Author's Note: I was listening to my Demi Lovato playlist while I wrote the majority of this chapter, and it kinda hit me that "Give Your Heart a Break" fits this story scarily well; or at least it does to me, since I know how it ends. But I think you'd see the similarities if you listened to it.

Thank you for all the support! And please keep in mind when you finish this chapter that Alfred has some very... self-destructive behaviors. Maybe you'll know what comes after this. And no, he is not going to run away from home.

Alfred's parents inevitably grew tired of waiting for him to change his mind about Arthur and took matters into their own hands.

They said they were going out to dinner to celebrate Matthew's acceptance into Washington University in St. Louis, and while Alfred already had plans to go to the park with Elizabeta – even though he was technically still grounded – he cancelled, figuring he should probably go support his brother.

Matt had decided to take a year off after high school to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, and while he still wasn't sure, he at least wanted to get out from underneath their parents' roof.

Alfred didn't blame him. He would've flown the coop years ago, if only he'd been able.

Matthew went along with it. Maybe he hadn't known, though Alfred seriously doubted it. The four of them climbed into their mom's minivan after Alfred's dad got home from work and drove to some seafood restaurant that Alfred hadn't been to before. Never mind that he didn't like seafood and never had, but it wasn't about him anyway.

He stayed mostly quiet, tired after another day of rehab, and his parents didn't bother trying to coerce him into conversation for whatever reason. Alfred didn't understand until they arrived at the restaurant and went inside.

Elizabeta was still pretty pissed about being cancelled on, so Alfred was busy trying to console her as his parents walked past him. It wasn't until Matt uttered a soft, "Oh, shit," that Alfred pocketed his phone and looked up.

To be honest, Alfred wasn't all that upset when he noticed Arthur standing there. It had been a few days since Alfred's resolution to be nicer to the man, and they were friendly enough with one another. Alfred was still snippy – it was his personality, so he couldn't really help that – but Arthur didn't seem to be as bothered by it anymore. Sometimes he would actually laugh.

No, it wasn't Arthur's presence that set Alfred on edge – actually, Arthur was pretty distracting in that dark gray oxford with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but that was beside the point. It was the fact that he wasn't alone, was surrounded by people that resembled him fairly closely, especially the kid with the blue eyes that was clinging to Arthur's arm.

Alfred's jaw dropped when his mom rushed forward to embrace the eldest of the women standing with Arthur, and Matt reached out to take his hand, squeezing firmly.

Arthur had watched the two women exchange enthusiastic pleasantries through eyes narrowed with confusion, but then his eyes had shifted to Alfred's frozen form and they widened almost comically. Oh, my God, the trainer mouthed, and Alfred realized with abject horror that they'd been set up.

Matthew refused to let go of his hand, which was probably a good thing since Alfred was nearly overcome by his compulsive urge to run. On any other day, Alfred would've pushed his brother away and told him off for treating him like a little kid, but Alfred was actually holding Matthew's hand just as tightly, if not tighter.

Some part of him refused to believe that his mom and dad would do this to him, but as he listened to his parents talk with Arthur's, it became apparent that the four of them had had this in the works for days. Arthur had seemed pissed off, silently fuming as they waited for their table to be cleared, and he kept shooting glares at the blonde-haired woman who Alfred assumed was the older man's mother.

"I don't want to do this." Alfred said, not having to keep his voice down too much since it was so loud in the building. He kept shooting nervous glances at the door, formulating a strategy to steal his mom's keys and take off before she even realized what had happened. "Matt, I can't fucking do this."

"You're fine, Al." Matthew replied, still holding onto Alfred's hand. "It'll be over before you know it."

"It hasn't even started!" Alfred hissed. "I fucking hate you all, this is fucking bullshit."

"I had absolutely nothing to do with this!" Matthew exclaimed, incredulous, and two of Arthur's brothers – were they even his brothers? Alfred was only guessing here – glanced over at them suspiciously. "Jesus, Al, I know better than to corner you like this, especially in public. I don't know what Mom and Robert are thinking."

"I'm gonna be sick." Alfred said as he and his brother followed after their parents and Arthur's family.

