Chapter four

I should probably explain what happens to the people who get excessive and reduced 'sanity'.

In my case, I have 70% too much sanity, which can be referred to as excessive psychorate, surprisingly; this has no negative effects to my mental health. Well, I do think it made me dull and boring, as to be expected of a A* student who was the school president, but that's about it. All it really means is that I'm able to cope a lot better with traumatic experiences. My father thought this would correct my sexual orientation and- it didn't, but that shouldn't really surprise you.

Actually, this whole incident created a decrease in trades being used in religious situations, since the local news papers started posting articles on Allistors death. In other words, the only bad thing was that I lost my brother out of it. That said, the smile he had while the doctor pierced his skin with the needle, and removed the source of his mental wellbeing, was actually like he wanted it to happen. But, that was my brother for you, going to serious extents like that to make a point.

Then there's Alfred. What most people misunderstand about reductions is that they don't really make somebody insane. It's not like you just walk away from a trade with a personality disorder. It creates this state of mind my mother calls 'type two deficiencies'; this means that they are more susceptible to show signs mental illness, without actually being under the effect of a mental illness.

The best way to explain it, is with these examples. Imagine every time you look in the mirror, you see something you hate about yourself, and then you go cut yourself without a second thought. Somebody hints that you're eating a little too much; you starve yourself for a week. You have a nightmare; you won't be able to sleep for a month. It's that sort of thing, and anybody with less than 65% of their type two- a decreased psychorate- will go through this until they can retain the 'sanity' they lost.

This is what Alfred was going through when he started calling me every day, asking me to tutor him. Okay, it seems harmless, but he became borderline obsessive. It went on until he got an A in a test, and then he chose something else to obsess about. What I want to talk about is the time I decided he was calling me way too often, and decided to offer my services in person instead.

"Alfred, should I go to your house after school?"

At this point the rumours about us had escalated to an all time high, but nobody bothered with them anymore, so I had just approached him while he was in the middle of his little group of friends while Gilbert seethed in the back ground, claiming I was replacing him for a ditsy popular.

Everyone around him turned to look at me, jealously tanning their faces. "Huh? I need to study after school though," he replied, not seeming to care what the others had thought of him, but, in his state I doubt it was that. What I mean is, if he thought anybody was judging him or I for being around each other, we would probably very aware of it, since people with a decreased psychorate tend to be a little... violent, to say the least. Maybe, rather than not caring, he simply forgot the facade he played for a moment, as he tended to do in my presence.

I sigh, letting my eyes roll over every perfect person whose stare bore intensely in my direction "that's my point, Alfred, you're always calling me for help, so I was thinking I would be better help to you in person,"

I had also wanted to be around him more, because I had a slight feeling that we were slowly becoming friends again, and I really wanted that. Of course to everybody else, and probably the boy himself, we were already quite close; I had just got this idea in my head that I needed to earn him back, that I had to work for his friendship.

But, there was this thing that happened whenever I was around the lad. I felt as if, by all means, I shouldn't be there, talking to him as freely as everybody else did. Thinking about it now, I see that I was pretty stupid for thinking that, since I both knew him better, and longer, than the rest of his friends. That said, there had always been this little flutter that appeared in my stomach when I let myself enter the boys presence, a feeling like, when you read over old conversations between you and a loved one, you know the one, it makes you smile so hard your face hurts.

Anyway, he just shrugged in reply, dismissively, and said "Alright then, you alright with going mine straight after school, or would you need to do something first?"

All of the members of the monarchy all gasped in chorus, I'm sure their faces where that of disgust, but at that moment light was shining through the misty window so brightly it was blinding everybody but Alfred from my sight. I shake my head, both at the boys question and his friends reactions, my eyes watered slightly from the sun.

I think for a moment, before replying "No, my dad is at work all day, so I never really need to be home,"

"Okay then, we've got last lesson together, so I'll see you then,"

The rest of that day isn't really that memorable, just a blur of lessons and faces I've forgotten in my time away from school. At dinner I think I spent my time in the library with Gil bugging me, asking about the latest rumours about me, but that's about all I can recall until the end of the day.

