-Arthur-

Silence, it was music to his ears.

No one knew about Them, and he was quite normal. He just had a few quirks.

It had started at his late teens; he blamed it on stress.

At first he knew that the lyrical voices were not real. No one had voices in their head telling them what to do. That was a ploy of movies, the devil and angel sitting on either shoulder and whispering their beliefs back and forth into his ears.

Yet They still sung to him in low tones. They begged him in sinfully soft syllables. They spoke in rhythmic rhymes. They told him They were real.

He started to believe Them. Not because he truthfully did, but because They were always there, the orchestra that played in his ear without end.

So he listened. He heard them loud and clear despite the softness of Their lullaby.

Why do we even look after poor, little, helpless Alfred? They had asked an approximation of this question over and over again. Just get rid of him, get rid of him.

He's my brother… So?

Nowadays he was having more and more trouble telling the difference between himself and Them.

I'm not going to kill my own brother. Don't we want to shut us up?

Alfred was only sixteen. He never knew that twenty-year-old Arthur was facing this dilemma nearly every waking moment. Arthur knew that Alfred had not noticed the strange looks, the shaky limbs, and the reluctance to place down the knife.

Why, of all people in the world, did They want to speak to him?

Arthur knew without even glancing in the mirror that he was not anyone's first choice. He had too-big eyebrows, effeminate features and on the days he forewent the dark baggy clothes for a pair of shorts, his knobbly knees were in plain sight for all to see. He was too scrawny, yet fat at the same time, and too short to make it out as someone of importance, abysmal in academics and with a razor sharp personality that cut through the toughest defences.

Why did They choose to speak to him of all people?

He shrugged, a task made difficult by his position on the bed. Posters of various heavy metal bands surrounded him from when he had had put them up there as a teenager, before They had begun to speak to him.

Maybe he was better off than all the others because he had a little bit of help.

Arthur did not know where They came from, nor did he know why They had become capitalised in his mind. Was it because they were important enough to warrant a proper pronoun, but too important to have a human name bestowed up on them.

Why did he think like this? They don't actually exist. An increasingly weak voice in his mind—his voice, not theirs—continued to fight its losing battle.

Little Alfred's asleep, wouldn't it be so easy to just take our hands and…

"Stop it! You're not real." He whispered harshly into the darkness.

We're just as real as we are. Somehow Arthur was beginning to believe this more and more often. No longer was he able to realise that he has been tricked by his own mind. He needed help.

"This had got to stop," he said this over and over again nearly every night that he lay in his bed, unable to fall asleep as They would often whisper in his hear, a soft, swaying, song that made his fingers itch as he fought against what They were telling him to do.

It did not take long for the large grandfather clock was positioned in the lounge to inform him that it was already midnight. He tossed and turned as sleep evaded him.

Moonlight shone in through the window and allowed him to see everything around him. Even if the moon had not been nearly full he would have still been able to see the mostly unused electric guitar in his room and the various posters other trinkets he had collected throughout life.

He did not remember doing anything. No longer was he lying in bed doing nothing but try to clear his mind enough to fall asleep, now he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet on the cold wooden floor. His blanket was kicked into the corner of the bed and had been so for nearly an hour despite the cold.

He continued to sit there and dared to pick up his phone. Arthur pressed the home button and the bright screen came to life. Shielding his eyes, he managed to make out the time. Barely thirty minutes had passed since the grandfather clock had reminded him of the late hour.

There were many things in life that he did remember. A prime example was his tenth birthday party—he still had snatches of memory, but that was just from age. That was different to now. It was not often but sometimes he would not remember doing something. Again, it was not often, however, it still happened. He did not remember deciding that it was a good idea to dip his hand into the kettle as it reached a boil.

Wasn't just exhilarating, it made us feel something, did it not? They spoke to him again. Arthur blamed Them, he hated Them. Why could they not just shut up?

Slowly he leaned his head over his knees and stood up in a fluid motion. His pyjama pants were too long for him and the one leg remained folded while the other rested beneath his foot. Arthur crept to the door of his room and was extra careful to stay on areas of the floor that he knew would never squeak.

He had no worries about waking up his parents—they were both away on some or other trip and paid him a fair amount to look after his adopted brother—his only worry was waking up Alfred. Still, he did not know why he was out of bed.

We do. We're planning to do it now. The voices continued to sing to him in the dead of night.

The door creaked loudly when it was opened slowly so Arthur opened it quickly with nary a squeak before stopping it dead in his tracks. The hallway was a lot lighter than his room as it had a bare window that allowed the moonlight to come into the room in soft waves.

His parents' bedroom was at the end of the hall and its door was left open. Even from down the hall he could make out crisp white sheets and soft carpeting. From memory he could recall the cupboards filled with clothes that were barely worn and the luxurious bathroom that was made out of polished marble.

They're not our parents. These people are filthy and disgusting. We should just leave them.

But they're our parents. Arthur could not just leave. They had lives to live. It was him who did not want to be a part of the rich lifestyle. Arthur just had no want of more stuff than he could handle and was perfectly content with his worn jacket and a second hand motorbike.

The idea of being rich often irked him. He was not used to it. Like Alfred, he had spent a portion of his time in an orphanage. Before that he spent more time than one should comfortably have memory of in a hospital with white walls and ceilings and a grey floor with blue speckles to try and break the sterility of the white.

He hated white.

He stopped at the front door to Alfred's room. Why was he even out of bed? Alfred was asleep. There was no use trying to rouse him until the sun was well into the sky on a weekend. It was not weekend anymore though, it was Monday now. His sleep addled mind had somehow chosen to come to the conclusion that he was just getting an early start on waking up Alfred.

It was a bad excuse. He knew why he was here. Rather, he knew why Arthur's feet had taken him to the door of his younger brother's room.

We're going to do it, aren't we? The voice was sinister as always as it whispered melodically into his ear.

Arthur raised his hand up to knock at the door. Why was he knocking? He let his hand fall down with a soft sound as it collided with the fabric of his pyjama bottoms.

The noise reverberated in his hearing. He paused, waiting to see if Alfred had stopped snoring. He had not. It was a few moments before Arthur gathered the courage to place his hand onto the cool doorknob.

Slowly he turned it. Once he had pushed it all the way down he waited until another snore from Alfred before he pushed the door open a crack and peered inside. He could see Alfred lying on the bed, his covers tangled up and the window open with wind causing the open curtains to lift the slightest bit.

Look how easy it is, just a few minutes and it will all be over. They giggled into his ear.

No it won't, We'll have to deal with the bloody police and then We'll be thrown into one of those loony bins and then...

But he'll be gone, won't he?

That seemed to be a good idea to Arthur. He looked at his younger brother again. Drool was pooling at the corner of his mouth and slipping down onto the pillow, disgusting really. If Alfred was gone…That would mean he would get is parents' attention back. Well, what little there was to give anyways?

They never came to his gigs. Not the one where he played the guitar, or sang, or played the piano, or the violin, or anything he did for that matter. So he no longer played any instruments anymore. It was no use.

Arthur slowly picked up his feet and walked towards Alfred. His clammy feet peeled off the floor before he slowly lowered them back down. Toe to heel. Arthur was now towering over a sleeping Alfred.

It's going to be so much better. All we have to do is wrap our hands around his throat until he's cold.

That seems like a good plan.

Was that him or was it Them talking? He leant over just slightly as he looked at his younger brother. Arthur did not know it, but he looked quite ominous as he stood there in the dark with nothing but a few streaks of moonlight illuminating his face.

One of his hands leaned onto the mattress. The mattress sunk nominally under the weight of his hand, soft as a feather.

It was less than ten seconds later that he was on the bed and straddling his younger brother. Alfred's snoring stopped abruptly as he was forced into a state of waking.

Look at him, can't we see the atavistic terror in his eyes. He's our prey. We're the predator.

Arthur's fingertips grazed Arthur's neck. All he would have to do was place his hands down and tighten his grip and watch as Alfred's face turned a rainbow of colours before fading away. His legs tightened their grip around Alfred's torso.

Not too difficult. Just lower our hands nice and slow.