He ended up seated with Matthew on his right side and Arthur on his left. He didn't really mind, was glad to not be in the immediate vicinity of his parents. Alfred didn't trust himself to not do or say something stupid if he so much as looked at them, so he kept his eyes down, unseeing as he stared at the menu or his hands, lying prone in his lap.

The gathering went on without him. Alfred didn't speak and everyone seemed to know better than to engage him. He was dying to know how Arthur felt about all of this, although he could make a pretty educated guess. Over the past few days, the two of them had been interacting on a more personal level. Alfred was more comfortable with him now, and Arthur didn't look so tired all the time.

They'd been making progress. Things had been fine. Now it was all going to Hell.

It took Alfred nearly ten minutes to realize that something was off. Breathing wasn't easy. His chest was starting to ache; and when he glanced down at his hands, they were shaking. He couldn't get them to stop.

When Alfred was younger, he used to have panic attacks pretty regularly.

His dad used to say – whenever his mom and Matt weren't around – that Matthew probably played a huge factor in the development of the attacks. Alfred was always watching his step, overly conscious of everything he did for fear that his older brother would lash out at him.

After so many years, it got to a point where Alfred spent most of his waking hours under the influence of his own anxieties, and panic attacks were fairly common. Matt of course never cared, but, hey, whatever. Once Alfred learned the truth, he stopped caring about doing the right things, and the attacks stopped happening as much.

Sometimes Alfred became overwhelmed for whatever reason and felt the familiar fluttering in his stomach, the tightening of his throat, but it was never as bad as his childhood panic attacks had been, merely a twinge of anxiety that was easily controlled.

This was nothing like that.

"Alfred?" It wasn't Matthew talking. Alfred knew that much. The voice was hushed but very loud in Alfred's ear. "What's wrong?"

"I can't breathe." He whispered, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, though it did little to help. "I can't breathe."

There was a hand on his arm, holding fast as Alfred was helped to his feet. All the teenager's attention was focused on keeping his panic at bay, not wanting to have a meltdown in front of all these people; but his throat just kept getting tighter, his vision fuzzier, a losing battle.

"If you'll excuse us." Alfred realized then that Arthur was the one holding onto him, guiding him away from the table and the prying eyes that burned Alfred's skin. He was too disoriented to fight it, and he allowed Arthur to dictate their path, ending at the men's bathroom.

Everything was too bright, but Alfred kept a death grip on the sink when Arthur led him over to it, doubling over and breathing heavily, just beginning to salivate as his stomach started to churn.

"Can I help you?" Arthur's voice snapped suddenly, and Alfred heard heavy footsteps followed by the bathroom door opening and closing.

"This is stupid." Alfred wheezed, beginning to push away from the sink. "I'm fine."

Arthur placed a hand on Alfred's left shoulder, gently pushing him forward again, but the touch vanished just as quickly as it had come. Alfred didn't try to move after that. "Don't just brush off a panic attack, Alfred."

"I've had them… had them before." Alfred ground out, dropping his head and squeezing his eyes shut. His chest was fucking killing him. He'd forgotten how his attacks made him feel like death was close at hand. "It's not – I know – "

"Can you breathe with me?" Alfred glanced up into the mirror and found Arthur staring at him intently, expression completely serious and eyebrows furrowed in concern. "I'll count for two seconds and then you'll breathe in through your nose. Another two and you'll breathe out through your mouth, like you're blowing up a balloon. Okay?"

Alfred was having trouble focusing, wanted his dad, but he made sense of Arthur's words enough to nod, still leaning over the sink. "Alright, breathe in." Arthur instructed, and Alfred complied. "One… two… breathe out."

They kept repeating that until Alfred's heart rate started to slow, and when his limbs stopped shaking, Alfred sighed, pushing away from the sink. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his sweaty hair and red-rimmed eyes. Alfred hadn't even realized he'd been crying.

"Better?" Arthur asked quietly, and Alfred nodded, turning away from the mirror when he grew sick of his appearance.

He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair and holding it there, fisting the dirty-blond strands tightly. "Goddammit."

"It's okay. You don't have to feel badly for panicking."