For winter, that day had been pretty warm and sunny, looking into the sky you could have already seen the outline of a crescent moon. So when the bell rang for the end of the day, each and every sweaty, tired teenager quickly swung their bags around their shoulders and rushed out of the doors. It wasn't long before I had been the last in the room, apart from Alfred who had been waiting for me.

"Come on lazy ass," he had ordered me, sitting up on one of the tables close to me "you're the one who wanted to come over,"

I scowl "Excuse me if I don't like having a messy bag," I say this while clicking my leather satchel to a close. Stubbornly, I then headed for the door as if I hadn't even noticed him waiting for me.

The walk to his house was pretty idle, full of light hearted banter and us complaining about the heat, until Alfred nudged me with his elbow as if to warn me that he was about to destroy the happy atmosphere. I'm making it sound worse than it is, to be honest, his question wasn't meant to catch me off guard. He even asked it in a throw away manner, like you would do talking about the news you had heard that morning.

"You know that conversation we had a few days ago, the one about your dad?"

I really should have seen it coming, after spilling my sob story onto him and hanging up after the moments of silence that came afterwards. Though, with him calling me regularly the past few days, it had become nothing but a tiny shadow at the back of my brain. I became stiff at its mention, either way, but carried on walking so that he wouldn't notice.

"Y-yeah... what of it?"

"Am I really the only person other than your family that knows about... uh, the way you swing?"

Though relaxing slightly, but, even it wasn't actually the subject I had been dreading, I'm pretty sure I went the brightest shade of scarlet you can imagine, I probably matched the orangey red sunset that hung above us. That was something that had been swept away with all of my thoughts the past few days, with the way he reacted when I first told him, it had become something I thought he would never mention.

Now a few steps ahead of him in our walk, I answer awkwardly "um. yes? is that... a problem?"

"No, not at all, it's just... well, forget I said anything, we're nearly there."

I had gladly let the subject fall, not aware that it would re surface a few hours later.

"Arthur! You're visiting again?" Matthew was, surprisingly, down stairs when I walked in with his brother. He had been watching what seemed to be a documentary on the tv, with his farther sat beside him, harbouring an expression which crossed between grateful and dull simultaneously as he glanced to us, slowly. Cautiously, I nod, remembering what had happened the last time I was there, assuming that the family of Alfred still weren't aware of his seemingly lost urges.

Beside me, Alfred beamed "yup! He's helping me study!" he said it in a way that made it sound like he was announcing an award. Even back then, I had caught the pride in his voice and the spark in his eyes, and looked at him in deep confusion, before Mathew spoke up again and threw away the thought entirely. I think, if I would have followed my thoughts that day, I may have realised how much of a safety blanket I had become for the boy, and maybe, I would have made a bigger effort to keep him safe.

"So, you guys are getting close again? I'm glad, you're about the only decent friend Al has,"

I smile warmly, understanding his comment whole heartedly "Thank you Matthew,"

"Hey, what's wrong with my friends?"

At this point my legs had become tired from the long walk me and Alfred had just embarked on, so I leant back on the wall I had been stood by. Doing so gave me a better view of the boy beside me, as he began ranting to his brother how 'amazing' his friends were and how the quieter of the two was just 'jealous' of him and his popularity.

Strangely, the sight of him caused me become lost in the words being spoken, and I began staring as if in a dream. Even now, if Alfred and I were to fall into an argument, sometimes I lose track of what I am saying, because of the look of sheer determination which covers his face, in the form of a wobbly lip, tensed eye brows and eyes full of beautiful light. When he has this look, I find myself memorized, to the point where my mind draws a blank.

And so, when Matthew had addressed me a few moments later "what do you think Arthur?" it felt like being torn out of that drowsy state before sleep with a buzz of caffeine.

"About what?" I ask, flustered, rapidly twisting to face him.

