Get Into the Car

The little houses in downtown Colorado Springs reminded Arthur of England. He wasn't entirely sure why, as he came from London, but they did. Perhaps it was the way they varied, how no two were alike. Maybe it was how close they were or the colors they were painted; how most of them looked like they came straight from a fairytale. Or the Victorian Era.

It was true - he thought Manitou Springs looked most like Europe and he would often find someone to travel there with him when he ever felt homesick, but he never walked down one of those streets without thinking of how he would like to see what it's like to live in one of those houses. Would the floor creak? Would he hear the traffic through the walls? It all seemed very artsy. To be an art student living there, maybe.

A great setting for a story, he often thought. He wasn't, strictly speaking, an art major. English was more his beat, with Creative Writing as a minor. But writing was an art - outlines were sketches, plots were maps. Literature that built up worlds so complex, the reader could fall into a story without even realizing it; elaborate paintings one could ponder for a lifetime.

Fall was beginning to set in, too, and while Arthur had been warned many times that fall was almost nonexistent in Colorado, he could think of nowhere else that had trees such as these. There were the yellow aspen leaves, with their white bark, set against dark evergreens. Oranges were so much brighter, with leaves fluttering down to lay across the sidewalk. He also kept getting told it was much prettier in the summer, when everything was in full bloom, but for some reason he kind of doubted that.

He liked autumn. He liked hearing the crunch of the leaves under his foot. He liked the feeling of festivities lurking nearby, around the corner. Pumpkins were being stocked in supermarkets. Brown, cartoon turkeys stared at him from the decorations set up in Wal-Mart. Halloween costumes were filling the shelves. Yes, it was definitely his favorite season.

Arthur hunched his shoulders when a gust of wind came at him. He was beginning to understand why most people carried extra jackets with them - "Just in case," they said. At least he was prepared for winter. Probably. There was a lot of talk about weather here and since he was an exchange student, he got all the warnings. All of them.

In any case, he was happy when he arrived at the dorms. Warm air tucked in around him once the door swung shut. Whiteboards hung on nearly every door, snippets of conversation written out in different colors. Some even had expressions to go with them. His door was no exception, but that was due to his roommate. Francis's friends had each donned a particular color for their remarks.

'Fuck the police' was written in red, all caps. A smiley face was drawn out in green.

Charming.

They were sprawled out over the floor playing a video game when he walked in. Gilbert was on his back, head bent at what looked like an uncomfortable angle, as he mashed buttons on his controller. Francis looked almost amused and bemused at the screen and Antonio was talking.

"I think we should spray-paint it. Make it look like real blood," he said, certain words catching his Spanish accent more so than others. His easy smile was what attracted people to him, Arthur theorized. It was so genuine - people couldn't help but want to trust him. "Deep red. Build it up so it looks more 3D."

Arthur set his bag down under his loft bed, by his desk, and took a seat. Might as well get through some of the homework. Not like his grades would hurt if he didn't - they were always steady, perched at the top of the grading scale. Right where his parents liked them to be.

"Hmm, non, I think we should focus on our costumes," Francis replied. "We need to look convincing."

There was a sudden stream of what sounded like German swear words and Gilbert jumped to his feet. "Ha! In your faces!" he crowed. So maybe he hadn't been swearing. Gilbert shook his hips and moved his arms in what Arthur could only guess was supposed to be a victory dance.

"Can we play Mario Kart?" Antonio whined.

"Sure, but I'm still going to beat you there," Gilbert replied, smug.

"I only ever race against Frankie anyways."

"Francis," Francis corrected. His friends didn't acknowledge this.

They were all exchange students. Arthur had a feeling the school liked to put them all in one end of the dorm, to keep things tidy. Francis, ironically, was from France. Arthur wasn't sure if he knew the other two before coming to the school - they seemed awfully close for having just met a month or so ago.

Arthur was more than halfway through his analytical essay, picking apart Medea as if he hadn't done so before, when there was a knock on the door. It shook him out of his stupor, the one he got into when he wanted to ignore his roommate and just...get in the zone, as he had heard it put before.

