Chapter 27

Matthew watched as Francis carefully edited another press statement about the Hallway Project. It had consume a great deal of his time lately, keeping the momentum going and now, his next idea, obtaining sponsorship for Alfred's quest to donate to charities that helped rape victims.

"That's a lot of money. You really think people will step up?" Matthew asked, reading over Francis's shoulder. Matthew had been spending most of his time in Francis's room. It wasn't that he and Alex weren't friends anymore, but it was awkward now. Matthew still had feelings for Alex, but Alex was clearly falling in love with Michelle. The two of them were inseparable lately. As it had been with Francis, it was hard for Matthew to see Michelle with Alex and not feel like it was a personal attack against himself. Once he could brush off as coincidental…but twice? And after he'd reached out to her as a friend?

"I think people will give. This cause has become important to me. I can understand it now—Alfred's interest in this sort of work. It's tiring, but it feels good to be doing something. After what Michelle went through, and all the others that have come forward since this began, too…I will tolerate many things, but not attacks against what should be an expression of true love."

"It's admirable work. I'm really proud of you, Francis," Matthew said with a soft smile. He rubbed Francis's shoulders and pressed a sweet kiss against Francis's cheek. Francis turned to smile up at his boyfriend.

"It is good work…but it could wait awhile, no?"

"Just a little bit," Matthew said with a flirtatious smile.

"Now, now…nothing little about it," Francis joked. Matthew grinned and wound his arms around Francis's shoulders. He'd grown over his sophomore year, though his older boyfriend was still just a little bit taller. The kissed slowly, comfortingly, aware of just how to tilt their mouths and how to move their tongues.

"Have I told you lately how grateful I am to have a second chance with you?" Francis whispered. Matthew smiled against Francis's collarbone and continued pressing his kisses at the skin he uncovered.

"I'm glad you're here. I know it's a mess with Alex, but I want you to know that—I'm happy to be with you."

Francis let his eyes flutter shut and he wrapped his arms around Matthew's slender hips, moving one hand upwards to tangle in the soft, gently curling strands.

Outside, the January stars twinkled over a canopy of gently falling snow. The two boys watched the snow drift down in front of the window and they kissed and shared body heat as the clothing came off piece by piece.

In some ways, it was new all over again. Matthew's body had new scars, from hockey, even from his fight with Francis, and from the emotional battles he'd fought with Alfred. Francis's heart was a lot heavier since the death of his father and everything he'd gone through earlier in the year with his mother. They were growing into young men, and changing as the months passed, but there was still the old familiarity of first love humming happily between each kiss and caress. Both new and improved, some might say. It was an oxymoron that Francis had scoffed at when learning English, but when trying to describe his relationship with Matthew, it did seem to fit perfectly.

Francis rolled on top of Matthew, chest to chest with his lover, smiling softly at him in the darkened room. He kissed over his cheeks, and the tip of his nose, and his soft, golden lashes. They switched to French as they always did during such times, whispering soft, gentle compliments and declarations of love.

Matthew met Francis's artful movements with newfound grace and strength. Francis's name spilled from Matthew's lips over and over again until they both reached bliss, and tangled up together afterwards in the sheets and the shadows cast from the falling snow at the window. Idly, Francis stroked Matthew's bare tummy and pressed kisses against his chilled shoulder.

"We are lucky to have this," Francis said quietly. He spoke French so beautifully that Matthew could have listened to him reading the phonebook and fallen into a trance.

"Yeah, we really are," Matthew agreed. They both thought separate thoughts about what was going on between their best friends, and how painful it must be to have the one, beautifully cathartic and pure connection lovers could have turned into something so painful and ugly. It was like murder. For Arthur, he might never be able to fully lower his guard again. He might never spend a night as they were doing, curled up so completely vulnerable and trustingly with someone separate, yet connected. It required so much trust and faith to truly make love, and yet that ability to trust and connect had been brutally damaged.

And for what? Someone's sick pleasure at the destruction of something beautiful?

It made Francis's heart hurt.

Across the room, the minute hand ticked to the first second of the new morning. Just a Friday, like any other.

"A new day," Matthew whispered. Francis smiled and kissed his jaw.

"A new day, and it's beautiful, here with you."

Matthew fell asleep watching the snow, with Francis's steady breath tickling over his skin.

