CHAPTER VI

By some miracle, Alfred was able to convince his father to let Matthew stay and work for his tenancy. He had to admit, Dad took it much better than he thought he would. "It" meaning Matthew being a victim of human trafficking and letting him temporarily live at the house while searching for Toris. Of course, there had been the "Why can't we call the police?" and "Is it even legal to keep him here?" arguments, but Al managed to pull through and win. Arthur was a good person; he seemed to understand the situation and he couldn't think of a better solution. Still, his dad had asked a question that he couldn't shake: "What's going to happen when you find him?"

It haunted him into the next week as he pondered the possibilities. Just what were they supposed to do? Matthew had said he didn't have anywhere to go, and if he and Toris were to travel together, that meant the same for the other. They couldn't just live off the streets, and they would need cash to survive, so the two would need to get jobs. The Canadian was only 13 when he was sold into the ring, so he hadn't even graduated from high school. Well, in New Jersey, a student could drop out at age 16, so Matthew technically didn't have to go to school. But if he wanted a job other than working at a fast food joint, a high school diploma was necessary, along with college.

And now that Alfred thought about it, were they even legal immigrants? At the moment, he knew nothing about Toris, but Matthew had a passport. Didn't someone need a visa to stay in the U.S. for a long time? God, what was a visa? He was so confused and he felt as if his brain would fry from all of the questions.

He decided to share his concerns with the Canadian as they sat on the porch, slurping popsicles in the August sun.

"Honestly, I don't have a clue," Matthew answered, a bit dejected, his violet eyes focused the ground. "I don't know much about American laws or immigration or education or any of that. I don't know where to go or what to do."

"If I could, I'd persuade my dad to let you guys stay with us, but I'm already treading on thin ice here. I'm not sure he'd be open to it since he's already letting you stay here, but that's under the condition that it's temporary. We don't know how legal all this is, and he's real concerned about that kind of stuff, you know?"

Matthew sighed and licked the ice pop, an action that was starting to make the American restless. "I just, I want to find Toris already so we can figure this out. He's all I can focus on right now."

"It's bothering you, isn't it? That we haven't found him yet. It's only been a week since you got here, so it's kind of expected."

The Canadian's brows furrowed, and he sucked fretfully on the popsicle before replying, "I feel this would be so much easier if I could remember what happened when we got separated."

"You can't beat yourself up over that," Alfred reasoned. "You said yourself that you weren't feeling well at the time."

"You don't forget things because you're sick," Matthew argued cynically. "And now I'm doubting everything I remember from that night because of it."

"Well, you were right about the dumpster, and it did rain sometime last week, so those two check out." He knew it wasn't much consolation, but if the fragments Matthew remembered were true, the rest likely were too.

"…I know it's there," the boy stated, getting more and more frustrated with his memory, "but I just- I can't remember, and it's driving me crazy!"

"Matt," Alfred addressed him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "it's okay. I'm sure it'll come back to you, but even if it doesn't, we can still find Toris. Come on, it can't be healthy to worry so much."

"Well, you're worrying just as much as I am," Matthew countered, turning to the American as he stuck the popsicle into his mouth with a defiant look in his eyes.

At that moment, Elizaveta burst out of the front door, announcing, "Hey guys, Jersey Shore is…" She stopped there, her eyes sparkling at the scene before her. Alfred felt his face flare up, realizing how suspect they looked to her, with his hand on Matt's shoulder and with the popsicle in that Canadian mouth. He figured Matthew did too, as his shoulder tensed under Al's grasp. The Hungarian put a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle either laughter or squeals. "Oh, my bad. I'll leave you two alone." She quickly walked back into the house, and Al could see that she was laughing hard.

"H-Hey! Come back here! It's not- My god, Eliz! Hey!" He chased after her, trying to explain, but of course, it was a lost cause. "You've got the wrong idea!"

Unnerved, Matthew followed after him, the neighborhood suddenly less welcome. Without someone he trusted by his side, he felt vulnerable, as if the streets would swallow him up. He looked out warily before closing the door with trembling fingers.

. . .

"Really?" Alfred complained as his grumbling stomach woke him up in the middle of the night. "Come on, I actually ate this time!" It growled in response, so he gave in. He was probably the only person in the world who could actually argue with his stomach and have it answer back.

As quiet as he could, he made his way down the staircase, careful not to wake anyone. Once again, he got out his trusty Lucky Charms and wolfed them down. Satisfied, he returned the box to the pantry and placed his bowl in the sink with a muted clink. Just as he was about to head back upstairs, his ears pricked at the faint sound of crying. If the house hadn't been so silent, he probably wouldn't have picked up on it. The only person downstairs at this time of night was…Matthew.

