Chapter Text
~~~
Alfred blinked furiously upwards to the gray New England sky as he desperately forced his tears back into their ducts. The cheap, barely attended funeral had ended nearly three hours ago, yet Alfred still found himself unable to get off the wet church curb.
He’d been one of the only guests at his sister’s funeral, spare from one of his friends that he figured just attended out of pity. He didn’t have many friends in Boston, anyway; Alfred and Madeline had only moved up north from their hometown in Raleigh, North Carolina for the better healthcare after Madeline had fallen sick. And look where that got them.
Alfred didn’t want to get in his car— the truck that he and Madeline had bought together on a whim from an old junkyard. They’d tried everything they could to patch it up together, but somehow the old car still broke down once every few days. Alfred almost smiled at the fond memory of Madeline getting rust and oil all over her dress. The dress she barely ever wore towards the end, replaced by thin, generic hospital gowns. He blinked up again.
Eventually, the sleet pouring from the dark clouds became too harsh to bear. Alfred was clad in just the thin pilot jacket he’d inherited from his dad when he and Maddie had left North Carolina, and he didn’t feel like getting it ruined. So, huffing frustratedly, Alfred pushed off of his knees and shakily stood up. The near painful sleet forced him to quicken his pace to his car, though it was almost more painful seeing Madeline’s spare pair of eyeglasses lying dusty on the dashboard. He quickly swiped them off and shoved them into his pocket.
Alfred wiped the rain off his forehead, pushing the keys into the ignition and listening as the engine tutted to life. Madeline would’ve sighed, mumbling how they should pay for a real mechanic to come and fix up the engine sometime. Alfred shook his head out of the memory. If the truck stayed in the sleet for too long, it would be unfixable. He sighed and pushed on the gas pedal.
~~~
Alfred really should’ve been more upset at how frigid their apartment was now that Madeline…wouldn’t be living there anymore. In truth, the dusty old flat had never felt anything more than temporary. Perhaps Alfred had considered everything about their life in Boston as just 'temporary'.
He sighed once more, tossing his keys and his jacket lazily onto his desk. The sleet was falling quickly outside of the window, and Alfred couldn’t help but feel hypnotized by the swirling snowflakes. He blinked furiously and turned away. There wasn't time to be staring at snowflakes.
Alfred turned back to the pile of letters on his desk, diving to shift through them in hopes he would find something from Ivan. The stubborn man, despite it being the twenty-first century, refused to carry a phone with him, so he and Alfred had been communicating the past three years strictly through letters. Alfred couldn't help but admit he missed his voice, but he was more than grateful to have contact with him at all. Ivan sent letters nearly every day, and even though Alfred struggled to reciprocate the enthusiasm due to his many jobs, Ivan never seemed to mind.
He shuffled through the letters of overdue bills and notices, almost desperately clawing the letter open when he found one from Ivan. It was dated from six days prior, and talked about simple things. He asked about Madeline. He ranted about his sister’s new boyfriend. He talked about getting married.
Alfred jumped onto the couch, hearing the springs creaking under him as he kicked his leg up and skimmed through the letter once more. His eyes fell to the word ‘Madeline’, like a moth to a flame. According to the letter, Ivan hadn’t found out about her yet. Alfred would have to sit down and write about it, wouldn’t he? He threw his head back and gripped the paper harder. Would Ivan be disappointed in him? Sure, he and Madeline weren’t close, but Alfred couldn’t help but feel like a failure anyway. He’d promised Madeline she’d be ok, and that ended with Madeline buried in a cheap plywood coffin thousands of miles from home. He’d promised Ivan they’d get married immediately after he came back, and he didn’t even have the money for a ring or a wedding. Hell, he barely had the money to make the drive home.
Alfred felt the corners of his eyes dampen as soppy tears rolled down his cheeks and to his chin. He felt his breath hitch in his throat, threatening to escape into sobs if he didn’t hold them back. Staring up at the ceiling as his vision clouded up, Alfred had half a mind to pack up all his things and leave that night. Would anyone care if he just left the apartment empty, with no trace he'd ever been there? Would he get arrested? Would they even notice he left?