"About Al's friends, they're just a bunch of fakes, aren't they? Nothing like the people a 'hero' would befriend,"

Without thinking much, as I was still confused about why I had become to drawn into Alfred's appearance, I reply, with clumsy honesty "I suppose so, they don't seem to really care who they're friends with as long as they're popular." I turn to face the taller boy "Unlike you, Alfred, you don't care who it is as long as they're nice, well... you don't care anymore,"

He looked taken back for a moment, probably unsure if what I just said was meant to be a compliment or not "what d'ya mean, anymore? I never cared if my friends were popular,"

As to be expected, I didn't believe him much, but wasn't prepared to retaliate as I was afraid of pushing him away in his already worked up state of mind. Sensing this, Matthew, who was obviously on my side, decided to fill in the gaps for his brother in his usual hushed tone of voice.

"What he means is," he pauses, maybe rethinking his words "well, why did you and Arthur stop talking?"

"I don't know, I guess we just focussed on different things,"

"Right, he rightfully focussed on studies, where as you focussed on...?"

"Uh, social skills, I suppose,"

"Exactly, so, if Arthur tried to talk to you while you were trying to climb that social ladder, would you have taken as much notice as you would have otherwise?"

Alfred went silent, making me feel guilty. As much as I never held it to him, I had always blamed him, in a way, for us becoming distant in our years of high school. When Matthew said all this out loud, pointing it out to the boy his own mistakes, I had realised part of the reason I didn't regard us as friends, was because I didn't believe the other wanted to be friends.

I had, as was said, attempted talking to Alfred as he met his new friends, and, though not completely ignored, I had been shrugged off like the dust on an old notebook. Right then, I could see how Alfred was recollecting this fact, regret was almost showing clearly on his face and, it made me feel sorry for him.

I almost wanted to just speak up, and say 'it's okay, I had Gilbert, it's not like I was alone', but that slight part of me that blamed him was sitting on my shoulder, keeping my lips sealed shut as I stare at the dark swirls on the wooden floor.

"Well." Alfred started, after what seemed to be a year of unbearable silence "how about we go up to my room Artie?"

I nodded obediently, and he started heading to the stairs. Before following him, I turned to Mathew and said, in a stage whisper "Thank you, I'll see you later,"

When we got into his room, my first instinct was to ignore any urge to search around for razors, and plonked myself onto the end of the bed where he had sat cross legged. Paper was strewn across his thick navy blue quilt, each and every A4 sheet covered in messily wrote letters inked in black. Letters were all knitted tightly together, like a heap of knots, but I could still make out the words I had spoken to him the previous night, like I had been dictating my words rather than calmly answering the questions he asked me.

It unnerved me, seeing it all, but I remember smiling slightly and brushing my thumb over a sheet, thinking 'does he really value my words that much?' before shaking my head, to throw away the thought as soon as it entered my head, not trusting myself to follow the thought track.

Then Alfred said, out of nowhere as I was admiring his work "I'm not gonna' start a conversation about it, but I want you to know,

"I wasn't ashamed of you back then, or anything like that, so don't think for a second that's what it was... " he takes a deep breath, as a tinge of embarrassment orders my eyes to shoot up to him, "I was just trying my best to make people like me, and, the thing is, I knew you already liked me,

"But then, I think it was like... four months into the school year? Geez, I'm an asshole, anyway, I realised, when I saw you with Gilbert one dinner time, that I hadn't talked to you in ages, like, a super long time, so I went to talk to you, but you both looked at me like I was a stranger,"

Then that weird flutter in my stomach returned, it felt suffocating. With a clog in my throat, I interrupted his little rant "I have never treated you like a stranger Alfred,"

He looks to his hands, which were bunched together as he fiddled with his thumbs awkwardly "Well it may not have been on purpose, hell, you might not of even been looking at me, but it made me think 'oops, I can't talk to him, he won't want me to, I bet he hates me,'" as he finished, his voice began to crack, like he was on the brink of guilty tears. To somebody else, this may have been reassuring, flattering even, but to me, it just built that sickly flutter in my stomach which was, at that point, making me feel slightly ill.