That wasn't the point. Alfred thought he'd been doing better. He hadn't had an attack in years. Ever since he met Arthur, he was starting to unravel. "I bet I looked like a fucking idiot." Alfred commented tonelessly, leaning back against the sink and letting his arm fall back to his side. Arthur mimicked his position. "Some impression I made on your family."

"They know what fear looks like." Arthur replied, and Alfred swallowed thickly. "My grandfather used to suffer from panic attacks when he was still alive. My brothers and I grew up around it."

"Is that why you knew what to do with me?"

"I wouldn't say I knew what to do with you. I just know how to properly handle someone overcome by their panic." Arthur turned his head to look at him, though Alfred kept his gaze on the floor. "I apologize for touching you. That's one of the worst things I could've possibly done."

"No, it's – " Alfred wasn't sure what to say. His mom had once told Matt not to touch Alfred if he started having an attack, because it might just set him off more. Apparently that was a big NO. He hadn't necessarily minded when Arthur touched his shoulder. It had been… comforting, somewhat, but like Hell he was going to say that. "It's fine."

They fell into silence. With the roaring in his ears gone, Alfred could hear the sounds of the restaurant, life continuing just outside the door. Water dripped from the tap behind him every six seconds. "Does that happen to you often?" Arthur asked eventually. "Or did this just have to do with our… circumstances?"

Alfred shrugged his right shoulder. "Used to happen more when I was a kid. And like I said before. I don't like being put on the spot."

"I should've known." Arthur said, almost to himself. "My family never gets together unless it's a holiday. Mum was so insistent, too."

"You guys aren't close?"

"Well," Arthur paused. This was probably the most intimate conversation they'd ever shared. "My parents married young. They wanted one son and ended up with five. By the time I was born, Mum and Dad were tired. It can't be helped."

Alfred blinked, finally lifting his head to glance over at Arthur. Even if he hadn't been entirely with it before, Alfred had noticed that aside from Peter, Arthur didn't really acknowledge his other brothers. It made him feel… weird. He did know how it felt to be ignored by his older brother, but Matt wasn't like that anymore. They were best friends. Matthew had held Alfred's hand in public, for Christ's sake, and they were nineteen and seventeen years old!

He thought about those phone calls. Arthur's ever tired expression at rehab. Alfred had tried to be friendly but… he didn't know a thing about Arthur, did he?

Arthur seemed to notice that Alfred was staring at him, and when their gazes locked, Alfred thought he could feel another panic attack coming on; but his chest wasn't nearly as heavy as it had been previously. No, this was another feeling entirely.

"Let's get out of here." Alfred found himself saying, voice much rougher than he'd been expecting it to be.

Arthur cocked his head slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yup." Alfred said loudly, stepping away from the sink if only to put some distance between himself and Arthur. "There's no way I'm going back there. Just take me home before I murder someone."

Arthur smirked, fishing around in the pocket of his slacks, presumably for his car keys. "Gladly."

As the two of them sneaked out of the restaurant, Alfred felt a little guilty for leaving without so much as a word to his brother. Matt was most likely out of his mind with worry; it was a wonder he hadn't followed them to the bathroom in the first place.

"I should probably tell Matthew we left." Alfred said once they were safely inside Arthur's car, a red Camry with beige leather seats that the teenager found himself falling in love with.

"I'm sure they'll all figure it out soon if they haven't already." Arthur huffed as he pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot. Alfred noted that he wasn't wearing his seat belt. "Where am I going exactly?"

Alfred glanced out the window, took in his surroundings. He hadn't really paid attention to where they were going when they left the house earlier. "Uh, go down to seventeenth and take a right on Westridge. I'll guide you from there."

Normally driving with people he wasn't exactly comfortable with made Alfred nervous. He wasn't going to entrust his life to just anybody, after all. Maybe he was too exhausted after what had happened to care much; or maybe it was the fact that he and Arthur had just gone through something together that made Alfred more comfortable.

Alfred sighed heavily, sinking down into his seat. He was over thinking this way too much.

"You okay over there?" Arthur asked, and Alfred felt his mouth quirk slightly.

"As okay as I'll ever be, I guess. I wish my parents would just leave me the fuck alone about you."