He rolled over onto his side, burying his face into the couch cushions with Ivan’s letter in one hand and Madeline’s glasses in the other. The smell of fake, peeled leather and plywood filled his head as he shut his eyes tight and felt the dull numb of sleep overcome him.
~~~
Alfred groaned as his crusted eyes opened slowly. The dull morning sun showed idly in his eyes, waking him up in the worst way possible. He fished for his old and cracked phone off the coffee table, immediately checking the hospital’s schedule for guest visiting hours—
Oh. Right.
He blinked once before summoning all his strength to push himself off the couch. Madeline’s glasses fell to the crunchy carpet below. Alfred almost left them there before forcing himself to stand up off the couch and leaning over to grab the small frames. He examined them in his hands. The glasses weren’t all that familiar; he and Madeline had bought them from a fancy glasses place when they first moved here, and she’d made it her goal that she’d switch to the more expensive pair when they finally left Boston behind. The glasses were very nice; the shiny gold finishes lining the thin, black frames seemed to shine in the light like diamonds when they first bought them. Now, three years later, the gold was closer to a copper-brown. Perhaps that was the fault of the seller, but they couldn’t afford anything better in the first place.
Alfred tilted the glasses to the sun, grabbing onto the small piece of paper tied to the frame with a nearly snapped string. He frowned. Madeline must’ve written this when they first got the glasses, right?
‘To Raleigh!’ the yellowing paper read in Madeline’s delicate handwriting. Alfred felt he might just cry.
He shoved the glasses into his pocket and sat down to draft his letter to Ivan. Alfred was going to leave for North Carolina the next morning.
~~~
He frowned as he slapped the side of his sputtering truck once again. Alfred was a dead man if his only way to leave Boston was broken already, and he hadn’t even made it thirty miles out of the city.
Alfred had written short and sweet letters to his landowner and bosses in hopes they’d let him go easily. Sure, there was a 50% chance he still owed some forgotten people money and he’d have the cartel or loan sharks following the target on his head, but getting out of New England was the most important thing on his mind. He’d signed the final medical bills, gotten his last checks, and sold his last pieces of furniture. There was absolutely nothing he was leaving behind. Well, absolutely nothing, and Madeline.
The engine coughed to life after another harsh slap to the side of the car. Alfred muttered to himself, sliding into the worn seats of the truck and closing the door behind him. Despite being only forty minutes outside of the city, the roads around him were sparsely populated and the towns were nothing more than quaint little fishing spots. He could smell the sea salt and frigid ocean wind from the cracks in his windows. There were men shouting some incomprehensible Gaeilge-English at the docks, and a few huskies running on the side of the road as well. Alfred’s eyes wandered back to the road. He’d be sure the cities could be beautiful. It just wasn’t his place to think that.
Alfred glanced back to the map lying folded on his dashboard as he continued following the road into a more woodsy area. If traffic wasn’t bad, he’d get there in around 15 hours; 2 days if he enjoyed himself. He hadn’t really thought about hotel costs on the way. On one hand, Alfred was dirt broke. All his savings from there on out were going to getting married, taxes, and gas. On the other hand, it was too risky. Driving alone for three days and staying at some empty motel in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere sounded like the perfect chance to get kidnapped and murdered. He frowned at the ridiculous thought.
So, Alfred figured, he’d spend day one driving from Boston to Philadelphia and crashing there. Day two would be from Philly to Raleigh. By 8 pm on day two, Alfred would be back in Ivan’s arms and far away from the freezing winters of New England. He nearly smiled at the thought. Maybe, if they eventually saved up enough, he could pay to get Madeline's coffin transported back home.
