Savior [14/?] (it's actually part 14 this time. >.>)
anonymous
February 27 2010, 01:50:18 UTC
Midterm week. The week the Devil slithers up from his throne in Hell to remind everyone that he still exists.
Son of a bitch.
At least this is currently Arthur’s only problem.
Alfred has been acting more normal, and thank God for that, Arthur thinks. He doesn’t need a mentally unstable roommate while he is attempting to study for the worst set of tests in existence. Well, them and finals, but he doesn’t want to think about those now.
Arthur sits in a too-hot room, surrounded by at least a hundred other students. The fluorescent lights jab into his head, causing a dull pounding. How the hell is he supposed to be balancing equations, and doing covalent bonds in these conditions?
It’s a bloody torture chamber.
And it’s only the third test. At least the other two are easy, History and English.
Arthur wonders how Alfred is doing. He had failed that one Chemistry test, but he was usually so good in the subject. Arthur was too proud to go up to him and ask for some assistance. Like, how he had no clue whether this type of energy was chemical or electrical, and why the bloody hell it mattered, anyway.
Things moved. They changed. They exploded. That’s good enough for Arthur.
Unconsciously, he found his eyes wandering to the side, to Alfred’s pensive face. He’s chewing on his pencil eraser, eyes worried and confused.
And he said Chemistry came easy.
Arthur shakes his head, clearing it of all non-element related thoughts. Actually, Chemistry isn’t so bad. He fills in a few bubbles, darkening in his answers.
Argon, Neon, Helium are all noble gases. Group 18.
Oxygen needs to bond. It’s kind of a whore that way. He can do this.
Ten minutes left.
Explain the difference between nuclear fusion and nuclear fission.
Alfred chews, chews on his pencil.
He can see Matthew farther up, furiously filling in answers.
At least the question is easy, and he quickly writes in his answer.
There, done. Now he just needs to go back and check over the one hundred and twenty questions in fewer than seven minutes.
Arthur thinks fondly on the bottle of painkillers, sitting so temptingly on his bedside table. His head pounds, and he flips over the test.
A monotone voice crackles over the loudspeaker, telling them to put down their pencils, that the Chemistry midterm is over.
The students file out like soldiers, some looking miserable, others looking content. Arthur sidles up to Matthew. “So, how do you think you did?”
Matthew shrugs. “Not bad, I guess. You?”
“Same.”
Arthur wants to call Alfred over, to ask him the same, but the football team puts a human wall between them.
Sometimes, Arthur wonders if they do it on purpose.
Savior [15/?]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 01:55:50 UTC
The last midterm, History. Arthur is almost laughing about how mind numbingly easy it is.
The Glorious Revolution. Cromwell. Absolute Monarchs. Exploration of the new world. Imperialism.
He could recite facts about these topics in his sleep.
This is why, when he finishes a half hour early, he goes back to check his answers. Then he goes back to check again, even though he knows he got them all right.
Easy.
The monotone voice crackles over the loudspeakers.
Midterms are over.
There is a collective cheer from the hundred or so students cramped together in the room. Now, the celebration can really begin.
Arthur turns to find Alfred, to celebrate, but is quickly pulled aside by Matthew. His blue eyes sparkle wickedly, and Arthur can see that the rest of the student council has already congregated to the side of the room.
“Alright, everyone,” Matthew whispers, “Are you all excited for the dance, tonight?”
They all nod.
“That’s great, because we have a lot of work to do. We need to set up the gym and get the food ready. Ludwig, Gilbert, you’re in charge of the banners and streamers. Toris, gather a group of people to help with the food.”
Arthur opens his mouth to volunteer.
“Pick anyone except Arthur. Sorry, but we need people to enjoy tonight.”
Arthur turned red and spluttered out a few choice words.
Matthew turned to him and grinned. “The rest of you, follow me. We have some decorating to do. Oh, and be sure to thank the athletic directors, coaches, etc., for letting us use the gym.”
---
The gym looked spectacular. It really did. In a mere few hours, it had been transformed from a sweaty, musty, ordinary old gym, into a winter wonderland. There was white glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, in everyone’s hair… Vast mountains of white covered the gym. It was as if the dance were being held outside, in the snow, under a starry sky.
It was beautiful.
Matthew was grinning from ear to ear. “Wonderful, wonderful! Great job, everyone. We’ll get the computer club to do the final touches later, but for right now, everyone is free to go!”
Arthur felt his heart swell with pride at their job well done. He needed to go and brag to Alfred. “Hey, Arthur, is it?”
He feels a warm hand on his shoulder and turns, only to find himself staring into a pair of twinkling eyes. “O-oh. That’s me! You’re Alfred’s coach, right?”
Coach nods. “I just wanted to ask you if you’ve noticed anything… Strange about Al lately.”
“Uh…” And there’s something about the way he asks that makes Arthur want to shrink back. But since he can’t, he settles for lying. “N-no, nothing in particular, why?”
Coach grins, all sparkling teeth and predatory eyes. “Just wondering. If you do notice something, it’s best not to dwell, all right? Alfred trusts me, so it’s only logical that I be the one to help him, okay? Just don’t worry about a thing, Arthur.”
Arthur blinks, half bewildered, half nervous. Coach is an intimidating man.
“Is that alright with you?”
“Uh, yeah, Coach…” he chokes out, backing away. “Completely fine.”
Coach grins the type of grin Arthur remembers the Joker having in one of Alfred’s comic books. Right before Batman walked into his death trap. “Nice talking to you, Arthur.”
Arthur hightails it out of there without replying.
---
“So, you gonna be at the party?” Alfred chirps as Arthur plops down in a char and pops a painkiller in his mouth.
“Yeah, Alfred, I’m student council,” he groans, leaning back into the soft cushions, “I have to be there.”
“Ooh, right.” He grins. “I can’t wait. I promise to be there.”
Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “Uh, that’s great? Why do you need to promise?”
“Oh, uh, just sayin,’” he mutters, blushing and looking down. “I might be kinda late, but I promise to be there.”
Arthur nods in confusion, because he can’t think of anything else to do. Alfred flashes him a dazzling smile, and goes back to his shooter game on the computer.
Savior [16/?]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 02:07:22 UTC
Arthur has to leave a half hour early, to make sure everything is in order right before the dance.
Everything is.
