Author's Note: I know, I know, I updated earlier, but I probably won't be able to get to my laptop tomorrow, so I just decided to post this now. Maybe I just wanted to prove - at least somewhat - that Alfred is more than what he portrays himself to be. I know people who act like him, more than I'd care to realize, and once you get past the walls, they're fairly nice people. There's always a reason behind the madness, you know?
This is probably only one of a few times where Al is portrayed as vulnerable. He keeps a tough front, that boy.
Oh, and thank you guys for all the support! Completely blown away by it, honestly. Sorry if I'm bastardizing our favorite American!
The next day, Alfred went back to the rehabilitation center.
It was raining, the skies terribly overcast, and Alfred ignored the umbrella his mom offered him and the protests she uttered when he did so. To be honest, he hadn't really noticed her gesture, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice, too consumed by his own melancholic attitude.
He hadn't been able to shake it after he spoke with his brother the previous day. The temperamental teenager had spent the remaining daylight hours in solitude and didn't get to bed until four in the morning. All he really did was cry and read off and on again throughout the night, struggling to keep quiet in case his nosy-ass parents heard and decided to check on him.
Alfred wasn't sure why he'd suddenly cracked. He hadn't felt that depressed since eighth grade, when he found out that he and Matthew were only half-brothers, and that the infrequent trips his older brother made out of state were to visit his biological dad: their mom's first husband and soul mate.
His life was a fucking mess, and the weather only seemed to agree with him.
Arthur took the image of a soaking wet Alfred in stride and offered him a towel to dry his hair and clothing as best he could. Alfred didn't protest, didn't comment on Arthur's sudden departure the previous day, didn't even talk until it became abundantly clear to him that Arthur wasn't going to let his uncharacteristic silence go.
He hovered, never straying from Alfred's side for too long even when the teen was doing his repetitive exercises. Usually Arthur would wander off to use the bathroom or chat up one of his coworkers, anything to get away from his estranged soul mate, but not today. Alfred didn't even notice until around twelve-thirty, when the phone at the front desk rang and Arthur called for the receptionist to take a message.
No matter how many times that phone rang or how many exasperated sighs the poor woman answering it uttered, Arthur refused to budge.
It did little to improve Alfred's mood.
"Just because I walked in a little wet doesn't mean you need to treat me like a wounded animal." Alfred said bitterly nearly forty-five minutes into the session. Arthur jumped at his side, having probably resigned himself to a day free of Alfred's acidic tongue. "I'm seventeen, not five."
"I was more concerned about the brooding silence." Arthur replied. "Are you feeling okay?"
Alfred frowned. "I'm peachy. What's it to you, anyway?"
Arthur gave Alfred a sidelong glance, expression tinged with incredulity. The skin where Alfred's watch used to be seemed to burn, and the teenager averted his gaze quickly. "I didn't get much sleep last night."
"Did the storm keep you up?"
"Something like that."
An especially loud boom sounded immediately after, as if to support Alfred's claim. The florescent lighting overhead flickered briefly, and Arthur sighed, turning his head to glance out the window. "I do enjoy a nice thunderstorm. But only when I'm in the comforts of my own home."
"Same." Alfred said, scowling at the realization that he was actually making small talk. With Arthur Kirkland, no less. That wasn't going to work. "Stop talking to me. I'm concentrating."
"I do believe you were the one who spoke first." Arthur retorted, though Alfred didn't take the bait, focusing his attention on the five-pound weight he was supposed to be lifting. Slowly, Arthur had stressed, or Alfred might tear a ligament or something like that. "Are you sure you're feeling okay, Alfred? You're slightly less confrontational than usual."
Alfred didn't know what to say, didn't like the thought that Arthur knew what "usual" for Alfred was, but for once, he couldn't find words to express that.
Between the sobbing fits and ten-minute power naps, Alfred had come to the conclusion that he didn't hate Arthur Kirkland. They'd only known each other a week, and Alfred was still struggling to accept the man as an acquaintance, let alone a possible… whatever, but he didn't hate him.
All things considered, the Brit was a pretty cool guy. He was socially inept and jumpy and stunted, but, hey, so was Alfred. They were more alike than the teenager wanted to admit, and if it weren't for the watches, Alfred might have considered making the man a friend, age difference be damned.
He wanted to tell Arthur that. He deserved that much, at least; but for once, Alfred didn't feel like talking, didn't want to explain himself. If Arthur was really his soul mate, he shouldn't need to, anyway.
"Arthur." He surprised the both of them by speaking. It was also the first time he'd called the older man by name. Alfred didn't know what he was doing, only found that he couldn't stop staring at the pale strip of skin on his wrist. "I was wondering – "
Alfred choked. His thoughts caught up with his mouth and he realized with some horror that he'd been about to ask Arthur what he'd done with his watch. Alfred had some idea as to where his was: rotting in some junk yard, or maybe still at the bottom of the trashcan in his bedroom. Some people framed their watches or sealed them away where they couldn't be lost or damaged, but not Alfred.
He couldn't deny that he was slightly curious to know what Arthur had done with his, but like Hell was he just going to ask him outright.
His stomach fluttered in panic when Arthur started to speak, but then another clap of thunder sounded and the facility was plunged in darkness. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief, though his blood began to boil with annoyance when the other patrons gasped aloud or made some other loud noise, as if they'd never lived through a power outage before.
"Perfect." Alfred heard Arthur mumble before the trainer was on his feet, heading for the front desk. "Wait here, Alfred."