Of course, there was still the fact that no one except Alfred knew she was gone. Alfred didn’t think he’d ever feel grateful about having two dead-as-nails parents, but the fact that he wouldn’t have to see their faces as he bore the news about Madeline offered him some comfort. He just had to find it in him to write a letter to Ivan…
There was also, of course, the lack of proposal planning on Alfred's part when he did end up going home. How was he going to ask Ivan to marry him if he didn't even have a ring, or a fancy travel destination? Sure, men didn't really wear wedding rings, but they'd talked about it for a while and decided they both wanted matching ones. Nothing fancy, of course, but just something to be reminded of each other every time they looked at their hands. And there was Alfred, ring-less and marriage-less and a thousand miles from home. He bit his lip hard, only flinching when he felt the stinging of blood on his gums.
Maybe he could get him flowers? Yeah— flowers would be good. Ivan loved sunflowers, and dogwood blooms. It was early spring, nearly winter, so he didn't think any dogwoods would be in bloom yet. But perhaps he could find them somewhere...?
Alfred pulled his car to the side of the road, grabbing his phone to quickly search up flower stands on the roads. Luckily for him, there were a few to choose from, with 'Como Flores Que Florecen' being the closest. Like flowers that bloom? Wasn't that the one Swedish song?
He drove for about thirty extra minutes down the road, only having to make a few detours on the way and adding a few more minutes onto his schedule. Alfred squinted his eyes. Was that it up ahead?
He pulled his car over to the side of the road, kicked open the door, and hopped out. The cold spring air immediately bit at his neck. The flower-stand-shack-building-thing was nearly run down, as was the rest of whatever state he was in now. The wooden sign 'Como Flores Que Florecen' with a nearly ripped rainbow Mexican flag hanging from one of the windows. The corners were all charred up, and some parts were taped together, but the flag itself was still mostly intact. Alfred had to respect the dedication.
There was a short woman, maybe in her late teens, in a black apron and a long ponytail trimming flowers at the window. She looked up, waving him over excitedly and shouting a welcome. He grinned back.
"Welcome! You're the first customer we've had all day! It sucks, y'know, being so rural out here. But! We have some great flowers, like roses, or petunias, or whatever," she laughed. Suddenly, she shouted into the building, nearly making Alfred jump out of his socks.
"'Mano! Tenemos uno cliente!" she yelled, followed by a crash from the inside of the house.
"Que!? No grites!" the person shouted back. She rolled her eyes and turned back towards Alfred, as if it was all silly-normal business.
"That's my brother, Antonio. Oh! And I'm Frida! What's your's?" she grinned, holding her hand out to shake. Alfred took the girl's, Frida's, as he now knew, hand and flinched as she vigorously shook it back. "So, what are you looking for? We have basically everything, unless it's, like, illegal or something."
Alfred hummed, his eyes wandering to the trees. "Do you have any dogwood?"
~~~
Alfred yawned absentmindedly as he checked his watch, then his map once more. He’d been driving for about four-five hours already, and the sun was already beginning to set on the cold earth. Was he anywhere near Philly? The large bouqet of dogwood blossoms took up his passenger seat. They were less than 15 dollars— all of his gas money, but then again, Frida said she'd give them to him discounted, so he couldn't complain. They weren't a diamond ring, but Alfred hoped that Ivan would at least appreciate the effort. He smiled at the thought.
Alfred had decided to turn his trip more inland, away from the bustling city of New York, but he was beginning to regret it as the dark, empty road lay ahead of him for what felt like miles. He wasn’t a supernatural guy, but there’s a first time for everything, especially if the first time is driving for hours by yourself through rural upstate New York. Alfred started praying to the Lord above that he saw at least another pair of headlights on the dark road.
Luckily for him, Alfred finally made it into Pennsylvania after what felt like days. It was already fairly late, around 8 pm, but he was still an hour or two from Philadelphia. Was it too bad to stop in Pittsburgh instead? Surely it didn’t matter too much? Alfred frowned to himself. Maybe he should’ve left earlier.