"Is he asleep yet?" Ivan asked in the quietest whisper he could manage. From where he was sitting against Ivan's side, Yao raised up slightly to peer into the toddler bed. Raivis slept…finally. His chubby hand was curled into a fist and pressed against his lips, plump and shaped perfectly, like an angel's bow. Yao thought everything about him was perfect. From his soft, downy blond curls to his tiny little feet and hands. Every inch of him was precious.

Juggling school and raising a family was an overwhelming task at times…most of the time…but there were quiet moments, too. Quiet moments that made Yao feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He relaxed into Ivan's hold again, his dark eye lashes fluttering as he fought off sleep for just a few more moments.

"When will he be able to fall asleep on his own?" Ivan asked. He childish complaining, whispered so low that only Yao could hear, made his lover smile.

"He'll start sleeping alone when we're strong enough to ignore his crying." There was a long pause.

"Well fuck," Ivan said, and rather loudly at that.

"Shh!" Yao replied with a snort of amusement.

"I guess it is not so bad. I like watching him settle down. He doesn't stop moving during the day, so it's nice to see him still for once," Ivan mused.

"He does look peaceful asleep, doesn't he?" Yao said with a gentle smile.

"Like you. Are you tired?" Ivan asked. Yao tried to stifle his yawn, but he simply couldn't. His head nuzzled up under Ivan's chin as his eyes began to drift shut…just for a moment…

The next thing he knew, like many nights before, he was being cradled in strong arms. He awoke enough to loop his arms around Ivan's neck, and sleepily press back against the kiss Ivan gave him.

"That's everyone down except you," Ivan said in that soft, husky whisper that went straight to Yao's manhood. "Time for bed."

Ivan carried him effortlessly through their home, to their spacious bedroom, where the big window let in the gorgeous sight of the early morning snowfall. If Yao had been more awake, it might have reminded him of another day he'd spent in the snow, and of a perpetually startled looking young boy at the end of an alley, gun in hand as he fell soundlessly, shot down with a bloody Russian smile.

But he was tired, and the hour was late, and this snow was not like that snow. It fell so gently and peacefully, over their tidy little house, over their sleeping teenager and their slumbering toddler, over a fretful but good big sister, and a coarse but loveable uncle…and two young men who somehow kept all of those people together as a family of survivors. Those were Yao's thoughts.

Ivan thought of his family, too, as he took in the snow and the soft, inviting look of their bed. As always, the persistent, tiring worries of keeping them safe and well provided for rolled constantly in the back of his mind. Yet, at the same time, he knew in the quiet moments how much he loved them. They'd given him so much stability—his sanity, really. After all he had seen and done, to have a peaceful existence like he had was truly the best gift his father could have given him. It still made it hard to breathe sometimes when Ivan thought of everything he'd left behind him in Russia…his bloody legacy and his father's crumbled empire…but the one thing his father had taught him held true no matter where he was.

Family was the most important, the most precious wealth one could have. Lying down his beautiful little lover on their soft bed, knowing Yao was his in body, mind, and soul…it made Ivan feel like a very rich man.

"I'm not so tired," Yao muttered, drinking in the sight of his strong partner in the starlight. Ivan's pale, muscular shoulders were bisected and criss-crossed with scars that made Yao ache to kiss them. His chest was like it was sculpted from marble, and lightly dusted with silvery blond hair that Yao knew was surprisingly soft pressed against his cheek. He reached out a pale, delicate hand and smiled sleepily as Ivan took it, pressing a rough kiss to the inside of his wrist. He pulled lightly on Yao's arm, tugging him up, as he straddled him and expertly undid his hair tie.

Yao's beautiful hair shined with the luster of black pearls. It slipped between Ivan's fingers like satin and pooled down his back. Ivan captured Yao's cheeks in his big, rough palms and tilted his face upwards, kissing him deep and passionately. When the kiss ended, in a swift movement, Ivan stripped Yao of his nightshirt. Yao fell into the soft, white pillow mountain behind him, his hair fluttering like a halo around his porcelain features.

Ivan kissed his mouth until his lips darkened, and sucked his neck until Yao's cheeks flushed. Ivan's hands slipped down lower, over his nipples and his slender grooves of rib, down to his hardening member. With a little maneuvering, one of Yao's slender legs hooked over Ivan's broad shoulder. After just the right amount of preparation, Ivan took him with surprising gentleness. It was a contradiction Yao loved—how harsh and needy his kisses were, followed by such sweet, patient lovemaking.

