Chapter five

Something I had noticed was that Alfred used to act completely different when he was around other people, than when he was with me. That is nothing close to an understatement, either.

Maybe it's because of the knowledge I held of him that forced him out of his little stage act, as by this point he was well aware that I knew about his trade. I guess that could have made him feel more comfortable, as I was letting him be how he wanted to be. Though, it was obvious where he gets his place in the monarchy from, when I used to see him with his friends, or in the middle of a baseball game. Because there was this aura, this fake gleam, radiating off him, every time he smiled or laughed or even spoke with his eyes full so of life.

Then, there was when he thought nobody was looking at him.

It happened sometimes. Let's say somebody makes a joke at his expense, not intending to upset him or anything like that, and then everyone laughs. Then maybe someone would extend the joke, and eventually, everybody would have forgotten Alfred was even there with them, and there would be jokes flying about left right and centre. Nobody notices, then, nobody but me

As I've mentioned before, I had always kept an eye on him, and this was even more true after that time at his house. So, I always saw how that grin, the gleam, fades slowly, breaks down until he is sure none of the populars are looking at him. Then, he would get this look on his face, a look of almost shame, and he looks to the ground, his chin tucked into his neck, between rounded shoulders, as his lips are conflicted between a smile and a frown.

It always looked, to me, as if he was trying not to cry, as if he was claustrophobic and everyone around him were as good as closing walls, like he was close to throwing a tantrum and giving up on everything and everyone, including himself. Every time I saw this look, I would ready myself, just in case it was the time he would completely lose it, and I told myself I would run after him, and maybe hug him tightly as he sobbed.

Then, there's what he was like around me. Whenever we were alone, he would lose that dumb façade of his, and his smiles would be warmer, the royal aura dimmed to the point that it was almost non existent, and he would act like a total dork.

I, for one, found this side of him absolutely stunning.

Now, this may seem like I'm being big headed, as if I'm trying to tell you that just me being there made Alfred Amazing. My actual point in telling you this, though, is to try to show you the extent that holding his trust had affected me. It's obvious that I don't like to show my 'true feelings' (as Alfred once put it), so, maybe he never realised all of this. Maybe he never realised how, every time he annoyed me, to the point where I would hit him over the head and call him a 'stupid prick', no matter how hard I scowled, or cursed at him, I was truly happy.

Maybe, he never realised that I was happy, whenever he was happy.

yes. I know that is a major cliché and I hate myself for using it, but it's true, and there is no other way I can think of describing it.

So, leading off on that, I think this is a good time to tell you when I first realised my longing for friendship between me and Alfred had developed into a full blown crush. I say 'full blown', because it should be clear to all of you, that this 'flutter' I had been experiencing, was, to some extent, linked into my feelings for the boy. Of course I was aware Alfred was attractive, and he was a brilliant person, a 'hero,' as he would put it, but that's the thing, up until the moment I'm going to tell you about, those two qualities about him had been nothing but an acknowledgement on my behalf.

Since, this is actually something I've thought about a lot, I would say, it started one night- one of the nights where Alfred calls me up in what I could have sworn to be a desperate attempt to ruin my sleeping pattern. Anyway, I had become used to these calls at night, with Alfred being a borderline insomniac and such, so the noise of my phone ringing was nothing big. I had just groaned myself awake and answered the phone just in time, as always.

What struck me as odd, though, was the fact that I could hear wind and chirping in the background as I answered his call, and heard him say "Hey Artie! sorry for waking you... again,"

To myself, I shake my head contently, while massaging my forehead with my fingers "No, no it's fine Alfred,"

"Good, I hate that I'm such a bother to you..."

"Don't be silly," I reply, honestly. Surprisingly, his calls did not bother me in the slightest, in fact, I liked them. With two foster parents who are always at work, it got slightly lonely being the only one who lay in bed at night, so I had come to think of this nightly call as something somewhat similar to a bedtime story, as childish as it sounds.

I practically hear his beam, and it was slightly infectious, before he says "If you say so Artie, so, what kind of dream did I drag you outta? Eh?"

"Be fucked if I know," I reply, focusing on the background noises of his call rather than the subject he had just pulled up from thin air "probably something stupid. Forgive me for asking, but where are you, Alfred?"