Alfred’s eyes flitted to Madeline’s glasses still laying on the dashboard. The ‘To Raleigh!’ notecard flew up and down every time the old truck hit a bump in the dirt road. Ivan’s last letter was folded under the glasses. Alfred thought about him. Would Ivan’s letters still go to his old apartment? Was he still waiting for Alfred’s letters to get to him?
He sighed, absentmindedly flicking the old radio on. Some country songs were playing from the near busted speakers. Alfred had never really liked new country; the singers were always complaining about something, he thought. But there were good songs under everything.
Alfred felt himself instinctively humming along to the next song that came on.
Running from the cold up in New England
I was born to be a fiddler in an old time string band
My baby plays the guitar, I pick a banjo now
He smiled to himself, tapping to the beat on his steering wheel. If Madeline was here, she would’ve gotten scared and scolded him to keep his eyes on the road. He would’ve laughed at her ridiculousness and sung out even louder just to annoy her. Madeline would’ve ignored him for a bit, but they’d make up again once he bought her poutine on the side of the road or something small like that.
Alfred caught himself chuckling at the warm memory. But Madeline wasn’t here. She was back in Boston. And she might stay there forever.
Oh, north country winters keep getting me down
Lost my money playing poker so I had to leave town
But I ain’t a-turning back to living that old life no more
His eyes flitted back to the road in front of him. If Alfred wanted to get back to Raleigh, to Ivan, to Madeline, he’d have to drive just a bit further.
~~~
Alfred couldn’t explain the rush of relief that ran over him as the sight of the Philadelphia skyline filled his dashboard. It was nearing midnight (he’d gotten slightly lost along the way), and Alfred couldn’t help but feel like it took all his strength just to not to fall asleep. The second he found a gas pump, he was going to fill up, pull over to the side of the road, and fall asleep. But he could also go for a drink, he thought tiredly.
Luckily for him, the city was big, and there were old pubs scattered on every other street. Alfred figured he could just pick the first one and dally in.
‘Charles’ English Pub and Bar’ looked promising, he thought to himself, with huge Victorian-style lanterns lining the outside and the flags of Wales, Scotland, England, and the Union Jack on the windowsill. English food was not that good, but they did make some good beer.
He pulled his truck over and kicked the door open. The engine continued to cough concerningly, but Alfred chose to ignore it to preserve his sanity. He skipped up to the entrance of the pub, pulling the door open. Inside were a few booths lining a wall and a bar lining the other one. It was fairly empty, stray from the exhausted-looking bartender, a much too sensual elderly couple at a booth, and a man on a squeaky barstool staring at his drink. There was a small box in the back of the room, playing Come On Eileen from its grainy speaker. Alfred shuffled up to the bar, sitting himself a seat down from the other man. He didn’t look up, which did unnerve Alfred a bit, but he was sure his southern charm would pull through. Or maybe he was just lonely and desperate. Alfred hadn’t really talked to anyone in more than two weeks, apart from Ivan’s single letter. Perhaps he was just going crazy.
“Can I get you anything?” the bartender asked stoically. Alfred forced a warm grin on his face (Jesus, was it always so hard to smile?) and threw a thumbs up her way.
“Give me the cheapest, strongest thing you got,” he tried to smile. The man next to him finally looked up, raising a curious, bushy eyebrow before returning to his drink. Alfred took this as an invitation to introduce himself.
“Live around here?” he asked, turning to face the other man. He gave Alfred a glare, but responded anyway, so Alfred took that as a good thing. He mumbled a quick no, and Alfred could’ve sworn he heard some kind of accent in it. Consider his curiosity piqued.