We can't do it.

Sure we can. You've seen it done before.

No we haven't.

Yes we have.

They were giddy with glee as they glided around the room, their voices alternating from left to right, right to left.

Arthur's eyes snapped open. No longer were they half lidded from sleep and the hypnotic state he had been lulled into.

We have to do this.

He was sitting there on his brother's chest and pinning him down as his hands were poised to choke him. Alfred was awake not and struggling to get him off.

Arthur breathed in sharply and began to choke on his own spit. He began to cough and sputter, not caring that he was coughing onto Alfred's face.

"Stop me," was all Arthur managed to say. Alfred finally managed to throw Arthur off the bed and he lay there on the floor, coughing and pulling his knees towards his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around his knees and dug his nails into the fabric hard enough to cause pain.

Coughing turned into wails of anguish as Arthur began to cry. He could not help it. Attempting to kill his brother was unthinkable. Why would They tell him to do that? Arthur did not think he could stop crying. Alfred's room was carpeted unlike his so he could not feel the cold. The carpet beneath his cheek was growing wet.

Arthur was unsure of how long he was in that position. You fooled us. But we didn't. We did, you told us that it was for the better. Oh, but it is.

"N-no." Arthur said quietly to himself. The words were full of despair and lacked any hope whatsoever.

He did not hear Alfred get off of his bed but he did feel it when a large hand was put onto his shoulder.

We tried to kill him.

Suddenly Arthur could feel vomit pushing uncomfortably against his throat. He scrambled for Alfred's waste paper bin and only just made it before the disgustingly familiar feel of warmish liquid entered his mouth and he threw up into the bin. It hit the plastic lining and it crinkled loudly. Arthur had not eaten a large dinner but he continued to heave until nothing came out. He still continued to heave, even though he was obviously done.

"Oh god, what was I thinking." Arthur stared into the waste paper bin and looked down at his vomit mixing with the few papers that were in the bin with disgust. His knees were leaning on the carpet as well and one of his palms was resting on the floor while the other held the rim of the waste paper bin. He let his one leg slide out from under him until he was lying back down on the floor. The white carpet once again caressed his face.

"Arthur—" Alfred began to speak before he cut himself off.

We're a bit of a failure you know that.

Arthur relaxed himself completely against the floor. On one hand his body wanted him to do nothing except mould himself against the floor and stay there forever on the other hand his brain was running through a thousand empty thoughts that were not going to give him any clue as to what had happened.

He had nearly killed Alfred, his own brother, the closest thing to flesh and blood he had in the entire world.

Arthur stood with sluggish movements before he snatched Alfred's phone off of the desk. The bright light hurt his eyes terribly. He dialled 999 from the lock screen.

"Emergency. What service?" The woman's voice was slightly tinny from the phone, but definitely well-practised and clear.

"Police. I need the police." Arthur's voice cracked as he spoke.

It took barely a few minutes for the flashing lights to pull up to their house surrounded by the siren. Arthur hated noise. The acidic taste from the vomit burned the back of his throat and the room smelled putrid.

Alfred tried to stop him from going.

"Listen man, we can talk through this. You didn't do anything."

"I was about to kill you."

That stopped Alfred in his tracks. He watched as Arthur began to walk towards the staircase.

"Why?" Alfred asked.

It's his fault they stopped spending time with us.

No it is not! My parents stopped caring before Alfred was adopted.

Arthur met Alfred's eyes for what he assumed would be the last time, "They told me to."

The stairs were carpeted and almost tickled his feet as he dragged his feet down them and into the foyer. The door was locked but he unlocked it with the key that was hanging on a hook nearby. The jingle of keys must have alerted the police officer outside the door because they were standing at the top of the short stairs as he opened the large door.

Arthur's eyes were large and he took in everything around him as time passed like he was stuck in a jar of honey. The police cars with their red and blue lights, the police officers in their crisp uniforms, the freshly mowed grass, the sound of pins and needles ringing in his ears.

He held his wrists up for the officer to place in handcuffs. The police officer said something, but Arthur never heard a word.

"I think," Arthur swallowed, his Adam's apple visibly moving, "I think I just tried to kill my own brother."

No expression showed on his face as he felt the cold metal snap across his wrists. The officers went in to find Alfred—perfectly fine, he had not even been touched—standing there, shocked.

The next few moments were undiscernible to him as they refused to take him for something he had no proof of doing.

He sunk down onto the wet grass.

"They told me to and they'll tell me to do it again and again until I do it."

Arthur's wrists were still held together by the handcuffs.

"Please take me in. I don't want to hurt Alfred." Arthur begged over and over again.

Eventually he was taken to the police station. After that he was taken to see a psychiatrist for an analysis.

'Schizophrenia' the word was printed on the paper. Inky black contrasted with the white paper. On the inside Arthur had known that this was what he was suffering from since the symptoms had started up a few months ago, but seeing it on paper like this, it truly put things into perspective.

Arthur was crazy. He belonged in a mad house with the psychopaths and the people who were unable to function with in this world.

He sat there on the threadbare bed of the police station for an undeterminable amount of time. The cracks in the walls were nothing but a smudge of dark colour on greyish-white. It was not until the measly dinner was served that he was snapped out of his reverie.

He stared the mashed potatoes and sausages down. The meal was pitiful, but what was to be expected from a temporary holding cell that he was going to leave within the next few days?

They've poisoned the mash. What makes us say that? Just look at it, can't we tell? I see now.

Arthur pushed the plate away from him. Eating anything on that plate was impossible now. It was all poisoned. Clear as day, he could see that the food was poisoned and he was not going to even think about taking a chance on tasting the sausages. They were touching the mash. What is they were also poisoned?

On some subconscious level Arthur knew that he was delusional. What reason was there to poison his food? The police officers had been nothing but nice to him from the start, even the ones that completely believed that he was raving mad.

All the more reason to poison our food, they don't like us, they're lying.

Arthur lay down in the bed and tried to fall asleep. The best he got was a short nap that left him with large bags under his eyes and an impossible to resist urge to yawn every few minutes.

A tall guard came the next morning to help transport him to the car, but before he could the overexcited vice of his younger brother could be heard echoing throughout the police station.

"Mornin' Artie! How'd you sleep?"

"Are you even supposed to be here?"

"Just as much as you are," Alfred grabbed the bars to Arthur's cell. He was well rested, despite the events that had transpired only two days ago. Arthur felt irresponsible for not being there to look after his brother, but he would feel even worse if something like that happened again, this time without him chickening out.

We could always try again. They stood in the door way to his cell. He could only imagine they if They were a person They would have their arms folded over their chest and a smug expression on Their face.

"No," Arthur said. His voice was resolute and almost shocked Alfred.

"What d'ya mean 'no'?"

Arthur shook his head. He was not going to tell Alfred that They were trying to get him to have another go at taking Alfred's life.

Arthur could clearly see the confusion painted on Alfred's face in bright, cheery colours.

"It's nothing of importance," Arthur elaborated.

"Okay," Alfred gave a small nod, "So you're going to see a shrink for a proper analysis?"

Alfred's eyes were such an innocent blue. He should not have to deal with his brother's illness.

Though they were both adopted and were not even related it was often assumed that they were brothers. They both shared a similar shade of blonde hair and one or two mannerisms—completely picked up from their parents—Arthur had green eyes, a bright green that was jaded despite its sharp colour. Alfred had blue eyes.

"Don't lean on the bars," Arthur admonished and waited until Alfred stopped what he was doing.

We shouldn't be so trusting. They commented to Arthur. Alfred's not going to do anything.

Were they… laughing at… him? Arthur shook his head. He was not going to let Them affect him.

"So, a shrink?" Alfred asked again.

Arthur did not want to go to a shrink. They were for people who were not right in the head, but that was his issue.

He sighed before replying to his brother, "I guess." Arthur was sitting on the bed and his shoulders felt heavy with the revelation that he was not right in the head.

"So what's it like?" Alfred asked.

"What's what like?" He wants to know our weaknesses so he can stop us. Stop us from what?