Francis flicked his long blonde hair over his shoulder and sighed. "It's always open, you know," he called out.

"No it bloody well isn't," Arthur hissed. It better not be. He always locked the door at night. But it was true that some of Francis's culinary classes ran later than Arthur wanted to stay up.

Francis waved a hand at him, as if to shush him, while the door opened. Three heads turned to see who it was. In walked Alfred and his younger cousin, Matthew. They looked so much alike, people were often confused when they found out the two had different last names.

"Awesome!" Gilbert shouted and launched himself up from the ground. "You can both play with us! I need more of a challenge!"

Al chuckled at this, glancing at Arthur on his way to the TV. "Sure thing, so long as you don't cry in German when I've thoroughly beaten your ass," he said.

Gilbert made a noise that sounded a lot like the letter F. "Germans don't cry," he said. Instead of taking his previous position on the floor, he settled down with his legs crossed under him, back straight.

Antonio handed Al his controller.

"It's good to see you aren't sick," Arthur said, layering his voice in condescension.

Al turned to look at him while Gilbert was choosing options from the start screen. "What?" he asked.

"You weren't there," Arthur replied. "In class."

"Oh," Al said and laughed, almost nervous sounding. "Yeah, no, I'm not sick. Just, uh, didn't really feel like going, you know?"

"Mm."

This wasn't the first time Al had skipped class. The only reason Arthur noticed, though, was because Al often chose him for group activities. The rest of the class had their usual partners, so when Al missed a class, Arthur was usually shoved into another group by the teacher. Or paired with the teacher. It had been one of those days.

It was kind of odd, having him in his room. The only time he ever really saw him was in class. Gilbert and Antonio shared a room, though, so maybe they all hung out there. Or other places. Did Al have any other friends? Probably, he seemed the friendly, popular type. Hm.

Arthur tried turning his mind back to Medea. If it were up to him, he would have just scribbled JASON IS A DOUCHE on a sheet of paper to turn in to the teacher. That about summed up his entire essay. Instead, that was his title. For the time being. He'd change it before actually turning it in, of course.

The laughing and mumbled words from the others began fading, becoming less prominent in his mind. Instead, Medea took front stage, her eyes sharp. The lifeless bodies of her children gathered a little too tightly in her arms. Yes. Arthur began to write once more.

"Okay, last round," Gilbert announced. These words shot through Arthur's daze, making him feel like he had just taken a fall in a dream. Gilbert only glanced at him. "I've got homework to do later."

Francis nodded and said something in French. Arthur hated when he did that. "I've got a masterpiece to create," he said.

"After my team beats you in this game," Gilbert said and handed him Matthew's controller. "Hey Mattie, turn on the light?"

The room hadn't seemed so dark until the flip was switched and Arthur was rubbing his eyes. Without realizing it, his essay had reached nearly eight full pages, which exceeded the minimum by about five. It was time to wrap it up.

When the end music played, Antonio leaned back against the wall. "I think that's all for me," he said.

"Aw man, really?" Al said. "That round barely even lasted long enough!"

Gilbert was nodding. "True facts," he said and smirked, like he was enjoying some sort of joke. "But I'm kinda tired of playing this shit."

Antonio looked up. "Hey-"

"I mean, not shit," Gilbert said. "Best shit. That sort of shit."

Antonio did not look impressed.

Al sighed and lost a bit of his posture. Not that he had any to begin with. "I've got an essay due tomorrow," he mumbled.

Arthur almost snickered. "Yes, that I'm almost finished writing," he wanted to say. Instead, he smirked at his screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Francis look in his direction.

The silence that hung heavy in the air was bust when Gilbert suggested they watch a movie instead. Francis complained about his masterpiece while the others argued over what to watch.

"Have you guys seen The A-Team?" Matthew asked.

Everyone except Al and Arthur turned to stare at him with buggy looking eyes.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, ending with a nervous laugh.

In the end, however, when they came to the realization that one of them would have to retrieve the movie from another room - and nobody wanted to do that, there were far too many blankets on the floor - they settled on Monty Python instead.