Alfred smiled at the bartender as she passed his glass over. He took a small sip, immediately getting shocked by the stinging taste of vodka. He should’ve expected it; after all, vodka is usually always the strongest and the cheapest alcohol on the shelves. Ivan loved vodka. Alfred used to always make fun of him for drinking it straight from the bottle, calling him an alcoholic despite Ivan having a much higher tolerance than him anyway. Sometimes Alfred would try to keep up with him by drinking multiple bottles of whiskey at the same time, but he always ended up throwing up and passed out. If he had a nickel for every time Ivan had to carry him home from a bar or party for drinking too much, he’d have enough money to buy a mansion.
Alfred smiled fondly at the memory as he took another cautious sip of the vodka. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him, but whether they were judgemental or curious, he didn’t really care.
“Straight vodka?” he heard the man scoff from beside him, in a thick British accent. Alfred smiled at the situation. A British man in a British pub. “What are you trying to forget?”
Alfred glanced up at him and took another drink. His mouth skewered, and he hoped the man knew it was from the alcohol and not because he didn’t want to talk. “...It’s a lot. Is it possible to forget an entire city?” He tried to joke.
The other man chuckled sourly and took a drink from his own glass. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
“Boston?”
“Philadelphia.”
Alfred laughed quietly to himself. Maybe this guy was a bit brash, but at least he was funny.
“I’m trying to get back to my family in Raleigh. Or- I guess I should say my fiance,” he hummed before pausing. “Ah, wait! I didn’t catch your name? Mine’s Alfred. Alfred Jones.” Soon to be Alfred Braginsky, he thought to himself. But he didn’t say that outloud.
“You’re a talkative one,” the man grumbled, but Alfred could catch the ghost of a smirk on the side of his lips. “...I’m Arthur.”
“Arthur,” Alfred repeated, “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I hope you do manage to forget Philadelphia,” he laughed.
Arthur hummed in agreement, twirling his glass in his hand. “Your fiance,” he hummed, “How long have you two been together?”
Alfred felt a trying grin split his face. Anything about Ivan and he was ready to talk. “Seven and a half years,” he beamed, “Iva- Anya and I met in high school. They’re from Russia, actually. Isn’t that cool?”
“Eight years and you haven’t gotten married? ‘s there a reason for that?” Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow. Well, yes, there was, in fact, a reason for that. It hadn’t even been legal for him and Ivan to get married until a couple months ago, putting aside the fact they hadn’t seen each other in half a decade. Sure, Arthur seemed like a nice guy, but you still had to be careful about who you disclose this stuff to. Alfred didn’t really feel like losing his chance at his first real conversation in a month.
“Eh, you know, financial stuff,” he waved off, smiling nervously. Half the truth was good enough, right? “What about you? Got a girlfriend? Or- a boyfriend? Partner?”
Arthur looked away, so much so that Alfred was unable to tell his expression.
“I had a husband. Married last summer. He…he’s not with us anymore.”
Alfred frowned at the sudden twist in the air. He wanted to reach his hand out, in any form of comfort, but decided against it. “Oh. I’m so sorry,” he tried, biting his lip nervously. Arthur still hadn’t turned back. “If it helps at all...I- I just lost my sister, so I know at least a little bit what it’s like.”
Arthur glanced back at him slowly, eyes full of something in between surprise and empathy. “There’s no reason to apologize,” he said brashly, “You didn’t kill him, just as I didn’t kill your sister.”
Alfred shut his mouth, feeling a dry laugh nearly escape. Arthur’s attitude was very…realistic, Alfred thought. Maybe he was a good drinking partner after all.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he hummed, taking a bigger swig of his drink. He could feel the warm alcohol in his veins, blurring his mind and his vision and his tongue. “Do you have any siblings, Arthur?”
The other man chuckled to himself, as if the question itself humored him. “I have five older brothers. Haven’t seen Sean in fifteen years, though. Poor bloke ran away.”
“Oh, I’m sor-” he bit his tongue, remembering what Arthur had said earlier. “Were you two…close?” he hummed.
“Not in the slightest,” Arthur smiled weakly, his eyes flitting back to his drink. Alfred decided not to pry; bar talk only went so far. He’d certainly hate it if someone asked him every single detail about Madeline’s medical history. Even Alfred knew when to be quiet.