At 6:30 pm, the first students shuffle into the gym, most making their way over to the food. Gilbert is playing DJ.
“Yeah, you’re all gonna love my AWESOME music!” he shouts, grinning roguishly.
A forgettable pop song is blasting on the speakers, talking about love and how the singer’s man is never there for her.
Arthur rolls his eyes.
More and more people file into the gym, oohing and ahing over the decorations and dancing in time to the music.
Or, trying to dance.
The football team all files in at once, laughing obnoxiously and pushing some of the smaller students out of the way. Well, all except Alfred. He’s no where to be found.
Arthur bites his lip. There’s still plenty of time left in the dance; no need to worry. He meanders over to the buffet and picks out a pig in a blanket. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t notice.
An hour has gone by. He has attempted to dance, goaded on by Matthew, and failed miserably, hung around Toris, keeping his eyes peeled for the poor boy’s freakish roommate, and eaten until he felt he would burst.
He’s not worried, not in the slightest. Maybe Alfred isn’t coming. Maybe he had some work to do.
But he promised…
Arthur doesn’t think about that, going over to Gilbert and violently scolding him for his music choice.
He’s feeling slightly lightheaded.
He feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s Matthew. “Hey, you okay, eh?”
Arthur smiles, hoping it doesn’t look too much like a grimace. “Fine! Completely bloody fine, why do you ask?”
Matthew laughs. “Just making sure.” He disappears into the throng of dancing students.
Someone’s started a grind line.
Arthur feels sick.
“It’s Arthur, right?” what the hell does everyone want with him?
“What do you want?” he turns to look. Oh, one of Alfred’s teammates. The one with the curls. The one who’s not a complete asshole.
“I’m Vince, remember me?” he looks serious, studious.
“No, as a matter of fact I-”
“Have you seen Alfred?” he cuts Arthur off with a wave of his hand. Bastard. “He swore he’d be here and, well, he’s not.”
Arthur narrows his eyes. “And why the hell would you think I knew anything about his whereabouts?”
“Because the idiot talks about you constantly. Just thought he might’ve mentioned something to you.”
Why does he feel so shocked when people say Alfred talks about him? “Well, sorry.”
Vince nods and melts back into the crowd.
Arthur feels sick. His head is pounding like mad, and all those mozzarella sticks are making his stomach churn. He barely registers someone taking hold of his shoulders and whispering in his ear “Arthur, you look really sick. Go back to the dorms. Want me to take you?”
He looks over and finds himself looking into Matthew’s sky eyes. “N-no, I’m fine. Thanks, I can get back myself.”
Matthew nods uncertainly, and Arthur exits the overcrowded gym.
Savior [16.5/?]
anonymous
February 27 2010, 02:08:52 UTC
Goddamn, it is so much better outside.
He breathes in the crisp winter air, and already some of his headache is going away. He pulls his jacket tighter around his skinny body.
There’s no one around. Arthur sighs and begins the trek back to the dorms, groaning about why he has to go uphill when he could just cut across the field and-
He could just cut across the field. Arthur grins and takes a slight detour, feeling the soft grass under his shoes.
Much better. The grass muffles his shoes as he slips through the gate, right past the coaches’ offices.
Then he hears a sound.
Arthur pauses, unsure if it was just his imagination, but there the sound is again and it’s coming from the office.
He tiptoes, careful to keep silent, and peeks through a crack in the blinds.
It’s Alfred. Flat on his front, his bare chest pressed back against the desk. Arthur can’t see his face, but he can see the way his body shivers and the pale flush on his cheeks.
He regrets the moment he turns to see who he’s there with.
Coach is there, leaning his sculpted body down to press a kiss to Alfred’s trembling lips. He grins, moving the kisses down his neck, his back, reaching to the clasp of Alfred’s jeans…
Arthur jerks back, away from the window, as if he had been burnt by the glass.
He cannot look, cannot stay. He runs, not stopping until he flings the dorm room door open and stops to catch his breath at the doorpost.
Then he sinks to his knees and vomits in the wastebasket.
Savior [17/?]
anonymous
February 28 2010, 02:35:14 UTC
Calm. You have you calm yourself. Arthur’s knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the chair.
He wants to scream, to punch, to unleash his fury on the world.
Alfred… Alfred and coach…
The bile rises in his throat again, but he chokes it down. Each time he hears footsteps in the hallway, he wonders if it’s Alfred.
He doesn’t know whether he wants him back, so he can thoroughly chastise him for what he’s done, or whether he wants him to leave and never return
Stay with coach.
It seems like hours. Maybe it is. Arthur can’t sleep, can’t think.
He goes over and over in his head what he’ll say, what he’ll do.
He’ll tell.
There are footsteps in the hallway and the doorknob is turning oh god oh god I don’t want to deal with you.
It’s Alfred. Stumbling into the room, noticing that Arthur is still awake, and attempting to straighten up.
“Oh, haha, h-hey, Arthur! What’re you still doing up?”
Arthur purses his lips, icily calm. “I didn’t see you at the dance.”
“Oh, yeah,” Alfred chuckles hysterically. “I had some work to finish up, plus I had to meet with someone.” His eyes are a little wild and too-bright.
“Coach?”
He pales. “Uh, yeah, he wanted to discuss some football strategies, y’know?”
Arthur nods, as if he understands. “Ah, football strategies involve fucking, then?”
Alfred splutters, going a pasty white. “W-what do you mean, Arthur? I-I wouldn’t-”
“Wouldn’t what, Alfred? Allow yourself to be kissed by him, be touched by him, on the top of his desk, no less?”
“T-that’s not, I mean-”
“Shut up!” Arthur shouts, standing so quickly he knocks the chair to the floor. Alfred flinches back. “I know what I saw, what you two did.”
“I-”
“How long has this been going on, Alfred? Hm? A week, a month, a whole year?” Arthur’s eyes are wild, furious.
Alfred shakes his head vehemently, eyes wide. “N-no, that’s not-”
“Or maybe that’s how you got yourself into this bloody school. Did you agree to do a ‘favor’ for him if he took you away from your Dad?”
“Arthur-”
But Arthur only steps forward. “What did you do tonight, hm?” He whispers, voice high pitched with hysteria. He advances forward, causing Alfred to fall back, onto his sore backside. Alfred lets out a pitiful squeak of pain and rocks forward, to his knees.