"The—" Alfred paused awkwardly, "Voices?" His voice hitched high enough on the word for it to be considered a question.

Arthur looked down at his lap, "It's odd."

"They're like in your head, right?"

Arthur shook his head. "They're real alright, or as real as figments of your imagination can get."

"What do you mean by that?" Alfred leaned against the bars of the gate again.

"They sound real. I hear them as clear as I hear you, from just outside the door or behind me or anywhere really. They're not in my head."

"Oh," was all that Alfred could think of to say.

A few moments of silence passed between them before the guard shook his keys

"Mr. Kirkland." He said, his voice was curt and matched his short hair, ordered stance and uniform with visible crease lines from ironing.

Arthur lifted up his head, "Yes sir?"

"You're being transferred to the Blue Crane Psychiatric Hospital."

The guard put the keys into the lock and lifted up the handcuffs. He turned to Alfred, "Sir, would you please leave."

Alfred stayed still. "Would it be okay if I stayed with my brother?" He asked. His voice was not as loud as it usually was.

"The reports say that he attempted to kill you." The attendant did not seem to be budging on his request.

"He didn't even hurt me the other day. Lots of people get the idea and don't act on it. Just because my brother did as well doesn't make him insane." Alfred realised that his choice of words did not suit the situation.

The attendant seemed to lift an eyebrow while still holding a stoic expression.

"You know what he means. Don't try to make him feel like more of a dunderhead than he already is." Arthur stood up and walked to the gate. He held up his hands and waited for handcuffs to be put on him for the second time in his life, "You'll visit me, won't you?"

Alfred smiled widely, "You bet I will. Every moment I can."

"But please don't slack on school." Arthur slipped unknowingly into a tone of voice that could rival an over-protective mom. The handcuffs hooked over his wrists and closed with a metallic snap.

Little Alfie's never going to visit us. They taunted him, standing there, just out of sight, but not out of mind.

Arthur scoffed. The attendant looked at him with a wary eye. With a high pitched squeak the gate swung open. He walked out of the temporary cell with head held high and he held his hands as if they were not restricted by the handcuffs.

We're not going to get better. They only put unstable people in there so that society doesn't have to deal with them, and that's gonna happen to us! They sang lyrically.

I don't care.

If he was out of the way that would mean that he would not be able to harm Alfred.

-Alfred-

The house was desolate without Arthur in it. Alfred had only taken a few hours, barely even, to come to that conclusion. He sighed and fell completely back on his bed. There were still glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. They had been put there when he was three and Arthur was seven. He could not recall if his adoptive parents or someone else had put them there.

Honestly, he could not recall much of his childhood. His first memories were of Harmony Hill Children's home and they were few and far between. He had been adopted while he was still young—three years old, the same year the stars had been put up.

Arthur was six when he was adopted. Alfred did not know much about what happened before Arthur was adopted, but he had an inkling that his older brother had not been gifted with the most…comfortable childhood. Often—even now—Arthur would mumble and toss and turn in his sleep. It was not difficult to tell that he suffered from nightmares.

In a twisted way Alfred hated his adoptive parents. He loved them like any kid would love their parent and would do many things for them, even while he was at the rebellious age. He also hated them. His adoptive parents had decided to get a new child when their first adoption had not been what they wanted.

Right now it was already dark and Alfred could not fall asleep. The idea of sneaking—or rather just walking, he was home alone, to the kitchen did not interest him. Thinking about food in general just made his stomach roll and urge him to run to the just cleaned waste bin.

Were they treating Arthur all right? Was Arthur eating? Who was looking after his brother? Why had this happened?

Alfred kicked off his blankets. They were soft and still smelled of laundry detergent. It was too hot for them despite the definite chill in the air. The weather report had predicted rain for the next few days. Rain suited what Alfred was feeling.

The grandfather clock thought that it was the most opportune time to remind Alfred that it was only nine at night.

Was this how Arthur had felt before the incident?

Life was not fair… Arthur was meant to be the successful older brother, not stuck in a mental hospital.

Tomorrow morning Alfred was going to visit Arthur in the hospital. Where ever it was.

Slowly Alfred stood up and got out of bed. This must have been what Arthur had done on the night as well. Alfred was a heavy sleeper so Arthur could have stomped his way to his room for all he knew. That was not like his older brother though, he very conscious of what sounds he made.

Arthur's door was still wide open. The room looked exactly the same as it had when Arthur was a teenager. He turned on the light. It was completely normal. Alfred doubted that anyone would think this room belonged to someone who was now residing in a mental hospital.

The thought was surreal. Mental hospital, Arthur lived in a mental hospital now. Alfred's brother was crazy. It just did not make sense.

In the corner of the room was an electric guitar. Arthur's electric guitar, the one he never played. A thin layer of dust covered the instrument and its amp. The wooden floor creaked slightly under his weight as he walked to it.

Alfred ran his finger along the sharp curve next to the neck, it was smooth. He wiped the dust off on his jeans. He still had not changed out his clothes that he had put on before he visited Arthur at his temporary cell. The string bore no sound other than a very faint twang when he flicked it with his finger.

He could easily recall the hours that Arthur spent with it during his teenage years. Arthur was a stereotypical rebellious son. He rarely listened to his adoptive parents and his arms were nearly completely coated with tattoos. Alfred was not too sure if Arthur had a tattoo this exact guitar on his butt, the people that had told him might or might not be fibbing.

Arthur was very distant from most people, Alfred was the exception and he knew it. He also knew that there was a slight undertone of resentment to their relationship. It was entirely understandable. His adoptive parents would often overlook Arthur when it came to achievements and would pay a lot more attention to Alfred's mediocre existence. In Alfred's opinion Arthur was completely justified to feel like that. He just felt bad because he had yet to explain that to Arthur.

Would Arthur appreciate it if he brought him his old guitar? He would probably have very little to do at Blue Crane. He nixed the idea. There was no way that the staff would allow an electric guitar into their institute. He could get an acoustic guitar. Somehow, the idea of an acoustic guitar seemed to be the slightest bit less invasive.

It would not be too difficult for him to get. He was already sixteen—he had been sixteen for a grand total of two months—his parents had yet to even wish him. Alfred already had his driver's license and was fully capable of taking the family's Mercedes out to the store.

He turned around before stopping in his tracks. It was night time and not a single music store would be open at this time of the evening.

Alfred turned again on the balls of his feet until he was facing Arthur's bed. The sheets were pushed to the foot of the bed and the Union Jack pattern was faded after being washed over and over again. It did not take long for Alfred to close the rest of the distance between himself and the bed and to gently pull the covers up until the bed was messily made.

The bed dipped a lot more under his weight than his own bed did. The covers were cool to his touch and he could feel that they were slightly threadbare. They contrasted greatly to his own duvet.

It was a spur of the moment decision to change positions until he was laying face first into his brother's pillow. He breathed in deeply and caught the scent of Arthur, subtle and calming. Alfred was not being stalker-ish at all.

Arthur was good to him, even from when they were young. On countless occasions Arthur had looked after Alfred and kept him company when their parents were not available. Nowadays Arthur was paid to look after him, but Alfred knew that Arthur would do it even if he were not being paid money.

He did not notice when he started to cry. Alfred did notice when he started to tightly hug Arthur's pillow to his chest. It took a while, but he did fall asleep. Tear tracks had burned wet holes into the pillowcase and his arms were sore from holding what he felt was his last link to the old Arthur by the time he finally succumbed to sleep.

-Arthur-

The acoustic guitar leaned against Arthur's bed. He did not know how Alfred had managed to get the staff to allow him to bring such an object into Blue Crane, but he was not going to question it.

What he was going to question was why Alfred had brought him such an object. It was not like the kid to do something thoughtful. A small envelope was loosely tied to the guitar's neck with a string. There could be anything in that envelope; a letter, a key to escape, drugs…Anything.

Arthur was not willing to find out what it was.

The stuff he gave us, it's poisoned. In the silent room the voices just would not keep quiet. Right now, silence was agony. Arthur just wanted them to shut up, but he was not going to be put on any medications until he had the tests run on him. Needles to take out his blood to try and see what medications would work.