Of course, sometimes it was anything but sweet and patient, but Yao enjoyed that just as much.

This was his favorite, though. It always would be. Ivan wore such beautiful expressions of love during their nightly coupling. No matter how many times they came together, it was never routine for Ivan. Each time, he looked at Yao like he'd never quite seen something so beautiful before. His unique lavender-blue eyes filled with so much warmth and adoration that it was as if Yao felt his love.

It was not all that they were, the moments shared in their bed, but it was so good to have that time for just the two of them. Raising a toddler was not easy. It tested them and strained things in unpredictable and ever-creative ways, but times like this strengthened them. It brought them together as lovers, as parents, as partners. Yao had often heard the women in his family complaining of being "too tired" or any other number of excuses to refuse their husbands…but Yao could not even imagine such a thing.

He pitied them—all those loveless marriages of status and wealth in the world. As Ivan finished, and Yao rode out his own moment of pleasure, he held Ivan close against himself and hoped that he would never grow too tired for Ivan, or of their love. He wanted to spend every night just like this one, carried to bed and satisfied in every possible way by the one man he loved more and more each night.

Alfred slipped out of bed and took care of his business in the restroom. He washed his hands and caught his own reflection in the yellowed bathroom light. When had he grown up so much? Sure, he'd noticed becoming taller, and broader, and more muscular depending on which sports season they were in…but when had he started looking like a man?

His hand traced wonderingly over the cut of his jaw. He still had chubby cheeks…probably always would…but there was his father's jaw under his hand. His mother's cheekbones and her brilliant blue eyes beneath the shaggy blond fringe. He touched the swell of muscle in his arms and felt the roughness of his hands. He thought of how tortured his body had made him feel over the years. Never good enough once upon a time, and then better than he knew how to handle. Everyone said they saw a good person when they looked at him…but what did that really mean? What was his place in the world? Alfred had always wondered. Once, he'd thought his place was merely with Arthur. Then, he'd thought maybe his place was in the glare of public eye, both adoring and scorn-filled. Without Arthur, and with no love for the fame and success, where did that leave him?

Lost again, that's where. He always felt lost when he was alone.

With a sigh, he turned off the bathroom light and moved to the window. He'd insisted on keeping their window curtains drawn since the video, and he'd installed the privacy shade himself, but now he found himself pushing the curtains away and drawing open the shade. The modern design of the school allowed for beautiful, oversized windows, nearly as tall as Alfred himself, as doubly wide across. Alfred stood in the center of the wall of glass and pressed his callused hands (getting softer now that he hadn't played sports in awhile) against the freezing glass. D.C. stretched out beyond the night, like a glittering little bauble inside a snow globe. The cold white fluff seemed to silence the world, muting it somehow, and making it more gentle and peaceful.

The world was completely silent…until the shriek of a whistle pierced the darkness.

Alfred moved before he even realized it, scooping up a steel baseball bat instinctively off the floor, hurdling out his door and down his hallway, skidding to a stop at the start of Arthur's hallway—the guard station was empty, and Arthur's door was ajar.

Alfred sprinted faster than he even knew it was possible for him to run. The lights were already on. Arthur sat in a tangled mess of sheets and blankets on the floor, the whistle caught up around his pale skin. Bright tears beaded in his lids made his green eyes sparkle like emeralds.

He was blessedly alone.

"A-alfred?" Arthur asked in complete surprise. "W-what are you doing here?"

Alfred dropped the baseball bat with a clatter and fell to his knees in sheer relief. He was panting, less out of exertion and more because of panic.

"Heard…the…whistle," Alfred gasped out. "I thought…thought…"

"I'm sorry. It was just a nightmare. They're getting so awful. Sometimes it's the stalker but most nights it's you. It's horrible, and I hate it, because I know it's not real but it feels real and—and..." whatever Arthur was going to say was choked on his sobbing. Franklin appeared in the door, warm cup of tea in hand, and seemed a little surprised to see Alfred and his make-shift weapon.

"You got here pretty fast," he commented.

"I don't sleep much these days," Alfred replied. Wearily, he scraped himself off the floor and retrieved his bat. "I get it now. I get why you wouldn't want to see me after…after dreaming that. I'll go, okay? I'll just…go."

