels like a wonder to Alfred. The knob feels cool and round in his hand. The door opens quietly - Arthur never did like squeaky doors, they were always well-oiled- and Alfred steps forwards. It's easier to enter Mathew's room than it was to leave his. His body suddenly feels awkward and bulky as he shuffles into Mathew's room. He doesn't have to take more than a few steps in until he sees the form under the blankets, moving lightly up and down with deep breaths.

Alfred didnt even realized he was holding his breath until it all rushes out at once.

Relief. This time Alfred can identify the emotion. He leans against the wall with a soft thump - he's not worried Mathew will wake up, his twin was always a deep sleeper- and listens to the breathing. Familiar even breaths. Alfred hadn't realized he missed them until now. He stays there, hypnotized, feeling something tense drain out of them, for what seems like a short time. But the lightening of the room tells a different story, and Alfred startled as he realizes he can now make out details of things around him.

It's more instinct than conscious thought that sends him careening, silent racing down the hall back to his own room. The door that slams shut safely behind him. He sinks to his own floor, fighting to keep his breath from turning shallow despite barely having ran. Alfred's not ready to face the world again. He's not sure he'll ever be ready.

But still, something changed that day, he doesn't even realize it himself right away, the little changes he's been making. The way he lies on the bed, instead of the floor. The urges to check the time. The feeling of eagerness as he listens for footsteps to arrive. Then, one day, Alfred stumbles over something on the floor on his way to the bathroom, and something flares. He's tired of not being able to see, and in a fit of frustration he rips the blackout curtains open, and light comes spilling in. There's things he'd forgotten the look of, but it all comes back to him in a rush. The thing he'd stumbled over was his school bag, dumped and abandoned there once a long time ago.

There's still a pile of dirty laundry in the corner, and a random sneaker Alfred vaguely remembers kicking off once upon a time laying next to it. A brief search turns up the match, upside down in a pile of miscellaneous items, books, shin guards, gaming consoles he used to be addicted to. Alfred finds himself sorting through stuff, feeling a strong sense of nostalgia with each item he unearths. About seven pencils he'd chewed on or sharpened to nubs and a couple pens in dubious states of functional. A dog-earned comic book and a deadpool shirt Mathew insisted was his. A remote for the LED lights he'd set up in his room a long time ago.

Something in Alfred is starting to feel more alive, to make him feel more alive. And with it comes boredom. He switches on the gaming console, but can't seem to find the mental strength to play with it, and turns it off again. He reaches for his phone, now charged, but it's lock screen displays hundreds of messages waiting to be read, and Alfred's not alive enough to check them yet. In the end, he ends up staring out the window, overlooking the street. He knows them, the neighbour that briefly appears to retrieve his mail, the cat that wandered the neighbourhood that everyone just called "Black" and the curb he used to do skateboard tricks off of.

Eventually, he gets bored even with window watching, and he begins to feel frustrated again. Was his room always this stuffy? Alfred suddenly pushes the window open in a fit of irritation. Was the air always this crisp?he basks in it, uncaring of the slight chill. With the window open, it brings new noises, cars, trees rustling, noises of bugs or birds Alfred has never noticed before and can't identify. It brings the sound of the lawn mower coming around the corner of the house, and pushing it, his own brother, Mathew.

Alfred feels his breath leave him. Mathew looks different than he remembers, something about him seems off and subdued, even from this distance. Alfred doesn't close his window. A part of him is hoping Mathew will look up and see him. Mathew never does, and eventually the lawn mover finishes its tidy stripes and disappears around back of the yard. It smells like fresh cut grass, and Alfred's stomach suddenly rumbles and stings, like the fresh air had awoken his appetite, and for the first time in a long time, he's hungry again.

He's feeling a lot of things again for the first time in a long time, and when the food does arrive, he's eager to devour it, tasting flavours instead of cardboard. Was a simple sandwhich always this delicious? It becomes a habit of Alfred's, waking up, eating, opening the window and watching everything that happens. Waiting to catch a glimpse of someone he knows. Once, his best friend Kiku stops outside the house and looks at it for a long time silently, and Alfred freezes, half-anticipating, half-fearing that his old friend might come inside, but in the end, he just turns silently away and goes on his way.

