Chapter Text
Alfred couldn’t tell anymore, whether he was falling or sinking. In a sense, it didn’t matter. Either way he was here now, eyes closed, with his fingernails tickling the back of his throat.
In honesty, it didn't surprise Alfred that he was doing… this. The blond had liked food for as long as he could remember. It showed as a child. “Baby fat,” his mother would call it, and he’d pretend not to notice the slight sideways quirk of her upper lip or the way her eyes narrowed at him at times, times when she’d stare at him for a while in thought. She’d tilt her head, narrow her eyes, give the slightest quirk of her lip, and there it would be- that little look. Narrowing her eyes and quirking her upper lip. Disgust. The burn of it felt more familiar than love.
It was fine. There was no helping it.
And then there was Arthur. Alfred knew the other boy never truly meant to hurt him, but when he’d get too upset- when Alfred would finally fuck up, say something to piss him off- Arthur was ruthless.
“Fatass,” he’d called him once, with the same look that he’d seen his mother wear, but lacking her careful faux-polite restraint.
“When are you going to stop stuffing your face? After you get diabetes?”
The memory was so old that Alfred didn’t remember what he’d done to provoke him, didn’t remember where they were, didn’t remember if it was before Arthur had gotten braces for middle school or during chem class or before their first day of college. Didn’t know why it stuck out in his memory the way it did.
It doesn’t matter now though , he thought glumly, the throbbing pain in his head only thrumming louder as he picked himself up from the cold bathroom tile. Even if he couldn’t put a date to the memory, he knew it was probably past time to forget it. Arthur probably had.
Alfred and Arthur had been friends for as long as he could remember.
Friends. Whatever they had felt a little too pale to be called that, at least now. Artie had gone to University in London to be with his brothers, and Alfred didn’t bother following him for once. They left on simple terms: polite smiles, a painfully forced hug, pictures for their respective families’ scrapbooks that Alfred decidedly was not going to look at.
That was that.
18 years chopped short with a few simple goodbyes. 18 years.
It was stupid how bitter the memory seemed to taste. Or, that might have been stomach acid.
There was no use dwelling on it all. So Alfred wouldn’t let himself.
He took in a deep breath and flushed the toilet, stomach turning while he watched the mess he made get washed away. Back when he lived with his parents, he would have to run the shower while he did this, just to get away from the deafening silence that would follow his mother's fake concerned expressions. But now, he was alone. No use dwelling on the thought of what wasn't around. No use dwelling on any of it.
Alone, a little voice in the back of his head mused. Alone, alone, alone. Alfred chose to ignore that too.