So I'm glad this story has a good following. :) So very very glad!

I know that I said that it wouldn't be all angst, I swear it wont! But this chapter and the next might be really sad, but there is some good loving and what not coming soon. :) I hope you guys like!

Oh! And the words that are in italics and underlined means they are in the lettr, being read in thoughts. :)

The mail came six days after he had been gone and I comically, faintheartedly wondered if he had read any of it.

His letter was on top, with chicken scratch cursive on the front, stamps that had sunflowers on them were invalidated with a red postal marking.

I wasted no time in ripping it open as soon as I was in my room, my window left open, just in case he wanted to come back.

The first thing I noticed was that it smelled as if he had sprayed some kind of perfume on the paper, something musky and sweet. With the lightest touch, I held it to my lips and inhaled, eyes closed as I remembered him clear as day. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end, a pleasurable, fire like lick of passion ebbing up in me softly.

The edges unfolded easily with a delicious crinkle, a plethra of petals from a crushed flower fluttering into my lap as they were unleashed from their bindings. They were of red roses and blue carnations, because blue was my color and red was his.

That's what he always used to say.

The first sentence was typed, but the rest was hand written in that horrific cursive that I always told him I loved. And it wasn't a lie, I did love it, because the letters looked rickety and warmly characteristic of him.

"I hate it here."

I frowned at the simple words and half heartedly wished he hadn't written at all. I would have rather heard his voice and been able to hold him when he felt so down.

"The flower petals are from Francis' garden. He said that I was allowed to pick a few for you, but I told him I didn't want them. I ended up stealing the blossoms though, because things are more fun when you're not supposed to do them.

I lied when he asked if I sent them to you, so if he asks, you have to lie too."

I couldn't help the smile spreading on my face. This was so like Alfred. He constantly did small, meaningless things, telling me about them later on so I could be his accomplice. One time he moved all the chicken noodle soup cans to the frozen food aisle, or put medium shirts with the XX large shirts, and one time he confided in me that he had picked the mango's from a neighbors tree and drew smiley faces on them, leaving the fruit in small baskets in front of someone else's house. I wasn't sure what drove him to do such things, or why he thought he needed to tell me.

I guess it was his way of tying us together.

I guess it had worked, because like all these others, this was a secret I'd take to my grave.

"Mattie says it's nice that we're going to try and keep in touch. I know he means well, but the way he slid in "try" sounds like it's not going to work. We're going to keep this up right? You're going to write back, right?

Either way, I thought you'd want to know that it's nice here. My house is quite, except when its night time, because Francis thinks we're sleeping, but I'm not, and I can hear him get on his knees and pray really hard, like he used to when Mattie was real sick in the hospital. He says words like, 'Its' all my fault' and 'What am I supposed to do now?' I want to tell him that God doesn't listen very well when it comes to our family, but Mattie says that's rude.

Do you think the truth is rude?

Francis smiles when it's day light out, and he has lots of friends come over to give their condolences, but its real awkward, because I don't think a lot of them understand, and there's lots of secrets in our family so it's usually just quite, with a few apologies of things. They act like they could have saved dad or something. But I don't think they understand.

He chose death.

Nothing was going to stop that.

And Francis says we'll have the funeral next week, on a Sunday, because Francis says Sunday's are holy days and they were days that Dad never drank, but it's not fair because he didn't know Dad for as long as I did because he always drank on Sunday and Saturday, and all the other days like that. He wants him buried in a big oak casket and we went to see it and it's beautiful and carved with dad's English crest. There's red satin lining and Francis also said he wanted rose petals to be laid out.

That's why I picked all the petals and sent them to you."

I could picture Alfred shrugging the way he always did, trembling a little as he swallowed sobs back, because Alfred didn't cry anymore.

"They'll bury him with the rest of the family, right beside Mama, 'where he's supposed to be' as Francis put it. I don't think Francis notices how absolutely sad he looks when he says that. How do you bury your lover by his wife?

But I don't want him there. I don't want him in a fancy coffin, I don't want him laying beside Mama forever, I don't want to sit through hours of people lying through their teeth about him.

Funerals are so pretty compared to death.

You'll come with me won't you?

