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With a firm tug on his jacket sleeve, he was pulled into a corner of the crowded pub that allowed for some level of privacy. He was a few beers deep, which was enough that Arthur had to loudly clear his throat to get his attention. Oh, right. Arthur. His head swiveled to meet his gaze.
For a few moments all he could pay attention to was how low his bushy eyebrows were drawn. From his perspective in the darkness of the pub—it looked like two massive caterpillars had crawled onto his face.
He’s probably pissy about—something. With Arthur there was always something to get his ‘knickers’ in a twist about. Whether it was bemoaning his ‘dreadful’ lack of etiquette or his ‘butchering’ of the English language.
He had to fight off the smile that threatened to tug at the corners of his lips as he attempted to refocus on the rather stern looking older man in front of him. If he smiled too hard Arthur would then ask ‘what’s so funny’ with that accent and he would have to try and not laugh in his face. Arthur never appreciated it when he mocked his accent. Lost in his own musings, Alfred watched with a dulled sense of horror as Arthur’s lips moved, sound came out, but he just couldn’t understand a lick of it.
The TV station blared in the background, people at the bar were loudly chattering about ‘football’ scores, and he could hear the pitter patter of rain on the window they were standing right next to.
“flibbo narf plonk wibba glamboo?”
Uh... That was a question, right? All he heard was someone at the bar loudly bemoaning about some ex wife and alimony.
His mouth opened, and then closed again. Static filled his ears as he struggled to fill in the blanks. Arthur was staring impatiently. Condescendingly. Oh, he hated this. It felt like he was playing Madlibs on nightmare difficulty.
A horrendously awkward silent moment passed. Then another. He hadn’t caught any of that so now he had the lovely opportunity to go out on a limb and guess, or admit he hadn’t understood. Arthur didn’t tend to react well to being asked to repeat himself when he wasn’t a few beers deep.
The silence wore on him. He laughed and flashed a smile he hoped would work as an answer. Arthur’s brows immediately furrowed in confusion.
Shit. That definitely didn’t work.
“Yibib, narf blibbo glammur kerploo, flibbo narf plonk wibba glamboo?”
Oookay it wasn’t a yes or no question.
He must look incredibly stupid right now, like the dumbest of the dumb. The TV across the room was loud, he knows that the weather prediction for tomorrow includes a high of sixteen degrees celcius but he has no idea what the man right in front of him just said. His ears started to burn at the clear irritation that was running across the older man’s face.
“Are you asking if I prefer whiskey or brandy?” It was a complete shot in the dark. He was betting on the Brit’s previous attempts to bond with him via booze. He typically avoided drinking the same time that Arthur did, because Arthur tended to drink himself into a blubbering mess and bring up the revolutionary war. Then he would get emotional and cry, and Alfred really didn’t know how to handle a drunk sobbing Arthur.
A ‘stiff upper lip’ Arthur was predictably uptight, whereas a drunk Arthur was extremely unpredictable.
Though, he noted that it seemed like he’d managed to drink moderately tonight. There was still a sharp focus in his eyes instead of a glazed over look. So far, the voice in the back of his head retorted.
Arthur leaned in closer, his breath reeked of alcohol and chips. To focus on the words about to be said, he shifted his eyes from Arthur to the window.
“You git, I said do you have a hotel room nearby, or do I need to call you a lift?” He shouted loud enough that he knew that people were definitely staring now.
Meanwhile, the words had finally clicked in his head and his eyes widened in horror. His guess had been nowhere even in the range of being close. Besides the implication of drinking, perhaps.
He returned his gaze to Arthur and watched him pulling away to rub the spot between his eyes. The gesture made him look much older than he had before.
“I don’t know where you get that imagination from.”
The words were said without a hint of malice, but since they came from a place of such deep exhaustion his face burned in embarrassment. He’s done this before, enough so that it’s almost an expectation.
Despite the deep irony of that statement coming from Arthur of all people, he didn’t even take the golden opportunity to retort. Instead, he just cowardly hummed before confirming with Arthur that the hotel is nearby and—no he doesn’t need him to call him a ride. He would walk, and the fresh air would be good for him anyway. The snide voice in the back of his head returned and reminded him that a fatass such as himself needed the exercise anyway.
In his hurry to escape the awkward situation, he barely managed to say goodnight to England before stepping out into the street and was immediately reminded that it was still raining lightly. He didn’t need to check his phone to know it was very late. Late enough that the various rebukes from the old man circled in his head about the few times he accidentally treaded into the seedy part of town at the wrong time of day.
“Are you mad?” He grasped his collar hard, yanking him down to look at him right in the eye.
Alfred didn’t appreciate the feeling of being reprimanded like a small child, so he would look away and tune out Arthur’s frazzled ravings about how ill-sighted that was blah blah blah. He was a grown adult for crying out loud! He’s been through worse! A little attempted mugging wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. It’s not like he had even let the knife get close to his vital body parts.
