#its LITERALLY blistering underneath the heart monitor

[ahauntedcowboy]

i always got annoyed because despite this being the third time i've had to wear a heart monitor, no one ever warned me how itchy it gets.

idk why but it took peeling the patch off my skin and seeing the nastiest looking rash to realize that it's not supposed to be itchy and i'm just allergic to the adhesive....

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Two

Summary: Moving across the pond was supposed to signify new beginnings for the Kirkland family. Arthur’s parents seemed to take that a bit too literally for his liking.

Chapter Index

This was moved from my old account

He tsked as the edge of his fingernail chipped off. A small bit of blood oozed from underneath the nail and he brought it to his tongue, licking it. It had happened enough the past two weeks that he was used to it, the sharp stings turning into a dull pulsing he dealt with.

When his parents had said “respectable”, the word “comfortable” was not included in their definition. The white dress shirt he wore was stiff, and pairing it with a muted green vest that seemed to be made specifically for his misery… it was torture. His dress pants never seemed to fit the way his skinny jeans did, and it irked him to feel the extra, unnecessary fabric hang off his calves. The loafers were perhaps the worst. Arthur winced at the thought of the blisters that would be on his toes and heels, and even more at the thought of having to put the shoes back on the next day.

Arthur had hoped, had even thought about praying, with all his heart that he lived in an area of a high school with uniforms. Just so he wouldn’t have to wear the clothes his mother picked out for him. Even if she had taken five hours going store to store, forcing Arthur to go with her and try each and every article on, he didn’t care. He wanted them off and to never wear them again.

But these days, luck had been giving him two fingers.

Adjusting his backpack, which seemed to be the weight of a boulder, he started to walk towards a particular entrance, a sign displaying “OFFICE” nailed next to it. Looking around, he saw the wide eyes and gaped mouths of those he assumed to be in year ten, or freshmen, as they called them here. Though he would never admit it, he could sympathize with their fear.

The school was huge, three buildings and two floors huge, as he had learned from eavesdropping on a whispered, terror-filled conversation. And though the day had not officially begun, Arthur knew that he was going to be late to most, if not all, of his classes.

He pushed open a glass door, eyes scanning a counter piled with computers, papers, and administrators. He walked up to one with messy brown hair gathered in a bun. She scowled as he approached, blowing a wisp of hair out of her glasses and propping her head against her palm.

“If you don’t have a schedule, you were supposed to take the one you got from orientation and bring it here today. If you need anything else, tell me.” She turned her head down, bringing her attention back to the monitor in front of her.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, glaring at the woman. The stereotypes and what he had gathered from department store employees about all Americans being cheery rays of sunshine had gone out the window. He understood that she might be tired- hell, who wasn’t these days- but that didn’t mean she had to be like that. She worked at with people. Represented the school to all who came in its doors.

He considered chewing her out, at least making a comment on her rudeness, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He made his voice blunt, lifting his upper lip in a sneer, “I’m new here.”

The woman sat up, eyes widening as she leaned back against her chair. She opened her mouth, “I-”, before shutting it. She rolled her eyes and huffed, mumbling something about children these days showing no respect to adults and how they’ll get what’s coming to them. “What grade are you in?”

“Uh-” he racked through the nooks and crannies of his memory, trying to remember that one word “-senior. I’m a senior.”

The woman nodded slowly. “‘kay, you will be going there-” she pointed to a door behind her “- over to Mr. Beilschmidt’s office. He’s the senior vice principal.”

“Thanks…”

Arthur trudged behind the counter, fidgeting as the hard tile turned to an equally hard carpet. Although he had been in offices what seemed like millions of times, usually with written up slips of paper, they always managed to make him uneasy. Straightening his back, relaxing his shoulders, raising his chin, and putting on his best “game face”, as many had dubbed it, Arthur ignored those behind him, namely the woman glaring daggers and arrows to his back, and turned and pushed the handle to the office.