Savior [17.5/?]
anonymous
February 28 2010, 02:45:48 UTC
Arthur laughs, laughs. “Well that explains it. That explains it all. No wonder coach wouldn’t cut you from the team. I suppose it’s hard to find a student slutty enough screw you, isn’t it? In order to stay on the team, you fucked him, right?”
His voice turns hard, steely. “That was your payment to him. Just like a common prostitute. You whore.”
“S-stop, Arthur…”
“I’ll tell.” Arthur spits at him. “I’ll tell everyone everything and they’ll see who this Golden Boy really is. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Wouldn’t that be fucking fantastic? I think it would!” He lets out a harsh, high chuckle. “Maybe I’ll go right now.”
“No!” Alfred squeaks out. “D-don’t, don’t, please don’t tell!”
And Arthur stops, because Alfred is still on his knees. Because Alfred is crying.
No, not crying. Sobbing.
His shoulders are shaking, his face is ducked down, causing fat tears to drip onto the carpet. He’s hugging himself, trembling as if he’s cold, mumbling something nearly unintelligible.
“Don’t tell… Don’t tell… Said I’d get kicked out if I told, that I’d have to go home… Please…”
Arthur stands there, not knowing what to do. He had expected anger, fury. Not this. Not Alfred, sobbing, terrified, at his feet.
It's pitiful.
“N-not a whore… ‘M not… Didn’t want to… I didn’t want to, said please…” Alfred inhales shakily, breath getting caught in his throat, and he coughs and gags.
Didn’t want to?
Oh.
Oh god.
Everything Arthur just said, every angry word rushes back like a punch in the gut. I called him a… oh god. He doubles over, nausea swimming through his head. He wants to vomit, but he can’t. He settles for sinking to his knees, opposite Alfred.
“Al… Alfred, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He whispers, reaching a hand out, silently begging Alfred to grab out and touch it. “Y-you’re not a-”
Alfred flinches back, away from the hand. “You hate me, you hate me for doing this.” He chokes out. “B-but if I don’t he said he’d cut me from the team a-and I’d have to go home.” He sobs. “Don’t wanna go home…”
“N-no, Alfred! I don’t hate you, I never hated you.” Arthur touches Alfred’s shoulder, and this time, he doesn’t flinch away. “I-I was just upset, and…” He feels close to tears himself, but his pride would never let him cry. He wonders how hurt Alfred’s pride is, and the thought makes him sick.
“Hey, Al, remember when you watched that horror movie?” Arthur murmurs soothingly, reaching for a tissue. Tears and mucous run down Alfred’s face, and he carefully wipes them up, even as more fall. “I said I’d protect you from the monsters, right? I promised. A-and, I’m a man of my word. I swear to you, I won’t let him keep hurting you, I won’t let him touch you ever again.”
He cups Alfred’s face, like one would a young child, and wipes the tears away with the handkerchief in his pocket.
Alfred buries his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, and Arthur carefully rubs soothing circles on his back. “It's all right,” he whispers. “Alfred, I'm so sorry.”
He’s furious. Furious with coach, for doing something so despicable, but mainly furious with himself, for not noticing. For not seeing the signs.
“Arthur, I need to tell you something. I-it’s about coach.”
He had tried to tell him, and Arthur had just brushed it off.
He feels nauseous. He wants to hurt coach, for reducing Alfred to this. He wants to hurt himself, because he couldn’t - didn’t - do anything to stop it.
But he can’t do either of those at the moment, so he just waits for the wracking sobs to stop driving knives into his soul.
That's all for tonight. Crappy climax, sorry guys. x_x
Savior [18/20]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 02:10:49 UTC
It seems like hours before Alfred stops shaking.
Maybe it is hours.
He pulls back, looking at Arthur through glassy eyes. His mouth opens and closes, like he wants to say something.
But he doesn’t.
Arthur is the first to stand, and Alfred follows suit, arms limp, like a puppet.
Arthur swallows the lump in his throat. “You have to tell, Alfred.”
Alfred’s eyes grow wide, afraid. “N-no! I can’t! He said… Coach said…”
“He lied, Alfred. He played on your weaknesses to keep you coming back. To make you think you had no other choice.”
There’s misery in those blue eyes, pure, undisguised misery. “Oh. God, I’m so stupid.” He slams his fist into the wall, causing Arthur to flinch. “It’s my fault, if I hadn’t…” There are spots of blood where knuckles connected with plaster.
“No,” Arthur says, vehemently. “Alfred, it’s not your fault. Don’t let anyone tell you it is.”
Alfred sighs, as if all the energy has been sucked right out of him. He looks so young, so tired…
“Get to sleep,” Arthur manages, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll call in, you can stay in the dorm tomorrow.”
And Alfred just nods, moving stiffly toward his bed. He doesn’t even bother to change into pajamas, simple drops into the mattress.
Arthur does the same on the other side of the room, knowing neither of them will actually do any sleeping.
---
It’s two days before Alfred goes back to class, even after a weekend of solitude, broken only by Arthur bringing up a tray of food.
“Are you sure you want to go, Alfred?” Arthur frets, biting at his nails. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. “I mean, I’ve been saying you’re sick, and I don’t think any of the teachers are complaining…”
Alfred grins, and some of the old sparkle is back. Some. “Yeah, I can’t spend forever in here, right? Besides, I could use the fresh air. All this cafeteria food is going to make me fat.”
“Oh, and those burgers you buy for yourself are just the epitome of healthy,” Arthur teases, shrugging on a jacket against the chilly winter air.
“Wha? Of course they are! They’re the All-American food!” Alfred’s big blue eyes truly looked shocked.
“Yeah, well, I’m British. My taste is a bit more refined then yours.”
“Then how come you suck at cooking?”
“Y-you git! I do not!” The two walk together to the school building, breathing in the crisp, icy air. Arthur smiles to himself. It’s good to see Alfred laughing, despite what’s happened.
They stop in front of the large doors. Students scramble everywhere, crowding into the small entrance. Some, mainly athletes, grin when they see Alfred.
“Great to see you back, buddy!” one says, clapping him sharply on the back.
“Yeah,” another smiles, “We’ve all missed you. The football team isn’t the same without you. You coming to practice after school?”
Alfred turns to Arthur, looking green, then back to the teammate. “I, uh… Sure! I-I’ll be there.”
The teammate grins. “Awesome, man! Coach’ll be pleased. He says the team needs you. God, you’re so lucky to be his favorite.”