Alfred's curious again. Why did Kiku come by? Why did he leave without coming in? And, with a sudden tug in his stomach, is his best friend looking for Alfred? Does he miss him? How...Is his friend angry at Alfred for locking himself away? Or is he perhaps hurt or sad or anxious? The thing inside Alfred curls into itself, and suddenly Alfred doesnt want to look out the window anymore, pulling the curtains closed and shutting the window. He doesn't open it the next day either. Or the day after that. But on the third day, the stuffiness of the room is getting to him again, and finally he gives in and jerks the window and curtains open again.

With the windows open, Alfred can actually see how cluttered his room is, and it irritates him for some reason. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he moves, throwing things into his closet or in corners, out of the way. When he picks up his laundry pile to move it, it gives off a strong musty scent and leaves a gross feeling in his fingers. Alfred tries to wipe the gross feeling away on his shirt, but his shirt seems to feel gross too. How long has it been since he's changed his clothes? He's sure he had at one point, but he can't remember when exactly it was.

Now that he's noticed this, he begins to notice other things too. His scalp itches and his skin feels like there is a permanent layer of greasy sweat over it. And is it his imagination, or does he kinda smell, too? When is the last time he showered? He remembers, vaguely, blankly sitting in the tub while water rained down from above, but he has a nagging feeling it's been a very long time since then. Even so, he doesn't have the energy to shower first, even the simple task of walking to the bathroom, turning on the faucet, and undressing and stepping in feels like a hundred microsteps.

But now that's he's noticed it, he can't ignore it anymore, and the itch on his scalp and the smell of his shirt bugs him, and finally Alfred cant stand it anymore. It's only one he'd in the shower that he realizes how much he's needed this, how much better he feels. He doesn't even want to get out. But the water goes cold and Alfred's hkwer is cut short whether he likes it or not, and he quickly shuts the water off. Odd, he'd thought he'd have less energy after the shower, but now he's brimming with it. He feels more alive, showered and scrubbed red, dressed in clean clothes.

He's so full of energy he actually Cleans a bit of his room, something he's always been loathe to do, and even flips through an old dog-earned comic book. When he was a kid, he'd used to want to be a hero, and he'd always play pretend at it. Now he's not sure where he'd found the energy. After a while he gets bored and abandons the book for the game console, but abandons that shortly too in favour of looking out the window. By the time dinner arrives, hes actually hungry, and scarfs down the bowl of something-soup (Arthur's soup was always questionable).

He feels like a human again.

Things are changing, he wakes up earlier, and doesn't feel as tired or heavy anymore. He actually has excess energy, and he's even able to play simple games for short whiles now. He still doesn't have enough energy to check his phone and read the messages, but more and more often, he feels impatient, like he's waiting for something. One day, it suddenly occurs to Alfred he doesn't remember why he's locked himself in his anymore.

But now he's been in there much too long, and Alfred finds a new reason he doesn't want to leave. Arthur will definitely be angry, even pushover Mathew might get angry if Alfred can't even say why he locked himself away. Alfred feels trapped. Finally, he wants to leave his room, but he can't. Something heavy and dense begins to settle on his chest. It doesn't go away.

Until one day, Arthur's feet stop in from of Alfred's room, and instead of leaving after putting the dish down and leaving, he hovers,and Alfred can hear him switch from foot to foot. Finally he speaks.

"Alfred. Its me." Arthur sounds strangely hesitant as he speaks, "I wanted to say.. I'm sorry. For the way I spoke before. I shouldn't have yelled at you or blamed you."

It t's a very un-Arthur like statement, and Alfred finds himself paying attention.

"I just wanted to let you know, I won't be like that anymore. I promise not be angry at you or punish you, even if you come out, so please..." The sound of audible swallowing, "Just know that I'm here for you whenever you're ready."

Footsteps walking away. The heavy thing in Alfred's chest seems to dissapate. Arthur doesn't apologize. Ever. But amazingly, he just did.

He promised he won't be mad.

Arthur's saving point as a parent was he didn't make promises lightly. If he said something, he tried to keep it. If he's going to leave his room, there's no better time than now.

But he's still so tired and he doesn't have the energy to face his dad and his brother, so Alfred just throws himself back onto the bed and turns away from the door. He won't open that door tonight, he can't. He doesn't have the energy.

But, maybe tomorrow...