They fell into comfortable silence, with Alfred humming along from one of the songs playing from the speaker in the corner. He paused. Wasn’t this the same song playing in his car earlier?
Walking to the south, out of Roanoke
Caught a trucker out of Philly, had a nice long toke
But he’s headed west from the Cumberland Gap
To Johnson City, Tennessee
Alfred smiled to himself as he noticed Arthur tapping the table to the beat as well. Alfred nudged his arm, causing a slight flinch to come out from the other man.
“You like country?” he asked, beckoning the drink in his hand to the speaker.
Arthur hummed, glancing from the corner of the room to Alfred. “I suppose. I like rock much better, though.”
“Oh, so like, Nirvana? Pearl Jam?” He raised an eyebrow. Arthur just shook his head, a scowl forming on his lips. Alfred couldn’t get himself to be offended, however; he’d come to realize that a scowl might just be Arthur’s default face.
“No, I prefer the classics. You know, things like Bon Jovi and The Smiths. I do really like the Beatles, too,” he glanced upwards.
Alfred grinned excitedly. He wasn’t big into music, but at least he could find something to relate to. “Oh, I love the Beatles! My favorite is Paul.”
Arthur glanced at him with a semi-amused look on his face, as if he was just now getting into the conversation. He took another swig of his beer before continuing. “Really? You strike me as more of a John guy. Paul happens to be my favorite too, so I guess we have something in common after all.”
He laughed, passing over his beer to clink it with Arthur’s. “My fiance was always into these old, niche bands. Their favorite was always- Death, Taxi, something. We could never afford concert tickets, but it’s always the thought that counts, right? I was never big on any of that stuff, though. I can always get behind George Strait, though.”
“Death Cab for Cutie?” Arthur lit up, staring at him with curious eyes. Alfred just laughed. Of course they’d know the same band.
“Yeah, that must be the one. You’d like Ivan, I think,” Alfred smiled to himself before pausing. Shit. He’d said Ivan, hadn’t he? “Ah- I mean Anya. My very female fiance.”
He glanced down at Arthur, who was staring at him like he’d just told him he was a flying car driver. Arthur sighed, “Alfred, I don’t care if you’re engaged to a man. I’m gay, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Alfred felt himself flush out of embarrassment as he fidgeted with his sleeve. “Right, of course, silly me,” he chuckled awkwardly. Why had he still been so nervous, knowing Arthur had a husband?
Arthur just rolled his eyes, obviously humored by Alfred’s ridiculous antics.
The night had grown quieter outside, with just the whirl wind of frigid rain outside filling the dark. The old couple in the corner had long since left, and the bartender looked like they were on their last breath in the corner. Alfred glanced back at Arthur, who had his fingernail three feet into his teeth.
The conversation picked up a bit afterwards, as Alfred felt himself fall further into his drink. He was glad Arthur was there, after all. Drinking alone was a fate no one should be subjected to.
They talked about many things, from music, to jobs, to their siblings, to their partners. Arthur wasn't exactly an easy guy to talk to, Alfred realized about halfway through, but by that point he was too drunk and too lonely. Maybe that was a good thing, too. Alfred was always a big fan of unconventional friendships.
He checked his watch, squinting as he realized he had actually no idea what it read. Was it past 12? Jesus, was he really going to sleep in his car during this storm? He turned back to Arthur, to find that the man was already looking to him.
“Mate, forgive me if this is too brash but,” Arthur spoke up, meeting Alfred’s eyes, “You don’t strike me as the type to be able to afford a hotel room, and this weather is no kind to be sleeping in a car during. My apartment is a couple blocks from here, and I have a spare room,” he yawned and took another drink out of his nearly empty glass, “Of course, if you already have some place to stay, that’s quite alright.”
