After they had returned to the room, Arthur had wrapped his arm with the bandages. Alfred stared down at it with distaste.

"Great, what's everyone gonna think when they see this?"

"You're hiding all the needle marks caused by your heroin addiction."

Alfred ignored him and flopped down on the bed dramatically. He groaned. "I already have people thinking I'm gonna kill myself. It's not like this bandaged arm will totally back up their claims or anything," he said sarcastically.

"Better that than have them ridicule you for something else," Arthur said quietly.

He glanced up at the other blond, who was beginning to pull glass out of his own arm. "Hey, let me do that."

"You really think I'm going to trust you with this?"

"I trusted you with it," Alfred pointed out.

"I bet you've never done anything like this in your life. I've had plenty of experience."

Alfred stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The Brit didn't answer, carefully pulling a jagged piece of glass out of his arm and dropping it into the bowl.

"Just when I thought you were done being weird," Alfred said. His gaze caught on the clock on Arthur's bedside table. "Damn it, it's almost 8."

"And?"

"And like 4 hours ago I ran out of my house, leaving my family with pretty much nothing but the assumption that I'm going to die. And they're probably freaking the fuck out."

"Fair point," Arthur said. He motioned over to the side, tweezers still in hand. "There's the window. Show yourself out."

"Do you treat all your guests like this?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Let me lay down the red carpet and then carry you out, King Alfred."

Alfred stared at him with furrowed brows. Then, "That's King Jones to you."

Their gazes locked, the tension growing thick enough to cut with a knife. Then Alfred tore his eyes away, suddenly finding the floor more interesting. He couldn't help a small smile.

"Pfft, okay well, goodnight Arthur," he said. He stood and made his way over to the window, pulling it open while Arthur watched with an unreadable expression.

"Goodnight," Arthur said after a moment.

With a mock salute, he leapt out the window, calling, "Take care!"

By the time he crept into his house, it was probably around 8:30. He shut the door softly behind him and kicked off his shoes in the dark hall. There was golden light emanating from the kitchen and the living room. The rest of the house was shrouded in blackness.

Good, so they're not in my room.

He quietly passed the kitchen, spotting his mother seated at the table, looking at mail. He then tried to tiptoe past the living room, but the dilapidating house betrayed him as a floorboard creaked loudly and made his presence known.

"Alfred," Matthew said sternly from the living room.

Alfred, silently cursing the house, turned to his brother. "Yeah, bro?" he said as casually as he could.

"Where were you? And why didn't you answer my texts?"

He skipped to the second question and answered with one of his own. "Oh, you texted me?"

"Only like ten times."

"What'd you want?"

Matthew sighed. "I was gonna ask you to pick up a pizza for dinner but there goes that idea."

"Sorry," Alfred said sheepishly. He was suddenly reminded of the day's earlier events. When Arthur had pulled him away from the falling window, he must have dropped his phone. He hoped that wouldn't be a problem in the future. "I lost my phone. I could go get that pizza now, p' sure the place is open 24 hours."

"It's like 9. We're not having pizza now."

"Dude, the only thing keeping us from having pizza now is your attitude."

The only reason he argued was to make Matthew think nothing was wrong. All he really wanted to do at that moment was run up to his room and destroy all evidence that his letter had ever existed. Could he get his hands on a lighter and burn it to ashes?

"Tomorrow, Alfred," Matthew said, shaking his head. Before he could say anything else, Alfred spun around and raced up the stairs, leaving Matthew staring at the spot he'd been just a second ago with nothing more than a, "'kay!"

He stomped up the stairs; now that he'd been caught, he no longer cared about making noise. First, he'd find that letter, tear it up, and burn it. Then he'd burn the ashes. Then a shower would be nice.

After the anxiety of the day, it'd be a relief to wind down and forget his fear of tomorrow, his injured arm, his lost phone, and Arthur.

He never had gotten to the questions he'd been meaning to ask the Brit. After arriving at his house, he'd been so focused on Arthur's weird family and mending his arm that it'd completely escaped his mind.

Perhaps if he had some answers he'd be more at ease. How did you know when to find me? What's up with your family? Why is your countdown so erratic? What else are you keeping from me?

… Why exactly did you save me?

But those were questions for another day, he decided. And maybe, if he was lucky, Arthur saving him had cancelled out this mess he'd gotten himself into with fate, and it was all over. He would never have to hear the answers to those questions. Frankly, he was afraid to.

Yeah, that seemed possible. Fate couldn't possibly be that cruel. It had to be over.

