Freedom is never as sweet as you imagine it'll taste.
It's more like soggy cornflakes in a bowl of cold milk at six o'clock in the morning. That's what Alfred normally has for breakfast nowadays, and sure, it's freedom, but it's a freedom he wasn't entirely ready for.
There's a squeak under his chair, and he doesn't have to look down to know that it's Percy—that's the name he gave to the mouse he lives with. Oddly enough, Percy doesn't have any other mouse friends that come to visit him. Alfred knows there are more mice in the building simply from the sheer amount of scratching behind the walls, but none of them have found their way into his room except for Percy thus far. The other mice, he assumes, are busy harassing other tenants.
As much as he wants to get rid of the pest, he can't find the willpower to kill the horrendous thing. Besides, Percy hasn't done any harm yet, and he has the decency not to leave any droppings on the carpet or anywhere in the apartment for that matter, so why not let the thing hang around for a little while? Perhaps Alfred's just going insane and making friends with vermin is the first symptom that something isn't right.
And having a mental illness doesn't sound so far-fetched at this point because most days, it's a challenge just to get out of bed. Alfred learns very quickly that although he has a knack for engineering, he hates it in practice. There's no passion—no fervor—that encourages him to get to his classes early and apply himself. He wants to have a thirst for knowledge for the subjects he's learning.
The only moments that seem to bring him joy anymore are the tutoring sessions he offers throughout the week in between his courses at the university. He gets paid decently, and he gets to help children ranging from the ages of six to eleven with basic reading and writing skills. All of the kids who come to see him always manage to bring a smile to his face, and there's something so gratifying about seeing their young minds at work.
He thinks of dropping his engineering classes to go into teaching instead, but it's a difficult decision that he isn't able to make right away. He needs more time to think things over, and yet, the clock is ticking. Each day he goes to class feels like his personal hell, and he begins a slow descent into a constant, depressed state, unable to muster any enthusiasm for anything anymore.
Then, there's the issue of his homesickness. He didn't think he'd miss Illinois so much, but after three months of being in New York, he really just wants to go to Beilschmidt Sweets and treat himself to some caramel chews for old time's sake.
Once or twice, he drafts the beginnings of a letter to let Arthur know he's alive and managing, but he's never able to finish them, and he can't help but think that Arthur might not want to hear from him after the stunt he pulled. The man probably doesn't care if he's dead or alive—Alfred sure wouldn't if he were in Arthur's shoes.
He has been a bad and unreasonable son. That, and he's been running away from his problems and ignoring them. September goes by and he doesn't send a letter. October follows, and he can't even sign a postcard. November, and still nothing. He doesn't even send anything over Thanksgiving.
And Alfred is so, so, so ashamed. He didn't have to leave Arthur like he did. They should've worked things out together, like they always used to.
Now, he's all alone without anyone to guide him, and he realizes that he's still very much a boy, even though he prides himself in being eighteen.
December comes and he just can't take it any longer. He stops going to his classes and decides he'll write a letter to Arthur over Christmas, and if the man doesn't reply, then he won't send any follow-up letters.
But what the hell is he supposed to write anyway? Sorry for being a horrible child? Sorry for running away to New York? Sorry for breaking your heart and hurting you in a way that's now irreversible? His behavior has been unacceptable at best.
In a fit of anger, he kicks some storage boxes in the closet and curses loudly. Something makes a squeaking noise in protest, and he knows it can't be Percy because the mouse disappeared behind his hole in the wall almost half an hour ago.
Alfred crouches down, moves around some of the boxes, and a chew toy falls to the ground with a plonk. He reaches for it and remembers that it is one of Baron's old toys. His favorite toy, to be exact. He had taken it with him when he'd left, feeling sentimental.
And well, if that's not a sign of what he needs to do next, then he doesn't know what is.
He has to go back.
It's snowing when Alfred arrives in Illinois on Christmas Eve. Well, snowing is putting it lightly. It's more like a blizzard. He trudges through the icy wind and drags his suitcase behind him in foot-deep snow, huffing and puffing from the energy he has to expend just to make it from the train station to the town. His fingers are numb because his gloves have holes in them, his lungs are burning, and he can't see a thing because his glasses are all wet and fogged up.
He's so disoriented that he almost walks past the front porch. In this weather, all of the houses look identical.
The light in the living room is on. Arthur's probably reading a novel and drinking some tea. He can picture the man sitting in an armchair without a care in the world, enjoying the solitude.
And what right does Alfred have to take that away from him?
Something hot runs down his cheeks, and he realizes with a pang of bewilderment that he's actually crying. He's a grown young man standing in the middle of this damn blizzard, and he's bawling like a baby. Bawling because he hasn't seen Arthur in well over three months, and it feels like his whole world is falling apart at the seams. He doesn't know what to study or where to go. He's not sure what he wants to do with his life in the slightest anymore. And, to top it off, he's pushed away the only person that he considers family.
He stands there for a long moment, and while he's still a weeping mess, he walks up the porch steps and forces himself to knock on the front door, shaking from both the cold and the gravity of the emotions his brain is struggling to cope with.
