The leather was old and that odd, mud-colored shade that Alfred was fond of. Arthur opened the bifold slowly, and there were his five driver’s licenses, from California, Texas, New York, Florida, and Illinois, all with a slightly different picture and all with a different middle name. Franklin, Fulton, Floyd, Frederick, Farrell… There were his two credit cards, and his security clearance, his FBI badge, his Costco and Kroger membership cards, his DVD rental card on which he only needed to rent twice more before he got one free, a gift card to Home Depot, his passport. In the large billfold was $67 in cash, and then £15, and a $50 traveler’s check.
And then onto Arthur’s lap fell several pieces of paper. Arthur opened the graph paper first. It was a list. Of pickup lines. “You’re so cute you make my zygomaticus muscles contract.” And “When you and me get together it’s like superposition of 2 waves in phase.” Oh god, then “If I was sin2x and you were cos2x together we would be 1”, and all were in his forward slanting, slashing, cramped, upward-sloping, heavy-pressed handwriting. He’d been saving them for him.
The last though, was not in Alfred’s hand, and that’s what finally convinced him. It was an old, oft folded piece of paper, yellowing slightly with age. And it was in Arthur’s hand. It was this letter that Alfred kept in his wallet, day in and day out. Oh God…
Dearest Alfred, I am generally better with the written word on these things than I am speaking them aloud, so I’m sending you this letter to express what I find I cannot in person. I am not sure of when it started, exactly, but I do know it was some point after the First World War, but before the Second. I think all of Europe knows of my feelings at this point, so it’s only fair that you do as well. But I want it to be known that it didn’t start when you were a child; it started long after that, when you were no longer my adopted little brother. If you ever were in some ways… I do admit that I wasn’t around much until you were already grown. But none of that matters, just that you know that I did not feel this way when you were a child. I know that I am in the waning days of my Empire and power in the world; you are simply waxing, growing every day and taking your place this time with a vengeance. I know that the sun is setting on me, but you are in the west, and it is simply rising for you. These will be dangerous times, for all of us can read that at least on the wind. Know that whatever happens between us, I will stand by you. I may be waning, but I still have power and influence in the world, I have military bases in strategic locations. I am developing my own nuclear weapons, and I will at least have some power in this new order. If you don’t feel the same way I do, simply ignore this missive, and if I do not hear from you, I will assume that this is your reply, and I will bury these feelings as deeply as possible so as they do not interfere with our daily interaction. All my love, Arthur Alfred had come up to his door, holding the letter in his hand, banging away, and asked him frankly, when he opened the door, what the hell this letter was and if he loved him. Then he had roughly grabbed him and –
Arthur couldn’t think. “How—how could he die? He must’ve healed.”
“He… couldn’t…” Matthew breathed.
End written section.
Arthur saves Matthew with the Nine Herb Charm and some quick thinking. Arthur does however go into a bit of a depression over the fact that he thinks he killed Alfred, leaving the escape planning to the other three.
Crowe END/u
And then onto Arthur’s lap fell several pieces of paper. Arthur opened the graph paper first. It was a list. Of pickup lines. “You’re so cute you make my zygomaticus muscles contract.” And “When you and me get together it’s like superposition of 2 waves in phase.” Oh god, then “If I was sin2x and you were cos2x together we would be 1”, and all were in his forward slanting, slashing, cramped, upward-sloping, heavy-pressed handwriting. He’d been saving them for him.
The last though, was not in Alfred’s hand, and that’s what finally convinced him. It was an old, oft folded piece of paper, yellowing slightly with age. And it was in Arthur’s hand. It was this letter that Alfred kept in his wallet, day in and day out. Oh God…
Dearest Alfred,
I am generally better with the written word on these things than I am speaking them aloud, so I’m sending you this letter to express what I find I cannot in person.
I am not sure of when it started, exactly, but I do know it was some point after the First World War, but before the Second. I think all of Europe knows of my feelings at this point, so it’s only fair that you do as well. But I want it to be known that it didn’t start when you were a child; it started long after that, when you were no longer my adopted little brother. If you ever were in some ways… I do admit that I wasn’t around much until you were already grown. But none of that matters, just that you know that I did not feel this way when you were a child.
I know that I am in the waning days of my Empire and power in the world; you are simply waxing, growing every day and taking your place this time with a vengeance. I know that the sun is setting on me, but you are in the west, and it is simply rising for you. These will be dangerous times, for all of us can read that at least on the wind. Know that whatever happens between us, I will stand by you. I may be waning, but I still have power and influence in the world, I have military bases in strategic locations. I am developing my own nuclear weapons, and I will at least have some power in this new order.
If you don’t feel the same way I do, simply ignore this missive, and if I do not hear from you, I will assume that this is your reply, and I will bury these feelings as deeply as possible so as they do not interfere with our daily interaction.
All my love,
Arthur
Alfred had come up to his door, holding the letter in his hand, banging away, and asked him frankly, when he opened the door, what the hell this letter was and if he loved him. Then he had roughly grabbed him and –
Arthur couldn’t think. “How—how could he die? He must’ve healed.”
“He… couldn’t…” Matthew breathed.
End written section.
Arthur saves Matthew with the Nine Herb Charm and some quick thinking. Arthur does however go into a bit of a depression over the fact that he thinks he killed Alfred, leaving the escape planning to the other three.