The tip of his boot made repeated contact with the cobblestone as he waited impatiently for the grip on his collar to cease. At this rate he was gonna get a crick in his neck.
“Don’t do that ever again—you hear me? Blasted!” Arthur swiftly released his grasp and turned away with indecipherable swears.
Arthur was so hot and cold. He would go long stretches of time barely even giving a nod in recognition, and then he would randomly interrogate him over something trivial like it was life and death. It was rather disorienting.
He’d like to think it was out of some level of concern for him—buried deep down behind that stoicism. It was all the more confusing when the twisting sensation in his gut occurred when he let him down in one way or another. Again, far too reminiscent of the same feelings he had as a young colony trying to live up to his great—hah—expectations.
The problem was that it was always far too easy to disappoint Arthur. Alfred, stand up straight! Alfred, apologize right this instant! Alfred Alfred Alfred! There was always something he was inevitably doing wrong—a social faux pas he’d accidentally tread over.
Canada never ever needed the same constant hovering. Alfred, why can’t you be more like your brother? He’s polite and he doesn’t interrupt. Alfred, can’t you stand still for two seconds? Alfred, don’t you see—
He wasn’t Canada and he would never be Canada. That was especially made clear in his adolescence.
There had been a formal dinner—there were too many of those in young Alfred’s opinion—and there were all these important people that were supposed to be there. Arthur had crouched down to get to his level and grasped his smaller shoulders. He then sternly warned him that he was supposed to be on his very best behavior.
No fidgeting in his seat, no playing with his food, no interrupting, yadadada so on and so forth. Basically: ‘sit still and shut yer trap.’
He’d managed fine for a little bit, but as the dinner dragged on he found himself growing antsy. A full body level of what he could only describe as itchiness and the urge to run away grew. It was incredibly uncomfortable. The clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation faded away into the background. All he could feel was how tight the collar was around his neck, how the uncomfortable wool that was scratching his wrist was, and the pungent smell of alcohol that the adults were indulging in.
That night Matthew had been placed on his right to keep a close eye on him. He must’ve sensed the shift in Alfred because he soon felt a soft kick on his shin.
He frowned and immediately turned to his brother who was giving him the weariest look a ten year old boy could manage to have. It wasn’t all that effective on a face with so much baby fat.
Instead of it serving as a reminder for Alfred to get back into form, it had only managed to instigate him to kick back harder in retaliation.
Matthew had jolted at the impact, which then alerted Arthur to the incident. It had always irritated Alfred to no end that somehow he was paying attention only when Matthew was on the receiving end.
The fierce glare he sent Alfred was enough of a shock to his system to despondently stare at his plate for the remainder of dinner.
It took a harsh shake on his shoulder to get him to look up and realize that everyone had left the room—minus Arthur and Matthew. Wait—when had that happened?
His brother now stood awkwardly in the corner like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Matthew pointedly avoided his gaze as the hand on his shoulder led him out of the room and into Arthur’s office.
All Alfred could do was swallow the lump in his throat as he watched his guardian pace back and forth in front of his desk.
Arthur had proceeded to lament that no matter how much he tried Alfred just wouldn’t listen. He was asked if he was purposely being obtuse, or if he had a hearing problem that needed to be checked out.
The night had ended with him resenting his stupid brain, and how his brother didn’t seem to struggle with the same things.
The fact he was even thinking about such a memory now wasn’t helping his case. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, for whatever reason there always felt like there was still a part of him that remained there.
The part of him that was yelled at for being foolish, the part of him that was insulted for his lack of intelligence, the part of him that wanted to crawl into a hole and bury himself there when he felt a hint of rejection. It didn’t make him feel super confident, so those feelings were usually shoved deep down.
Fun for him, those feelings managed to crawl their way back up when his inhibitions were lowered. Good going, Alfred!
The truth was, to this day he still didn’t understand why his hearing just stopped functioning sometimes. What he did know was that it was even more so mortifying in his adult life. He even attempted to apply the scientific method to it, but it just wasn’t a continuous occurrence. He could go weeks with no issues, and then randomly he’s having to ask for people to repeat themselves constantly, much to everyone’s annoyance.
“God, America, is anyone even home in there?”
Aggravatingly, he couldn’t blame bad hearing either. His initial fear that he was losing his hearing ended up being for naught. The test results showed that his hearing was completely fine. Which was great—but also not great—because it meant he had to start over again. Since then he hadn’t had much luck figuring out what was happening.
The embarrassment was only worsened by his existing reputation of not being all that sharp. Which is why it was horrifying to have it flair up during world meetings and other high stakes events. His usual go-to of playing it off as a joke only worked so much. People would be quick to accuse him of ignoring them or being outright too stupid to understand.