He shivered at the idea of needles piercing his skin and began to pace up and down the small room that was now his. The room was four paces long and at the end of his short walk he could see a door that blocked him from the outside. The small window near the top of it was the only thing that let him see out, and the staff see in.

It was completely understandable. None of the staff knew the full extent of what They did to him. They just knew that he was guilty of attempted murder. The thought rolled around in his head yet again. He had attempted to kill his own brother. There was no way that the thought was going to exit his head anytime soon and the best way he could deal with it at the moment was to just ignore the idea.

There was absolutely no way that he would ever attempt to kill his own brother. No sane person would even think of doing that, would they?

Exactly.

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

He began to pace faster and faster.

"Shut up, shut up."

He really could not stand it. They were always there. They never kept quiet. They always had a remark about the things he did.

His foot connected with the guitar. It did not hurt his foot, but it toppled the guitar over and it landed loudly on the rough carpeting. Arthur bent down to pick it up. The wood of the guitar was cool in his hands and he could easily fit his fingers around the neck of the instrument.

Gingerly he plucked the thinnest string. It resounded with a high-pitched twang. The sound was too low for a high E note. He sat down on the bed and turned the corresponding knob at the top until the highest note sang proudly.

He proceeded to do the same with the rest of the strings. Once he was done he began to place it on the floor next to his bed, but decided against it.

It was nothing like the electric guitar he had at home. This one had an uncomfortable weight and the strings were harsh on his fingers. His right hand ran over the strings and he could hear the wonderful sound it made echo throughout the mostly empty room.

The fingers in his left hand almost automatically fell into position. He did not recall having to push so hard in order to hold the string flush against the metal bars on the fretboard.

It was slow going at first as he recalled how to play guitar.

His fingers felt stiff as they were contorted into positions they had not been forced into for years and he could already feel his arm aching as he strummed the guitar, slowly and deliberately.

Playing guitar again felt amazing.

The notes ran out crisp and clear and for the first time in a long time he did not feel as there was something in the corner of his mind. Trying to control him and tell him what to do with his life.

They were finally quiet.

Arthur continued to play. The tips of his fingers were raw from pushing down the strings and his index finger had already started to bleed. The hours were lost to him and he did not notice the lights in the corridor turn off, nor did he notice that dawn was steadily approaching.

A knock at the door shocked him out of the frenzied state he was in. He gave a quiet shriek and dropped the guitar on his bare foot. The sound it caused was horrendous as he kicked it away and grabbed his now sore foot.

The staff member looked at him with an odd look on her face.

"Good…morning ma'am." Arthur still held his foot.

"Good morning Mr. Kirkland." She was holding a tray with some food.

Arthur looked at her critically. She did not seem like the kind of person who would work at a mental hospital. She looked to kind. He read her name tag, Elizebeta Héderváry.

"Sorry about that." He propped the guitar up against the bed and accepted the tray. He looked down at it. The food did not seem too bad, a tad greasy for his likings, but what irked him the most was the plastic spoon. There was just a plastic spoon to eat it all with.

"Thank you ma'am," he took the spoon and began to eat the vegetables on the plate. There was no way he was going to touch much else. The vegetables themselves tasted more like oil than anything else.

Miss Héderváry closed the door behind her and continued to stand there.

"It's a bit awkward," Arthur said after he swallowed, "I'm eating while you're standing there. At least sit." Arthur nodded in the direction of a singular chair.

"If you insist," Miss. Héderváry sat down on the edge of the chair.

"I don't think I'm going to try anything ma'am," Arthur said.

If Arthur were not one of the participants he most likely would have found the situation quite funny. He gulped down the last of the vegetables and put the tray on the edge of the bed.

"I don't think I'll be able to eat any more of that grease."

"Your fingers are bleeding."

Arthur looked down and noted that the one was still bleeding and the other fingers were red from playing guitar. There was a patch of blood on his pyjama pants where he had rested his hand while he ate with his other one.

"I guess I am," He remarked. Arthur really had not noticed that.

"I'll be back in a moment," Miss Héderváry said and grabbed the tray before walking out. Arthur was left to stare at his lacerated fingers and then They came back.

We shouldn't be so trusting Arthur. Why were They so excited when They spoke to him? They always told him not to trust others, but there was not anything wrong with that, was there?

She works here. She's supposed to be trustable.

She's putting on a front. Arthur could almost sense them, leaning against the door with a sharp-toothed smirk on Their face and with Their arms crossed loosely over their chest once again.

We doubt it. There's no proof is there. She's going to poison us. Why would she even do that? She doesn't want us to be friends anymore.

Was Arthur friends with them? He did not think so. Sometimes They tricked him and he believed Them. They told him They were there to help him, to warn him of danger. Not once had they been correct, why did he still believe Them?

So she wants to off us. How can we prevent it?

There is the obvious way.

No! We are not doing that. There's no way I'm harming a woman.

Your call.

Arthur rubbed his fingers against his Pyjamas. It stung like hell due to them being injured. He just wanted his mind to be taken off of his conversation with Them.

A knock at the door signalled Arthur to Miss Héderváry's arrival.

"Stay away from me." Arthur pushed himself further onto his bed.

The door opened slowly to show Miss. Héderváry. Her white clothing contrasted with her dark intentions.

"Sweetie, you won't hurt me," Miss. Héderváry said. She stood in the front entrance and held the first aid kit in her hands.

"They told me that you're going to hurt me and I'm not going to let you do that." Arthur had pushed himself all the way towards the head of his bed and his back was now against the wall.

Miss Héderváry's countenance changed completely. "It's alright. I promise I'm not here to hurt you." She walked into the room and Arthur recoiled.

"I'm going to put the kit on the table and then I'm going to walk out, okay?"

Arthur nodded jerkily. His breathing was ragged and he was struggling to stop his shaking. There was no way he would let that vile woman anywhere near him. He moved until he was completely in the corner of the room and waited.

Miss Héderváry moved with slow and deliberate movements. One she put the kit on the small table she backed away until she had reached the door.

"There's some cotton wool and a small amount of disinfectant if you want. There are also some plasters. We get a lot of injuries like these so we make these small kits to help. I'll get someone else to get a fresh change of pyjamas for you." Her honeyed voice was soothing like tea. It made him trust her even less.

The door closed and Arthur stared at the container. He slowly moved closer to the kit. The box was transparent and he could see the contents easily; cotton wool, disinfectant, plasters, just as she had said.

That's not disinfectant, idiot.

Arthur corrected himself, cotton wool, plasters, and poison. He would not go near the poison. He was just glad that she did not force him to do anything. The box opened with a click and Arthur could immediately smell the alcoholic disinfectant. It was a small amount and was not enough to do any real harm. If it was poison it would be enough to kill him for sure.

He quickly grabbed the band aid. It was a good idea to at least cover his fingers for when he next picked up his guitar. From the position he was in he could easily see the fretboard and the reddish sheen the strings had taken from his finger. In total there were seven or so plasters.

There were more than enough to cover all of his fingers to stop them from bleeding and ruining the guitar that Alfred had gifted to him.

There was another knock at the door and within a few seconds Arthur was bad in the corner of the room. He did not want to see Miss. Héderváry again. She was out to kill him and there was no way he could even stand seeing someone who wanted to do that to him.

We tried to kill our brother. The voices taunted him. He shook his head wildly.

The door opened to show a different person, a man this time, with dark hair and interestingly coloured eyes. He had a dispassionate expression, like he was only here because he had to be.

"Is that woman gone Mr. Edelstein." He stuttered on the foreign surname.

"Yes she is." Somehow Arthur knew that he was just saying that in order to placate him. It was the monotonous voice.

Mr. Edelstein eyed the guitar with a raised eyebrow. Arthur was not going to let him take it. He moved to get the man away from the guitar.

The man backed away. Mr. Edelstein looked awfully out of place wearing all white. He was more suited to royal purples and clothing that belonged to an aristocrat. He placed the pyjamas down onto the chair before leaving. He faced Arthur the entire time, like Miss Héderváry did. It must be for safety reasons.

