"Alfred!" the blond looks up from the screen where he is clicking away, chasing after another possible theory. He hasn't had much luck yet, and it's concerning. Most computer troubles are fairly common and have at least some sort of record.
"I'm heading to the store," Arthur's head pokes into the room, "do you need anything?"
"Um…" he scratches his head, gazing off to the side a bit. "…Hot Pockets? The new ones with the hamburger in them. Uh…wotsitcalled…"
"Oh, come on!" the shorter boy enters the room fully, vexation clear in his tone. "The day you forget the name of that blasted frozen junk food of yours is the day hell freezes over. What is wrong with you?"
"I didn't forget!" Alfred insists, offense dripping from every word.
"Didn't you?" two thick eyebrows raise, in a challenge.
"I…" blue eyes stare pointedly off to the side. His brow creases in concentration, as he tries to think of the particular name. Somehow, it evades him. Just as he thinks he's onto it, that faintest trace of a hint slips away.
"Side Shots?" the Brit fills in, before sighing. "You really ought to come with me or something. I understand you're dead set on fixing Kiku's computer, but it won't do anyone any good if you drive yourself mad looking for it. Sometimes breaks help."
Alfred returns the sigh, rotating in his desk chair so that he's facing the older boy. The fairly obvious concern snatches his attention. His cousin has never been one to show such a thing outright, not since he used to come during holidays to visit. Not since he came to live in America.
"I just…you know how important this is to him," the taller blond meets his gaze, somewhat beseechingly. "I can't just take a break. I need to fix this for him. He's my best friend…that's what friends do for each other. "
"It's not like it's going to kill him," Arthur frowns, sitting down on the bed, and crossing his legs at the knee. Expectantly, he waits for an answer.
Alfred inhales, exhales, runs his hands through his hair in exasperation, before repeating the process. How to phrase this, how to even begin to explain how completely necessary this all is. How to justify the bags that have been growing darker and darker under his eyes since that first sleepless night, the night he'd gotten back from Kiku's.
"…he was crying when I left," he says finally, in a rush of a breath, trying to convey everything he is feeling on the subject with that single sentence. "How can I stop trying to help after that, even for a minute?"
"…crying?" green eyes widen. "Surely you must be…I mean…"
"I know what I saw," Alfred shakes his head, gaze drifting away from his cousin's. "You didn't see him. He looked like his best friend just died."
Maybe that's because it did, something inside him retorts. His computer is his life. What will he do without it?
I silence stretched between the two of them, then. Oddly enough, it's a calm silence, a good silence. A silence for them both to collect their thoughts .
"Well…it won't do him any good if you make yourself ill with all this," Arthur frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean, what would I tell your parents? I'm supposed to be taking care of you."
Alfred utters a little forced chuckle, appreciating the effort. The older boy hardly ever tries to make jokes.
"So…just take the day off," the request comes out more like a demand. "It's past noon anyway. I'm sure it won't make that much of a difference."
"Fine," Alfred gives in, sticking out his tongue in a childish manner. He can't help but laugh a little—genuinely, this time—when Arthur gets up in a huff and leaves. The older boy is such a mother hen sometimes. Even though he has only been on this side of the pond for a little over two years now, Alfred can hardly remember what life used to be like. Before Arthur came over, before Matthew…
Matthew. Alfred slaps himself, instantly feeling guilty. Getting so caught up in all of this that he forgot to go visit his own brother.
Pulling on some proper clothing, before searching for his keys and a pair of matching socks amid the clutter, he tries to recall the last time he visited his twin. How long has it been? Not that long, surely. He went during exam week sometime, didn't he? He must have.
It takes him a couple of minutes to realize that his search is in vain. He must have left the keys in the kitchen, and the only socks within reach are from two quite different pairs. Shrugging, he pulls them on, regardless.. Arthur isn't here to bug him about his style of dress, anyway.
He remembers those first few weeks when he refused to leave his brother's side. Screw protocol, screw what the doctors and nurses said, that he couldn't have any visitors. He had stayed there for nearly three weeks straight before he'd been finally pulled away. By Ivan, no less.
Somewhere along the way, that changed. His visits had become less and less frequent, his thoughts tending to focus on other things. By no means had he forgotten about his brother: he still made a point to visit at least once a month, often more. But he just…
He just what? Stopped feeling the need to go? Stopped feeling guilty? Felt he had fulfilled his quota, repaid his brother?
No, something inside him insists. Of course not. He visited his brother because he loved him and was concerned about him. Because he wanted to do all that he could for his twin, to support him as best he could through this.
But something else, something darker, something that had seized on Matthew's words from so long ago, begs to differ. It was his way of apologizing, of trying to make it up to him. Too little, too late. As it always seemed to be, when he thought about it.
Shaking his head, Alfred makes his way out of his room, keeping an eye out for his keys. Perhaps he'll ask Matt about all this when he arrives? Voice his concerns?
Probably not. Heroes don't give others reasons to worry about them. And the last thing Matthew needs right now is another thing to worry about.
Short chapter is short. My apologies. I just did not want to get onto the next topic in this chapter, and so couldn't think of anything to add.
I'm not going to beg for reviews, because I'm not that type of author. However, I will say, more reviews = faster chapters. I just feel more encouraged to write when I know there are people waiting.
Special thanks to Candybook, my one consistent reviewer ^^ I feel I'm more or less writing this for you sometimes, though, don't get me wrong: I would gladly continue to do so.
And just out of curiosity...does the fact that this story in present tense bother anyone? I know most fanfiction tends not to be.