Arthur could only stand for so much of that movie. While he wouldn't say he entirely disliked it, there was a small number of times someone could tell him his mother was a hamster before he lost his cool. His essay was mostly finished, anyways.

It was a month too early for the movie he chose to watch, with his headphones plugged in and his back to the television. He made a mental note to watch V for Vendetta closer to the actual time. Nothing like the idea of blowing up parliament to take his mind off of idiot roommates and their idiot friends.

The lights were turned off once again by Matthew.

When Al stood up and left, Arthur pulled his headphones out of his ears. He hadn't caught what was said, but it struck him as odd. Al had been the one eager to stay - Arthur was sure the others had agreed on a movie for him, to cater to his procrastination. Perhaps he knew and that's why he decided to go? He didn't really seem the type to look too deep into things, though.

Then again, he was in his literature class.

Before he even stood up, Arthur was mentally smacking himself in the face for being such a busybody. The others were still watching the movie. The famous line, "She turned me into a newt!" was spoken, but the door shut behind him before it could be finished.

Al wasn't in the hall. That wasn't terribly surprising, as his room wasn't far from theirs. It was decorated mostly with sports memorabilia and two flags crossed in the middle, the sticks taped to the door - American and Canadian. If anyone ever had the deep desire to, oh, say, make Al their target for intense bullying, it wouldn't be that difficult.

Arthur hesitated with his arm up, ready to knock. What was he even doing? Was he there to tell him to come to class for once? To tell him he was lucky for having friends who were willing to watch stupid movies with him?

The door swung open.

"Eh," Arthur somehow let out.

Alfred's eyebrows rose up for a moment. "Hey there, Artie. Can I...help ya with something?" He shifted his weight onto one leg and looked down at him. Expectant.

"I, uh, um."

Apparently Al was one of those few people who could raise one eyebrow. "Right, so, if you figure it out, come find me. Or I guess...never mind," he said. It was then when Arthur noticed he had a backpack slung over one shoulder. "So, uh, see you around. Yeah."

He made a move forward and Arthur instantly got out of his way. He wasn't going back to the room, however. While Arthur didn't know much about him, he did know some things. One of which was how the guy had a part time job he recently quit and all mid afternoon classes. Where on earth could he be headed?

So Arthur made like Sherlock and went after him. Only he was incredibly less stealthy and apparently less observant than he thought, for after they had gone down the stairs, Al turned towards him.

"Why are you following me?" he asked.

Arthur searched for words, for an answer, anything. "Who said I was following you?"

Nailed it.

Al sighed. "Just go back already," he said.

Arthur stood a little straighter. "I just needed to get food," he said, trying to form a believable expression of This is the Truth. "Following you, ha."

Al didn't say anything, but Arthur could tell he didn't buy it for a moment. Yet when Al walked the few feet to the door and out into the windy evening, he went after him. Something just didn't feel right and he knew it wouldn't stop bothering him until he figured it out.

"You're still following me." Al's voice was loud in the empty parking lot. "I could sue."

"Sue me for what? For...wanting to get dinner?" he asked.

They reached Al's car - a red Nissan Pathfinder, according to the car - and he gave Arthur a pointed look. It either said "explain" or "check out my ride." Arthur chose the latter.

"This looks rather big for one person," he said.

All the locks clicked inside when Al pushed a button on his car remote. If that's what those were called. "I like to go hiking," he said and pulled open one of the doors. His backpack went tumbling across the back seat. "Anyways, nice chatting with you, little British guy, but I've got to go."

"I have a name," Arthur huffed.

Alfred grinned. "I know."

"Then use it."

He pretended to think. "Nah," he said and got in the car.

Arthur fumbled with the handle and, against his better judgment, hopped in with him. There wasn't a whole lot of silence, in retrospect, but he could feel a pounding in his ears and his fingers tapped against a twitchy leg. No, this wasn't unusual at all.

"What are you doing?" Al asked.

"It's cold," Arthur stated. It was, though. He didn't think he was going to need a jacket when he left his room. He knew Alfred was staring at him, but he refused to look his way. There really wasn't much else his brain was providing him in terms of conversation.

Another sigh. "Well alright," Al said and started the car.