His eyes widened a fraction as he stepped through the door. The walls were painted white, though it was brighter and clearer than the tile. A desk sat in the middle, three file cabinets backing it and two chairs in front of it. A single black picture frame sat next to a computer monitor, along with a mess of papers and stray pens and pencils. The only color in the room was the green of a tiny cactus, which he could only tell was real by the “do not touch” posted note stuck to its container. The room was bland. Impersonal.

When the man sitting at the desk looked up, suit and dress shirt without a wrinkle, face cold with a silent expression of “what the hell do you want?”, Arthur knew that they were going to have some problems with each other. He had never gotten along- hated, really- with a certain type of people, those who valued rule and order over everything else.  And this man, Mr. Beilschmidt, the rude woman had called him, with gelled and slicked back hair, though much longer than it normally was, definitely fit the type.

“A woman out there-” he turned back towards the door, if only to prevent him from sneering “- told me to come in here and-” His voice cut through Arthur’s words like a hot knife does with butter. “Is this your first day here at this school?”

“Er- yes.”

Beilschmidt nodded, rolling his chair back to a file cabinet. He pulled open the middle drawer, beginning to dig through its contents. “Sit.”

Arthur started forward, strolling over to one of the chairs sitting in front of the desk, and slid in. He dropped his backpack to the side with a thump, crossing his legs and arms. He sat, back slouching, as he watched Beilschmidt.

A yellow paper flew towards him, bouncing off his chest and falling in the space between him and the edge of the desk. Arthur picked it up, looking over the paper with a raised eyebrow. The lines, the numbers, and the- “My lord, this school is huge,” he breathed.

Beilschmidt breathed air out from his nose harshly, and Arthur supposed that that was the only type of laughter anyone would receive from him. If you could even call it laughter. “You get used to it. Learn shortcuts to get from place to place.”

Beilschmidt leaned forward, grabbing and uncapping a pen. “The office- where we are, at the moment, is here-” he circled an “L” shaped block “the courtyard. where many students choose to eat lunch, is right next to us-” he circled a block to the right of the “L” “-and your classes are-” Beilschmidt looked up, brow raising expectantly. “Let me see your schedule.”

Arthur raised his brow in response, tightening his arms together and bopping his crossed foot up and down. “I’ve not gotten one.” One would think that he would know that Arthur wouldn’t have one, considering that he had told him a little more than five minutes prior that it was his first day.

Beilschmidt sighed, hanging his head down and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sat up straight, folding his fingers together. “What’s your name?”

“Arthur Kirkland,” he drawled.

Beilschmidt turned to his computer, clicking once-twice-three times. “Traditional spelling?”

“Yes. How else would it be spelled?” Arthur wondered how many times the man had typed in a name, only for it to have a modern or cultural twist to it. Too many times, if him asking had given any evidence.

He typed in a quick burst that had Arthur’s eyes widening and was once again clicking at his mouse. Beilschmidt slowly leaned back, folding his arms and resting them on the back of his neck. His eyes darted back and forth, nodding a bit, reading whatever was on it. It must’ve been interesting, considering the few glances towards Arthur’s direction.

The sound of the printer starting up startled Arthur, making him jump in his seat with a soft and short gasp. Beilschmidt huffed again, an amused smirk forming. “Get that for me.”

With a scowl, Arthur stood, walking over to the printer. It sat in the corner, on a table with stacks and stacks of spare paper surrounding it. He grabbed the lone paper out of its mouth, feeling satisfaction at its warmth.

He strolled back over to Beilschmidt, handing him the schedule. The man scanned it, tilting his head down, up, down, up, before handing it to Arthur. “This look about right?”

He didn’t know. When his mother had gone to do his paperwork and choose his classes, she left Arthur behind to “sulk in his room,” as she had so eloquently put it. Looking down, reading box after box, he supposed she didn’t do too bad of a job, until- “Choir?” Arthur looked up, nose crinkling.

Beilschmidt raised an eyebrow. “Your mother said you had some experience if I remember correctly. And we could always use another person in the bass or tenor sections, whatever you are.”