He disappears into the throng of students before either can reply.
Alfred’s face is ashen, his lips are trembling.
“A-Al? You don’t have to go, you know. I can say you’re not feeling well, or…”
“No, no. It’s fine. It’s totally fine, I can go.”
“Alfred-”
“I don’t want to tell, Arthur, not just yet. I-I’m not quite ready.”
Arthur nods, wishing, praying that there’s something he can do. Alfred flashes him one final grin, lively and determined, and they go their separate ways.
Savior [19/20]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 02:19:56 UTC
Arthur is skipping student council. He’s skipping student council to watch football practice.
He feels a shudder of revulsion, then remembers why he’s there, and feels another shudder of revulsion. At least coach is staying away from Alfred. Or, vice versa. In fact, it looks like Alfred is doing his best to stay as far away from coach as possible.
This is good. Arthur is one step away from extracting his model of Excalibur from the dormitory and running the bastard through.
Or, maybe just shooting him. Guns are easy to get in the States.
Practice is over, Alfred should just leave-
But he’s not.
Because coach is walking toward him, asking to speak with him.
And Alfred’s pale and terrified, trying to make up an excuse, but coach is so insistant…
No. No.
Arthur jumps up, rushes across the field. “Alfred!” he calls out. “Hey, Alfred, you have to go.” He blurts out, anything to get him away. “Your, uh, Chemistry teacher. She said you needed to see her, immediately after practice.”
Coach grins, twinkling eyes and deadly sharp teeth. “Surely your teacher understands, I have something very important to discuss with Al, here.”
“No.” Arthur is surprised at the venom in his voice. “No, she said it was urgent.”
Coach is no longer smiling. “Now, listen, I told you-”
“You spoke to him?” This time it’s Alfred who speaks. His voice is hoarse, shaky. “Where, when? Were you two alone?”
“What? No! What are you-”
“Stay away from him.” Alfred whispers. “Don’t come near him. Don’t touch him, you sick bastard.”
“Alfred, why would you call me something like that?” coach’s voice is so low, so predatory. “What would your father say if I told him you were saying untrue things?”
Alfred freezes for a moment, taking a step back. “You… You’re lying… You won’t do that. You won’t!” Suddenly he’s shouting. “You won’t, you and I both know it! Stay away from me, and Arthur, and everyone else! You goddamn rapist.”
There’s a shocked silence. The faces of the team, all of which had gathered around to witness the altercation, are a mask of confusion. Arthur is stunned, unable to speak. Coach is furious, livid, like he’s going to strangle someone.
Alfred grips Arthur’s arm and runs.
---
“I’m sorry.” Alfred blurts out, as soon as they reach the dorm.
Arthur blinks, confused. “What the bloody hell do you have to be sorry about?”
“I, uh, dunno. I just felt like I should apologize.” He’s still wearing all of his football gear, helmet and padding included. He sighs, coming to this realization himself. “The whole team is probably going to guess what happened. What happens if they cut me because of this?”
“Alfred, no school in their right mind would cut somebody from a team because their coach is a sick, twisted...” He sighs. “Lord, you and your dad must really not get along, if the thought of going home is so bloody terrifying to you.”
Alfred bites his lip, and Arthur notices that he’s shaking. “It’s just, my dad… He doesn’t like me. The way I am. Something like that. I don’t want to go home to him making passive aggressive comments about how I’m going to Hell, or…” he cuts of, covering his mouth. “No, never mind. It’s nothing.”
He sinks into a chair, and buries his face in his hands for a moment. “I’ll head back to the field, later, to go get my regular clothes. I left my lucky shoes in my locker. I just have to wait until he leaves.”
“Do you want me to come with you? As moral support?”
Alfred gives Arthur a dry smile. “I’m not a baby, you know. I can handle myself.”
Savior [20/20]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 02:25:49 UTC
Arthur is worried. Alfred had left a while ago to retrieve his belongings, and still hasn’t returned.
Where is he?
Arthur suspects the worst. He’s lost, he’s dead, he met up with coach…
A writhing ball of nausea plants itself in the pit of his stomach. Oh god, he feels sick.
The doorknob turns. All of Arthur’s senses go into hyperdrive. “Thank God, Alf-”
He breaks off, words dying at his tongue.
Alfred’s back. He’s also bleeding, a trickle of blood running down his chin, and there are bruises slowly blooming on his neck and cheek and eye.
Arthur realizes he isn’t breathing. He had failed to protect Alfred again, when he had promised he would. “Alfred? Are you…? Coach. Did he…?”
“No,” Alfred is grinning, despite the split lip and bruises. His eyes are twinkling with the same light Arthur had seen at the beginning of the year, before any of this had happened. “No, he didn’t. I didn’t let him… Fought him off… Don’t think he was expecting it, he got totally caught off guard…”
Arthur grapples with emotions. He’s safe… He’s safe, dear God in Heaven, thank you.
“I-I’m going to tell.” Alfred’s whole body is trembling, shaking with adrenaline and fear and regret. “I have to; I can’t let him keep haunting me like this. I can’t. It’s… It’s too horrible to think about. I want to be able to sleep again, without hearing his voice.” Arthur nods, because he’s unable to do anything else.
Alfred turns to him, looks him square in the eyes. “Come with me. Please? I-I can’t do it alone, and…” He trails off, wanting to say more, but deciding against it. “Please?”
Arthur smiles at him, letting some of the light in Alfred’s eyes into his own. “Of course.”
---
It’s dark, it’s late. Stars shine above, twinkling like headlights. Alfred and Arthur stand, side by side, facing a door.
Campus Police, it says.
Alfred is muttering to himself, not looking at anyone. “You can do this, you can do this…”
Arthur just stands there, not knowing what to say.
The people inside probably are getting suspicious. Two teenagers hanging around the police station late at night is just begging for trouble.
Alfred stops muttering.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, not looking at Arthur, not looking at anyone.
Arthur cocks a thick eyebrow, confused. “You’re, ah, welcome, but for what?”
“I dunno. For being there, for helping me. For being you.”
The guilt floods back into Arthur. The times he could have done something, could have listened, and the things he’d said that night he saw. He feels guilty, maybe even as guilty as coach himself.
He wonders if this feeling will ever go away.
“A-any time, Alfred.”