I got a motor cycle. Just because. Papa said I could ride it to your house and visit, but Mattie's been sick, and if these are his final strings, I don't want to be gone.

It's weird, to live like you're dying. Because all I can think about is what to say to him, because those might be the last things I ever say to him and I don't want them to be stupid. The doctors say he'll pull through, but he's real weak and nobody understands him like I do, and whenever I see him I feel like he's withering away or blinking out of existence. He's my twin, so seeing him fade is like seeing myself be taken up by the reaper. Piece by piece."

I grabbed a swig of water as I let go of the letter, resting my elbows on my knees and holding my aching head in my hands. I didn't want to hear any more about this, about how Alfred was going to lose his brother, and how he had to bury the man who hated him by his loving mother, and for whatever reason I couldn't get the image out of my head that Alfred was loosing pieces of himself and soon he too would be stretched so thin that he'd just disappear in the wind, like ashes through cupped, careful hands.

With a small breath, I picked up the letter again, determined to finish it so I could write him back, so I could tell him I'd attend the service with him, and that I wouldn't go to Brightvale.

"How are you though? I'm sorry you had to see him. I hate that you know. Does it scare you? Do you have nightmares? Because the night before it happened, I was laying so near to you that I could count your breaths and your eyes were shifting quickly behind the lids. You kept whispering, "No, no." I tried to wake you, but when I touched your shoulder you yelled out.

I got scared, because you never acted like that before. I left that night because I didn't want to be a burden on you. I didn't want your sister to accidently find us like that."

I could picture him pausing after that heavy statement, his brain grinding gears as he thought of my picturesque family with their money and love and prayers. Was he ashamed of what we were?

What were we even?

The sudden, heavy slam of the front door and the gruff voice calling out, "I'm home!" rang through the halls, and with a sure hand, I hid the letter, the flower petals and the envelope under my pillow, tucking my covers over that as well.

-WW-

As I languidly took my time on the stairs, my ears prickled at Katka's lovingly sweet voice as she welcomed out father home, head bowed in a trained manner, hands reaching out to take his hat and coat, hanging them on the rock that guarded the door. Natalya's heels clicked in a business, clipped way, her arms folding around our father so easily.

She was the baby of the family, and such a daddy's girl.

But my father didn't acknowledge any of this, instead, swiveling is stern glare about the first floor, asking in a cold stone voice, "Where's Ivan?"

"Da, Father?" I answered, clearing down the last few steps as if I had been in a hurry to meet him, evening my breath so I didn't look too much like I had been up to something.

He held his arms out in a gesture for me to embrace him, and without thinking I did so, even though his uniform was crisp with a certain chill you could never warm up to. The ranks pinned to the breast of his shirt were rough on my chest as he patted me with a determined fervor, as if we were long lost comrades reunited after a rather long war.

"Katka says you have good news?" His eyes were like hardened crystals set into his stone like face as he brushed past me, loosening his tie and settling down in the kitchen chair that Natalia had pulled out for him, Katka pouring hot water into his favorite mug of tea.

"I was accepted to Brightvale. And all my scholarships went through, so I won't have to pay much, just a couple hundred for the dorm and whatever extra expenses I have, like a bus pass or things like that."

I saw my sister clasp her hands together with an excited smile, so proud of me as she looked from Father to me, judging just how he would react.

And so like him, his chest was held high as a strong smile carved across his rocky features. "That's my smart boy. If you don't excel in strength, then it must be brains." He took up his tea and held it out as if to toast my success. I tried to form a confident smile, but it just wasn't in me. To be happy to go off to college felt like I would be happy to leave Alfred.

"This will be a great opportunity for you. Get your doctorate, become a big name scientist, protect us from biochemical terrorists. That's my boy." You see, the thing about my father was that ever since he came to America he's submerged himself in the culture, becoming a high ranked Navy captain, fighting for things like liberty, freedom, and justice, just so people wouldn't see the last name "Braginski" and think he was a communist. It was what helped him cope, and I guess if it protected his strings, then it was a good job.

He must have seen through my faux happiness, instead, discovering the inkling of dread and regret.