Once the door was closed Arthur changed into the hospital pyjamas and left the bloodied ones in a messy pile on the chair. It was not long before he went back to the guitar. The guitar was his only source of entertainment at the moment other than sleeping. The pyjamas were scratchy and not nearly as comfortable as his own clothing, but he was restricted from civilian clothes until his assessment had been done.

-Alfred-

Within the next few days Alfred returned to school. No on suspected that his brother was a schizophrenic. Not a single person even though that something could have happened since the last week when he was there.

It was now Thursday and he had been off from school for three days. Alfred was often off from school for periods of time when he went to places with his parents—and stayed in the hotel room most of the time, or just did his own thing, Arthur never came with so it was extremely boring during 'family vacations'.

The only person that even wondered if anything was wrong was his one and only friend. He had a large social circle, some might even call him popular, but he only really had one friend.

Kiku Honda was his best friend and had been so since middle school, they were both sophomores in high school now. They had been together through thick and thin and that included seeing the others' genitals more times than was strictly necessary for a platonic friendship.

"Alfred is something wrong?" Kiku's voice was still accented with Japanese even after living in America for most of his life.

"No, not really," Alfred brushed him off.

"Alfred." Kiku's voice had that warning tone in it. Like most mothers did when they knew their child was lying… and Arthur.

"Fine," He paused to gather his thoughts. After few moments he began to talk.

"It turns out my brother is schizophrenic. He just got admitted into Blue Crane Psychiatric Hospital the other day and I'm really worried about him."

"Arthur doesn't seem like the crazy type, maybe tsundere but not yandere."

"But it's not an obsession." Sometimes Kiku likened all sorts of things in real life to Anime and during the times that Arthur did not have his had in the clouds it really irked him.

"He nearly tried to kill me," Alfred blurted out,.

Kiku's eyes widened just the slightest bit.

"What did he do?"

"He was about to choke me, but he stopped himself. He nearly didn't though."

They sat in silence for a few moments they waited for the bell to ring to signal the start of the school day.

"That's harsh"

"I'm really worried about him." Alfred reiterated. "He's my brother." His shoulders slumped.

Kiku did not reply.

"He has nightmares a lot. Something happened to him before he was adopted. Something bad, real bad…"

"And you're going to find out?"

"Of course I am."

"Blue Crane said that they first need to evaluate Arthur before they discuss his visiting times with us." Alfred tossed the phone onto his bed. It was odd having Kiku over without Arthur asking if they needed something every few moments. Alfred had almost forgotten to offer something to eat and drink to Kiku and was only reminded when his own stomach growled loudly.

Kiku was sprawled out on the floor of his bedroom and was in the middle of reading a manga. Alfred would have asked to borrow it when he was done, but Kiku had the habit of only reading his manga in Japanese. Which Alfred could not read.

"And?"

"They're going to have him fully evaluated by next week. I'm just glad I managed to get them to give him the guitar."

"Guitar?" Kiku lifted his eyes from the manga and looked at Alfred.

"Yeah, I thought he would need something to do so I gave him a guitar to use. I just got it the other day. Well the day I gave it to him."

"So how are we going to get the information of what happened to Arthur when he was young?"

Alfred scratched his head. "I really, really, don't know."

"What orphanage did he come from?"

"Same orphanage as I did."

"Phone them then?"

Alfred booted up the computer that sat at his desk, mostly unused. He had to find the phone number for Harmony Hill before he phoned it and maybe he could do some snooping about Arthur's immediate family. There had to be something on the internet.

The orphanage that he had come from was actually a very small orphanage. Harmony Hill was very run down and had many issues when it came to income and feeding all of its occupants. Recently they had started to have a large amount of interest from surrounding businesses. Mostly since Alfred's adoptive parents had gotten Arthur from there and they wanted to show others that they were a big deal.

When Alfred had stayed in there it was a lot better than when Arthur had. Or at least that was what he had been told. Even his school worked on spending money for the orphanage and would often ran fundraisers to support the orphanage. Alfred did not usually give anything when his parents had already given huge portions of money to the place to help it.

He found the phone number to the place easily and called it.

The phone rang a few times before they picked up with well-rehearsed greeting.

"Hi, um, I'm looking for the records of someone. His name's Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."

The woman on the other end of the line told him that she was unable to give him any information about the previous occupant.

"No, but please… This is important. I need to know what happened to him."

The woman on the other end of the line hung up.

"Shit!" Alfred was tempted to throw his phone against the wall. That would not solve a thing. He instead placed the phone down onto the table, his anger showing in the almost too careful way he placed it down.

His office chair squeaked just the slightest bit as he turned it to face the computer.

"What should I do now Kiks?" He asked his friend.

Kiku finished reading the page he was on before looking up.

"Search the internet?"

"Thanks for reminding me." Alfred quickly opened up a new tab on his internet browser and entered in his brother's name.

Not much information came up, only social networks that Arthur had signed up for, but rarely used. He decided to click onto the second page of results on Google, he was really desperate this point.

He found something on the middle of the page.

"Jackpot," he said quietly as he clicked on the link. It was the digital version of a newspaper article and it looked to be exactly what he was looking for in order to solve the mystery, he hoped.

The page loaded quickly and he scanned over the page with his eyes. After the first few paragraphs he stopped reading.

"Holy shit, Kiku. I need you to come and look at this, " his voice was low from the large mix of feelings that were flooding though his mind.

Kiku got up and scanned over the document with him.

"I can see why he's now in a looney bin."

Alfred slapped Kiku. Not hard, but hard enough to get his point across.

"Don't speak about my brother like that."

"Sorry."

Alfred read over the newspaper article again. He gulped as he realised the full impact of what had happened to his brother.

The Sunday News

14 June —

Children tortured in father's basement.

On Tuesday (9th June) officials were called to 21 Oak Wood Street after many noise complaints from nearby neighbours. When they investigated the scene they were shocked to discover the father of four young children dead. All evidence suggests that he committed suicide, but was not found until nearly two weeks later in the basement with his children.

Police reports said that all four of the children showed signs of having been tortured in various ways over a period of nearly two years. The only survivor of the four children was Arthur Kirkland (5). It is unknown to what extent he has been affected and remains mute. He has been admitted into hospital with broken limbs, malnutrition, internal bleeding, among other maladies.

Autopsies of the three dead Kirkland children to determine their cause of death will be conducted on…

Alfred did not feel like reading anymore of it, he turned around and swallowed.

"I never thought it would be that bad," he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut, "Arthur never said a word about any of this."

Kiku finished reading the rest of the article, unlike Alfred, and then nodded.

"I wonder what really happened. They never said too much in the article from what I did read."

"They spoke of the Jones' taking an interest in the case."

"They wanted him as a charity case."

Alfred snapped his laptop shut and waited in silence until the computer was completely switched off.

"That explains why he's in Blue Crane." Alfred refused to call it a psychiatric hospital or anything of the sort.

"You're going to find out more, aren't you?"

Alfred nodded. "There's one thing I can't stand, and that's not knowing the answer to a mystery," he changed topic completely, "You staying for the night? I have spare pyjamas if you need."

-Arthur -

Sitting in his room was one of the most boring things he had ever done in his life and there were lots of boring things he had done. He had paced the room until They had annoyed him into playing his guitar to drown them out. Then he had played guitar until the plasters in his fingers were worn completely through before lying on his bed and experimenting with holding his breath in order to get himself to pass out because there was no way he was going to fall asleep anytime soon.

It was a long time before there was a knock on the door. Arthur opened one eye.

"Yes?" He asked and waited for the person behind the door to come in. It had better not be Miss. Héderváry again.

The door opened widely and a tall man was standing there. His features looked as if they were cartoonishly over exaggerated, but somehow, on his large frame they looked alright.

"Good morning Arthur. I'm Dr. Ivan Braginsky, but please call be Ivan. I'm here to evaluate you today. Would you like to have the evaluation done in your room? I would much rather have it done with me in my office, but you can choose."

"Your office," Arthur stood up from his bed, "Please." He added with as an afterthought.