The teenager watched him go, setting his weight on the chair on his right side, curling and uncurling his fingers as his eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom.
Alfred wasn't sure what to do. He'd been feeling sick for hours now, ever since he woke up that morning ten minutes before he was supposed to leave to come here. He wasn't used to it anymore, the uncomfortable pinch of anxiety and dread in his gut. Over the years, he'd learned to suppress it, had never relied on medicines or therapy if only because he didn't want his parents to know how awful he felt, but for some reason, his gift had decided to leave him.
It was easier to just be angry and spiteful all the time, to forget that his very life was the product of the failed system in which they all lived. Alfred wanted to tell Arthur, to say that Alfred's mom had cheated on her supposed soul mate nearly two years after they got hitched. They'd ultimately divorced, and nine months later, newly married to another man whose life with his soul mate had ended in tragedy, Alfred was born.
He'd grown up not knowing. No one ever let on that anything was less than perfect, and Alfred had been happy. His parents spoiled him and his brother rotten, kept the atmosphere of their home warm and joyful, so of course Alfred never suspected a thing.
But Matthew had hated him. Sitting in the dark amidst the storm, even years after the isolation ended, Alfred could still bring forth an image of his older brother's back, hunched and brooding. Matt always used to walk away, never smiled or even glanced in Alfred's direction if it wasn't necessary. As a kid, Alfred never understood. He didn't complain either, because Matt was his older brother, the person he idolized, so of course Alfred would allow him to do whatever he wanted.
Alfred never stopped trying, however. He followed his brother everywhere, pestered him day and night in the hope that maybe someday, Matthew would look at him. Eventually, Matt did just that, but it was only when he reached his limit, when Alfred was just about to graduate junior high and the faux happiness in their home made him sick.
Matthew told him everything. How their mom had cheated on Matthew's dad with Alfred's. Matt was only two at the time and hardly understood all the confusion, but unlike Alfred, he wasn't kept in the dark all his life; and he hated Alfred with everything he had, blamed him for his parents' separation. He told his younger brother their family's history to be spiteful, but he'd once said that he never imagined the impact it would have on Alfred.
The blue-eyed teenager thought it was pretty fucking stupid. News like that was obviously going to fuck a person up, especially when he realized his entire life was a lie. For years, Alfred had looked forward to meeting his soul mate. He and Kiku used to fantasize about what their partners would be like when they were younger, and looking back, Alfred was pressed to admit that a lot of the qualities his younger self had named fit Arthur to various degrees.
Humorous, handsome, foreign, gentle, kind-hearted, and interesting. It was such a simple list that Alfred thought he still had somewhere in his room. Even at such a young age, Alfred had known that women were a firm "Nah" and that those of foreign origin – especially the British – were a definite "Hell yes." He'd believed in those dumb clocks. He'd looked at his parents and seen love and devotion. He had wanted a marriage like theirs.
But his brother fucked it all up. Alfred wasn't angry anymore, not that he really had been to begin with. Matt realized his mistake pretty soon after it happened and strove to make up for all the years of neglect or whatever the fuck he called it. Alfred just never recovered.
Like Matt said. Alfred changed, turned bitter, and by the time he met Arthur, he was beyond done with the whole thing.
Arthur didn't need to know that at one point, Alfred had wanted to meet him more than anything. He didn't need to know that Alfred tried to cut the clock out of his skin his freshman year of high school, or prayed to some God that he didn't believe in on various occasions on the off chance that someone was listening in hopes that the numbers would just disappear one day with no warning.
Arthur would never know that Alfred felt exceedingly guilty that the Englishman didn't experience what so many people in the movies did, would never know how it felt to have the person he was destined to be with jump into his arms and cry because love was a fucking wondrous thing; but then, it wasn't in Alfred's nature to act like that even if he did believe in soul mates.
He wanted to blame Matt so badly, but if the roles had been switched, Alfred couldn't say with certainty that he would've acted any differently. They were brothers after all, regardless of paternity. They were more alike than Alfred cared to realize.
"Well, I think everyone's being sent home for the day." Alfred blinked as Arthur came wandering back, rubbing at the back of his neck with a slight scowl on his face as he stared at Alfred in the gloom. "Looks like you've been saved by the weather, Jones." Alfred sat up straighter in his seat. Arthur had never called him that before and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "Is your ride here?" Arthur continued, and Alfred nodded slightly.
"I don't think my mom ever leaves."
Arthur nodded as well, and even though everyone around them was moving to and fro, collecting items or clocking out for the day, neither of them moved a muscle. Alfred couldn't make his legs work, and it didn't help that Arthur was just freaking staring at him. It was a whole new level of awkward for the two of them.
"What you were saying before." Arthur said eventually. "Was it important?"
Alfred breathed out a sigh and stood, proud that he didn't stumble. "Nah, not really. I was just wondering how much longer I have to keep coming here. I don't know about you, but I'm wasting my summer."
Lightning illuminated the lobby briefly, but it was all the time Alfred needed to see the slight, sad smile on Arthur's face. "Just a few more weeks and then you're free of this place for good."
Alfred couldn't forget the look on Arthur's face for hours after he left, nor could he ignore the almost… incredulous feeling he'd had when Arthur said Alfred would be free of "this place."
Perhaps Alfred did want to be free of rehab and of Arthur in particular, but it didn't seem as if Arthur shared the same sentiment. If Arthur hadn't given up by now, then Alfred didn't know what else to do; and if he didn't sever all ties now, there was no guarantee that his recovery would be the end of his interactions with Arthur Kirkland.