"I can't blame them for… trying." Arthur said at length. "I expect that they want what's best for you. But there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. What happened back there was definitely one of those lines."

As Arthur rolled to a stop at a four-way intersection, Alfred found himself seriously contemplating whether or not to tell Arthur why his mom and dad were pushing as hard as they were. It would've made things easier, cleared the air a little, but Alfred couldn't find the will to say anything.

It had never been easy to talk about. Even now, the only person who he felt comfortable enough to speak to about what happened was Kiku. They were life companions, so of course they didn't bother keeping secrets. He'd still yet to tell Elizabeta, who had only entered their group after they started high school, after Alfred's changing period.

As close as he and Arthur had become in the past week or so, Alfred wasn't ready to spill everything just yet, if ever.

"Let's play a game."

Arthur didn't say anything for an extremely drawn out moment. "You want… to play a game."

"You bet your ass I do." Alfred said, sitting up straighter. "Twenty Questions. Ask me anything too personal and I'll exit the vehicle, even if it's moving. Especially if it's moving."

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"I'll start." Alfred said, barely managing to stifle a laugh. "What's your favorite color?"

"What a terribly generic – "

"Answer it, Kirkland!"

Arthur released a short huff of air. "Orange."

"That's my least favorite color, so strike one." Alfred commented, pleased that he'd at least found the answer to one of Elizabeta's questions. "Your turn."

"Alright." Arthur began, the pointer finger of his right hand tapping against the steering wheel as he contemplated what to say. "What's your favorite subject in school?"

Alfred frowned. "I don't think I have a favorite. I pay attention in English, so I guess my answer is English. Oh, and I like lunch. 'Kay, my turn. Do you have a best friend?"

"I do." Arthur said, clearly amused. Alfred had said on more than five occasions that the trainer was probably too socially awkward to find and keep any friends. "Gilbert's been a pain in my arse since we were teenagers."

"Gilbert, huh?" Alfred echoed, staring intently out the window. He watched the cars pass by, the people jogging on the sidewalk. "His last name wouldn't happen to be Beilschmidt, would it?

"Actually, it is. Do you know him?"

Alfred snorted. "Well, I've heard of him. I know his brother Ludwig. He's in my debate class. We don't see eye to eye."

"Don't tell me that you're the kid West always complains about." Alfred scowled as Arthur burst out laughing. "Oh, this is priceless. What a small fucking world."

"And it just keeps getting smaller." Alfred commented, turning his head to glance over at Arthur. The green-eyed man didn't really laugh much. "Can we get back to the game, please?"

"I will be bringing this up to him later." Arthur said smugly, and Alfred rolled his eyes. He could just imagine it, Arthur walking up to that stickler Ludwig and informing him that Arthur's soul mate was the kid who he often found himself pitted against in debate class. Alfred and Ludwig weren't necessarily enemies or even all that mean to one another. They just had conflicting viewpoints on a lot of things. "Okay, what do you want to do after high school?"

"I don't know. Thinking about the future makes me upset, so I don't do it much." Mostly because it was so uncertain. Alfred would never say as much, but the prospect of spending his life alone was a terrifying one. "Which of your brothers is your favorite?"

"Peter." Arthur said instantly, making a sharp turn on 17th and Westridge, just as Alfred had previously instructed. The abruptness of the maneuver convinced Alfred that Arthur had been driving aimlessly, distracted by their little game. "Maybe it's because I helped raise him, but he's always been my favorite. He's the least bratty of the bunch."

"He was quiet." Alfred mused, thinking back to their brief get together. Peter had been seated across from Alfred. He hadn't spoken much, but Alfred had noticed the kid sneaking glances at him every so often when he thought Alfred wasn't paying attention.

"Don't let him deceive you. He's the brat that will wait until you're asleep and put your hand in warm water just to watch the show."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"I believe it's my turn to ask the questions." Arthur said evasively, and Alfred smirked. "Why is it that you never laugh?"

Alfred's amusement faded away. "Excuse me?"

"Are you going to jump out of the car?" Arthur asked, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to gauge Alfred's reaction, somewhat concerned. "I'm genuinely curious. You seem to find everything amusing, if not beneath you, but I've never heard you laugh before."