Arthur nodded in agreement, still staring at the schedule, though on the inside he was screaming. Throwing a toddler-like tantrum. His mother had signed him up for the choir. After years of telling her his hatred for it. And while he knew how to read music, he was slow and would surely fall behind the others, but she signed him up anyways. He almost requested to be taken out.

He must’ve been at least a little open about his newfound issue, for Beilschmidt cleared his throat. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Mr. Vargas is an exceptional director and has been for many years. If you have any troubles, he would surely be able to help. It’s his job to do so.”

A bell rang, a warning bell, Beilschmidt had called it, and the two decided that Arthur best be off. He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one of his shoulders. He grabbed both the map and the schedule, folding them up and shoving them in his left pocket. Stepping towards the door, Arthur was just about to turn the handle and leave when-

“Oh, and Mr. Kirkland?”

He tensed, turning his head to where he could just barely see the man over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I saw your file. Read your behavior reports.” Arthur’s body loosened, and he smirked. “I don’t want to see you in my office again. Understand?”

“Understood, sir,” he drawled, chuckling softly. He turned the handle and pushed, beginning his escape towards the courtyard. Though the man surely hoped the opposite, Arthur knew that the two were going to be well acquainted.

His first two classes went well, if you don’t count the fact that he was late to both. The only way Arthur hadn’t started the first day off with an after-school detention was explaining that he was new and simply didn’t know his way around and hoping that the teachers had a shred of pity. Thankfully, they did.

He rushed into his next class, not even bothering to look at the subject or the teacher’s name. Scanning the rows and rows of desks, he slid into an empty one in the back of the classroom. He preferred it this way, as it had many pros and few cons. As soon as he sat down, turning to sling his backpack over the back of his chair, the teacher walked in, shutting the door behind him.

Looking around, eyes focusing on equations and signs reading “cheating is not learning,” and “STEM is the future!”, he realized with a groan that he was in maths, of all things. His least favorite subject, and also, with no coincidence whatsoever, his worst performing subject.

The numbers, all mixed together, being told that they were supposed to mean something. But the thing was, those numbers stopped meaning something around year eleven and became what they were- numbers. Numbers mixed with letters and symbols that he knew the meanings of in simple, basic equations, but were lost as they got harder. More complex. Maths was a giant, layered, leveled puzzle. One that, for the life of him, he could not even begin to solve.

The teacher clapped his hands together. “I hope you all like the seats you picked out this morning. You’ll have them for the rest of the year.” His smile turned smug upon hearing the groans of several students, including the one sitting to Arthur’s right.

Turning, he grabbed a stack of papers, flinging them onto the desk of some unfortunate soul on the front row. “What she’s passing out is your syllabus. Keep it or throw it away once you leave my room, I don’t care.”

He began his introduction, his name, likes, and dislikes, though Arthur was too bored to care. He stared off into space, supporting his head with his hand. As he played with his pencil, he was grateful for making the quick decision to snag a seat in the back. It seemed as if some teachers were specifically trained for spotting students who were “speaking with the fairies”, as his mother put it from time to time. If Arthur had sat in the front, he surely would’ve been called out by now.

He jumped out of his thoughts, hitting his elbow against the desk. His pencil, having been swung between his index and middle fingers, lost control, flinging out of his grip, circling around and around, only to land unceremoniously on the floor under the desk next to him. Arthur cursed, quietly enough that no one would hear him, and rubbed his slightly pained elbow with a wince.   Arthur glanced towards the kid to his right. He seemed to be focused, even though the teacher was only going over the syllabus.

Maybe he had another pencil? Arthur could just cut his losses and abandon the one he had dropped. Pencils weren’t too expensive, depending on what you bought, and Arthur had the cheaper mechanical ones. He turned around in his seat, unzipping his backpack as quietly and discreetly as he could manage. He did not need an argument with a teacher on the first day. Arthur pushed through his supplies, wishing his mother hadn’t gone so overboard and forced him to pack every single thing. With a tiny, whispered, “yes!”, Arthur pulled out a package of pencils, only to immediately frown.