He hears movement from inside, and the door swings open, revealing a stunned Arthur with wide, green eyes.
Alfred opens his mouth to say something—anything—but before his tongue can remember how to form words, a set of familiar arms hug him around the middle and pull him close.
He looks down at Arthur, feeling as though someone just sent a shock of electricity down his spine. He'd expected the man to yell and be furious, or, at the very least, to slam the door in his face, so why is he hugging him?
Suddenly, he remembers being in this same exact position back when he'd escaped to Chicago with Toris when he was thirteen. Back then, Arthur's arms signaled safety and security, and now, five years later, they are still just as warm and protective.
"Not one bloody letter to let me know you were okay," Arthur snarls viciously into his shoulder.
Alfred swallows back a sob and shivers. He has missed the man's voice. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I was being immature and stupid and I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. I understand if you want me to leave. You can say you never want to see me again, but don't hate me."
"Idiot boy," Arthur snaps at him, hugging him harder. "I could never hate you."
He's soaking Arthur's sweater with his tears, but the man doesn't seem to mind. He just brings a hand to the back of Alfred's head and says, "Come inside before you catch your death out here. Hurry along."
He doesn't deserve to be allowed in, but Arthur insists, shutting the door behind him and blocking out the unforgiving cold.
"Boots off."
"Arthur, I—"
"Shh," Arthur hisses before tugging off his coat and throwing a blanket over his shoulders. "You're a right mess, aren't you? Come, sit."
He's swept into the living room and over to the plush armchair he has sat in multiple times over the years, saddled with troubles and worries just like now. He pulls the blanket closer to his body and huddles into himself, trying to get his frostbitten hands to thaw out.
Arthur stands before him with a conflicted expression, a lecture already poised on his lips. He's angry, but it's clear that his relief is stronger than his frustrations, and as he regards Alfred, he takes notice of how unkempt the boy is. His hair is long and overgrown, he hasn't shaved, he's lost a few pounds, and he's pale and ashen, giving him an overall unhealthy appearance.
"I don't need to tell you that what you did was irresponsible. You made the decision that you did, and you're an adult, which means you must be beholden to the consequences of your actions," Arthur begins, a hand on his hip and a firm scowl on his face. "You're an adult, and I cannot keep you chained here. You don't have to stay. You can live wherever you please."
"B-But I was wrong, and I want to stay. Am I unwelcome here?"
Arthur purses his lips. "You're always welcome here, but if you're going to stay, you must respect the conditions I set for you. This is my house, after all, and while you're in it, you're under my authority."
Alfred dries his running eyes and nose, nodding. "Arthur, I'll do anything you want me to… I just… I'm so lost and everything I thought to be true isn't, and I feel like a little kid because I don't have anything figured out, and—"
"There, there," Arthur murmurs, putting a comforting hand on his head. "You don't need to have all of the answers yet. You have plenty of time to choose what to do. I know you don't want to hear this, but you're still very young—far too young to be making all of your life's decisions right away."
"I wish I'd known that before," Alfred says with a miserable chuckle as the clock strikes midnight. "M-Merry Christmas… I should've brought a gift or something."
Arthur shakes his head at him and clicks his tongue. "Having you back is enough."
"You know, I'd feel better if you yelled at me."
"Why should I do that when I can kill you with kindness instead?" Arthur jokes before patting Alfred's shoulder. "Let's get you settled back in, shall we?"
"Your dad told me I'd find you here."
Toris looks up from the frosty river, startled. He relaxes when he sees that it's only Alfred, and the two exchange a smile and a brief hug. "Yeah, I still come here to unwind. Guess some things never change. So, are you back for good now?"
"Until I find out what my next plans are," Alfred explains, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. "You're going back to school in California after the holidays?"
"Yup, and then, I want to get through pre-med."
"That's cool, at least you've got something you're really excited about."
"How are things between you and Arthur?"
Alfred shrugs his shoulders and smiles. "Better. You know, I didn't realize how much I'd miss the old man's nagging until I didn't have him around anymore."
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Toris quotes. "By the way, I think Gilbert was looking for you. It might be important."
"All right, I'll go and pay him a visit. We can catch up another time."
"Sure. Oh, and Alfred? The next time you run off like a crazy person, the least you could do is say goodbye to your best friend."
Alfred laughs nervously and scratches the back of his neck. He's lucky Toris puts up with so much of his drama, and even though they haven't seen each other in a while, it feels as though they were never really apart. "It won't happen again."
He finds Gilbert moping outside of Beilschmidt Sweets, smoking a cigarette underneath the store's awning. The expression on his face suggests something horrible has happened—a death in the family, or perhaps, the discovery that a loved one has contracted a terminal illness. Alfred braces himself for the worst and mentally rehearses some words of condolence to impart upon the man, but as he's doing that, Gilbert raises his shaggy, platinum-colored mop of hair and tries to shoot him a dopey smile.
"Hey, squirt. It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back."
"I'm surprised you're still alive. I thought for sure that Arthur would have skinned you alive for disappearing like that, but I guess he's still got a soft spot for you somewhere, huh?"
