Author's Notes:

Where Breathless was a story of subtleties, this story will be the exact opposite. I wrote Breathless with this continuation in mind, but kept the relationship between Arthur and Alfred neutral, so if someone wished to see them platonically, it would work just that way; however, this sequel will be a hassle because of the tough transition I'm going to write about from friends to more. If you go back and re-read Breathless with the thought that the two will come to like each other as more than friends, you will see how the plot was building up to this sequel. Anyway, this story will be a challenge.

If you haven't read Breathless, though, you won't understand this. So, seriously. I don't recommend starting this without reading Breathless.

The cover art, as well as the one done for Breathless, was done by Malsavaidity, or Heroic Pen here on this website. Go praise her gifted talents.

Hey, Dad, look at me.

Think back and talk to me.

Did I grow up according to plan?

- Simple Plan, Perfect

"Are you pulling up yet?"

"Yeah, I just got out of the airport. Fuckin' nightmare that was! I spent forever at baggage claim with a stitch in my neck."

I smiled at the exhausted groan in Alfred's voice, quickly rinsing off the knife in my hands as I balanced my cell phone between my neck and shoulder. "What's wrong with your neck?"

Alfred huffed and I heard some honking in the background before there was some clothing rustling. I vaguely heard Alfred tell someone to suck his balls before he came back on the line. "Asshole," he grumbled quickly, most likely at the horrible traffic that stuck around the airport like old bubblegum to a loafer. "I couldn't move the entire plane ride, dude. I was squished between this obese couple from Texas who went in a horrible amount of detail why marmalade is underappreciated as a condiment. So I had to sit stiff as a board through the first flight and the connecting one. I swear, sometimes I forget why it's worth it."

I laughed and turned the tap water off, quickly shooing Peter away when he bothered me with something about when the food would be ready. "Because your parents love you?" I offered semi-helpfully. I felt my fingers flex hesitantly over the cutting board where various vegetables were now cut up for the stew on the stove. I felt stupid for the heavy feeling mucking around in my stomach, not allowing me to say what I wished to say. I did it anyway on an awkward whim.

"… Because you miss me?"

Alfred paused in whatever he was doing on the other side of the line. I had intended for my words to come out in a joke, but I wasn't confident if it worked or not. In my ears it only sounded like heavy white noise. Whatever the case, Alfred recovered quickly with a cheerful laugh.

"Haha! You trying to flatter yourself? If I needed someone to ride my ass I coulda just stayed in the dorm with those stupid 'self-appointed hall monitors.'"

I choked briefly on my spit, feeling my heartbeat radiate in my temples at Alfred's poor choice of words. I abruptly dumped the vegetables in the stew, stirring vigorously. "I don't nag you," I denied.

Alfred yawned heavily. "If by 'you don't nag me' you mean that you do, then yes, you don't nag me."

I rolled my eyes. He was such a dick sometimes. But despite that, I couldn't help but smile again when he continued to yawn into his phone. "Whatever you say, Alfred. I should probably let you go."

Alfred sniffed briefly before sounding confused. "Eh? Why's that?"

"You sound like you're about to pass out. Get some sleep, you dolt."

Alfred assured me that he was making an obscene hand gesture at me before allowing himself to take a quick nap while he caught a wink in the cab. He'd be home in forty anyway. "See ya soon, Art."

"Welcome back, Alfred," I muttered fondly before removing my phone and ending the call. I placed it on the countertop and stared at it for a moment, allowing my thoughts their freedom to fly about in every which way.

Alfred had flown back into town for the holidays after his very first semester at Brown. He had been gone for nearly five months so it was reasonable to say that I was eager for him to arrive. We were best friends, after all.

I tapped my finger carefully against the green marble and furrowed my eyebrows somewhat. Yes, Alfred had been going to college on the East Coast while I continued to work up enough money to go to college next year, myself, but… My fingernail scraped against the corner of the counter and I twitched. But it was strange. It was too strange, and even I could tell that Alfred felt it too. Ever since that night in the park where Alfred had called me out to confess all of his fears and confusion, our friendship seemed strained. Something strange and odd was floating about the air whenever we talked on the phone or exchanged emails.

There was some sort of static that couldn't be dispersed between us.

It made me feel awkward.

It made me feel uneasy.

It made me nervous to be around my closest friend. That irritated me.