He wasn’t stupid—he just couldn’t understand when people spoke gibberish!
It was horrible as someone who actually enjoyed talking to people. Being unable to understand human speech for jarring unexpected bouts left him feeling rather alienated.
It wasn’t like when he was purposely tuning people out—he was actually trying really hard to listen! Choosing to ignore England’s rants was completely different.
Alfred staggered into his hotel room, barely managing to turn the TV onto some random channel playing a nature documentary before collapsing onto bed face first. Uncaring that the rain outside had made his clothes partially damp.
He thought sleep would help. After all—sleep and rest did wonders for the brain. Unfortunately for him, he woke up the next morning groggy with a crick in his neck—more irritated than before.
It wasn’t even an irritability to be blamed on a hangover—no of course not because that would be too easy of an explanation. It was worse—something he couldn’t quite find a reasonable answer for. The TV that had been necessary for falling asleep to was now too bright and too loud. Even the miraculously rare air conditioning this international hotel had, somehow had turned off overnight so now the room was stuffy and he was already sweating. His clothes were sticking to clammy skin. Worst of all: upon further examination there wasn’t even a coffee maker inside of his room. If he wanted his fix, he had to bear the hotel breakfast.
He loved talking to people, he loved meeting new people. He had to remind himself of those things as he grumpily changed his clothes and located his glasses after they had been discarded haphazardly.
Just gotta get there, get my coffee, and leave before I accidentally blow up on someone. I’ll fix my shit before I have to interact with another human being.
He impatiently tapped his foot while he waited for the elevator to arrive to his floor. Once it did he slid inside and tried not to gag at the overwhelming stench of cleaning product. Ground floor now please, thank you. He mashed the button with a little more force than what was probably necessary.
Ew. The longer he stood in it the worse it got. It was like the elevator had been doused in Fabuloso. It reminded him of when he accidentally knocked over a bottle of bleach and the smell was trapped in his bathroom for days. He ended up having to basically fumigate the room to get the smell to leave. The light flickered in the elevator and he felt his eyelid twitch involuntarily. Why haven’t the doors closed yet?
The elevator doors were about to close when a hand shot forward that then caused the doors to open back up. No. Nooooooooo.
A mop of blond hair appeared in his line of sight.
“Oh! Hey, didn’t expect to see you!” Matthew stepped into the elevator, unknowingly sealing both of their fates as he adjusted his glasses.
Alfred considered for a moment the option of making a run for it to escape the cramped space to take the stairs instead. Though, his head pounded in response to the thought of descending all those stairs.
“Yeah,” he pasted a forced smile onto his face, hoping that would signal the end of the conversation. Hopefully his shy brother would refrain from continuing any sort of discussion.
The next few moments of silence that followed had him believing that he had actually gotten what he wanted. That was, until the feeling that he was being watched took over and he turned his eyes over to Mattie looking at him strangely. He inhaled sharply in response to being observed—and all at once the overpowering smell of fabric softener overwhelmed his senses to the point where everything else faded into the background.
He coughed into his elbow and the awkward moment lapsed into the next.
What was wrong with him? Why was every little thing triggering him? Alfred didn’t like to think of himself as sensitive—because he wasn’t. Just like the unexplainable bouts of hearing loss he also couldn’t explain the moments where something as simple as a smell could overpower every one of his senses at once.
He could still feel Mattie’s eyes on him, like little pinpricks in the back of his skull.
“You’re uh—awake pretty early, eh?”
Alfred stared at the number above the door hard, as if to will it to go down faster. Alas, they had been up on a pretty high floor.
“Yup.” In all honesty, he hadn’t even checked the time since he’d woken up sweating and irritated. He’d sorta been in a daze since. A twinge of anxiety coursed through him as he patted his pockets searching for the shape of his phone.
Oh. There. He pulled it out and winced at the time that reflected back at him, also noting the eerily low battery at the top. He’d totally forgotten to plug it in before passing out the night before.
7:07am
24% battery.
On a morning he didn’t even have to be anywhere early—the time was a crime in itself, let alone following a sorta late night out at the pub.
When he put his phone away and glanced at Mattie he was met with a bewildered expression.
“You…you didn’t know what time it was?” Maybe it was what sounded like concern in his voice, or maybe it was the fact that when he spoke he could smell the obnoxiously strong toothpaste he had brushed his teeth with. Either way, the question had struck a cord with him.
“Yeah well—maybe I’m not the lazy ass you all seem to think I am.” He knew he probably sounded like a petulant child, but he honestly couldn’t find a reason to care at the moment. He was too warm, the elevator had too many conflicting smells, and the stupid elevator was taking too long.
His response had only caused his brother’s eyes to widen in alarm. Alfred huffed and shoved his hands into his front pockets.