"I don't think we'll need to restrain you. You seem to be quite nice Arthur."

Arthur shrugged, "I think I'll be okay."

"If you'll follow me then."

Arthur kept to the right side if Ivan for the entire journey. He could see that the doctor felt better if he was in sight, but he could see security members dotted along the way. Probably just in case and to patrol the area.

They reached his office.

"Please take a seat. Would you like some tea or coffee?" Ivan asked as he walked to behind his large desk..

"I would kill for some tea."

Ivan laughed. It was a childish laugh and somehow did not truly set Arthur at ease. It was still better than the annoying, grating laugh of his mother.

He sat down tentatively in the chair. It was quite soft and the springs gave away easily from age. Ivan busied himself in the once corner of his room by making drinks for Arthur and himself.

"I don't usually have patients in my personal office, but I think we can make an exception for you."

Ivan placed the tea on a tray for Arthur. He took the tea gratefull and took a sip, ignoring how it burned his tongue. It was good to have something to keep himself occupied. His ruined fingers pressed against the hot mug.

"Arthur, your fingers are bleeding." Ivan stated.

Arthur looked down at his fingers. The plasters were still over the fingers on his left hand, but there were sections where they had been worn away on his index finger mainly. There was blood smeared on his mug. He put the mug down on to the table and spilled some of it in the process.

"I'm sorry." He said quickly and looked around for a tissue or something in order to clean up the blood.

"Here." Ivan held out a tissue for Arthur to use to clean himself up.

"Now Arthur, why did you let yourself get into such a state?"

"I just…" Arthur paused. Why had he let himself get into such a state? "I guess I liked playing the guitar that my little brother bought me."

"You like to play guitar?" Ivan took a small sip of his coffee.

"I did. I don't play that often though. My hands are probably raw because I don't have calluses on them anymore. Is there a bin?"

Ivan held up a small wastepaper basket for Arthur to throw the soiled tissue into.

"Thank you."

Arthur took a large sip of his tea.

"Would you like to tell me about yourself?"

"What should I start with?"

"We can start simple. What's your name?"

"Don't you already know it?"

"I only read the report when I need to. Learning things from you is much more helpful to me than typed sheets of paper."

"Uh, okay. My name is Arthur Kirkland."

"How old are you Arthur?"

"I just turned twenty this year."

"Twenty's a good age. Do you have any friends?"

"One or two, but I don't really speak to them very much."

"Alright," Ivan moved on to a different subject, "Would you like to tell me about your family?"

"Arthur gulped. He did not notice that Ivan was watching his body language very carefully.

"I have a younger brother, his name's Alfred and my parents adopted me when I was six, Mr. and Mrs. Jones."

"You don't call them by their first names?"

"Not anymore. They," He paused. "They don't really look after me"

"You're an adult now though."

"They never really did. When I was younger they did, but I guess I was not perfect enough for them,."

"And Alfred, is he also adopted?"

"Yes," Arthur took another sip of tea before continuing, "He was adopted a few years after me. We came from the same orphanage actually."

He put down the empty teacup.

"Would you like to tell me about your biological parents? That is if you remember them?"

"I would rather not." Arthur began to grip the chair with his uninjured hand.

"Arthur, I can't help you if you don't tell me things" Ivan's voice was awful. Arthur was starting to hate it now. It was too childish, too…Innocent for a doctor that was meant to be working with people with mental illnesses.

"I don't want to," Arthur said vehemently.

Ivan gave out a stilted sigh.

"Okay, well what about hobbies? Is there anything you like to do in your free time?"

Arthur thought for a good few moments. "Not really. I don't do that much.

Ivan paused before talking again.

"I apologise if I'm being harsh, but would you like to tell me why you don't want to talk about your life before you were adopted?"

"I don't really want to think about it."

"That's understandable. Did your parents take you to therapy after they adopted you?"

"They didn't. Why would they?"

"Arthur," Ivan sighed in exasperation, "That's what you are supposed to do after a traumatic event."

"Really? But therapy's for people who are insane."

"Not anymore. A lot of people get therapy. Just so they can talk about their day with someone."

"It's not like that with me."

"It can be if I can help you now."

"They're telling me that you don't want to help me."

Ivan raised an eyebrow.

"So they're speaking to you."

Arthur nodded. Why was he talking to him? There must have been something in the tea. He should not have had it.

"Alright. So how long have you been hearing them for?"

"A few months now."

"And what do they tell you?"

"They always telling us not to trust people and I believe them sometimes."

"Are they telling you to not trust me?"

Arthur nodded. He picked up the mug only to find it empty. He put it back down onto the desk.

"So you don't always trust them then?"

"I don't. That's why I'm here though. Sometimes I do trust them and I listen to them."

"You called the police on yourself yes?"

"I did. They nearly caused me to kill my own brother." The words sounded horrendous coming out of Arthur's mouth.

"You didn't though."

"I nearly did. I was right on top of him and my hands nearly wrapped themselves around throat. I am so glad that I stopped before I did anything. I would never be able to forgive myself."

"You show a lot of restraint unlike other people. That is very good."

"Thank you." The words came out unsure. Arthur did not know what Ivan meant by them.

"Would you like another cup of tea?"

"Yes please." Ivan busied himself with making another cup of tea for himself and Arthur.

"You are close to your brother?"

"He's the closest thing to a friend I have. I rarely see my parents and I'm always looking after Alfred for them."

"Is looking after your younger brother a chore?"

"Not at all, I love looking after him."

"That's nice." Ivan smiled nostalgically.

"Is something the matter?" Arthur asked.

Ivan passed the fresh cup of tea to Arthur and continued to sip at his own cup.

"No, no. I was just reminded of something."

"You have siblings as well?"

"Two sisters. They didn't emigrate like I did. I lost contact with them a while back. But I'm not here to talk about myself."

Arthur sipped slowly at his tea. They continued to talk for the next while. Mostly about Arthur and not all about anything involving his past or hi issues.

Eventually a small timer that Arthur had not noticed previously started to ring. Ivan turned it off.

"Does that mean that my time is up?"

"No, I use it to keep track of time in general." Ivan turned the timer back onto the sixty minute mark.

They continued to speak for a bit more until a knock came at the door.

"Come in?" Ivan asked.

A small woman came in.

"Dr. Braginsky, your next appointment is soon. She left the door open and scurried away.

"Why is she so skittish?" Arthur asked.

"She's not too comfortable with people?"

"Why's that?"

Ivan stood up and collected the mugs. "She used to actually be a patient here. I'm not going to disclose any information to you even if you ask, I keep my confidentiality."

"Okay. Would you like me to help you with that?"

"I'm good. Lili's waiting outside the door. She can escort you to your room."

"Why are you so lax in your security?" Arthur stood up as well and pushed in his chair.

A small smirk settled over Ivan's lips. "I believe in showing people trust first, how else can someone trust us if we don't trust them?"

Arthur left the room and followed Lili.

-Alfred-

"Why do I have to come with?" Kiku asked as they stood outside the doors to the orphanage. The building looked almost new thanks to renovations and about the door the sign read 'Harmony Hill Orphanage' in comic sans.

"Dude, you're like my backup."

Kiku sighed. Alfred pushed open the door and immediately saw a well-kept reception themed in white. Honestly, he thought it was a bit harsh for an orphanage, but he was not one to complain.

"Good morning," the woman behind the desk said, "Are you looking to adopt?" She eyed them critically.

Alfred shook his head, "Nope. I just need to get some records."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "You're the kid who called the other day, aren't you."

"I guess. I just really need to know about my brother."

"Brother?"

"Yeah, we were both adopted from here. I'm Alfred Jones."

She closed the book she had been surreptitiously reading under the table, "Jones you say?"

"Uh-huh." Alfred sought for what to say next, "I need to know about Arthur Kirkland. He's been admitted into Blue Crane Psychiatric Institute the other day an I want to know what happened to make him like that."

"So he's insane."

Alfred took in a deep breath. H did not want to talk about how his brother was now in Blue Crane, but he needed the information.

"He's not insane! My brother didn't try anything. He put himself there."