I jumped when Peter latched onto my leg and whined about his hunger. My pulse was fast under my skin as I stared down at the antsy child looking up at me, my body feeling troubled for some reason; I felt like I had been caught in the act of thinking something despicable. I quickly thawed my stiff joints and sighed, turning back to the stove.

"Give it a minute, Peter. I am not a wizard who can cook a meal in an unseemly short amount of time."

Peter looked away and grumbled. "Really? You always burn it like you do…"

My mother scolded me the rest of the afternoon for the much justified welt on the back of Peter's head.

Alfred dug into his burger like a starved animal given a feast. I felt a lingering hint of repulsion at the scene but ignored it, choosing to eat the french-fries on my tray instead. I couldn't help it; that was the only thing in these disgusting fast food restaurants that I would remotely touch. I didn't know why it appealed to Alfred so.

"I missed this place!" he said with a mouth full. I grimaced when a few chunks hit my cheeks. He apologized as I wiped them away with a napkin. "Homemade burgers are the best!"

"If you say so," I surrendered, taking a sip from my iced tea and looking about the eatery. This was the first place Alfred and I had stepped foot out in public together, the place where I had been treated to a meal by Alfred despite how great our differences were. Even now it was still uncomfortable. One of the employees used to be on the football team with Alfred. I had pretended not to notice Alfred flinch when walking in the door as the two made eye-contact.

Alfred cocked his head as he looked at me, washing down his mouthful with a curious stare. "You okay? You've been quiet all morning."

I shut my eyes for a second before looking back at him, a wave of something foreign lurking beneath the surface of my skin. He just blinked in response. "I'm just a little tired is all," I reassured him.

Alfred chewed his bite slowly before grinning at me confidently. "What? You toss and turn in excitement all night long waiting to see me today?"

I really wished he wouldn't word his sentences that way. I sighed heavily through my nose and flicked a fry at him with a smirk. "Don't flatter yourself."

"It's not flattery if it's true."

I flicked another fry, harder this time. It got him to shut up.

"So how is the college life treating you? Itty, bitty Alfred must be wetting his pants now that he's wearing his big-boy shoes," I joked dryly, raising an eyebrow expectantly at him. He frowned and swallowed heavily, rolling his eyes in the process.

"It's okay. The classes are hard and it's a lot colder over there, but there are fun places to go in town and – and the people are nice," he said, but I caught it. Our gazes lingered as I sipped and he chewed. He knew what I was aiming at after all.

"That's fantastic," I commented without any enthusiasm. "Make any new friends?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "A few."

"Good friends?"

"A little."

"Girlfriends?"

He shot a scowl at me for 2.3 nanoseconds – long enough to make me shocked that he had made such an unexpectedly sour face – before it was gone. Perhaps it didn't even happen… Alfred shrugged again and finished off his burger, wiping his fingers haphazardly against his jeans. "The people are nice," he reaffirmed.

I nodded and placed my drink down, balancing my chin in my palm and looking out into the sea of faces, most likely lingering high schoolers from our old school nearby. Christmas break had commenced anyway. It brought back familiar memories. I still wasn't sure if they were fond memories – when I was getting to know Alfred, I mean. Friendships usually didn't have that many hurdles early on, did they? I licked the top row of my teeth with a 'tsk.'

"They aren't giving you problems this time around?" I heard myself ask, though it didn't sound like my voice.

Alfred mulled this over for a long while before heaving a breath and leaning back lazily on his side of the booth, kicking his legs out like as stretching cat. I felt his heel brush against my shin, making me look at him. He wasn't looking at me, though. He was counting the dots on the ceiling. "They can't comment on what they don't know."

Spot on. I knew it.

I smiled at him. "You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

He stiffened and glanced down at me with lowered eyelids, perhaps pressing me to give him an excuse to be ticked off. I hadn't a clue why; it was just a feeling. "Who said I didn't?"

"Then you did?"

He kept his mouth shut before pushing forward and slumping against the table, his arms crossed against the plastic top as he leaned in and regarded me with a look too intense for this conversation. Was he mad, or was it something else? "Why should I?" he asked after a long silence, sounding nonchalant. "It's none of anyone's business anyway."

"It was just a question, Alfred," I said easily, not flinching or pulling back from how close he was to me leaning across the table. I wasn't going to be intimidated when we were just having a normal conversation. Well, normal for a suicide attempter and his savior.