The packaging of the pencils was common. Plastic to display the product and a thin layer of cardboard to keep it all in. The only problem was that the plastic reached to the corners, curving over to the back. It would make a racket to try to open it in class, with it being as quiet as it was, and cause more embarrassment than he wished for the day. Arthur sighed, shoulders deflating. He was going to have to ask his neighbor to retrieve his pencil.

He bit his lip, wishing his piercing was still there. It had become a habit of his over many months to bite it and mess with it using his tongue when he became nervous. Its loss he had been dealing with for the past two weeks, albeit with anger and frustration, vowing to avenge it along with his other piercings. the only evidence that there was anything there was a tiny hole that looked like a beauty mark or a freckle from afar. Or, so he was told.

Arthur needed to figure out how to get the boy’s attention. Throwing something was too risky. He didn’t know yet if he had the type of teacher with eyes of a hawk. A note was out of the question, considering his current issue. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Arthur’s only hope was to talk to him. And if the two got caught… his mind worked quickly with years of misbehaving. He could and would think of something.

Shuffling his foot into the aisle, Arthur tapped against the boy’s shoe. It moved away, next to the other one, much to his frustration. He hung his head down, sighing and rubbing his forehead. Arthur was going to have to do this the hard way. Arthur lifted his head up, spotting the teacher writing on the board. He hoped he was writing something long, as this would most likely take a while. Depending on the intelligence- or lack of- of the kid he was about to talk to.

Leaning to the side, his voice was sharp and quick. “Hey. Hey, you.” The boy next to him stiffened, turning his head to face Arthur and-

Arthur’s jaw almost dropped, but he settled for raising both his eyebrows instead. Hair that looked like melted, smooth caramel. Eyes bright behind square-framed, metal glasses. Tanned, slightly freckled face and arms. A thin layer of muscle bulking up his sleeves and torso. He had been sitting next to this for ten minutes, maybe even longer than that. And he had yet to notice it.

The two stared at each other, the cogs in Arthur’s mind going haywire for a plan he could maybe- just maybe- use in the future.

He licked his lips, clearing his throat. “Could you do me a favor?” His voice was soft, clear, as it often was when he whispered. Arthur nodded to his pencil, the blond’s gaze following. “Get that for me?”

The blond blinked, once-twice-three times, before- “Woah… are y'Australian?”

It was Arthur’s turn to blink, his mouth gaping a tiny bit. “E-excuse me?” He was a little louder than he should’ve been and checked around to see if anyone was staring. He found no one. “Y'know… Australian! Did ya have a kangaroo back home?” He gasped, his eyes growing wider and brighter with child-like excitement behind his glasses. “Did y'all bring the kangaroo here?”

His mind drew to a stop, Arthur’s plan quickly going down the drain. There was no way a man could be that stupid. There had to be an explanation for it. Perhaps his mother dropped him on his head as an infant. But even then, there was still no way for it to be even a fraction of a bit possible. To mistaken him, English born and bred, as an Australian, of all things. He stuttered, trying to find something to say. He said the first thing that popped into his mind and said it a bit harsher than he meant to. “I’m sorry, are you thick?”

The blond’s smile dropped, forming a frown as his brow lowered. He hung his head down, moving his hands to squish and squeeze the chub of his stomach. “I don’t think so. I’ve been workin’ out, ya know, so I’m skinnier than I was when I was a freshman.”

Arthur slapped his face, breathing out through his nose. Okay, maybe calling him thick was not the best way to go. In his two weeks of being here, Arthur had figured out that some Americans weren’t the most perceptive things- though the same could be said anywhere he went- and he probably should’ve expected this. He might as well have called the poor lad a fatass.

He turned his attention his back to the blond, who was still rambling about his weight. “An-and my mama said that my big thighs are just, like, y'know, a family thing, and th-that I’ve had 'em since I was really little so I don’t need ta worry. It’s not like there’s anythin’ wrong with big thighs, y'know. Personally, I like 'em and-”

Arthur decided to put a stop to it before it got out of hand and he started talking about his workout routine. “J-just get me the damn pencil!” He pointed to it, right next to the blond’s foot. “Under the- under your desk.” His whispers were getting harsher and louder and he knew that they were getting some stares. Arthur would have to wrap this up quick before he started yelling.