"Ivan, what's wrong? You're not excited? Not proud to go to such a high ranking school, to become something so amazing?"

"No, it's not that...I'll just-" I left the thought hang in the air, giving a very much like Alfred shrug. I guess it didn't answer dad's question.

"You'll what?"

"Miss my friends. I mean, we are all going our separate ways, so I'll be lonely when I go. I was thinking, maybe if I stayed close to home and went to a local community college-"

"Damn it Ivan, this better not be about that Alfred kid. Is that it? Natalya told me over the phone how he's been coming over and distracting from your studies, and how he went and drove his father crazy, running away and causing trouble until the poor man broke-"

I felt my hands quivering, anger hot and oily inside of my chest as he went on, and the look in Natalia's eyes were that of victory and malice. Her smile was of knives and I swerved my eyes to Katka who was now drawing away from the table, knowing that the tension was about to be broken by ignorance.

"Dad! It wasn't like that! Natalia doesn't know him!" My lips were course and dry like my words, my father finishing his drought of tea before fixating his eyes on me. His aura was strong and palpable as he transformed into the sergeant I knew.

"You're not going to let that fag get in the way of your future and education! Do you understand me? He's no good trouble, from the first time I heard about him!" Poor Katka was shrinking into herself, trying to avoid the entire scene by washing her hands over and over in the sink, her back to us as if we weren't absolutely shaking the walls with our shouts.

"Dad you don't understand!"

"I understand enough! I didn't sacrifice my entire life to provide for you and then you-"

"I'm not doing anything wrong! We haven't done anything wrong!"

"You kissed him!"

His last few words echoed through put the distilled house, with the velocity of a poisoned arrow that, when shot from such a close range, my skull felt split open, my blood running viciously cold, heart pained and aching as he belittled me with his icy, disgusted eyes.

I could feel hate slicking my lips as I drew my tongue over them, swallowing the words that I was about to scream. Natalia was moving fox like and calculating as she placed her hands on Father's shoulders, soothing him as she spoke like the grit of sand was in her mouth.

"Don't worry, he is gone. Very far from our precious Ivan. I bet Ivan was just pulled into something by accident, it won't happen again." Her shouldering gaze flashed to me, knowing and intimate, almost as if she could read my thoughts, as if she was about to give everything away if she hadn't already.

Katka shuddered suddenly with tears as she broke down from all this tension, our Father rolling his eyes as he turned away from me, brushing Natalia off with a rude, brusque movement.

I wondered what everyone looked like as my father slammed the front door in his harsh parting, I myself already up stairs, throwing myself onto my bed with a heart wrenching cry.

It hurt that my Father knew. It hurt that Natalia had turned me in. And it hurt even more to think that she was right. Down to the depths of the coldest layer of hell, she was right, and Alfred and I had been a reoccurring accident all those nights that he climbed my window, and maybe Alfred's father's death was an accident, and his leaving was an accident, and look where it got us.

If I thought too long and hard about it, maybe my acceptance to Brightvale was a accident. And even though all those things aren't really accident material, they felt haphazardly pieced together, and so selfish on his part and so ignorant on mine.

There was a soft crinkle under my pillow, and as I gently pulled out the letter, I saw his rugged scribbles and then noticed that my tears were smudging the last few sentences, and with a choked, swallowing composure I wiped at my eyes and finished reading, hoping his words would make me feel better.

And maybe I put too much faith in them, and maybe I was just having a let-me-down-roughly kind of day., but I didn't care.

"And even though you're headed off to be some mad crazy scientist ten million miles away, I want to say that I'll probably love you for something like...forever. I don't know why. And if you asked, I probably wouldn't be able to say it aloud, but it's true. There's something about you, and something about your strings, and how you're still folding yourself into this paper town.

Please don't catch fire with this world. Promise that when everyone throws themselves to the flame to be reborn, you'll refuse.

Ivan? Are you still even here?"

I felt absolutely liberated, as if I was going to fall to pieces or shed my skin or grown wings on my shoulders. My body was shaking as I covered my mouth with a trembling hand, pricks of hot tears biting at my eyes as I tried not to cry.

Was this the feeling of maturing?

The feeling of pining?

Or was this just another string?