Through the static of the phone, I hear an aggravated breathy sigh "why do you ask?"

"Because it sounds like you're outside, and it's... three in the morning," I answer matter-of-factly, pausing to look at the digital clock of my phone.

He chuckles, in a way that presented itself as being completely fake "you got me, smart as always Arthur! Aha... this is probably going to sound weird though,"

"oh?" I raise an eyebrow, sitting up and stretching, my phone lodged between the crook shoulder and neck.

"Yeah, I'm kinda outside your house right now."

He wasn't lying, either. Just five minutes later we both sat in my room, as he studied every inch of the space with a cat like smile.

Since nobody was home, I easily ran downstairs to let him in. To my surprise, when I swung open my door in a sleepy, flustered mess, what I saw was the boy in a fluffy all-in-one, decorated in the American flag, which now had mud spattered up the feet and legs. Which, to be honest, was fine, since I had been wearing one with the British flag. The point is though, he had been wearing his pyjamas outside, and that, in my books, is not good.

We hadn't said a word to each other, either, as if turning up at somebody's house at three in the morning was that most normal thing in the world. And then, when he had his eyes focused on one of the paintings I had done the year previous, and hung up proudly beside my bed, he said "My parents have been fighting,"

I blink, confused as to how he could say that with the content smile he had plastered across his tanned face "You're mother is back?"

Absentminded, he glances back at me "Did I not tell you?" I shake my head, and he continues "Aha, sorry, well, she's back, recovered from her cancer, I should hope so too, she had 50% worth of my own life to combat it,"

This was one of those rare occasions that Alfred spoke with the bitterness of the coffee that he drinks so much. It surprised me- even scared me, to some extent- to the point that I felt speechless, and for the first couple of minutes after this comment, I just sat blankly, scouring my mind for a reply. In the end, I settled on saying "She is your mother, Alfred, and it was your choice to conduct the trade,"

At that, he shrugs, and looks up to the ceiling, by now I have noticed how the boy is avoiding eye contact with me, looking everywhere except for my eyes, my face, me in general.

"I know, and I love her, it's just..."

"What?"

"... Like I said, my parents have been fighting,"

Another uncomfortable silence. Maybe it was too early in the morning, and neither of us had tuned our brains in the right way for a conversation, but I definitely didn't like the atmosphere that night. Time and time again, I found myself unable to find a reply to the boy, and when I couldn't, he just stared at something, smiling for some reason I really couldn't get my head around.

Aggravated, I bite my lip, and pull my knees towards my chest "If you don't mind me asking, what were they fighting over?" To some extent, I already knew the answer, but it was clear Alfred wanted to tell me himself. So whenever he left a gap for a question, no matter if the answer was extremely obvious or not, I would ask it without a second thought. That's just how it was between us. If I tried to act like I knew everything like one of his old popular friends, or if I acted like his own personal therapist, it just wouldn't work.

"Well, dad accused mum of being the reason I hadn't been sleeping, she's the reason I've been acting depressed lately, he said, she's why I... look at the knives 'that way' whenever I'm in the kitchen... A-And then, she got really angry, saying things like 'well if you were any decent husband you would donate your life to me, instead of making our own child do it,' and stuff like that,"

I swallow, hard, before shuffling over to his cautiously, in attempt to bring him into a friendly hug. Just like any other time I had hugged him before this point, he just leaned into me, not bothering to return the sign of affection, just sitting there, like a stuffed toy. I let his heat bleed into me, nesting my chin in the arch that linked his neck and shoulder, closing my eyes as it only felt natural to.

I had planned to say something empathic, to calm him down, but to my surprise, he spoke again.

"You know why they're both stupid, Artie?" he says this in a way that makes it sound like he had just had a moment of clarity, while remaining like a doll in my arms, leant back into my chest, not waiting for my reply "Because they're only thinking of the bad side of this whole trade business,"

Bemused, I furrow my eyebrows in thought, lifting my head slightly "what do you mean?"

A lovely chuckle falls out of his lips "I mean, we wouldn't be friends again if I hadn't gotten a trade, and I think," he pauses to shake his head, which makes his hair tickle my cheek "god this is going to sound sappy as hell, but, I think that you're friendship is worth all of my tired nights, and every time I do look at a knife and... you know, all I need to do is think 'what would Artie say?' and I suddenly don't need to do it anymore,"

I'm sure he could feel how hard and fast my heart was pounding, because I could even hear it. Subconsciously, I had gripped him tighter than before "Jesus, you bloody moron, that's the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me," was all I could manage to choke out, muffled into the fabric covering his shoulder "ever."