"Well it's annoying, Arthur," he parroted in a mocking tone. It didn't bother me one bit.

I looked over Alfred's face for a long while, almost mapping it out since it had been so long since we 'chilled' as Alfred called it, and I could see the small twitches of muscle as Alfred started to slowly become self-conscious this close to another's face. I raised an eyebrow and extended my hand to rest on the material of his jacket that rested over his wrist. His blue eyes flickered down to the contact spot. I felt my fingers toy with the sleeve very gently before the words flowed out of my mouth like a ghost in the wind.

"No one's eyes are different enough to catch yours?" I asked honestly. I did recall being on that swing-set while Alfred confessed to being nervous about how the public would view him if they saw his arms. But even though such a thing should've made any close friend distraught, at the time I could only feel guilty for the tinge of elation I experienced when Alfred had told me that my eyes were different. He held me to a higher standard than the rest of the world, and my opinion always came out on top. A good friend shouldn't feel happy about something like that.

I still felt the pinprick of guilt to this day.

For Alfred's sake, he needed to find another person whose eyes were special enough to watch him and make him comfortable. He couldn't afford to just trust me.

Alfred pulled away and made a face. "Ouch. Why'd you pinch me?"

I blinked, my thoughts scattering, before I awkwardly leaned back into my seat, averting my eyes. "I apologize," I muttered quickly.

Alfred ran his hand through his hair and slowly recoiled back into his seat, arm holding his wrist in that subconscious shield he wasn't aware he projected. "It's not that I don't want to tell anyone else… I do want to. I'm not – I mean, you can understand why I'm taking my time with this, can't you?" He looked up at me then.

He was right. It had taken him a while to confide in me about this, let alone some stranger.

"You should do it before summer."

Alfred looked nonplused.

I elaborated by tugging at my own jacket sleeve in a gesture up to my elbow. "I hear it can get pretty hot over there if there's a heat wave." This was surely making Alfred uncomfortable as he fidgeted in his seat, but I just wanted to help. He needed to prepare himself if he ever wanted to accept his rocky past. "I'm not saying this to scare you –"

"I know," Alfred said, words clipped.

"… I'm sorry."

Alfred pursed his lips and peered at me beneath the hem of his bangs, looking guarded and suspicious. It was a bit uncomfortable, truthfully, to have Alfred looking at me like that. Had this whole distance thing affected our friendship? It had only been a handful of months. The apology was very broad, meant for anything that could've brushed Alfred the wrong way. He pondered it momentarily before finding some solace in it, shaking his head somewhat and giving me a lopsided smile.

"I stopped wearing them, you know." He tasted the words on his tongue. I wondered silently if this was the first time admitting it aloud. But as Alfred smiled a little sheepishly at me with that eager glint in his eyes, much like a kid showing their parent a picture they painted in school, I couldn't help but crumble. He looked so accomplished. "The…" he glanced down at his arms and back up, "You know. From the things you said, I don't wear them anymore. That's nice, yeah?"

On instinct I sat up, something swelling in my chest like a balloon as I smiled at him, reaching out and snatching one of his arms, my fingertips testing and grazing the skin beneath the fold of the jacket. "They're gone?" I couldn't believe Alfred had abandoned his safety net that was his bandages. When had he done this?

He hesitated with a flick of his eyes, smile wavering as he watched me. "Yeah. I figured it was time to get rid of them, right? That's one step forward, I think."

I wanted to ask if I could see. I wanted to, and I wasn't sure what Alfred's answer would be, but we both jumped when hearing something slam down against something hard. We both looked over to see one of Alfred's old football buddies staring at us, placing a stack of trays down on a garbage. I slowly realized where he was staring when Alfred jerked his arm back as if my touch was fire.

I jolted back instinctively and cleared my throat, turning away from the boy's lingering stare and started to pick at my food in front of me. Alfred kept his arm cradled at his side, vision directed uncomfortably out the window at the gray sky. It was painfully apparent how self-conscious Alfred still was about all this, reasonably so. Particularly around people who knew him as the popular king of high school who "belonged in a mental ward."

But as we continued the rest of our lunch, I found my mind drifting off into uncharted waters.

That look that had bestowed Alfred's face when the boy looked at us together…

Had that been from his insecurities about his infamous arms, or something of a different nature entirely?

My tongue felt heavy the rest of the day. I decided that I really didn't want to find out an answer to a question like that.