"Then why did he do that if he's not insane?"

Alfred looked at to Kiku for help. His friend shook his head.

"He is I guess, but not completely."

"Well, I'm sorry sir, but you aren't allowed to see the records of the previous occupants."

It took a few moments for an idea to pop into Alfred's head.

"Can I see mine at least?"

"You would need to produce identification."

"Sure thing." Alfred dug in his backpack for his Driver's licence.

"Will this do?" He held it out for her to see.

She nodded curtly. I guess.

"Just give me a moment." Alfred said, he took his phone out of his pocket a typed a quick message.

'Kiks, I need you to provide a distraction in order to get her out of the room so I can get the records.'

He pressed send and silently prayed to any deity he could think of that Kiku's phone was on silent. From his position next to Kiku he could hear the phone vibrate.

"Sorry, Kiku. You'll have to wait here I guess." The receptionist said.

Kiku nodded again and went to one of the chairs that were set out in the reception he sat down and pulled out his phone.,

"If you'll follow me sir."

She led his to a back room that was quite dusty. It had obviously not been renovated with the rest of the orphanage.

"Your name and surname sir."

"Alfred Jones. But I used to be Alfred Williams."

The woman went to a filing cabinet with 'W' marked on it in large letters. She opened the draw and pulled out a file before handing it to Alfred.

Alfred opened the file and read over the first few lines. What was Kiku doing? Surely the distractions should be ready by now.

He paused. Alfred reread the sentence he was just on. He flipped through the pages quickly.

"I had a twin brother."

He stared down at the page below him.

"Why didn't they adopt him as well?" He looked up at the woman. She gave a slight shrug.

"That happens sometimes. Parents often don't want to adopt more than one child and we do encourage siblings to be adopted together."

A loud crash sounded and she immediately left the room to investigate.

Alfred was reeling with the new information. He had a twin brother. Why did he not remember him though? Maybe he was just too young, but still, a brother.

He shook his head. Finding Arthur's papers was more important than anything else. He found the cabinet marked with a 'K' and opened it. He flinched when is squealed sharply. His fingers flew over the different files until he found the one marked with 'Kirkland' he pulled it out.

The file was a lot larger than his. Arthur had been in the orphanage for about a year if the newspaper's date was correct with the time he was adopted.

Alfred had to stifle a gasp. The image of Arthur was horrendous. He was very young in the image, his cheekbones were more prominent than they usually were and bruising was spattered over his face. His eyes, they were the most terrifying of all. They were looking right into Alfred's soul, but not actually looking. Like when it feels as if someone was watching him when there was no one there. He tore his gaze away from the photo and grabbed his phone.

Taking photos of Arthur's file seemed like the best way to do it. He flipped through the pages as quickly as he could and took photos, not caring if they were not the best quality. He only cared about being able to read them. He hurriedly put the file back into its spot and closed the cabinet with a screech.

He picked up his own file and read though it again. Alfred was going to ask the receptionist if he could get a hold of his twin brother's file. He really hoped that she would say yes to that. This Matthew kid was his brother after all.

Steps led up to the door and Alfred could feel his heart begin to beat faster. She would not know that he did that with Arthur's file. There was not proof and if he was acting suspicious it would only alert her that something was not right. He looked at the file quickly and found it exactly as he had left it.

"I am sorry sir. It seems that your friend accidentally knocked over an expensive sculpture."

Alfred wanted to sigh with relief. Kiku had come though and done it for him.

"I'll pay for any damage, it's no bother." Alfred waved off the happening.

The receptionist looked visibly relieved.

"Do you mind if," He paused for just a short moment, "I could see my…Brother's files."

The receptionist shook her head, "I have told you I can't let you see Arthur Kirkland's file"

"No, I meant my twin brother."

She shrugged and looked in the open drawer.

"Here we are." She held out the file, "You are lucky that I'm allowing you to see this."

Alfred took the file and read over it.

He gave it back to her after a few minutes..

"Thank you." He said.

She put the file away into the correct cabinet and closed it.

The receptionist walked to the outside of the door and waited for him to leave the room.

Alfred left the room and walked to the reception. He knew where it was. It was odd seeing the place. Alfred knew that he had spent nearly seven months of his life here, but he could not remember a thing about it.

The receptionist resumed her place behind the desk.

"How do you want me to pay for the statue?" He asked.

"It's no worry," She said, "the statue is not ruined in anyway."

"Bye ma'am. Thanks for helping me."

He left the orphanage and found Kiku waiting outside.

"Do you get kicked out after pulling that stunt?"

"I did," Was all that Kiku replied.

They began to walk towards the parking lot.

"Did you get it?" Kiku asked.

"Yep, I got photos of the entire file," Alfred smiled widely.

"I have a twin brother, Kiku,"

"You never told me before."

Alfred grabbed his car keys from his back pocket and unlocked the car. They got in.

"I didn't know I had a twin brother. They never adopted him."

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"He ran away from the orphanage about a year ago. The file didn't say anything about where he is now, I think they lost track of him or just didn't care."

"Oh."

Alfred pulled onto the road. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised on the highway. He was off to visit Arthur. Arthur had been allowed visitors since the previous day. It had been nearly a few weeks since the incident and life felt different, but still the same.

Kiku turned on the radio and immediately switched stations.

"Why don't you like country music?"

"It's country music." Was all that Kiku replied as he struggled to find the best setting for another stations.

-Matthew-

Mathew Williams had always been confused for his older brother. He did not remember much of his early years, but that was one thing that really stood out in his memory.

It was not too difficult for him to recall his twin brother. They had looked very similar as children. Fraternal twins did have their differences though. Alfred was more confident and his hair and eyes differed slightly from Matthews, lighter colouring.

Their parents had died in a car crash and they were eventually admitted into Harmony Hill Orphanage. Alfred had stayed there for only a few months before he was adopted, while Matthew had been stuck there for a bit longer.

He had waited for himself to be adopted like his slightly older twin brother. Months turned into years and eventually Matthew was fourteen with no hopes of being adopted. Parents would often overlook him when selecting children and once he reached his teenage years he was too old to adopt in most peoples' eyes.

That was when he had first attempted to run away from the orphanage. The attempt was successful the first time and he managed to keep out of everyone's radar for about a week before he was forced to come back. Matthew had neglected to remember a food source and later delivered himself to the hospital, wide eyes and shivering from a lack of any outerwear.

It was not long before he started to plan his next escape. There was absolutely no way that he was going to stay in the orphanage when he could be somewhere else, where he could be free and able to control his own life.

Matthew's next escape was a bit more planned. He had some food and had managed to pilfer a heavy jacket despite it already being summer. This one was a portion longer than the last escape attempt—a stab wound from a mugger was the only thing that set him back.

This time when he returned to the orphanage he had barely had the clothes on his back, a severe resentment from the manager and an iron hard will to escape for a third, and last, time.

Moonlight shone brightly through the open window and curtain. The bulging tog bag lay innocently on the bed and Matthew was standing with his ear to the door, listening for any signs of life within the orphanage.

It was a long while before he deemed it safe enough to even tip toe around the room. He turned around and took a breath so deep that his shoulders rose and fell visibly.

The third attempt was just under a year from the second one. Matthew had been saving whatever food he could and now had a stock of maple syrup to put the entire country on Canada to shame.

The floors underneath his feet were carpeted just a few months ago and now he barely made any noise as we walked over to his bed in his trainers. He was lucky to have a single room and only had it because he was the only orphan left at the age of fifteen.

The string of the tog bag was uncomfortable against his shoulder and back and the weight of the canned food pressed jarringly into his back. The duvet had not been disturbed other than the spot where the tog bag had been and where he had been sitting earlier on in the night.

Mathew stood outside the window and looked at the ground below. It was not that far and should be perfectly fine to jump. He paused for just a moment and gathered his thoughts. If he had done everything correctly this time it would be the last time he would be in the orphanage. He was nearly old enough to get a job and eventually he would be able to come clean about his escape, when it did not matter anymore.