"Well." What the fuck could Alfred say but the truth? This had been his idea, after all. A stupid one, but that was neither here nor there. The answer wasn't as painful as it was embarrassing. "I don't laugh because… it's really obnoxious."

Arthur's brow furrowed, though he didn't take his eyes off the road again. "You mean, the idea of laughing is obnoxious?"

"No, I'm talking about my legit laugh. It's super obnoxious." Alfred winced. "It's like… uninhibited."

"Uninhibited." Arthur echoed. Something about his tone of voice told Alfred that it was the wrong thing to say. Perhaps it was the right thing, actually, depending on how one looked at it. "Now I'm curious."

"Trust me, I'm doing the world a favor by keeping it under wraps." Alfred said. "I used to get the weirdest looks from people. Not that I care what anyone else thinks. I guess I'm saving my own ears at this point. Oh, turn left here! After that, my street's a couple blocks away."

Arthur complied, his motions fluid as he turned the wheel. Alfred stared at the man's hands for whatever reason. "I will get you to laugh before the end of the summer." Arthur said seriously, and Alfred shot him an incredulous look. "I can tell you're staring at me, Alfred. I feel personally challenged."

"Try all you want, it's not gonna work." Alfred said, feeling somewhat sympathetic. His friends – all two of them – and family had been trying to coerce him into letting his guard down for years now. There was no limit to the stunts they would pull. If they couldn't do it, how could Arthur? Alfred's poker face was pretty fucking impeccable at this point. He wasn't going to crack for just anybody. "I mean, I still laugh, just not like that. I don't think I have since I was fourteen."

"All the more reason to try and coax it out of you!" Arthur exclaimed, and, small though it was, Alfred felt a rush of affection for him. Arthur wasn't really all that bad. If only it weren't for their unfortunate circumstances.

"Well, good luck, dude." Alfred chuckled, somewhat taunting Arthur with the notion of some unencumbered laugh that the man was apparently fascinated with. "Okay, turn here. My house is the fourth one on the right."

Alfred felt a buzzing in pocket, and against his better judgment, he pulled out his cell phone while Arthur scanned the row of houses. He frowned down at the screen for a few seconds before reluctantly answering it. "… Hello?"

"Are you okay? Did you have to go to the hospital?" Matt really did worry too much. Alfred hadn't had to go to the hospital because of his panic attacks since the first time one occurred, when he didn't know what was happening and he'd been convinced he was dying.

"No." Alfred replied, tired of the conversation already. "It didn't come to that. I'm fine."

Matthew breathed out a sigh that Alfred barely heard. His older brother was obviously still in the restaurant what with all the background noise. Had they waited for them to come back? "Thank God. Where are you, then?"

"Arthur took me home." Alfred said, glancing over at his companion when Arthur pulled into his driveway, putting the car in park and returning Alfred's look. "The whole thing was beneath us."

Arthur rolled his eyes as Matt said, "You trust him enough to let him know where we live?"

"Does that fucking bother you?"

"No, Al, I just – " Matt paused for a moment. "Hey, Mom wants to talk to you."

Alfred ended the call.

"Everything okay?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah." Alfred said, considered his own words, and then shook his head. "Actually, no. But that's a given. Nothing's ever okay."

Arthur seemed at a loss, thrown by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "That's – "

"I don't mean to be that guy," Alfred started as he unbuckled his own seat belt and reached out to open the car door, "but you should wear your seat belt. Accidents happen."

Alfred went inside, his somewhat content mood ruined in its entirety. With his panic gone and Arthur no longer at hand, Alfred's anger finally took control; and he let it, reveled in the easy and familiar.

His parents fucking knew that he'd suffered from panic attacks when he was younger. Just because they didn't happen as often didn't mean they were gone forever. Alfred had opened up to Arthur of his own accord, but still, his parents just kept pushing and pushing and pushing.

Alfred could agree to stay in contact with Arthur all his life, but if they weren't "together," it would never be good enough.

He ignored multiple calls to his cell phone within the next hour, answering only one. All he knew was that when his family decided to return home, he'd already be gone.