"No…Alfred…wait…" Arthur stood up, too. Alfred half-turned, and Franklin excused himself out again once he'd delivered the tea. "Can we…go for a walk? Or something?"

"Arthur, it's below freezing outside."

"We don't have to go outside. We could go upstairs…to my room."

"You want to go crawling up to your creepy attic in the middle of the night?" Alfred asked. Arthur swallowed thickly and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.

"You're right. I'm being silly. Go on back to bed. I won't blow the whistle again."

Alfred clawed a hand through his hair and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Well, come on then. Get your coat at least."

Arthur didn't ask for a second invitation. He hastily bundled his winter coat over his old man pajamas and offered his blanket to Alfred. Gratefully, Alfred huddled up under the blanket and extended his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Arthur took it. Alfred smiled at him for the small show of trust.

Franklin raised a questioning eyebrow at them as they left the room.

"I just need a little air. I promise we won't disturb anything in the school," Arthur said. Franklin, who Alfred was beginning to suspect was a huge softie, nodded in permission. What's more, he tossed Alfred his flashlight.

"Thanks, Franklin," Alfred said with a smile. Giving Arthur's hand a gentle squeeze, they set off down the empty hallways. Alfred liked to think of himself as brave, but he wasn't a big fan of the dark. But he had Arthur to think about, and he couldn't wimp out like a baby. He just couldn't.

Arthur was kind enough not to point out the fact that he was trembling the further from the dorms they went, and how his breathing quickened in each nearly pitch black staircase. Arthur held the flashlight steady, unafraid.

He'd never had the sort of personality that cowered or became consumed with irrational fears. His nightmares upset him, but he found himself being reckless more often than not. A normal person would have done the sensible thing and left a bad situation well enough alone…but he was practically inviting trouble by returning to school. Isolating himself, wandering about in the middle of the night…seeking his ghosts if they would not come to him. Was he asking for it? He wondered.

Beside him, Alfred trembled and nearly tripped on his dragging blanket.

"You can go back if you want," Arthur said simply. He'd just had a horrible nightmare about Alfred. Terrifying enough that he awoke in a cold sweat and blew his whistle in a complete panic. Yet just moments later, he forced himself to go walking off into the darkness with the same attacker from his dreams.

Maybe he hadn't had quite enough counseling. Maybe he was just cracked beyond repair. He should be afraid…of the people he knew, of Alfred, of the school itself…and sometimes he was, but not tonight.

"S-shut up, Arthur. I'm not going to l-leave you al-lone up here."

Arthur let go of Alfred's hand. He didn't know why he did it, and Alfred apparently didn't know why either. He reached out for him like a child grasping for his mother. With a dark smile, eerie in the darkness, Arthur clicked off the flashlight.

"Let's play a game, Alfred. Hide and seek."

"Arthur, this isn't funny. You're scaring the shit out of me, okay? I'm scared. I'll admit it!"

"Rather disappointing. What good is that baseball bat going to do you if you're afraid to use it? Maybe I should carry the bat, and you should carry the flashlight."

"Sure, whatever! Just stop fucking around," Alfred pleaded. Arthur's moment of twisted amusement ended as quickly as it came. He suddenly wondered why he'd dragged them up to the fourth floor…why he was enjoying proving his fearlessness to Alfred…who had never, not once, tried to scare or hurt him in real life.

"Take the flashlight and go back. Its fine, Alfred. Just an empty school. I think I'll stay here a bit and do some thinking," Arthur said quietly.

"You're acting really weird and depressed, Arthur. I've had enough of…whatever this is. Come on. We're leaving."

Arthur struggled, but Alfred grabbed him by the upper arm in an unrelenting grip. Moving quickly, abandoning the blanket in the hall, Alfred all but dragged him back downstairs, flashlight bouncing along in front of them.

"Let me go!" Arthur hissed.

"No!" Alfred said back, almost childishly stubborn.

"You can't do this," Arthur said, managing to twist free somewhere on the second story staircase. Much to his surprise, Alfred moved with alarming quickness and actually hoisted him up over his shoulder. Arthur tried to twist off, but Alfred was carrying him down the stairs and he didn't have a death wish.

That's when it hit him. Maybe he did have a death wish.