The blond stopped, inwardly pursing his lips. He leaned to the side and down, Arthur moving away to give him some space. He lifted his head, looking back at Arthur.

“Please?” Arthur couldn’t have said it nicer.

The blond leaned back, slightly ducking his head under the desk. He grabbed the pencil, then, raising back to his original position, laid the pencil on Arthur’s desk and returned his attention back to the teacher.

“Finally,” Arthur murmured. He picked up the pencil, using his thumb to insert it between his pointer and index fingers. He began swinging it, just as he had done to get him in the fiasco. Arthur spared glances to his right for the rest of the period, but the blond wouldn’t look at him. Either ignoring him or being too stupid to notice. Both seemed plausible.

He checked his schedule, which was now wrinkled from being folded and stuffed and unfolded and stuffed again. Instead of seeing yet another class number, the word “Lunch” was printed in tiny, bolded letters. Arthur smacked the paper against his thigh, tilting his head back and groaning.

Shoving the schedule back in his pocket, Arthur began his search for the map, which he could’ve sworn he had put in his backpack.  Reaching back, he slapped his back pocket, letting out a breath of relief when feeling a large, crumpled ball.

Arthur pulled it out, stepping to the side. He smacked the map against the wall, smoothing it out on the concrete. He leaned forward, his nose just inches away from the paper. The cafeteria was on the other side of the building and since he knew of nowhere else to go, he started walking.

He turned corners into corridors, even walking down a flight of stairs once. Arthur had his nose buried in the map the entire time, to the point where when someone was walking next to him, he didn’t notice until he heard a bright, cheery, “Hey!”

Arthur jumped, head jerking towards a boy to his left. His hair was a honey color and freckles surrounded the dark, ruddy brown of his eyes.

“Hello, yourself.” Arthur had no idea where he came from, but he hoped that he would leave soon. He started walking again, thinking the other would take a hint.

“I saw you talking to Alfred in math. Hilarious, I must tell you.” He giggled while Arthur narrowed his eyes. He had not seen the boy in class. Granted, it’s not like he studied every single person he was in the same room with, but he did look around quite a bit. Which brought him back to not even two minutes prior.

Arthur grazed his teeth over his bottom lip. If he had managed to sneak behind him without Arthur noticing, then what could others do? He needed to be more careful. More cautious. He stopped, pondering what the boy said. “Alfred… so that’s the lad’s name?”

“Yup. It’s a wonder how you haven’t learned it already, even if it’s your first day. He is the most popular kid in the school, after all. Or at least, one of the most popular.”

Arthur dismissed him knowing it was his first day as he hadn’t seen his face previous years. It made his shoulder blades have a peculiar, tense feeling when thinking that it may have been something different. “So his name’s Alfred-” he turned to the other, his brushing against his cheeks “- and what may I call you?”

The other grinned. “Vladimir Popescu. You can just call me Vlad, though. That’s what Lukas and the others call me. I like black magic. You?”

“I’m Arthur Kirkland and I like to read.” He didn’t find it necessary to include what, exactly, he liked to read. Vlad blinked, cocking his head to the side. Arthur thought he looked like a confused cat.

He must’ve decided something, as he shrugged and started walking. “C'mon, I’ll take you to the cafeteria. You can sit with Lukas and me.”

Contrary to what he thought, Arthur was not far from the cafeteria at all. It only took a couple of turns and Vlad was pushing open the doors with a bang, noise flooding out in waves. They walked in between rows of tables, dodging the occasional airborne food item.