Feeling a little more optimistic than before, he cheerfully stepped into his room and turned on the light, gaze immediately going to the bed where he had left the letter.

His heart sunk down to the floor.

It was gone.

No.

Closing and locking the door behind him, he rushed to the bed, dropping to his knees in front of it. He stared at the spot where he'd left the letter as if it would materialize by sheer will. Of course, no such thing happened and, heart pounding, he jumped to his feet again and grabbed hold of the covers, violently yanking them off the bed. A pillow was launched at his nightstand and knocked his alarm clock to the ground, but he didn't care. Where was the letter?

Where the hell is it.

It hadn't come flying out of the covers and it was nowhere on the floor around the bed. He even checked under the bed, in case it had somehow ended up there. Nothing.

Fear gripped his heart. Who had found it? Matthew? Or his mom? Which was worse?

Whoever it was, they were going to worry, and that was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. Worry was like fear; it made people do crazy things. They were going to over-think this and try to come up with an explanation and only make everything worse.

And, most importantly, they were going to try to get involved.

This was his problem. His and Arthur's.

He'd already told one person, unable to keep this to himself. And one was enough.

Because if Matthew or his mom discovered the tiny detail he'd – thankfully – left out in his letter, that he'd gotten in the way of fate by saving Arthur, they'd try to do the same for him.

Suddenly, he thought he understood why Arthur hadn't wanted to be saved.

There was no room left for being grateful when your mind was stuck in the clutches of guilt.

Because yes, your life would have been saved.

But it was at the cost of another.

Alfred went to school the next day with dark purple shadows under his eyes.

After taking a quick, cold shower, he'd gone to bed and lay staring at the ceiling for most of the night. This was familiar to him, as he'd done it many times before. Usually, on nights when his mother cried in drunken sorrow and he couldn't get the image of her anguish out of his mind. On nights like these, his eyes would trace patterns in the ceiling like one might do when trying to make out pictures in the clouds, while his thoughts were elsewhere. In other world, another life, perhaps.

He would imagine many different scenarios; his family living together happily in the city, or maybe in the country. Sometimes there was a dog, sometimes a cat. Sometimes a father. But every time, they were happy,

and that's all that really mattered. And every time, he found himself feeling homesick for something he had never really had to begin with.

Some nights, the dreams were darker, when he didn't imagine what could have been and instead focused on what could be. If his mother's drinking grew worse, if his brother continued to grow distant. If he.. ran away.

He knew it was a crazy notion. He was only sixteen, how far could he get on his own? But then again, there were people his age who lived alone. Who supported themselves. Yes, he'd start out with nothing, and it would be difficult, but if you're already on the bottom then where else is there to go but up?

He already had a job. All that was left to do was find a cheap place to live until he could afford something better. And he'd just keep getting better and better until he had a normal house, a normal life.

He could escape.

Last night, there were no patterns in the ceiling. He stared up at empty white with an overflowing mind.

He walked into his math class and fell into his seat like he would on any other day. He'd come in right as the first bell rang, so there weren't many others in the room yet. Those that were there however, were excitedly talking about it being Friday and everything they were going to do that weekend.

Alfred would have joined them before, but now he found that he just didn't really care. It was funny how a week suddenly felt like an eternity when you had something weighing on your mind.

He rested his head on his desk; he was so tired. The closest he'd gotten to falling asleep the previous night was an odd state somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. Somehow that seemed worse than being fully awake all night.

He was debating on testing his luck and seeing if he could get away with sleeping in class when his shoulder was grabbed and he was roughly thrown backward. He stared, shocked, into the furious red eyes of Gilbert.

He opened his mouth as if to yell at him, then seemed to realize they weren't alone in the room. So instead he simply muttered, "We need to talk," and walked out of the room, expecting Alfred to follow.

Alfred stared at Gilbert's retreating form in the doorway for a split second, before he grabbed his binder and dashed after him. What else could he do? He slipped out of the room right as the second bell rang, past the teacher who was walking in and didn't say anything about his departure.

Gilbert was waiting in the hall outside the classroom. They walked to their lockers to put their stuff away in relative silence, and Alfred wondered if they were going to go outside to talk, but he never got to ask. As he was shutting his locker, Gilbert turned on him, looking a strange mix between livid and hurt.

"You want to explain to me what the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"You know-"

"I thought you were DEAD!" Gilbert shouted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway. "The last thing you fucking said to me was that you're scared and gonna die any minute and then you sent me an unfinished text and-" he took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what it's like going hours thinking your best friend is dead?"