Taking a deep breath, he raises his hand to cup mine "Aha, I'm glad, but don't get too used to it..."

"Do you want to stay here for tonight?"

"...could I?"

I nod, sitting back and grinning "But don't get used to it,"

As I said previously, I had always seen Alfred as an attractive boy, it's just, by this stage I wasn't sexually attracted to him. Be that as it may, the next morning as he changed into the uniform I had lent him, since it was a school day, I had been expecting to see a row of neatly compacted muscles, tanned and defined, running up his stomach, as well as a thick padding on his upper arms. Not because I had been fantasising about him or anything, it was just an assumption I made because of all the sports he did.

Subsequently, I had not even been paying too much attention to him when I saw it, I was just packing my bag full of all the text books I needed, and by chance, glanced up. What I saw, was a shirtless Alfred, and how his skin had began to cling to his ribs and other bones, there was definitely not a single muscle there.

"Alfred," I had become accustom to dealing with things like this, so I had said, no questions involved "you need to eat,"

He looks down at the floor, as he began to button up his t-shirt "I do eat,"

Clicking my satchel to a close, I scowl slightly "obviously not enough, due to the fact that I can clearly see your bloody ribs," I swing my bag over my shoulder and look over to him, he's finished buttoning up the t shirt I leant him, it was a little small as Alfred surpasses my size, even though I am older than him by a year. He grumbles something I can't quite comprehend, and so, without thinking much I ask "did you say something, Alfred?" which makes him look at me, blankly.

"I said, I can never satisfy people, can I? Before I was 'fat', and I 'overate', and now I apparently under eat? Which one is it, Arthur?" pausing awkwardly, he spreads his arms out to punctuate his point "Also, do you mind not looking at me when I'm getting changed? It's frickin' creepy,"

Now, I can see that he didn't mean anything harsh by it, he was just pointing out two things to me which had bothered him, because he thought he could do that, as I was one of the only people who he could talk to like that. Back then, though, being called 'creepy' felt like he had delivered a full on punch to my stomach, in my mind, this had been directed towards my sexuality.

It wasn't, of course it wasn't, if the factor of me being gay actually bothered him at all he wouldn't even have gotten changed infront of me, or slept in the same bed as me the previous night- he had wrapped himself in a blanket so that he looked like a slug, and plopped himself beside me because the 'floor was too hard' and was giving him back ache- but that thought never really ran through my mind until later that day.

As a result, I stared at him, hurt, I'm pretty sure my eyes were threatening to water, un sure on how to reply to such a comment. It really wouldn't have bothered me too much, if he hadn't of said such nice things to me the previous night. It doesn't make sense, but I thought we had become closer again, because of what he said about our friendship, and then, in my mind anyway, what he said that morning was an attempt to insult my sexuality, the thing that had caused my father to hit me many-a-time as well as practically killing my brother.

Swallowing the lump that had developed in my throat, I swiftly turn away from him and grab my phone, which was on my bedside table, muttering bitterly "I'll go make breakfast."

On my way out, I heard him say "A-artie! I didn't-"before the door slammed behind me.

I'm glad to say, that morning there were no insults of my cooking. No, they started later on, in America. This had been the first time I had actually cooked for the boy, and due to what had just happened, I guess Alfred was Inclined to both gorge on every last bite of the all English breakfast I had tossed onto his plate (I had made it extra large, too, because even though he had hurt my feelings, I couldn't help worrying for the boys health), and try his best not to get onto my bad side.

I caught his sour faces a few times, and how he always looked down at the plate as if it was covered in alien gloop, but he had still cleaned it clean and even asked for seconds. Though, this did not quell the hurt I was feeling, it did make me feel slightly better, as it was clear he was not enjoying it, and yet he still tried his best to eat.

He coughs, and goes to take a sip of his coffee, when I say "You know, you were never fat."

He just looks up and me, and back to his food "Okay."

