"Hm…" The blond sticks his tongue out in concentration, pushing it against the corner of his mouth as he leans in further.
There is a rattle of metal against metal. Not a loud noise, but loud enough to make Kiku shudder. His poor computer…
The shuffling goes on for a length of time, accompanied by the occasional bang or thud. With every sound, the smaller boy tenses. Briefly he considers getting earplugs, to try and keep the sound out. But, no, that's ridiculous. A new level of ridiculousness in regards to this issue that he is not willing to take. Not just yet.
And then there is a sigh. A great big one, filled with all the emotions and connotations Kiku is dreading.
"It looks…perfect." Alfred says the word with a nuance the other has never before heard used with the word. Like a curse almost, definitely towards the negative end of the spectrum. "I guess all there's left to do is call tech support. Should I…?"
"I'll do it," Kiku volunteers, a set in his voice and his demeanor that he didn't know he had felt until just now. This is his computer, his problem…he should be the one dealing with.
An hour later, the remains of that attitude are crumbling at an alarming rate.
"I'm sorry…I don't know." A pause, listening. "My computer is unbootable. I can't…safe mode?" He finishes, as a question, looking towards the blond. Alfred scuffles over to the reassembled computer, following directions as Kiku relays them to him, step by step.
"No…it doesn't seem to be working," Kiku frowns, just a little. But a little goes a long way with the older boy, Alfred has come to learn. "I…I don't know. It won't start Windows. I don't…I'm sorry."
More dialogue from the other line. A veritable stream of it, by the way Kiku holds the phone to the side of his head with both hands, listening intently, as he always does. Always the good student, always paying attention.
"My friend checked the internal structure. He said it looked all right." Another bought of words from the other end. Kiku's lips are starting to tremble, Alfred can see. His hands are shaking where they hold the phone. But the other side of the conversation continues to go on.
"A-Ah…I see," the Asian says eventually, shifting a little. He looks about ready to burst into tears. Again, like he did at the start of all this. The thought makes something deep inside Alfred twist uncomfortably.
He tries to capture the other's attention, crawling in front of him where he's sitting on the bed. "What's going on?" he mouths with a hint of a whisper. Kiku doesn't answer, only shakes his head, continuing to listen to the speaker. So attentive, even when upset like this as he is.
He continues to be half an hour later, when the first tear slips out of his eye. His left eye, traveling down his cheek to the corner of his mouth, shrinking as it leaves a shining trail.
That pang plucks at Alfred again. He hates to see his friends upset, hates to see others making his friends upset. He hates it especially when there is nothing he can do.
"A-Ah…I see. I don't—yes, of course, I understand, I…" Kiku's right hand curls in front of his mouth, the way it so often does when his emotions finally seep through into some sort of expression. An expression he doesn't want anyone else to see. "I'm sorry, I…"
There's something about seeing the smaller boy talking so submissively into the phone, his hand placed in front of him like a shield, a barrier, his cheek shining with the aftermath of a few tears, which makes Alfred move. In a rush of emotion, he stands up, grabbing the wireless communication device from his friend, and listening to the other line, eyebrows creased.
"-afraid there isn't enough information available to answer your problem. It could be a multitude of things. I suggest having it worked on by—" Alfred hangs up before the woman on the other end can finish. Fuming, he turns around, looking for somewhere to place the phone, looking at something—for something?
Upon locating the phone's charger, he puts it in place. He can feel the other boy's eyes watching him, with some sort of emotion he can't name.
It's when he hears the slightest of snuffles behind him that he turns, his heart twinging painfully in sympathy. His anger is already fading.
"Kiku…" the boy in question doesn't look up at him upon hearing his name, but rather shifts on the bed, so that he is facing half away from his friend. Bringing his knees to his chest—carefully, slowly, as if he will shatter if he moves too fast—he buries his face in the fabric. His arms wrap around his legs, hugging them tightly, as if to hold himself together.
"I'll fix this, I promise." Alfred says the words, not knowing what he's going to do exactly, but knowing he will make it happen. To the best of his ability, and then some.
"Kiku…" the name comes out so full of emotion, so saturated with desire to help, as the blond extends his hand, reaching out to place it on the other boy's shoulder.
To his surprise—and dismay, almost—Kiku jerks away from the touch before it can even settle on him. "Alfred…I…" his voice is muffled, mumbling, and the blond wishes he could hear it, and understand it, because he knows how much the other dislikes repeating himself, especially in situations like this.
Thankfully, Kiku seems to realize his self-imposed audio-inhibitions of his own accord, and lifts his head from his knees. But he doesn't look at Alfred, rather, looks away at the wall. "Thank you for everything, but just…can you please leave?"
Alfred winces. He knows Kiku doesn't mean that, at least not in the way it came out, but it hurts nonetheless. Still, he realizes a plea when he hears it. Smiling that guilty smile of his—as if this is all somehow his fault, something he should have been able to stop, to fix before all this—he makes his way towards the door.