They stepped towards a table in the corner, a pale boy sitting against the wall, reading and munching on crisps. When Vlad slid onto a stool, inspecting the floor before dropping his backpack, Arthur following his lead, he looked up. “Lukas! This is Arthur. You shoulda seen him in math. Called Alfred F. Jones stupid, only for Alfred to think he called him fat!” Vlad laughed, Lukas joining in with an amused huff and a small smile. Arthur felt his cheeks flare up, feeling a bit smug for his apparent achievement.

Lukas turned to Arthur, the smile staying consistent. “It’s… nice to meet you.” His voice was light. Full of air.

“Er- likewise.” Looking around, he noticed that there was no food on the table, save for Lukas’ crisps. “Why aren’t you two eating?”

Lukas groaned, returning his attention back to his book. Vlad looked around as if making sure no one was eavesdropping before leaning forward. Lukas kept reading, though Arthur noticed him making a glance or two in their direction. Vlad spoke in a harsh, hushed tone. “Listen here if you want to live.” Arthur sat up straight, nodding his head for him to continue. “The food here… it’s poisonous-” Vlad glared at Lukas upon hearing his snort “-and will probably kill you. Or give you radioactive properties. There was this one time, in the sixth grade, where I ate this cheeseburger and-”

Lukas shut his book with a thump, setting it down on the table gently. “Vlad, he doesn’t need to know about the cheeseburger. The only thing that was wrong with it was that it was frozen in the middle.”

Arthur scoffed. He treated meat being undercooked as if it were no big deal? Lukas looked at him, eyebrows raising. “It’s a lot  more common than you might think.”

Vlad nodding in agreement. “Yes. Very, very common. Which is why I must tell you, Arthur, take my advice or not, it’s up to you. But either bring your lunch or don’t eat anything at all.” Arthur wanted to tell the two to piss off, that they were ludicrous for even considering that the school was trying to poison them with their cooking, but… “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Arthur made a mental notice to himself to start to wait a while after school for the parking lot to clear out. He had not even gotten half way through the forest of cars and had almost been run over three times. One of those times, the first time, he had reached his hand out to touch the hood of the car in a small effort to stop it. Each time, however, he made sure to give a proper, one-finger send off to the drivers.

At the risk of being disowned by his parents or not, Arthur surely wasn’t going to let himself forgive and forget after almost being hit by a car. Especially if it was more than once.

If he himself had a car, everything would definitely be easier. But his parents didn’t trust him with one, think he would leave doing god-knows-what until the wee hours of the morning. Which, he had to admit, he probably would do.  And even if they did trust him, he would have to actually get a car. A license would help, too.

“Hey! You! Fuzzybrows!”

Arthur told himself that the person yelling was not directing it towards him and was instead insulting someone else’s eyebrows. He continued walking, fists and teeth clenched.

“Aw… come on! Don’t ignore me when I’m talkin’ to ya, Fuzzybrows!” He bit his lip, teeth grazing over that hole for what seemed like the hundredth- no- thousandth time that day. Screw it.

He stopped, feet grounded on the concrete. Turning, he got a good look at the fool. It was the golden boy from maths- Alfred, he remembered.

Relaxing his shoulders, Arthur tilted down his head, lowering his brow. “What- the- hell- do you want?” He snarled the last part, teeth bared, and it felt amazing to do so.  

Alfred stepped back, eyes wide. He regained himself, putting a hand on his hip to stand akimbo. “That is two times today that you’ve been mean ta me, Fuzzybrows!”

Arthur wondered if a punch to the face would send the memo, “I don’t care about your feelings,” but decided against it. If it left a bruise and Alfred’s parents were the type to take things too far… he didn’t need or want more trips to Beilschmidt’s office than he had to. He settled for glaring at him instead, thinking that Alfred would figure it out.

He silently cursed to himself when Alfred grinned, tilting his head to the side.

“Ya probably thought you were bein’ smart, makin’ me feel bad and stuff. Well, I was complainin’ about it ta- no, I was tellin’ him about it! Yeah, I was tellin’ Kiku about it, and he said that you were actually callin’ me stupid!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, raising his hand to rub his temples. He felt a headache coming along, had been all day, and Alfred’s stupidity was only making it come faster. What did the fool expect? Enthusiastic clapping for his accomplishment? A pat on the back? A single tear of pride?