Really, these two moments weren't ones that made me want to go up to him and kiss him, but I felt I had to tell you about them for any of the following information to be of any context. Otherwise, you wouldn't understand how we stood with each other when all this happened.

I also want to make it clear, not one official moment was the one that made me fall for Alfred, it was a whole flurry of different moments. His words, his actions, the way he looked at me, they all stuck a cord with me, but it never really... clicked, before this.

Anyway, neither of us had thought about it, but, walking to school together sure got the rumours running wild. Gilbert was practically laughing his ass off at all the posts on the school website, and how we were now classed as the schools new pair for 'fuck buddies'. You can imagine my reaction to all this, yes, that's right, I wanted to stand up and punch everybody in the face. The normal reaction of a teenage boy, of course.

At one point, Francis looked in my direction and gave me a knowing wink, which made me want to throw up, naturally.

Alfred, though, just ignored it completely. Whenever somebody walked up to him and asked him about it, often scowling in my direction, he just blinked at them, before walking off to talk to somebody who wasn't accusing him of having sex with me. This left me to pick up the pieces, and explain to this person that we were in no way in that sort of relationship.

You can probably guess for yourself, how on that day I was not the most liked person to walk the halls of our school, but it would probably surprise you the extent that this hate went. I think this was around the time we were coming to an end of our time at school, we had around one or two months left before high school was over for good, and so it wasn't on a long time scale that all this had been happening.

One day, I had stayed late after school, since I had a student council meeting. What that meeting was about, was of no importance, nor do I even remember it. Something I do remember, though, and quite vividly, is how out of nowhere, a group of teenagers from our school had surrounded me, and then, without a word, began beating the living hell out of me.

I'm not a weak person, no, but when you have a group of seven or so, crowding round you eagerly in attempt to kick or a punch you, resilience tends to be futile. So, whenever this happened, and it happened a lot in my final weeks, I would shrivel up into my shell, waiting in a teary mess for it all to be over, before limping home and waiting for my mother or father to return and inspect my wounds.

I can't say any of this was happening because of Alfred, or because of the homophobia at my school, but I did know I was the only one out of the two of us receiving the punishment. Putting on a layer of foundation everyday is, to a point, rather humiliating for a male, or at least for a male who would like to keep the appearance one, but I had to do it. It was clear I was the only one doing this, because Alfred's skin was a tan colour that no foundation or anything alike could copy.

How does this all relate to me developing a crush on him? Well, here is the thing. Due to a one hundred present fault of my own, me and Alfred had been, yet still hanging out and calling each other- well, rather him calling me at silly o'clock in the morning- there had been this feeling that hung in the air, that made it so our conversations were much more awkward.

And I do blame this on my stupidity that morning, where I had stormed out of my room before letting the boy explain himself. Due to this, Alfred had stopped coming to me with his problems as much, and was looking desperately for a way to re pay me, when he didn't need to.

The problem was, I had no way of proving he was doing this, so I couldn't turn to him and say 'hey, I forgive you, now stop being a dolt,' as I knew he would deny him doing anything like it. A positive, though, is that he had listened to my advice and started eating like he had done previously, which, to anybody else would, in fact, be over eating. But trust me when I say this- Alfred has the fastest metabolism of any one I have ever met, and I'm in the health branch of work.

Anyway, as you would expect, eventually Alfred found out. It was in the last week of term; Alfred and I were eating together at lunch, with Gilbert and Elizaveta. We were all laughing about something he had said about one of his popular friends, and in all of his enthusiasm he accidentally knocked my cup of water all over me, revealing a huge bruise that ran down my arm.

Nobody noticed at first, until I grumbled and swore through my teeth at the realisation that instead of the pale white it was supposed to be, my arm was a blackish-purple. Only then, did everyone look at me in silence.

"Woh, artie, where the hell'd you get that?" Gilbert said in awe "It's fuckin' huge,"

Then Alfred grabbed the arm to inspect it, causing me to cringe in pain while replying "Ugh, I'm not sure, it must have been when I fell over the other day," I glance at Elizaveta, and ask "do you have any pale foundation? You see, I don't want too much attention for it,"

She nods "Yeah, I have, I'll get it," before reaching into her handbag, which was lodged between her and Gilbert on the bench they sat on across from us.