"I know…I'm not the—damn it, stop wiggling!—brightest crayon in the box…but I know that I've never seen you like this and I'm scared you're going to hurt yourself. So until you…feel more like yourself…you're just going to have to suffer my presence."

Two flights of stairs above their heads, in the abandoned room Arthur so liked to frequent, a shadowy figure emerged into the hallway. He walked until he was staring down at the blanket, crumpled on the floor.

If only he hadn't interfered…Arthur would have come to him willingly. It was him causing the problems. It was him standing between them. If he and Arthur were to be together, then Alfred Jones needed to go away for a long, long time.

Alfred had put Arthur down by the time they reached Franklin's station. Alfred all but slammed the flashlight onto the desk.

"He's not allowed to go wandering off like that in the middle of the night anymore. Not under any circumstances. Do you hear me?"

"Kid, what the hell are you—"

"I spoke plain English. He doesn't go off by himself. He's staying the night in my room," Alfred's tone left no room for argument. Arthur had fallen completely silent behind him, still caught up in Alfred's almost painful grasp.

"But—" Franklin protested unsurely.

"Goodnight, Franklin. He'll blow the whistle if he needs you."

"Arthur?" Franklin asked unsurely. Arthur, however, just felt completely hollow. He nodded, though he wasn't sure what he was even nodding about.

Alfred lessened his grip when he realized it was too tight. He guided Arthur down the hallway, down one more, and to his dorm room. He slipped inside with Arthur and locked it behind himself, locking the five other locks he'd put on the door at the same time he'd installed the privacy blinds.

He tugged Arthur to his bed and sat him down on it, and then went to the window. He didn't give a fuck about the beautiful view anymore. He harshly pulled down the shades and drew the curtains after making sure nobody was lurking around on the grounds below. They were a story up, but Alfred wasn't taking any chances. He made sure the baseball bat was beside his bed, and then checked under it just to be sure. Arthur watched with big green eyes as Alfred checked under Tony's bed, too, and then in the bathroom and closet.

"It's all clear. Here, give me your coat and I'll hang it up," Alfred said quietly, so as not to disturb Tony. When Arthur didn't move, Alfred did it for him. He undid the buttons with unusual gentleness and then slipped the coat off Arthur's bony shoulders. He hung it in the closet and returned to the bedside. "Go on—scoot over. I'll take outside."

"I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry," Arthur finally whispered. His voice sounded ragged in the darkness. "That was stupid. I know that was stupid, but…"

"Hey, I can't always be the dumbass. You gotta take a turn too, sometimes. Now get in bed and get some sleep. It's no wonder you're freaking out and acting weird. Your mind needs rest."

"Okay," Arthur agreed quietly. Nothing about it felt comfortable. Not the bed, not all of Alfred's warmth almost stifling at his front, and not the sound of a third person breathing across the room.

"I just can't."

"You two are incredibly loud," Tony's flat voice said from the other side of the room. Alfred sighed.

"Sorry, Tony."

"…but I can help." Tony got up and went to the bathroom, where Alfred knew he kept an impressive assortment of medications he never took. He crossed to them with a glass of water and two pills in hand.

"What are those?" Alfred asked.

"Sleeping pills. Two will knock him out."

Alfred half sat up, staring at Arthur questioningly. Arthur was already shaking his head, completely fearful. Alfred took in a ragged breath.

"At some point, you've got to trust me again. Can we start tonight? I think after the stunt you just pulled, you owe me that at least. I mean, 'let's play hide and seek'? Really, Arthur?"

Arthur calmed, considered Alfred's words, and then took the pills with a defeated air about him. Alfred was right. He was either losing it or it was already lost. He couldn't fight anymore. Once he'd swallowed down the pills that would make him all but helpless, he turned to face the wall and tried not to flinch when Alfred looped his arm around his waist. He flinched anyway, and Alfred ignored it.

Past the curtains, and the locked down privacy blinds, the snow pressed against the glass and neither Alfred nor Arthur gave a damn for the coldness of the night or the frightening silence of empty corridors and the sleeping world.

A/N: Arthur got pretty creepy in this chapter. I promise I didn't do it just for drama. I read that teens suffering from depression and anxiety sometimes engage in reckless behavior, and, of course, suicidal thoughts. I think Arthur was dangerously toeing a line, but I hoped to show that Alfred simply refused to let him go there.