"I lost my phone!" Alfred told him angrily. "And I forgot to message you afterwards, okay?"

"You forgot to message me," Gilbert said with a bitter laugh. "How do you just forget to message me about something this serious?"

"Um, I have other things to deal with, you know Gil?" Alfred said, and it wasn't until the words were already out of his mouth that he realized how rude he sounded, but it was too late to take it back. "You're not the one dealing with this shit. You're not the one who has no idea how long it is until he finally dies."

"You're my best friend, so yeah, I am dealing with this shit," Gilbert stated.

Alfred shook his head. "Not like I am. Yeah, I should have messaged you. That's my mistake. But you have no right getting pissed at me now when you're not the one who's dying."

"Oh, well excuse me for being worried," Gilbert snapped.

There's that word.

"I don't need anyone to worry over me."

"You're such a fucking idiot-"

"What good is insulting me gonna do?"

"Why can't you just accept you need help?"

They froze, looking at one another in confusion.

That last voice hadn't been Gilbert's.

Alfred turned toward the source of the voice, panic rising within him. Why had he forgotten they were in the school hallway?

A third person stood a few feet away from them, at the end of the hall. If Alfred thought he was in trouble before, that was nothing compared to this.

He reached out toward him, his voice weak.

"Mattie-"

But his brother already disappeared around the corner.

Matthew wasn't there when Alfred went home later. And he supposed he was thankful for that; it gave him more time to plan what he was going to say.

He supposed he should just start from the beginning, explain to his brother how he'd run into Arthur, saw five minutes on his countdown, and decided to save him.. and that led him up to where he was now. Hopefully, Matthew would just accept the explanation and then go mind his own business.

He dragged his backpack up the stairs to his room, suddenly remembering how tired he was. Along with the fact that anxiety had kept him up the previous night, the whole week had taken a huge toll on him. T.G.I.F…

Alfred entered his room to find his mom sitting on his bed.

"Uh, hey?" he said unsurely. Usually she wouldn't be home, and when she was home she'd be drunk. He hoped that wasn't the case now.

"Alfie," his mom said, patting the spot on the bed beside her. "Come here."

He left his backpack near the door and uncertainly made his way toward her.

His mother held out a box; it wasn't too fancy, nothing gift-wrapped, but the moment he saw it he felt speechless. It was a new phone.

"Mom-"

"Mattie told me yesterday that you lost your phone, so…"

He shook his head, his mind going to the pizza Matthew had mentioned the previous night. Most of the time they couldn't even afford meals other than fast food, and his mom was handing him a new phone?

"We can't afford this," Alfred said, hating how grown-up he sounded. Any other kid his age probably would have jumped at the thought of getting a new phone. And if they were in any other situation, he would have too.

"It's used, if that makes you feel any better," Mom said. "But it's in good condition, it'll work perfectly."

He still found it hard to accept the phone.

"Alfie, you need a phone," his mom insisted. "How are you supposed to call for help if you're ever in an emergency?"

"What's the chance of that happening?" he mumbled.

His mother gave him a sad look and her gaze briefly flickered up. My countdown. "You never know," she said after a moment. She held out the box again, and he tentatively took it.

"Alfie," his mom said. She searched for the right words. "If you ever need me… for anything… Do not hesitate to call me. No matter what."

"No matter what?" he asked, though he wasn't really looking for an answer. It felt as though there was a bittersweet coating enveloping his broken heart, seeping in through the cracks. And what emptiness that didn't reach, perhaps words could fill.

"No matter what," Mom repeated, then put her arms around him in an awkward side-hug. He tensed, hoping she couldn't tell. It was an odd feeling. It's been so long since his mother – or anyone for that matter, with the exception of maybe Gilbert – had hugged him.

"I love you."

"I…" he stumbled over his words, "I know."

yeLLS I HAD THIS FINISHED LIKE A WEEK AGO AND I WAS TOO LAZY TO POST IT IM SORRY

Fun fact: This used to be 2 chapters but then chapter 6 would only be like 1,000 words and u guys deserve more than that so I combined them

That's also why there's sO MANY TIME SKIPS

I usually try to stick to one per chapter but I couldn't find a way to (read: was too lazy to) do this chapter properly without leaving in all the time skips

me: casually makes fun of my own writing

"Mom-"

"Mattie told me yesterday that you lost your phone, so…"

He shook his head, his mind going to the pizza Matthew had mentioned the previous night.

(of course it did)

((same tho tbh))

Please review! ;)