Clutching my stomach in frustration, I lean forward slightly, so that I could see the deep blue that were the ocean he called his eyes "Alfred, look at me," it was an order, which he obeyed after a few seconds of consideration, "There's never been a moment where I hated you, I've been pissed off at you sure, mostly when you let you're so called friends use you, but I get pissed off with everyone so that's a given," I purse my lips slightly, letting my gaze waver "A-and you could have talked to me whenever you liked! Bloody hell..."

I don't have a clue what he was thinking, I don't even know what I was thinking at the time, but his reply was to blink at me for a few seconds, and then let a huge grin erupt, destroying the unsure and tear jerking expression he helf a moment previous "You know, I said I wouldn't become a conversation, heh,"

"Whatever," I reply, slightly annoyed, sitting back "Just… I never hated you okay? Or I wouldn't be here right now,"

That was how the only conversation we had about our broken friendship came to an end. We may talk about it again in the future, when we've matured enough, but the closest thing we got to the subject in our recent years, was when we're reminiscing about our time spent in high school, in which one of us would say 'I wish you were there when it happened,' or something alike, triggering this awkward little silence to fall between us.

But, whatever, I'm not talking about that at the moment.

We decide there's no reason to go on, and proceed to the actual reason for my being there. I tutor him the things he missed from his intellect, and he records my every word down, to even my 'ums' and 'ahs', onto a fresh stack of lined paper.

This continued with an unbroken routine, apart from the odd bathroom break, ending with me looking up at the boy and noticing his drooping eye lids, and the blue rings under them.

Then I remembered something I had been took note of while staring at him previously, when talking to Matthew. His skin had paled slightly and his very essence screamed exhaustion. And so, mid sentence (I had been explaining the nth term to him) ceased talking, and instead, grabbed the pen he had clenched between fingers.

"The hell?" He had exclaimed, jerking his head up to look at me with furrowed eyebrows.

I put the pen on the bed beside me, leaning on it so that it was trapped beneath my palm, and asked in reply "how long has it been since you slept, Alfred?"

Obviously not expecting the question, he blanks for a moment, before looking to a wall adjacent us which was scattered in pictures of comic book heroes and movie posters. He now sat with his shoulders curled in towards his body, his hands stuffed between his legs and head hung low "I'm not sure... few days ago... why?"

Shocked, I shook my head in disapproval "I gave you those bloody sleeping pills for a reason Alfred," pause, as I wonder what to say next "well, go take one now, I, as the student council president, can't have students fainting at school..." That was my way of telling him I was worried, and I think he knew it too, judging by the small smile he had, even if it was barely visible. Thing is, I didn't want to let him know I cared, don't ask me why, maybe I thought it showed weakness or looked girly. So, when I say that little smile, I pouted in aggravation and looked towards the door.

There was a shuffle behind me, the sheets I was sat on were tugged slightly as he said, sounding defeated in a somehow mocking tone of voice "Alright," before standing up and walking to his desk. I hear him fumbling around in a draw he had pulled open, searching for the little bottle of tablets I had given him a couple of days before, it was making a rather loud racket, making me wonder what else was in that draw, before he found it and made his way back to me.

This time, the boy sat slightly closer to me compared to before, as he popped a white pellet from the bottle onto his left hand and into his mouth.

I blinked "I didn't mean right away, I meant after I left, Jesus Alfred!"

He shrugs, grinning slightly "But you said now, shoulda been more clear, huh?" he then looks away, grin fading "A-anyways, please stay! Just for a while, Artie, I... keep having nightmares, maybe if you're here..."

I was ready to say no, glancing at my watch to see it was twenty to nine, until I saw the actual fear on his face, along with a slight red tint on his cheeks from his request. The flutter returned, no surprise there, as I sighed, hating my self for giving in to him "fine. But only until you fall asleep, I have to go home at some point."

And then he exploded into a grin- and the flutter in my stomach grew into a storm- as if he didn't actually expect me to agree.

"Thankyou-thankyou-thankyou! you're awesome for a moody asshole Arthur!"

Of course, much like I was hiding my care, he was hiding his compliment, and I knew that... but I still hit him several times.