Alfred had only been home for the weekend before I received a very upbeat text on my phone one evening. It appeared that his mother wanted our families to get together over dinner to catch up. I was confused for a moment, knowing that Alfred's mother never even bothered to meet my family before. But Alfred reassured me that she was just excited to see him again and wanted to be polite and converse with his best friend's family.

I couldn't help but feel grateful and relieved that Alfred still called me his best friend, despite no indication that he considered me as anything less.

So I relayed this information to my own mother and thus began the worst weekend of my life.

"This is so exciting! American dinners together. Oh, why didn't I think of it?"

I sighed to myself as my mother chirped on to my father as we walked up Alfred's walkway to his door, each of our hands carrying some Tupperware for this meal. Peter trotted along beside me and became distracted as he kicked at the snow starting to line the Jones' household.

"No one has ever asked us before, mum," I told her.

"We need to get out more, darling," my father, equally excited, told my mother and smiled ear to ear. God, this was going to be embarrassing. It was like they never left their little hut that was our home. I hoped Alfred's parents wouldn't be surprised at how different they were compared to my parents. It was like Alfred and I were switched at birth or something. My parents suited him more than me, and vice versa.

I tried to save face when it was Matthew that opened the door. He peeked his head out shyly, as he was so prone to doing, before his eyes caught recognition when seeing me. He smiled and opened the door wider. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hello, Matthew," I said back just as pleasantly. "It's been some time, hasn't it?"

He nodded and ran his eyes over my family. "Since Alfred had left. These must be your parents," he muttered before my mother cut him off.

"Oh, he looks just like Alfred. Dear, doesn't he look like Alfred?"

I rolled my eyes as Matthew looked pinned to the spot when my mom looked so delighted. My father nodded and leaned in to get a better look. "My word, did Alfred clone himself? I know he went to Brown, but I didn't think that–"

"He didn't clone himself," I cut in abruptly, feeling just as red in the face embarrassed as Matthew did. "Alfred has a twin brother. This is Matthew." Matthew weakly raised his hand up to wave upon my gesture. We watched as my parents exchanged a look before smiling and sticking out a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Matthew. You look so familiar that it's almost like we're family. Where's your brother? I'm dying to say hello." My mother shook Matthew's hand with a reassuring smile. I didn't know what Matthew was really thinking as he stared at her with big doe eyes, but he must've taken it in stride, for he smiled back and let out a small chuckle.

"We brought stew," my dad chirped as he followed after my mother and Matthew like a lost dog, leaving me to guide Peter inside and shut the door with a grimace. This was like graduation all over again, although this time there were no blaring horns or shouting British parents on the bleachers.

"Mrs. K! How's it been?" Alfred laughed, jumping up from his spot at the table when my mother poked her head in. I observed Alfred take the bowl from her and animatedly chat, waving his arms about as he talked about college, no doubt. I wanted to believe that Alfred liked my mother so much because she baked sweets so often, but I knew it was really because they both had a childish aura about them. And by the way Alfred's father gave a leveled stare from his seat at the table and Mrs. Jones's awkward stiffness in the corner of the kitchen, I knew the Kirklands and the Jones were complete opposites.

This would surely be a disaster.

"Hey mom, this is Arthur's parents. They ask about you all the time," Alfred supplied after giving my mom a hug and dad a firm handshake. Mrs. Jones looked mildly surprised, something she had every right to be. My parents rarely asked about Alfred's mother, let alone his family. But she looked flattered all the same when the surprise ebbed away.

"How do you do? It's nice to finally meet you so formally. Arthur is over here a lot. Well, at least when they were both in high school. And he is a delight," Alfred's mom explained, already getting teary-eyed from mentioning high school. Alfred shrugged at me from across the kitchen and I smiled. She was always like that when it came to Alfred and Matthew.

"Alfred is charming as well," my mother added quickly, as if the idea of a compliment competition was very appealing. "Whenever he's over, he is just darling. Not to mention how handsome he is. He's the spitting image of his father."

I glanced over at the gruff appearance of Mr. Jones reading a book at the table, the man glancing up briefly at the mention of him from another woman. He had a strange look about his face, almost as if there was a fly on his nose that he couldn't swat away, before he ignored the conversation and went back to reading. Alfred's father had always been a man of few words.

"And Arthur has your eyes," Mrs. Jones said, cheeks bright at her affiliation to someone as handsome as Alfred's father. I fidgeted and frowned. What the hell? I didn't want to be compared to my mother. No guy did, I surmised.