Alfred beamed. Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to sleeping by himself in a freezing car in the middle of a hailstorm either. To have Arthur offer his own home was like a guardian angel coming down from heaven. “Are you sure? Oh my god, dude, thank you so much, I thought I was going to die in this weather!”
Arthur rolled his eyes, but Alfred could silently tell he was glad Alfred didn’t shoo him off. After all, Arthur had just lost his husband just the same as Alfred had lost Madeline. Perhaps they were both just lonely.
“Don’t you mention it,” Arthur yawned, passing his now empty glass to the end of the table, “I should probably get home soon, though. I’ve got somewhere to go in the morning.”
Alfred up at him smiled, “Me too.”
~~~
Alfred shivered as Arthur pushed open his apartment door and stepped in, out of the cold. The apartment itself was barely bigger than Alfred and Madeline’s shoe box of a flat, but at least it had two bedrooms. When Madeline still lived with him, they’d alternate who’d sleep on the bed and who’d sleep on the couch every other night. Sometimes, though, when things got extra stressful or the doctors came back with more bad news, they’d make a pillow fort right on the living room floor and fall asleep to the sound of some Tubi alien invasion movie in the background, just like they did when they were kids.
He felt a pit in his stomach form at the memory. Arthur’s apartment seemed cozy, sure, but it held the same weight of loss that his in Boston had. Alfred frowned.
“-And I can get you water, in case you throw up. Actually, please don’t throw up. I don’t feel like cleaning up after anyone…” he heard Arthur ramble from the kitchen. Alfred nearly missed the plastic water bottle chucked at his head. “Do you have a suitcase? Change of clothes, or anything?”
Alfred looked side to side as if his suitcase would fall out of the ceiling and into his hands.
“...Uh, yeah, but it’s in my truck. And I don’t have many changes of clothes anyway,” he drawled, rocking awkwardly on his heels. Arthur turned to him with a surprised mug on his face.
“Not to offend you, but Jesus, how poor are you? I wish you luck affording that wedding, chap,” he huffed. Alfred couldn’t find it in him to be mad. After all, from the looks of it, Arthur’s situation didn’t look too far off.
He let out a trying chuckle, “I’m managing. After all, money can’t buy happiness, right?” Alfred didn’t mention that, really, he didn’t think himself too happy either.
“Well, I wish you nothing but the best,” Arthur laughed as well, shaking his head, “God knows we both need it.”
Alfred smiled down at him as Arthur somersaulted onto the couch and fished for the remote under him. Though he didn’t want to invade boundaries too far, Alfred found that he quite frankly didn't care, and skipped over to sit down next to him. Arthur flicked through the channels, finally landing on some British cooking show with an angry-faced man with a tall chef’s hat yelling at the poor contestants. Arthur laughed every time the contestant fell or messed up, taking sips of his water bottle in between.
“Oh, is this Underworld’s Scullery? Madeline, that’s my sister’s name, by the way- have I mentioned that before? Wait, besides the point- she used to love this show,” he smiled. Arthur nodded, still invested in his show. Alfred paused before slowly starting up again, “...Y’know, you kinda remind me of Madeline. Just a bit. I mean, she’s definitely quieter than you, and she holds her tongue better,” he laughed at Arthur’s pointed glare, “but, you have the same kindness, I guess? Like, if you really were a terrible person, you wouldn’t let me stay here during a storm."
Arthur's gaze fell to the window as he stayed quiet for a moment. Alfred for a short moment was afraid that, maybe, in a drunken state, he’d started crying.
"...Cheers to that,” Arthur turned back, with a small smile on his face, “Heaven knows I've never been a good brother. But your sister…seemed like a wonderful person.”
He beamed back, glancing again from the tv, to the storm outside, to Arthur.
“...Yeah. She was.”
Alfred fell asleep right on the couch that night, hand clenched tight on Madeline’s glasses as the ‘To Raleigh!’ tag shone brightly in the moonlight.
Maybe his long trip wasn’t such a bad thing, he thought, as long as he got to make moments like these along the way.
~~~