Remembering that night got me wondering what made Alfred so scared of falling asleep, so I asked him. It took him a while to remember it, since that occasion probably hadn't made such an indent on his brain, as it had mine, but after a bit of my prompting, he sat back in his chair and mumbled 'oh... that' and it was more than clear he remembered.

After prying a bit more it became clear that he had been having a reoccurring dream, much like I had been having, about a moment in our childhood. Surprisingly, It had been something I had forgotten about completely, so I sat patiently listening as he explained.

You see, Alfred and I had been somewhat of troublesome children. Even though our houses were huge, and the gardens even bigger, whenever I went to sleep over at the boys house, we climbed over this huge iron fence that surrounded the Jones's residence, to gain access to the forest that painted the behind of the house. In that forest we used to do a heap of idiotic things, such as jump over this little river that parted the emerald green stalks of grass that covered the ground, or climb what we thought to be the 'biggest tree in existence'.

Anyway, we did stupid things, things all kids do at that age, but there was this one time, when we were trying to balance while tip toeing down a fallen tree trunk. At the time we were about the same height, unlike now where he is about half a foot taller than me, so all he had to do to look me straight in the eye was twirl around on his heel, and do some badly balanced backward walk. The boy, at the age of five or so, flashed me a toothy grin as I tried extremely hard not to fall. It must have been showing on my face how hard I was concentrating, because I remember feeling like he was laughing at me.

'hey, hey Artie!' he yelled 'hey! let's play hide'n'seek!'

I had considered for a moment, before nodding and leaping off the log, onto the muddy ground. We had this weird arrangement between us back then, that because Alfred was the 'hero' and so was 'better at seeking', I was always the one who hid. While we had been searching through the wonderland of the woods that day, I had found this hollow tree that had struck me as perfect to hide in, so that day in particular I was really happy that I got to hide.

Then, without another word, he covered his eyes and began to count silently, and I ran off in the direction of the tree. The space inside it had seemed a lot more spacious from far away, so when I had tried to fit in, it had been like I was doing a real life jigsaw. Eventually, though, I squashed in every little limb of mine, even if it resulted in a few splinters had to tug from my skin afterwards.

And, surprisingly, it worked, Alfred must had not seen the tree like I had, because if he did it would have been extremely easy to find me. My problem, though, was that I must have hid a little too well, because by the time he found me, the sky had tinted burnt orange. Alongside him was Matthew, they both harboured an expression of panic, which bemused me at the time. Apparently, it had been two hours since we began our little game, and in worry the poor boy had gone back to get his twin for help. During this time, I had dozed off a couple of times, so I had no idea what time it was.

When they found me, though, Alfred had tugged me harshly from the space I was cramped in and pulled me into his arms, gripping me tightly. He then said something that was really odd to me at the young age I was. 'idiot, idiot, you're an idiot Arthur! don't go where I can't find you! stupid! idiot!'

Not knowing what to reply, I just stayed tired and limp, taking the opportunity of the embrace to stock up on the heat I had lost from being outside for so long, and snuggled into his neck, mumbling an apology even though I didn't understand what it was for.

Obviously, to me, that time wasn't a big deal. Sure, I understand why I had caused a problem now, but back then I just forgot it ever happened just a few days later. Thus, why Alfred had to explain the whole ordeal to me again. Anyway, the point is he had been getting nightmares about it, although in his nightmares he hadn't found me, or sometimes, apparently, he did, but I had slipped and fell into the river and, well, drowned. Quite morbid situations for a childhood dream, unlike my nightmares at that time, which had been pure and simple memories.

Anyway, back to the night he had asked me to stay with him until he fell asleep. It had only just been registering in my head how different Alfred's condition was to how I originally viewed it. Even back then, I knew more about the trade business than your average 16-or-so-year-old, but I had never been around somebody in his condition. So, try as I might, I had not been as good support as I hoped I was, and I knew it too.

