When the Kirklands had known they would have another baby, Alfred had thrown a fit.

He'd raged and screamed and ranted and threw things.

When he was four, all the attention had been showered onto him.

Alfred was the center of attention. He was the loved one, the spoiled child, the mischevious, bright-eyed, energetic four year old everyone wanted to cuddle and kiss and give gifts to.

And now that damn baby was going to ruin everything.

Of course, there was really no stopping Mommy from having the baby.

So Alfred, for the first time, could not get what he wanted. For the first time. And he knew things were bad. He knew, just knew that this baby was bad. He didn't get what he wanted for the first time and it was because of this baby and it would continue being because of this baby. The baby was the reason his life was about to be ruined.

He wanted the baby gone before it even existed.

So when his mommy went into labor, he was grumpy, claiming Mommy, "deserved it," to which his father replied, angrily, "not now, Alfred!"

Of course, this had pissed him off.

And he had grudgingly waited outside the hospital room, impatiently tapping his foot.

No one looked at Alfred.

Everyone was rushing around him, all going somewhere, doing something else or thinking about something else.

No one even thought about him for the next twenty-four hours, beside the kindly nurse who gave him snacks to eat, and she only smiled at him briefly before hurrying away to give that stupid baby attention.

Of course who's going to think of me after that brat is born? Alfred thought bitterly. Will anyone care about me? Stupid baby. It shouldn't exist! I was here first!

As he waited and waited and waited, he fell asleep.

He began to dream.

He was in a dream world. A dream world where he was happy and his family was happy and all of his friends were happy and they'd all be happy forever. Everyone cared about each other, but most importantly, everyone cared about him!

But this dream was shattered by a nightmare. A nightmare called reality.

Alfred was roughly shaken awake.

He groaned, opening his eyes and stretching, mouth stretching open in a soundless yawn.

He froze.

His father stood in front of him, wide-eyed, pale and sickly. He had bags under his strained eyes. He'd probably been up all night and day.

In his arms, he held a bundle.

"She's dead."

Without another word, his father handed him the bundle. They'd stared at each other for a moment before his father, his strong, sarcastic and witty, dry-humored British father, had burst into tears and rushed away.

Leaving Alfred with the bundle.

The boy, now an older brother, stared down.

Into the most angelic, perfect face he'd ever seen.

His breath had caught in his chest.

Such a beautiful baby.

This was not what he expected at all.

He imagined some demonic troll with glowing red eyes ready to steal his loved ones from him.

Not this beautiful, smooth-skinned, innocent and lovable child.

He was so cute.

Nothing could be cuter, surely.

A small tuft of blond hair, matching the shade of his own hair, on the top of his head. Alfred ran a hand over that patch.

His hair was so soft. His little brother's skin was so smooth and perfect.

He had a calm look on his face.

He wasn't wailing or screaming, his eyes screwed up tight as he scrunched up his face.

No, he looked content, if not happy.

When he opened his eyes, they were an exquisite violet.

A violet that reflected grief.

Grief, Alfred was sure, for their mother and the manner of his birth.

And just for that, Alfred loved the baby.

Just like that.

He didn't hate his little brother, his precious, sweet little brother.

It was just an accident. Their mother was not meant to die, but she would've gladly done it for him and now that Alfred thought of it, he would too. He'd loved his mother.

But... he loved his little brother more.

He loved his little brother a lot.

He couldn't imagine loving anyone any more than he loved Mattie (besides his dad).

Which was why, thirteen years later, it hurt when others paid more attention to him than Matthew.

They ignored him, like he was dirt or a bug.

They gave him all the attention.

And Matthew was constantly in his shadow.

Before Mattie had been born, Alfred would've been satisfied, completely gleeful at the attention he received. Being an only child gave him all the attention he wanted, the attention he craved. But when Mattie had been born and Alfred had known he loved him just from first glance, it hurt him to know what he'd wanted had come true. People cared more about him than Mattie. No matter what he did about it, they still forgot about him, still looked passed him. Why didn't they see how special, how great Mattie was?

Still, though. As much as it pained Alfred to see Matthew's loneliness and quiet, shy personality, he couldn't help but love being the center of attention.

I don't really know why I wrote this...