Before shutting it completely, he looks back one last time. Kiku has not moved, sitting still as a statue, only shaking ever so slightly. Sighing, Alfred turns, shutting the door entirely, and heads down the stairs.
Hearing his footsteps, Yao emerges from the kitchen, dressed in work clothes.
"How did it go?" he asks with a faint curiosity, though it is obvious he can already tell the answer from the blonde's appearance.
"Eh…not well," Alfred admits, honestly, for once not trying to hide everything behind that goofy smile of his. "I'm going to check out some stuff when I get home, and see what I can find but…I don't know."
"And last night?"
For a second, Alfred stares at Yao blankly, not comprehending the question's subject in the midst of the computer tragedy. But then it clicks, and he smiles, just a little wistfulness remaining. "Fine, fine…he even cleaned up a bit. The wrappers and junk left over from the guys. He really didn't have to do that."
"But he did," Yao returns, with just the vaguest teasing glimmer to his eyes as he continued. "That's how I raised him, after all. I'm glad I wasn't a total failure at it."
"Yep," Alfred responds, not knowing what else to say.
And then something occurs to him. How Yao raised him? What about their parents? Alfred has never really bothered to ask about them, has never really even registered their absence, assuming they have been at work, or something of the like (like his own). But what if…?
"What about your parents?" the question is out, before he can consider anything behind it. The fact he should really be asking Kiku this himself, and all that.
"Oh…" Yao's mouth opens in an image of the word. "Kiku hasn't told you about the accident?"
Accident? Something inside Alfred twists, and falls. "What accident?"
"Oh…" the brunette repeats, though a different emotion fills this exhale. Sadness? Regret? Hesitance? "I assumed after all these years…here, come sit."
Alfred does as asked, taking a seat on the couch in the living room, as Yao sits down across from him in a chair. He's never really spoken to Kiku's older brother before. In passing, as any friend speaks to another friend's parent. But not like this. Not about something like this. However, he's too shocked, too dumbstruck to feel awkward about it.
"It happened a while ago…" Yao begins, watching Alfred's expression carefully. "Kiku had been begging them to take him to some movie, some anime thing—I can't even remember—and they had finally given in. He never asked for much, even when he was little, so it really didn't take that much. They went to the movie. I was working so, it was just the three of them. I…I really hope…that they had a good time. I imagine they did. "
Yao looks away now, his voice catching a little. Alfred's heart sinks, fearing the end of this tale. "There was a storm that night. A really bad thunderstorm. My boss actually let me go home a little early, so that I was able to avoid the worst of it. I got home, and started making dinner, assuming they'd be back soon. But…they weren't. I waited, and waited. I finished dinner, but figured I'd wait until they got back to eat. And just…minutes turned to hours, and hours passed and passed…And soon enough it was midnight, and I hadn't heard anything from them.
"I decided to call them. I called my father first, but he had left his phone home. He did that a lot…he was always a little absent-minded. So then I tried my mother, and…it rang and rang…and I was about to hang up, when someone picked up. But…it wasn't my mother. It was a police officer."
Yao is looking down at his hands now, fidgeting. Lifting a hand to his face every now and again. "He asked…he asked who I was. I told him my name, and then I asked who he was, and what was going on. I guess…he figured out who I was soon enough. He became really silent...really quiet. And then he just told me. Told me that they had gotten in an accident: a bad one. Several cars were involved. I guess the first two cars hit, one of which was our car…and it was on the highway, so the next few drivers…couldn't stop…
"They told me…they told me that there had been deaths. Five of them, and quite a few injuries. Five dead. Including the woman the phone had belonged to. My mother. And…my father was still tangled up in the wreckage. They hadn't been able to get him out yet, but they were pretty sure…
"I just…I couldn't think straight. 'My brother!' I started yelling at them...grabbed my keys, put on shoes. 'What about my brother?' And…it was quiet on the other end. I just…froze, listening. And then I heard voices in the background, the officer talking to someone. 'He's in the hospital,' he said finally, and I…I had never been so relieved. I hung up, and drove immediately to the hospital and…"
Yao glances up, the smile on his face catching Alfred off guard. "He was alive. He spent a few weeks in the hospital, and had to go back months after for follow-up appointments. But he was fine. I mean…not fine, fine…after all that, but…physically. And I was nearly eighteen by that point, so a few months after, I became his legal guardian."
"How…how old was he?" the blond asks, dreading the answer.
"Eight," Yao answers, an odd tone in his voice. "Almost nine."
"God…" Alfred runs his hands through his hair, burying his face in his palms. "I can't believe he never told me, he never…"
"He probably didn't want you to worry," Yao assures, wiping a hand over his face. Were there tears? Alfred had been too caught up in the narrative to notice. "He's always been like that…especially since then. Worrying about others before himself. I just…I thought you should know."
"I…I appreciate it," the blond manages to force out, getting to his feet. "I'll…I'll stop by in a few days again. Or something. Once I figure out more about the computer."
"All right," Yao stands, still more somber than his usual self. "Drive carefully!" He adds, in some horrible attempt at dark-humor.
Alfred never drove more cautiously.