“Don’t blame yourself; it’s my fault, really.”
“No!” Arthur hisses, eyes wide. “No, it’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault but his.”
Oh how he wishes he believed that.
They stare at the door. Alfred starts muttering again. “You can do this, just tell them…”
Their hands brush, and neither flinches away.
“We can do this.”
Their fingers twine together, hoping that the contact will send the other some comfort.
Son of a bitch.
At least this is currently Arthur’s only problem.
Alfred has been acting more normal, and thank God for that, Arthur thinks. He doesn’t need a mentally unstable roommate while he is attempting to study for the worst set of tests in existence. Well, them and finals, but he doesn’t want to think about those now.
Arthur sits in a too-hot room, surrounded by at least a hundred other students. The fluorescent lights jab into his head, causing a dull pounding. How the hell is he supposed to be balancing equations, and doing covalent bonds in these conditions?
It’s a bloody torture chamber.
And it’s only the third test. At least the other two are easy, History and English.
Arthur wonders how Alfred is doing. He had failed that one Chemistry test, but he was usually so good in the subject. Arthur was too proud to go up to him and ask for some assistance. Like, how he had no clue whether this type of energy was chemical or electrical, and why the bloody hell it mattered, anyway.
Things moved. They changed. They exploded. That’s good enough for Arthur.
Unconsciously, he found his eyes wandering to the side, to Alfred’s pensive face. He’s chewing on his pencil eraser, eyes worried and confused.
And he said Chemistry came easy.
Arthur shakes his head, clearing it of all non-element related thoughts. Actually, Chemistry isn’t so bad. He fills in a few bubbles, darkening in his answers.
Argon, Neon, Helium are all noble gases. Group 18.
Oxygen needs to bond. It’s kind of a whore that way.
He can do this.
Ten minutes left.
Explain the difference between nuclear fusion and nuclear fission.
Alfred chews, chews on his pencil.
He can see Matthew farther up, furiously filling in answers.
At least the question is easy, and he quickly writes in his answer.
There, done. Now he just needs to go back and check over the one hundred and twenty questions in fewer than seven minutes.
Arthur thinks fondly on the bottle of painkillers, sitting so temptingly on his bedside table. His head pounds, and he flips over the test.
A monotone voice crackles over the loudspeaker, telling them to put down their pencils, that the Chemistry midterm is over.
The students file out like soldiers, some looking miserable, others looking content. Arthur sidles up to Matthew. “So, how do you think you did?”
Matthew shrugs. “Not bad, I guess. You?”
“Same.”
Arthur wants to call Alfred over, to ask him the same, but the football team puts a human wall between them.
Sometimes, Arthur wonders if they do it on purpose.
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The Glorious Revolution. Cromwell. Absolute Monarchs. Exploration of the new world. Imperialism.
He could recite facts about these topics in his sleep.
This is why, when he finishes a half hour early, he goes back to check his answers. Then he goes back to check again, even though he knows he got them all right.
Easy.
The monotone voice crackles over the loudspeakers.
Midterms are over.
There is a collective cheer from the hundred or so students cramped together in the room. Now, the celebration can really begin.
Arthur turns to find Alfred, to celebrate, but is quickly pulled aside by Matthew. His blue eyes sparkle wickedly, and Arthur can see that the rest of the student council has already congregated to the side of the room.
“Alright, everyone,” Matthew whispers, “Are you all excited for the dance, tonight?”
They all nod.
“That’s great, because we have a lot of work to do. We need to set up the gym and get the food ready. Ludwig, Gilbert, you’re in charge of the banners and streamers. Toris, gather a group of people to help with the food.”
Arthur opens his mouth to volunteer.
“Pick anyone except Arthur. Sorry, but we need people to enjoy tonight.”
Arthur turned red and spluttered out a few choice words.
Matthew turned to him and grinned. “The rest of you, follow me. We have some decorating to do. Oh, and be sure to thank the athletic directors, coaches, etc., for letting us use the gym.”
---
The gym looked spectacular. It really did. In a mere few hours, it had been transformed from a sweaty, musty, ordinary old gym, into a winter wonderland. There was white glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, in everyone’s hair… Vast mountains of white covered the gym. It was as if the dance were being held outside, in the snow, under a starry sky.
It was beautiful.
Matthew was grinning from ear to ear. “Wonderful, wonderful! Great job, everyone. We’ll get the computer club to do the final touches later, but for right now, everyone is free to go!”
Arthur felt his heart swell with pride at their job well done. He needed to go and brag to Alfred.
“Hey, Arthur, is it?”
He feels a warm hand on his shoulder and turns, only to find himself staring into a pair of twinkling eyes. “O-oh. That’s me! You’re Alfred’s coach, right?”
Coach nods. “I just wanted to ask you if you’ve noticed anything… Strange about Al lately.”
“Uh…” And there’s something about the way he asks that makes Arthur want to shrink back. But since he can’t, he settles for lying. “N-no, nothing in particular, why?”
Coach grins, all sparkling teeth and predatory eyes. “Just wondering. If you do notice something, it’s best not to dwell, all right? Alfred trusts me, so it’s only logical that I be the one to help him, okay? Just don’t worry about a thing, Arthur.”
Arthur blinks, half bewildered, half nervous. Coach is an intimidating man.
“Is that alright with you?”
“Uh, yeah, Coach…” he chokes out, backing away. “Completely fine.”
Coach grins the type of grin Arthur remembers the Joker having in one of Alfred’s comic books. Right before Batman walked into his death trap.
“Nice talking to you, Arthur.”
Arthur hightails it out of there without replying.
---
“So, you gonna be at the party?” Alfred chirps as Arthur plops down in a char and pops a painkiller in his mouth.
“Yeah, Alfred, I’m student council,” he groans, leaning back into the soft cushions, “I have to be there.”
“Ooh, right.” He grins. “I can’t wait. I promise to be there.”
Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “Uh, that’s great? Why do you need to promise?”
“Oh, uh, just sayin,’” he mutters, blushing and looking down. “I might be kinda late, but I promise to be there.”
Arthur nods in confusion, because he can’t think of anything else to do. Alfred flashes him a dazzling smile, and goes back to his shooter game on the computer.
Two hours till the dance.
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Everything is.
At 6:30 pm, the first students shuffle into the gym, most making their way over to the food. Gilbert is playing DJ.