“So y'know what? That’s actually three things you’ve done ta me today…”

Alfred frowned, straightening his back. A faint rosy color grew on his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck. He averted his eyes, only to look back up to meet Arthur’s.

“Uh… what’s your name, dude?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Feels wrong, just calllin’ ya Fuzzybrows.”

“Arthur Kirkland, if you must know.”

“Right. My name’s Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. Don’t leave out the 'F’ when ya say it. Sounds… weird.”

“Alfred Jones.” It did, indeed, sound strange.

Alfred winced, drawing back a bit. “Yikes, man! I just told ya not to say it!” He stuck his tongue out, closing his eyes and shaking his head, evidently disgusted by Arthur’s words. It reminded Arthur of Peter. “Anyways, three times you were mean ta me today-”

“Yes. You’ve said that multiple times, you don’t need to say it again-”

“One! Ya called me stupid! Two! Ya made me think I was fat-” “I didn’t make you think anything, you dimwit-”

“And three, ya yelled at me a couple minutes ago.” He seemed proud of himself, nodding as he listed Arthur’s “crimes” against him.

The idiot must have had less intelligence than he originally perceived if he thought that Arthur actually cared about what he had to say. He had to get out quick before Arthur himself said something stupid. “Well, Alfred, great chat, but I must get going-”

“Y'know, it took me quite a while to figure out what'cha meant by 'thick’”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, really? That’s wonderful.” He hoped it wouldn’t morph into storytime.

“Yeah. So I was sittin’ at lunch with the guys-” His eyes narrowed and his cocked to the side a fraction at Arthur’s groan “- and I was tellin’ 'em about what ya said ta me.

So I was tellin’ 'em, yeah, and Kiku- oh, that’s my boyfriend-” Arthur didn’t know why, but he stiffened at the word “-and Kiku was like, 'Alfred, where is he from?’ and I was like, 'I dunno, man. Sounded Australian ta me.’ and Kiku said that you were actually askin’ me if I was stupid!”

Alfred crossed his arms, giving Arthur a look. The lowered brow, inwardly pursed lips, the eyes that barely hid anger. It reminded him of his mother, his father, of years being the family disappointment. It bubbled. Rising up and up and- Arthur took a deep breath just as Alfred started. “Now, why would ya-”

“Look, Alfred. I don’t give a damn about your feelings. I don’t give a damn about what you tell your friends. And I certainly don’t give a damn about that boyfriend of yours. Count your blessings that you have someone who cares about you enough to drag you through life, because with the size of your brain, you wouldn’t be able to do it alone! Honestly, the fact that you even have a boyfriend is one of the world’s greatest mysteries because you are one of the most unpleasant people I’ve ever met. You’re annoying, you can’t seem to take a hint that no one wants to be around you, and when I’m in your presence I want to gag.”

He was breathing heavily, his cheeks hot. Seeing Alfred’s facial expression, he knew that he nicked a soft chord of his somewhere. He let out a laugh that sounded bitter and desperate even to his own ears, clapping his hands a couple of times. Arthur loved that look. Seeing it, knowing that he was the one who caused it. He laughed again, relishing in the shake of Alfred’s hand, the barely visible glaze of his eyes, his teeth holding onto his bottom lip for dear life. It was wonderful.

Arthur turned away, Alfred to his back, starting to walk in the direction of his house. It wasn’t too far, about a fifteen-minute walk. Though, he knew it would be unpleasant on days with nasty weather. He supposed that being close to his new school was something else his parents had planned.

He snorted. For people who claimed to be unorganized and just went with the flow, the two seemed to have a plan for everything these days.

“Uh- um… hey- wait- Ar-” Alfred’s voice cracked.

Arthur shook his head, ignoring him. Letting his backpack hang off his shoulder, he strolled out of the parking lot of his high school at a slow, lethargic pace. Leaving Alfred and not looking back.

Arthur just wished he could leave his problems the exact same way.