Beside me, Alfred seems to have gotten a good enough look at the wound, and squeezes his hand over it, making me yelp in surprise. He then gets a tissue from his pocket, I expect him to clean the water off the bench, but instead he lifts the thin white paper to my cheek, and wipes an extra layer off, revealing a gash.

"A-Alfred? What are you doing?" I ask, yanking back the arm he still clutched in his other hand to cover my cheek.

"You didn't fall over, did you?"

"I did. It was just a pretty bad fall, that's all, Elizaveta?"

"Don't lie to me, Arthur, who did this to you? Tell me." He says this fiercely, as an order.

"I swear Alf-"

Then he stands up, and storms off, leaving the three of us alone. I have no doubt that if I would have been honest that day, nothing would have changed. The only difference would be the fact that he wouldn't look back at me, like I had broken the trust we had.

As if nothing happened, the girl switches places so that she sits beside me, and squirts splodge of peach tinted liquid onto my arm, before rubbing it in and commenting "It's obvious that you're not a professional make-up artist, Arthur, you can still see some of your bruises through the foundation,"

My gaze is still fixed in the direction Alfred had gone "where do you think he's going?"

"who knows?" Gilbert asks nonchalantly "I must say though, your acting skills suck Arthur, nowhere near as awesome as mine,"

"Fuck off," I scowl.

"Seriously, Artie, if I wasn't sure that he could personally kick the shit out of whoever did that to you, I would have gone with him to help," he laughs slightly "really though? You fell over did you? Hah,"

I turn to look at him, an overwhelming rush of panic washes over me, even though I don't show it on my face "what do you mean, kick the shit out of them? Jesus Christ, how would he even know who did it?"

The girl beside me hisses from my jittery movement, so I steady myself to make her job easier.

Gilbert clicks his tongue "See! You're that easy to find out! Okay, let me guess, it was a group of his friends, right?"

"... yes,"

"If I can guess, he's obviously gonna know then, isn't he?"

I bite my lip and stay quiet, as Elizaveta moves on from my arm to the cheek that Alfred had unmasked a minute earlier. I didn't even know the names of my attackers, but I did recognise two of them from the time in the classroom when they were discussing Alfred's trade. I knew most of them classed their selves at the boys close friends.

Anyhow, as I mentioned quite a while ago, people with Alfred's condition, a low psychorate, had the tendency of being violent. And that's how, around half an hour later, the people who had attacked me had all ended up outside first aid with more cuts and bruises than they had give me on the many occasions they had hit me.

And Alfred strolled up to me, with a bloody lip and black eye, and said in a joking tone of voice "guess I'm not the king anymore, huh," before being ushered away by the teacher I presumed to be the one who broke the fight.

It's weird, yes, not romantic at all, he beat the crap out of a group of his own friends. Thats the thing though, he did it for me. Like I said, he had been searching for a way to make it up to me, I knew that, but it never truly solidified to me why he actually wanted to make it up to me.

He cared for me.

Thinking that he got himself excluded, hurt and kicked out of the place he had spent all of his high school life building up to, that was it. That was the moment that flutter in my stomach made my heart race, and brought tears to my eyes.

It was always there, I know it, and you know it, but this was the first time I actually realised. As I watched him walk off, blood matting his hair, I found myself wanting to chase him.

Too little too late, though, as that was the last time, for a very long time, that I would get too see the boy.

The way I found out that he and his family were moving to America, was when Matthew came to my house to say his goodbyes, thanking me for how I had been there for his brother. He seemed surprised when I hadn't had a clue as to what he was talking about

I suppose that's why they call it what they do, because when it happens, it's like somebody crushes you under their boot and kicks you to the side, like the insignificant piece of trash you feel you are. I had a crush on the boy who was once my childhood friend. And he slipped through my fingers once again.

I frickin hate this chapter... I've re-wrote it so many times and I still don't like it... bleugh.

Okay, right, so Roxypratt! This is not the first fanfic i've written, but it's the first one I've posted, I think the first fanfic I ever wrote would have consisted of 'He sat down. He looked up. He said "Hello" to the person sat in front of him.' and really basic writing like that... but thank you anyway. This really is not a creative plot, its just a basic love story with a dystopian back ground, if you think about it, and im sure you can think of something 100x better than it!

SO this is the last chapter of part one, part two will be based in College and ect ect... well. I better get writing!