“Yeah, you’re all gonna love my AWESOME music!” he shouts, grinning roguishly.
A forgettable pop song is blasting on the speakers, talking about love and how the singer’s man is never there for her.
Arthur rolls his eyes.
More and more people file into the gym, oohing and ahing over the decorations and dancing in time to the music.
Or, trying to dance.
The football team all files in at once, laughing obnoxiously and pushing some of the smaller students out of the way. Well, all except Alfred. He’s no where to be found.
Arthur bites his lip. There’s still plenty of time left in the dance; no need to worry. He meanders over to the buffet and picks out a pig in a blanket. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t notice.
An hour has gone by. He has attempted to dance, goaded on by Matthew, and failed miserably, hung around Toris, keeping his eyes peeled for the poor boy’s freakish roommate, and eaten until he felt he would burst.
He’s not worried, not in the slightest. Maybe Alfred isn’t coming. Maybe he had some work to do.
But he promised…
Arthur doesn’t think about that, going over to Gilbert and violently scolding him for his music choice.
He’s feeling slightly lightheaded.
He feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s Matthew. “Hey, you okay, eh?”
Arthur smiles, hoping it doesn’t look too much like a grimace. “Fine! Completely bloody fine, why do you ask?”
Matthew laughs. “Just making sure.” He disappears into the throng of dancing students.
Someone’s started a grind line.
Arthur feels sick.
“It’s Arthur, right?” what the hell does everyone want with him?
“What do you want?” he turns to look. Oh, one of Alfred’s teammates. The one with the curls. The one who’s not a complete asshole.
“I’m Vince, remember me?” he looks serious, studious.
“No, as a matter of fact I-”
“Have you seen Alfred?” he cuts Arthur off with a wave of his hand. Bastard. “He swore he’d be here and, well, he’s not.”
Arthur narrows his eyes. “And why the hell would you think I knew anything about his whereabouts?”
“Because the idiot talks about you constantly. Just thought he might’ve mentioned something to you.”
Why does he feel so shocked when people say Alfred talks about him? “Well, sorry.”
Vince nods and melts back into the crowd.
Arthur feels sick. His head is pounding like mad, and all those mozzarella sticks are making his stomach churn. He barely registers someone taking hold of his shoulders and whispering in his ear “Arthur, you look really sick. Go back to the dorms. Want me to take you?”
He looks over and finds himself looking into Matthew’s sky eyes. “N-no, I’m fine. Thanks, I can get back myself.”
Matthew nods uncertainly, and Arthur exits the overcrowded gym.
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He breathes in the crisp winter air, and already some of his headache is going away. He pulls his jacket tighter around his skinny body.
There’s no one around. Arthur sighs and begins the trek back to the dorms, groaning about why he has to go uphill when he could just cut across the field and-
He could just cut across the field. Arthur grins and takes a slight detour, feeling the soft grass under his shoes.
Much better. The grass muffles his shoes as he slips through the gate, right past the coaches’ offices.
Then he hears a sound.
Arthur pauses, unsure if it was just his imagination, but there the sound is again and it’s coming from the office.
He tiptoes, careful to keep silent, and peeks through a crack in the blinds.
It’s Alfred. Flat on his front, his bare chest pressed back against the desk. Arthur can’t see his face, but he can see the way his body shivers and the pale flush on his cheeks.
He regrets the moment he turns to see who he’s there with.
Coach is there, leaning his sculpted body down to press a kiss to Alfred’s trembling lips. He grins, moving the kisses down his neck, his back, reaching to the clasp of Alfred’s jeans…
Arthur jerks back, away from the window, as if he had been burnt by the glass.
He cannot look, cannot stay. He runs, not stopping until he flings the dorm room door open and stops to catch his breath at the doorpost.
Then he sinks to his knees and vomits in the wastebasket.
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you updated again and it's so good and oh, ALFRED... T.T
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I just read it all the way through and you don't know how disappointed I am that there isn't anymore.
It's really great and just, oh Alfred. =( This is heartbreaking.
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He wants to scream, to punch, to unleash his fury on the world.
Alfred… Alfred and coach…
The bile rises in his throat again, but he chokes it down. Each time he hears footsteps in the hallway, he wonders if it’s Alfred.
He doesn’t know whether he wants him back, so he can thoroughly chastise him for what he’s done, or whether he wants him to leave and never return
Stay with coach.
It seems like hours. Maybe it is. Arthur can’t sleep, can’t think.
He goes over and over in his head what he’ll say, what he’ll do.
He’ll tell.
There are footsteps in the hallway and the doorknob is turning oh god oh god I don’t want to deal with you.
It’s Alfred. Stumbling into the room, noticing that Arthur is still awake, and attempting to straighten up.
“Oh, haha, h-hey, Arthur! What’re you still doing up?”
Arthur purses his lips, icily calm. “I didn’t see you at the dance.”
“Oh, yeah,” Alfred chuckles hysterically. “I had some work to finish up, plus I had to meet with someone.” His eyes are a little wild and too-bright.
“Coach?”
He pales. “Uh, yeah, he wanted to discuss some football strategies, y’know?”
Arthur nods, as if he understands. “Ah, football strategies involve fucking, then?”
Alfred splutters, going a pasty white. “W-what do you mean, Arthur? I-I wouldn’t-”
“Wouldn’t what, Alfred? Allow yourself to be kissed by him, be touched by him, on the top of his desk, no less?”
“T-that’s not, I mean-”
“Shut up!” Arthur shouts, standing so quickly he knocks the chair to the floor. Alfred flinches back. “I know what I saw, what you two did.”
“I-”
“How long has this been going on, Alfred? Hm? A week, a month, a whole year?” Arthur’s eyes are wild, furious.
Alfred shakes his head vehemently, eyes wide. “N-no, that’s not-”
“Or maybe that’s how you got yourself into this bloody school. Did you agree to do a ‘favor’ for him if he took you away from your Dad?”
“Arthur-”
But Arthur only steps forward. “What did you do tonight, hm?” He whispers, voice high pitched with hysteria. He advances forward, causing Alfred to fall back, onto his sore backside. Alfred lets out a pitiful squeak of pain and rocks forward, to his knees.
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His voice turns hard, steely. “That was your payment to him. Just like a common prostitute. You whore.”