This time, though, the very act of being with him had seemed to make him feel better. As his eyelids began to drop and he started slurring something sleepily, I smiled and collected the pages that coated his bed, not expecting the pills to work so fast. Then, I felt something warm lean against my shoulder. A glance revealed Alfred, resting his weight onto me, his eyes shut peacefully.

I think I made a really high pitch noise in surprise, before silencing it with my spare hand and cursing myself for nearly waking him up. The flutter in my stomach had escalated to an all-time high as I considered what I should do. The easiest thing, of course, would have been to slowly ease myself away, and replace my shoulder for a pillow. The problem with that was, every time I tried to, he groaned slightly as if he was about to wake up, and the last thing I wanted was for him to wake up and not sleep for the next few days until he actually did faint.

So, call me an idiot, because that's what I am, but I decided the best thing I could do was let him sleep, and stay there, hushing him back to sleep whenever he showed any sign of waking. I messaged my father- thankfully I kept my phone in my side pocket- saying that I may not be home that night. That was about it, too. I think I managed to get the TV on, which probably ended up in me watching a cheesy rom-com on or two.

At one point Alfred's father walked in, I had blushed slightly- I know that because of a mirror strung up next to the door- and tried to explain the situation to him. The man smiled and nodded, before leaving.

But, all that is of no importance. The fact is that I stayed, back stiff so that Alfred wouldn't slip off my shoulder, in the same position until four in the morning. By then I was tired, very tired, and my limbs had started aching, along with my eyes.

I was really close to falling asleep myself, when I felt movement beside me. There was a sleepy groan as he began fidgeting, and I heard him slur my name.

Hearing this, I stilled, even more so than I already was, and looked at him cautiously. His eyes were still shut peacefully, his breath still deep and steady, his cheeks still softy tinted pink in a candyfloss pink, he was still asleep. Sighing in relief, I begin my attempt to lull him back to the sleepy haven he had drifted from ever so slightly, problem was, it seemed as though he did not want to go back. Instead, still seemingly asleep, he removed his head from my shoulder, and instead rested it on my lap. Unsure of what to do, I re positioned myself so that I was more comfortable, and put a hand on his arm awkwardly.

"Arthur... the trade... it didn't cure you did it?" it was mumbled through barely open lips, so much that it was barely coherent, and I could only just make out the words. He was sleep talking, I told myself, as I nervously glared down at him.

Subconsciously, I stroke his arm with my thumb, and reply in a stage whisper "what do you mean by cure?"

Surprisingly, he replied, as if we were having a normal conversation "mh... you said... you're dad made you do a trade... because-"

"Oh, that!" I felt my face heat up "of course it didn't 'cure it! it's not a mental illness..."

I had raised my voice saying that, out of embarrassment, and it seems he had been sleeping so lightly that it was enough to raise him from his rest. Of course I felt a pang of regret, and cursed myself silently as the boy blinked away his sleep, and looked up at me. "Artie...? ngh... my neck hurts..."

"hm. well, it would wouldn't it?" was all I could think to reply, dropping my hand from where it had lay on his arm "other than that, are you feeling better?"

He nods "Yeah, more rested... what time is it?"

I glance at my watch and read the time, grimacing slightly, I answer "Ten minutes past four, in the morning,"

It took him a while to react, probably still slow from waking up, and he just tilted his head to the left in confusion "Eh? why are you here then...?"

I cough, flushing slightly "well, you fell asleep against me. And I didn't want to wake you up, so..."

It stays quiet for a moment or two, before Alfred erupts in laughter "are you kidding me? you shoulda just kicked me off you!"

"Damn it, you're obviously suffering from insomnia, I didn't want you to bloody pass out or something, so excuse me!"

His laughter dies slightly, leaving him just chuckling with a grin plastered over his face "Yeah," he nods, looking up at me from where he still lay in my lap "we wouldn't want that, would we?"

I grumble, before letting the whole ordeal drop.

A/N

Thank you to Roxypratt for following, faving and reviewing! as a thank you, take an internet cookie~

Do you really think it's like 2p hetalia? hehe, I suppose it is quite similar.

I shall update with the last chapter of part one on Friday! until then, see you later!