Alfred hesitantly strode over to the guest room, rapping softly on the wooden door. He heard a gasp, the voice attempting to repress its sobs before answering the knock. "Wh-Who…?"

"Al," he answered, somber.

"C-Come in."

He complied, opening the door to find Matthew sitting up in bed, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. "H-H-Hi."

"Hey, you okay?"

Miserably, the Canadian shook his head, the tousled waves swaying as he did so. "…N-No," Matthew replied, avoiding Alfred's troubled gaze. "I'm just so worried. I keep racking my brain, but it won't come."

Al assumed he meant his memory. Slowly, he walked to the bedside and kneeled, almost eye-to-eye with the boy. "Can you remember anything that might've happened before you started running? Anything?" On all those crime shows, even the smallest detail could change everything. Maybe it worked in real life too.

"I told you, we were walking for a long time; over two days."

"Well, you had to stop and rest sometime, right?"

"Yeah, but just to sleep. Either that or food and bathroom runs. …Wait."

"What?"

"That night…we went into a pub. Toris needed to use the bathroom, so I waited for him inside. He said it'd be risky for me to stay outside. Better to be in a well-lit bar than alone on a dark street. …Actually, it was right after we left the place that we started running, now that I think about it…"

"There's a pub, like, a block from that alley," Alfred explained. "I think it's the Limey Bar & Grill. Dad goes there all the time. Why don't we head down there tomorrow and retrace your steps? Maybe it'll refresh your memory."

"…Yeah," he said, realizing it was the closest thing to a lead that they were gonna get at this point. It couldn't hurt; only help. "Yeah, let's do that."

"Great." Al smiled, glad that Matthew had calmed down and wasn't crying anymore. He turned toward the door and asked, "So, are you gonna be okay for the night?"

Matthew blushed and averted his eyes timidly, unintentionally seductive as he pleaded, "C-Could you stay? Just for tonight. I don't like sleeping alone, but I could tough it out if you're uncomfortable. That's what I've done all week."

Why was it so hard to resist the boy, especially when he asked him looking like that? Just staring into those innocent, heroin eyes fueled his desire, but he couldn't simply slip into bed with him. He didn't want to put himself in that situation, knowing how easy he could give in to temptation.

"…Let me get a sleeping bag," Alfred answered, leaving the room to do so. Matthew sighed, relieved that he wouldn't be alone, and that the American decided not to sleep in the same bed. He trusted Al now, but it would be awkward…and he wasn't sure he could trust himself. For years, he had serviced many clients every day, and escaping had meant quitting cold turkey. He'd been getting agitated, almost as if his body was going through withdrawal.

Alfred soon returned with a sleeping bag and a couch cushion, laying them down on the carpet. He shuffled inside, resting his head on the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. Matthew smiled to himself, feeling secure with the American's presence there. "Thank you."

"No problem," Al replied, folding his arms behind his head. He wasn't quite ready to fall asleep yet, so he decided to strike up a conversation. "So…what's Toris like? I mean, you told me what he looks like- white with long brown hair and blue eyes- but you haven't said anything else about him."

"…Toris is kind, patient and understanding," the Canadian confided in him. "He'll be nineteen in February. I'm not sure what his situation with immigration is, but I know he came from Lithuania and he's been at the ring longer than I have. I don't really know about his past.

"He spends a lot of time thinking and worrying, usually about others; he puts everyone else before himself. He's pretty serious and he can get depressed easily, but that's what I'm for... what he is for me. We pick each other off the ground and get through it together. He's my entire support system…and I'm lost without him."

Alfred felt crestfallen, with only a faint idea why. The words tugged at his heart, taunting him until he knew he had to ask. "…How do you feel about him?"

The Canadian pondered the thought, offering, "I don't know. I care so much and I'm always thinking of him, but whether that's because he's all I've got, I don't know." He fought the urge to ask "Why?" since he trusted him. Alfred had a natural curiosity; he knew that. Still, it was hard not to question his reasons, or anyone's for that matter, but he was determined to break that habit.

Expecting as much, Al felt the words ridicule him, wondering if he was becoming a masochist since he'd walked into this pain all by his own choice. It was selfish to wallow in self-pity as Matthew and Toris had dealt with unimaginable horrors, but it didn't change the fact that he was upset. All of the things the boy had said, especially about his feelings, Al wanted him to say those things about him. He found comfort in the slow cadence of Canadian breaths that filled the room, in some hope that he could have a chance.


(A/N: Spring Break is coming around next week, and I'm sad to say that where I'm going, I'm not having internet access, so my stories will not be updated until the week of April 4th. I'll still be working on them, but I won't be able to post them. By the way, if anyone caught where I got the phrase "heroin eyes" from, good for you! You have great taste in music.)