“S-stop, Arthur…”
“I’ll tell.” Arthur spits at him. “I’ll tell everyone everything and they’ll see who this Golden Boy really is. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Wouldn’t that be fucking fantastic? I think it would!” He lets out a harsh, high chuckle. “Maybe I’ll go right now.”
“No!” Alfred squeaks out. “D-don’t, don’t, please don’t tell!”
And Arthur stops, because Alfred is still on his knees. Because Alfred is crying.
No, not crying. Sobbing.
His shoulders are shaking, his face is ducked down, causing fat tears to drip onto the carpet. He’s hugging himself, trembling as if he’s cold, mumbling something nearly unintelligible.
“Don’t tell… Don’t tell… Said I’d get kicked out if I told, that I’d have to go home… Please…”
Arthur stands there, not knowing what to do. He had expected anger, fury. Not this. Not Alfred, sobbing, terrified, at his feet.
It's pitiful.
“N-not a whore… ‘M not… Didn’t want to… I didn’t want to, said please…” Alfred inhales shakily, breath getting caught in his throat, and he coughs and gags.
Didn’t want to?
Oh.
Oh god.
Everything Arthur just said, every angry word rushes back like a punch in the gut. I called him a… oh god. He doubles over, nausea swimming through his head. He wants to vomit, but he can’t. He settles for sinking to his knees, opposite Alfred.
“Al… Alfred, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He whispers, reaching a hand out, silently begging Alfred to grab out and touch it. “Y-you’re not a-”
Alfred flinches back, away from the hand. “You hate me, you hate me for doing this.” He chokes out. “B-but if I don’t he said he’d cut me from the team a-and I’d have to go home.” He sobs. “Don’t wanna go home…”
“N-no, Alfred! I don’t hate you, I never hated you.” Arthur touches Alfred’s shoulder, and this time, he doesn’t flinch away. “I-I was just upset, and…” He feels close to tears himself, but his pride would never let him cry. He wonders how hurt Alfred’s pride is, and the thought makes him sick.
“Hey, Al, remember when you watched that horror movie?” Arthur murmurs soothingly, reaching for a tissue. Tears and mucous run down Alfred’s face, and he carefully wipes them up, even as more fall. “I said I’d protect you from the monsters, right? I promised. A-and, I’m a man of my word. I swear to you, I won’t let him keep hurting you, I won’t let him touch you ever again.”
He cups Alfred’s face, like one would a young child, and wipes the tears away with the handkerchief in his pocket.
Alfred buries his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, and Arthur carefully rubs soothing circles on his back. “It's all right,” he whispers. “Alfred, I'm so sorry.”
He’s furious. Furious with coach, for doing something so despicable, but mainly furious with himself, for not noticing. For not seeing the signs.
“Arthur, I need to tell you something. I-it’s about coach.”
He had tried to tell him, and Arthur had just brushed it off.
He feels nauseous. He wants to hurt coach, for reducing Alfred to this. He wants to hurt himself, because he couldn’t - didn’t - do anything to stop it.
But he can’t do either of those at the moment, so he just waits for the wracking sobs to stop driving knives into his soul.
That's all for tonight. Crappy climax, sorry guys. x_x
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Captcha: nationalists zambian. I love you, Captcha
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I feel bad for liking this all so much.
strengthen outback ... yes recaptcha, they need all the strength they can get.
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Oh...oh god indeed. Very well done with these very important chapters. Poor Alfred... :-(
Can't wait to see where this will be heading next.
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Maybe it is hours.
He pulls back, looking at Arthur through glassy eyes. His mouth opens and closes, like he wants to say something.
But he doesn’t.
Arthur is the first to stand, and Alfred follows suit, arms limp, like a puppet.
Arthur swallows the lump in his throat. “You have to tell, Alfred.”
Alfred’s eyes grow wide, afraid. “N-no! I can’t! He said… Coach said…”
“He lied, Alfred. He played on your weaknesses to keep you coming back. To make you think you had no other choice.”
There’s misery in those blue eyes, pure, undisguised misery. “Oh. God, I’m so stupid.” He slams his fist into the wall, causing Arthur to flinch. “It’s my fault, if I hadn’t…” There are spots of blood where knuckles connected with plaster.
“No,” Arthur says, vehemently. “Alfred, it’s not your fault. Don’t let anyone tell you it is.”
Alfred sighs, as if all the energy has been sucked right out of him. He looks so young, so tired…
“Get to sleep,” Arthur manages, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll call in, you can stay in the dorm tomorrow.”
And Alfred just nods, moving stiffly toward his bed. He doesn’t even bother to change into pajamas, simple drops into the mattress.
Arthur does the same on the other side of the room, knowing neither of them will actually do any sleeping.
---
It’s two days before Alfred goes back to class, even after a weekend of solitude, broken only by Arthur bringing up a tray of food.
“Are you sure you want to go, Alfred?” Arthur frets, biting at his nails. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. “I mean, I’ve been saying you’re sick, and I don’t think any of the teachers are complaining…”
Alfred grins, and some of the old sparkle is back. Some. “Yeah, I can’t spend forever in here, right? Besides, I could use the fresh air. All this cafeteria food is going to make me fat.”
“Oh, and those burgers you buy for yourself are just the epitome of healthy,” Arthur teases, shrugging on a jacket against the chilly winter air.
“Wha? Of course they are! They’re the All-American food!” Alfred’s big blue eyes truly looked shocked.
“Yeah, well, I’m British. My taste is a bit more refined then yours.”
“Then how come you suck at cooking?”
“Y-you git! I do not!” The two walk together to the school building, breathing in the crisp, icy air. Arthur smiles to himself. It’s good to see Alfred laughing, despite what’s happened.
They stop in front of the large doors. Students scramble everywhere, crowding into the small entrance. Some, mainly athletes, grin when they see Alfred.
“Great to see you back, buddy!” one says, clapping him sharply on the back.
“Yeah,” another smiles, “We’ve all missed you. The football team isn’t the same without you. You coming to practice after school?”
Alfred turns to Arthur, looking green, then back to the teammate. “I, uh… Sure! I-I’ll be there.”
The teammate grins. “Awesome, man! Coach’ll be pleased. He says the team needs you. God, you’re so lucky to be his favorite.”
He disappears into the throng of students before either can reply.
Alfred’s face is ashen, his lips are trembling.
“A-Al? You don’t have to go, you know. I can say you’re not feeling well, or…”
“No, no. It’s fine. It’s totally fine, I can go.”