"And my jaw," my father quipped, looking proud for no particular reason.

As the kitchen became cluttered with noises of greetings and discussions, Alfred quickly wormed his way through and nudged my shoulder towards his bedroom. "Let's escape this before it gets even worse," he joked.

I followed after him and sat down on my regular spot by his bookcase as he shut the door. "They'll come get us when the grub is ready."

As Alfred got situated on his bed, I let myself look around his room freely, a little astounded that nothing had been moved. It looked the same as it did down to the day before his departure. It still even had the distinct smell of Alfred that I had come to identify over the months. I silently wondered if my room had a particular smell about it and if Alfred could tell.

Speaking of Alfred…

"Your folks looked… neutral," I spoke lamely.

Alfred laughed. "I told my mom not to do it. I knew this would be weird, but she still insisted."

"And you father didn't protest?" I asked, leaning back against the chair with a raised eyebrow making Alfred snort.

"The only things my dad cares about are successful children, football, and the stock market. Whatever else my mom does is up to her."

"Ah," I said with a sarcastic smile. "So that's why he looked so excited."

"You haven't seen nothing until you see him on her book club nights," Alfred grinned and propped himself back on his elbows. I couldn't help but smile at how absurd he was. Nevertheless, I would've been lying if I wasn't curious about how Alfred's father got the way he was. It really was a shame for his children.

"How has Matthew been, by chance?"

Alfred lolled his head back and looked up at his ceiling. "He's all right. Goin' to that community college on the outskirts of town. He said he's gonna transfer before he finishes next semester, though." Alfred pursed his lips and looked back at me oddly. "I just… I feel kinda bad, you know? It's like dad and ma squeezed every nickel out for me, but left Mattie with empty pockets."

"There are grants and other things out there for Matthew," I tried to explain, already knowing that Alfred felt guilty about this. Especially because he didn't want to go to an expensive college in the first place. "He knows that and so do you."

Alfred was quiet for a while. "Yeah, I guess so," he grumbled. "But it's still uncool that our pops decided to do that. I mean, that's like playing favorites or something."

And though I never admitted it aloud, I knew that Alfred's parents played favorites. And deep down, Alfred knew it to be true, too. Unfortunately, I was sure Matthew did as well. I saw Alfred's fingers briefly squeeze the material of his sheets before he rolled over and hopped off the bed, quickly changing the subject as he held up a game box.

"I got a new game from this dude named Kiku who lives in my dorm. It's about zombies in England," he said in a sing-song to tempt me.

I smirked at the challenge in his eyes and shook my head. "You had me at England."

The dinner had gone well, for the most part. Of course, there were embarrassing stories exchanged, and at one point Alfred offered to off Matthew if he killed him in exchange. The glint in Matthew's eyes showed how tempted he was to take his brother up on that offer at a naked bathtub story, but he decided against it and ate his peas quietly.

It appeared like our mothers were getting along, at least. Despite the differences in interests and personalities, they both looked like they were enjoying themselves. Mr. Jones and my father also got along, caught up in a debate over which sport should really be called football, American or English.

I ate simply and talked to Alfred about nothing in particular as we always did, just catching up. It was nice slipping back into old habits. I never really realized how much I'd missed Alfred until talking to him again. There were just certain people who had an effect on someone else like that.

Everything was going fine until about when the apple cobbler came along.

"So Matthew, how are you liking college?" my mother asked, taking a sip of the coffee Mrs. Jones placed down as she took the cobbler from the oven. She had already dissected Alfred's experiences away from home, so now, naturally, it was Matthew's turn. Poor boy.

He fiddled with his fork and bobbed his head. "It's okay. It's nice to get away from home and do something bigger," he admitted. I paused when seeing his vision flitter sideways to his father who shot him a look.

"As long as his grades are high, the school isn't wasted," Mr. Jones commented offhandedly, blue eyes looking at Alfred across the table. I tried to pick up on Matthew and Alfred's body language as their father sent some sort of secret message with his eyes. Perhaps it was an inside thing?

Mrs. Jones returned and placed the warm tart on the table, the smell filling the room. She smiled at her husband and patted his hand. "Now, honey."

"But it's good to enjoy it, too," my mom said reassuringly, smiling at Matthew.