"Believe me, I'm surprised, too," Alfred says with a lopsided smile. He knows Arthur is too good to him at times. He acknowledges it now more than ever. "You were looking for me earlier?"
"I just wanted to know what you were up to."
"So, why do you look so down? Did something happen?"
"Ja," Gilbert mutters with a frown, clinging to his cigarette like a lifeline. "Elizabeta and I are going out to dinner, and I don't know what to do."
Alfred's jaw involuntarily drops an inch in astonishment. "Really? That's great!"
"Nein, it's the worst thing that could ever happen to me! I don't know what to wear, and we're going to have to talk for the whole evening. She'll mention something about the weather and then she'll ask me how I'm feeling, and I'll have to talk about my emotions and all of that garbage! And then, after I'm done, I'm going to have to ask her how she feels, and she'll be calm at first but within minutes everything will spiral out of control, and the next thing you know, she'll be throwing breadsticks at my face or hitting me over the head with a menu," Gilbert moans.
"I mean, but maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe by the end of the night you guys will be friends."
"Friends? FRIENDS?" Gilbert cries, lashing an arm out in front of him. "We can't be friends!"
"Why not?"
"Because it'd be too uncomfortable! Every time I look at her, I… I…"
Alfred nods sympathetically. "I get it, but you have to confront your fears at some point. I'm sure everything will work itself out one way or another."
"Maybe you're right, squirt. Maybe you're right…"
It is established that Alfred will go back to school in the spring, except, instead of studying in New York, he'll try being in Chicago instead, which is a little less than a two hour commute. He'll be able to come home for the weekends and holidays, and if anything major happens, he'll be able to travel to and fro without it being too big of a hassle. Alfred plans to take a few courses in education to see if things turn out better than the engineering career path, and it'll all be a nice change of pace.
It's an arrangement that works for Alfred as well as for Arthur. And though neither of them ever says it, they know they can't function soundly if they subject themselves to being so far apart again. Alfred needs his mentor nearby, and Arthur needs to know that he can come in and intervene if something goes wrong.
And once they have both come to an agreement, things move more smoothly. They quickly fall back into their routines, are most pleasant toward each other, and to any person wandering by, it's clear that they care for each other a great deal.
They spend the rest of the winter recess together, shoveling snow and staying inside on most days. Alfred catches up on all of the gossip in town with the help of Francis's plethora of anecdotes. Apparently, Gilbert's dinner with Ms. Hedervary went well since they go on two more 'dates', so to speak, after that. It's good to see the man happier and walking with a bounce in his step.
Toris leaves early to go back to school in California, and as soon as he's gone, Ivan frequently stops by the house to speak with Arthur, trying to deal with the loss he so clearly feels when his son isn't around. It's encouraging to know that Ivan and Arthur can discuss such matters, so that Alfred can rest easy knowing that although he'll soon be gone for the majority of the semester again, Arthur won't be left entirely alone.
But then, one day, something peculiar happens. Alfred goes out to pick up some fish from the market, and as he's doing so, he runs into Ms. Hedervary, who, for some strange reason, seems to be acting a little cold toward him.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Hedervary!" he calls to her with a beaming smile, hoping to make her feel better. He doesn't know what he did wrong, but it doesn't really matter. He wants to be on good terms with everyone in town.
"Good afternoon," she grumbles in response, eyes downcast. "Didn't you notice me this morning?"
"Notice you?"
"I saw you in the bakery this morning. I waved to you."
Except, Alfred hasn't been to the bakery in an entire week. "I think you've got the wrong guy, Ms. Hedervary. I wasn't at the bakery today. Maybe you saw someone who looked like me?"
"Oh, my mistake then. I could've sworn it was you. Oh, well! No harm done!" she says with more enthusiasm and a good-humored giggle. "I should get my eyes checked. Take care!"
"You, too!"
Huh... At first, Alfred thinks nothing of it. After all, there are other dark blond males in town, and from behind, he could've been mistaken for any one of them. He continues on his hunt for the fish, and when he returns home, he completely forgets about the incident and helps Arthur fix the radio since it's been acting wonky lately and occasionally makes a horrific shrieking noise of unabated static. He's halfway through picking it apart to find the problem when there's a knock at the door.
"Don't worry, I'll get it," Arthur volunteers, crossing the living room as Alfred continues to try to make sense of the tangle of wires before him.
He hears the door being opened, followed by a few seconds of silence. He assumes it's Ivan because he promised to bring over a new medication for Alfred to try for his asthma the other day—something about an inhaler that's supposed to be more effective than the ephedrine he's been chugging for years.
He listens hard, and yet, he doesn't hear a Russian accent echoing from the foyer. The visitor's voice is so hushed that he can't make out who it is, until his curiosity gets the best of him, and he decides to go and greet the person himself.
"Please, come in," he hears Arthur say in a strangled tone, followed by the clicking of shoes against wood.
"Hey, who's—?" Alfred stops himself, voice catching in his throat. He stares at the person standing by the door, and it's like looking in a mirror—a slightly off-kilter mirror.
"Matthew."