“Alfred-”
“I don’t want to tell, Arthur, not just yet. I-I’m not quite ready.”
Arthur nods, wishing, praying that there’s something he can do. Alfred flashes him one final grin, lively and determined, and they go their separate ways.
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He feels a shudder of revulsion, then remembers why he’s there, and feels another shudder of revulsion. At least coach is staying away from Alfred. Or, vice versa. In fact, it looks like Alfred is doing his best to stay as far away from coach as possible.
This is good. Arthur is one step away from extracting his model of Excalibur from the dormitory and running the bastard through.
Or, maybe just shooting him. Guns are easy to get in the States.
Practice is over, Alfred should just leave-
But he’s not.
Because coach is walking toward him, asking to speak with him.
And Alfred’s pale and terrified, trying to make up an excuse, but coach is so insistant…
No. No.
Arthur jumps up, rushes across the field. “Alfred!” he calls out. “Hey, Alfred, you have to go.” He blurts out, anything to get him away. “Your, uh, Chemistry teacher. She said you needed to see her, immediately after practice.”
Coach grins, twinkling eyes and deadly sharp teeth. “Surely your teacher understands, I have something very important to discuss with Al, here.”
“No.” Arthur is surprised at the venom in his voice. “No, she said it was urgent.”
Coach is no longer smiling. “Now, listen, I told you-”
“You spoke to him?” This time it’s Alfred who speaks. His voice is hoarse, shaky. “Where, when? Were you two alone?”
“What? No! What are you-”
“Stay away from him.” Alfred whispers. “Don’t come near him. Don’t touch him, you sick bastard.”
“Alfred, why would you call me something like that?” coach’s voice is so low, so predatory. “What would your father say if I told him you were saying untrue things?”
Alfred freezes for a moment, taking a step back. “You… You’re lying… You won’t do that. You won’t!” Suddenly he’s shouting. “You won’t, you and I both know it! Stay away from me, and Arthur, and everyone else! You goddamn rapist.”
There’s a shocked silence. The faces of the team, all of which had gathered around to witness the altercation, are a mask of confusion. Arthur is stunned, unable to speak. Coach is furious, livid, like he’s going to strangle someone.
Alfred grips Arthur’s arm and runs.
---
“I’m sorry.” Alfred blurts out, as soon as they reach the dorm.
Arthur blinks, confused. “What the bloody hell do you have to be sorry about?”
“I, uh, dunno. I just felt like I should apologize.” He’s still wearing all of his football gear, helmet and padding included. He sighs, coming to this realization himself. “The whole team is probably going to guess what happened. What happens if they cut me because of this?”
“Alfred, no school in their right mind would cut somebody from a team because their coach is a sick, twisted...” He sighs. “Lord, you and your dad must really not get along, if the thought of going home is so bloody terrifying to you.”
Alfred bites his lip, and Arthur notices that he’s shaking. “It’s just, my dad… He doesn’t like me. The way I am. Something like that. I don’t want to go home to him making passive aggressive comments about how I’m going to Hell, or…” he cuts of, covering his mouth. “No, never mind. It’s nothing.”
He sinks into a chair, and buries his face in his hands for a moment. “I’ll head back to the field, later, to go get my regular clothes. I left my lucky shoes in my locker. I just have to wait until he leaves.”
“Do you want me to come with you? As moral support?”
Alfred gives Arthur a dry smile. “I’m not a baby, you know. I can handle myself.”
Arthur nods, and they sit in silence.
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Where is he?
Arthur suspects the worst. He’s lost, he’s dead, he met up with coach…
A writhing ball of nausea plants itself in the pit of his stomach. Oh god, he feels sick.
The doorknob turns. All of Arthur’s senses go into hyperdrive. “Thank God, Alf-”
He breaks off, words dying at his tongue.
Alfred’s back. He’s also bleeding, a trickle of blood running down his chin, and there are bruises slowly blooming on his neck and cheek and eye.
Arthur realizes he isn’t breathing. He had failed to protect Alfred again, when he had promised he would. “Alfred? Are you…? Coach. Did he…?”
“No,” Alfred is grinning, despite the split lip and bruises. His eyes are twinkling with the same light Arthur had seen at the beginning of the year, before any of this had happened. “No, he didn’t. I didn’t let him… Fought him off… Don’t think he was expecting it, he got totally caught off guard…”
Arthur grapples with emotions. He’s safe… He’s safe, dear God in Heaven, thank you.
“I-I’m going to tell.” Alfred’s whole body is trembling, shaking with adrenaline and fear and regret. “I have to; I can’t let him keep haunting me like this. I can’t. It’s… It’s too horrible to think about. I want to be able to sleep again, without hearing his voice.”
Arthur nods, because he’s unable to do anything else.
Alfred turns to him, looks him square in the eyes. “Come with me. Please? I-I can’t do it alone, and…” He trails off, wanting to say more, but deciding against it. “Please?”
Arthur smiles at him, letting some of the light in Alfred’s eyes into his own. “Of course.”
---
It’s dark, it’s late. Stars shine above, twinkling like headlights. Alfred and Arthur stand, side by side, facing a door.
Campus Police, it says.
Alfred is muttering to himself, not looking at anyone. “You can do this, you can do this…”
Arthur just stands there, not knowing what to say.
The people inside probably are getting suspicious. Two teenagers hanging around the police station late at night is just begging for trouble.
Alfred stops muttering.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, not looking at Arthur, not looking at anyone.
Arthur cocks a thick eyebrow, confused. “You’re, ah, welcome, but for what?”
“I dunno. For being there, for helping me. For being you.”
The guilt floods back into Arthur. The times he could have done something, could have listened, and the things he’d said that night he saw. He feels guilty, maybe even as guilty as coach himself.
He wonders if this feeling will ever go away.
“A-any time, Alfred.”
“Don’t blame yourself; it’s my fault, really.”
“No!” Arthur hisses, eyes wide. “No, it’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault but his.”
Oh how he wishes he believed that.
They stare at the door. Alfred starts muttering again. “You can do this, just tell them…”
Their hands brush, and neither flinches away.
“We can do this.”
Their fingers twine together, hoping that the contact will send the other some comfort.
It does.
“You ready, Alfred?”
A nod.
They enter the station.
-fin-
Epilogue coming, probably tomorrow.
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