Great. Now he’s gonna freak out on me for being rude or whatever, then he’ll go complain and I’ll just get more people berating me.
Mercifully, the elevator finally made it to the ground floor with an overly cheerful ding. He didn’t even wait for the doors to fully open before storming out.
Last thing he needed was his pretentious brother following him around trying to do the whole ‘holier than thou’ routine.
Coffee. He just needed coffee, and then he’d feel so much better.
Maybe then his brain would actually work how it was supposed to—
He stumbled as he cut the corner too fast and his hip slammed right into the edge of a table. Hard.
He exhaled through his nose, biting back a groan as the pain registered. Before he had even fully recovered he frantically glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed that.
Stupid, clumsy, oafish Americans. He could already hear the insults replaying in his mind, the clipped accents delivering the message brutally.
When nobody moved or was obviously staring in his direction, he let go of a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding in.
Thankfully, he hadn’t damaged any property this time ‘round. The table was atop of a rug that allowed it to move upon impact—instead of the worst case scenario where he would accidentally barrel through objects.
Alfred was sipping his fourth coffee at an airport cafe by the time Mattie approached him again, albeit cautiously. In his hands was a disposable cup.
“I brought this as a peace offering…but it looks like you don’t need it”
Wordlessly he gestured for Mattie to hand it over. Mattie scoffed softly, but he acquiesced. Alfred snatched it up and brought it to his lips. Immediately, he was met by the overly sweet taste. Perfect. After drinking straight black coffee all morning it was like an electric shock through his system.
Alfred rolled his eyes at Mattie muttering something or another in French. If he had to guess, it was probably some sort of caffeine addiction comment. He wasn’t addicted because he could stop whenever he wanted. He didn’t want to stop, so he didn’t.
Besides, the caffeine was working in his favor right now. He wasn’t 100%, but at least he felt like he could string a sentence together without wanting to bite someone’s head off. At least not immediately…
Mattie rubbed his clasped hands together, clearly trying to fight his nerves and get the courage to say what was on his mind. What could he be so nervous about? Just say it! When Mattie got like this it would normally be something to tease him on, but right now it just irritated him.
“So uh—by chance—have you seen a psychiatrist before?”
Huh? That was just about the last thing he’d ever expected to be uttered from his brother’s mouth. What kind of joke was he attempting here?
“Haha. Very funny, but I didn’t inherit Iggy’s neuroticism.”
“No like…” Mattie’s face pinched into a pained expression “have you ever gotten diagnosed for the ADHD stuff?”
For a moment Alfred sat in shocked silence as the words revolved around his head and eventually clicked in meaning. The table at the airport cafe suddenly felt all too small.
“Huh?” he uttered dumbly. He must’ve misheard.
Mattie cursed in French under his breath before meeting his eyes again. “Yeah so uh I was actually recently diagnosed professionally — and while I was sat there listening to the symptoms listed I was like huh actually those kinda actually sound like my brother and the doc was like oh yeah this actually has a high chance of running in families since it’s genetic so—“
His rapid response was cut off by his need for air, as he sharply inhaled abruptly.
Alfred didn’t find any of this funny, but he laughed anyway. His fingers twitched around the paper disposable cup.
“Y'know, if you really wanted to make fun of me you shouldn’t of buttered me up with a coffee first.”
Mattie’s face fell.
“Why do you think I’m trying to make fun of you?”
Alfred ignored his tone and gestured wildly around him. “Because this is the last place to be holding a serious discussion.”
“Al. Are you serious? You’re impossible to get a hold of. I wanted to talk to you face to face.”
“I am not impossible to get a hold of.”
“You always send me to voicemail.”
“I do not always…” Alfred paused as he tried to remember the last time he’d answered the phone after Mattie called. He couldn’t. It wasn’t because he’d specifically set out to ignore his calls… but the constant notifications were so draining he just eventually set his phone to do not disturb and never turned it off again.
“Okay fine. Maybe I do, but that doesn’t mean that your condition is suddenly my issue.”
“Your issue—? Alfred, I’m just trying to help you!”
Alfred suddenly stood up to his full height — tired of being talked down to in both senses of the term. The chair screeching across the floor was too loud.
“Thanks for the coffee, and the suggestion. I gotta get going now.”
He saw Mattie spluttering in his peripheral while he gathered his belongings and made his way out of the cafe.
If his brother wanted to take more pot shots at him then fine so be it, but he didn’t have to be there to listen to it.
He’d had a lifetime of people telling him there was something wrong with him and he wasn’t about to give into that now.
Still, that night as he tossed and turned in his own bed he just couldn’t get his brother’s pleading and then crestfallen expression out of his face. He told himself that was only because he had his face and he hated seeing himself with such a pitiful expression—but that argument felt weak even to his ears.
Days later he found himself on his laptop, Googling shit, while he cursed his brother out in his mind.