"Who wants a piece?" Alfred's mom asked, handing out small, delicate plates. They were passed around as she began to cut the crust into smaller pieces.

"How are your grades, Matthew?" Mr. Jones asked distractedly, passing down another plate.

"Good, dad," Matthew sighed, readjusting the tablecloth on his side of the table. He picked at it for a moment, eyes tracing the edges.

"I heard that you were slacking in biology."

Alfred moved suddenly beside me, catching my attention. I glanced over at him and was confused to see his eyes boring into his plate, jaw set. I peered back at Matthew who mirrored his brother's image, almost exactly. Despite this I remained quiet and took a plate offered to me by my father.

"I'm not. It's nothing that I can't fix. This smells good, mom," he said, looking at Mrs. Jones who picked up her pace a little. She handed my mother a crisp piece and smiled.

"The semester is over. You can't fix what you already have been graded on. Why pay for classes when you're just going to skip them?"

I blinked and looked at how guilty Matthew appeared. Matthew skipped his biology class? He huffed and silently passed another piece of cobbler down the table.

"Oh dear. Was it too hard?" my mother asked genuinely.

"Sometimes the second time is the charm," my father finished.

"Time is money. It's just another round you have to go on and another shift you have to work. I didn't figure you to be a slacker, Matthew," Mr. Jones said lowly, an air of indifference coating his voice as he passed down another piece. I furrowed my brow slightly and glanced between Mrs. Jones's tight smile, to Alfred's sudden unease in Matthew's growing irritation. Apparently this subject was not a good topic. To anyone else it might've been, but to Matthew it was like being prodded at with a stick.

"I'll retake it," he muttered, looking at Alfred whose head was hunkered down in his shoulders, frown on his face as he watched his brother.

"It is not doing me any favors. It's not my money you are throwing away," Alfred's father said gruffly.

Matthew's fingers curled into the cloth painfully as he twisted his neck to glare at his father. "It's not a money thing! It's just because–!"

"Matthew!" Mrs. Jones's shrill voice reached my ears. She blinked back an alarmed expression gracing her face, her eyebrows pulled together with some distress as her eyes widened. She looked about ready to cry again, something that made Matthew recoil and stare back down at his plate.

The room was uncomfortably silent, my mother and father as still as a tepid lake, wondering if we had walked into another tense family moment. Should we dismiss ourselves? Intervene? This wasn't something secluded people like my parents knew how to deal with. Peter, on the other hand, sat quietly eating his dessert at the end of the table, still too young to quite comprehend the situation.

I rolled the lump in the back of my throat around before prodding Alfred on the waist. He barely looked at me, but understood the confusion on my face.

"It's fine, dear. He'll just retake the course. All better. Now who didn't get a slice?" Mrs. Jones asked, smiling as she started to chop at the pie without looking. Alfred rigidly turned in his seat as he stared at his mother with a sense of awe, slowly standing up from his chair and reaching out, fingers gently grasping one of her hands to halt her.

"Mom, you're bleeding," he said thickly.

We all stopped and looked over, Mrs. Jones stilling as well to slowly look down at her hand, a steady pool of crimson dripping from her fingers and onto the pie crust. She stared for a moment before looking around the awkward faces at the table.

"… W… Whoops. My hand must've slipped. I'm sorry. I'll just go- go get cleaned up," she said, words schlepping together as she tried to saunter away from the table, holding her other hand up to cover her mouth. Alfred jolted upright, looking deathly concerned as he grabbed onto her trembling shoulders and started to guide her out of the room.

I swallowed thickly and took a steadying breath when I heard the small sounds of sobs whisper out of the hallway. I could faintly hear Alfred trying to comfort her before the bathroom door clicked shut. When I twisted back around in my chair, the table was still silent, aside from Peter's sloppy munching.

I picked around my plate, occasionally glancing at my parents and Matthew, hoping someone would explain or at least say something.

After a long moment, I vaguely heard Alfred's father mutter something into a bite of his food, almost too soft to hear. "Another coward, just like his brother."

It was not until an hour later when Alfred was telling us goodbye as the sun set and the moths gathered around his porch lamp that he explained briefly about the dinner. I sat quietly the whole car ride home as I mulled over the fact that Matthew had stopped attending his biology course when his teacher committed suicide four weeks in.

That comment made more sense in context.

It seemed that it was still too early to shake Alfred of the ghosts of his past mistakes.

That made it hurt all the more.