He glanced back at his room one more time. It was completely bare and had been so since his last escape. Matthew did not want anything that would give him a reason to want to stay at this place where he felt like a prisoner going through the same monotonous day, every day.

His feet dangled over the edge of the window sill. There was no bite in the fresh summer air and yet his shoulders were still weighed down with all of his clothing. He was not going to be caught unprepared this time.

The air was humid and warm as he breathed in before pushing off. He rolled over in pain as he landed. His lips were sore from biting them in order to not produce any noise. Why had he been so stupid as to make a mistake now of all places?

Of all the things that could go wrong Matthew had landed funny on his ankle and now it was throbbing in agony. There was no crack so it might be sprained, but that really put a spoke in the wheels of his plan.

There was absolutely no chance that he would go back to Harmony Hill Orphanage. He got up with much hassle having only one good leg and way too much clothing for a night like this on and began to limp slowly. If only he had not gotten himself injured, then he would be able to run far enough from here to not be under the scope of the local police as he was added to their list of missing children.

The tog bag was already growing heavy on his shoulder and it would not be too long before the rip that was already in it would become larger and eventually make the bag unusable. Matthew had decided against buying a new bag and had stuck with the old second hand bag pilfered off on of the previous occupants of the orphanage that had used it as a sports bag. By now the brand name that was on it had come off completely and left nothing except for a few scattered pieces of yellow writing that were peeling off very quickly.

The walk was long and tedious and Matthew would have to stop somewhere at some point in order to tend to his aching ankle. He would need crutches at least because going at a snail's pace was not very helpful when he had just escaped from your orphanage for the third time in his life.

He had not even looked it his, but by the way he felt it was definitely bad and he would have to get off his leg and find a place to spend the night. It better not get infected, but he highly doubted that it would do that because it wasn't bleeding which meant it was a completely internal injury and we able to put at least some weight on, but not much.

Matthew looked at the full moon again. It looked oddly large in the sky surrounded by the much small stars and it helped him easily navigate the surrounding areas, and who knows, maybe he could even get in contact with his brother at some point. He highly doubted that the Jones' would adopt him now when they did not do it in the first place.

He continued to trudge along the sidewalk lopsidedly. He was not that loud and outgoing and he hated it when families overlooked him in favour of the more lively children—like Alfred. He could barely remember his birth parents, but from what he could recall they were nice and treated them both well before they died. Now he had nothing in the world except for an old ratty stuffed polar bear that was missing an eye and also had an arm missing that had been sewed up. He had it stuffed in the bottom of the bag. It was the only object of sentimental value that he owned.

In the distance he could see the streets were lit with streetlights and tried to hurry his pace in order to reach them. He did not want to be in the dark with a possibly broken ankle. The threat of being mugged was high in the daytime, never mind in the night with a broken ankle and a bag full of stuff.

The pain of his ankle was something he just wanted to get rid of. He considered the idea of buying an over the counter painkiller from the nearest drug store, which was quite far away from this place if he was correct. That would take a while to get to.

"Hey kid!" He heard a rough shout in the distance.

Matthew did not want to know who it was. Was it a police officer trying to get him to go back to the orphanage? Or a man ready to mug or even rape him? He tried to pick up his pace which was difficult. The bag on his shoulder was painful, as was the ankle of his and even his palms and knees from the fall.

Nonetheless he managed to pick up the pace slightly and fell into a pit of a loping jog. It was not fun.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

Matthew yelped and leant on his bad ankle.

From his position on the ground—he had unfortunately fallen over and was now in a position to see the assailant—he could see the man clearly, even with the glare of the streetlamp shining brightly in his face.

"I'm not here to hurt you, I think you already are." He laughed. It was an awkward sounding laugh and was actually quite grating, but it set Matthew at ease, he probably meant well, probably.

"Um, Hi?"

Matthew stared at the man that was standing above him. His hand was held out and he was waiting for Matthew to grab onto it. The man was…Unique to say the least. His eyes were eerie with their red tone and his ghostly hair seemed to glow in the harsh streetlight.

"Hello to you too," the man looked down on him. In a figurative way, and not rudely, but much like a more experienced person would look at a beginner as if they were looking at their potential, it creeped Matthew out.

Matthew grabbed his hand and he was easily lifted to his feet—the man was strong and he did not weigh that much.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked. Why was he so damn awkward with people? There were so many ways he could have phrased the sentence without sounding like the terrified orphanage escapee he was.

"I'm helping you," the man laughed again and motioned for Matthew to follow him before walking towards a nearby building. Matthew stood still and did not start to move until the white haired man looked behind him to check if he was following. The intensity of his eyes forced him to move his legs.

His ankle hurt even more than it did before, which was saying something. He bit back a yelp and drew the attention of the man. The man walked to Matthew and hooked an arm around his shoulder.

"I'll help you. I live above the music store right there."

Matthew's gaze skidded to a halt at the aforementioned music store. It was dimly lit and the glass door was closed. The inside seemed to be small but all he could see despite the bad lighting that there were various different kinds of instruments all clusters around the stands. It was a madhouse that seemed very inviting and if Matthew did play an instrument he probably would have been drawn here.

It took them a while before they reached the door and the man left his arm unwind from around Matthews upper body while he opened the door. Matthew hobbled in before the man could help him and breathed in the musty smell of the air.

"It used to be a bookstore before this, but the owner went bankrupt. Not much demand for second-hand books in this day and age," it took Matthew a few more moments before he managed to place the man's accent, German.

He smiled weakly at the man before walking a bit more into the store and looking around at all of the instruments. In the corner there was a counter with a cash register and various music lesson posters were pasted onto and around it.

"Stay here, I'll grab a chair for you to sit on while I look at your leg," the man hurried to the counter and switched on the bright lights. Matthew flinched as the dim room brightened immediately under the fluorescent lights. The man came back a few seconds later with a chair.

He nearly threw it down and they both winced as it squealed across the floor.

"Sit," the man commanded and Matthew obeyed.

"Now, why are you out alone in the dark?" The man asked a lot more tenderly than his previous command.

"I, uh," Matthew fumbled for an answer.

"You ran away, didn't you?" There was an odd smirk in the man's voice.

Matthew could do nothing but nod. He hissed as the man pulled up his pants leg to look at his ankle.

"Aren't your parents worried about you?"

"I don't have any," Matthew's voice came across as a lot sadder than he meant it to be.

"So you ran away from an orphanage?" The man prompted him to continue.

"I didn't really like it there and no one's going to adopt a fifteen year old."

The fan raised his eyebrows, "You're fifteen? You looked a lot younger than that."

"I get that sometimes."

The man pulled Matthew's sock down as gently as he could and continued to examine the ankle with his eyes.

"I don't think you broke it, so it's probably just a sprain. How did you break it?"

"I fell out of my window."

"While you were jumping out of it?"

Matthew nodded and tried to look away from the man's piercing gaze.

"I need to take you to hospital to get that checked out, but in the meantime I can give you a pain pill. I'll be back in a moment, don't move around your ankle could become aggravated."

Matthew waited on the chair and looked around some more. The one wall held a large collection of guitars of different sizes, styles and shapes. Another section of the room was reserved for keyboards and directly opposite him and the counter he could see various accessories meant for instruments. It was a well organised place above the somewhat disorganised air it gave off.

A few minutes later the man came back with a tray—a glass of water, a small bottle of pills, and a few apples.

"I don't doubt that you have some food in your bag, but I've brought something anyways," he put the tray on the counter and grabbed the bottle of pills and the glass of water.

"I'm definitely not giving you any drugs on the sly, the bottle's mostly fill still and you can check—they've all got the brand name on them."

Matthew took the bottle and opened it before shaking a pill onto the palm of his hand. Gilbert took the bottle from his hand and replaced it with the water.

It took a good while for Matthew to muster up the courage to take the pill. He rarely took them and had yet to get used to the action. As quick as he possibly could he put the pill in his mouth and swallowed some water. He continued to drink the water until he had finished the entire glass.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "Thank you Mr—" He paused as he realised he did not even know the man's name.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, but please I only want to be called Gilbert."

"Thank you Gilbert," Matthew handed the glass back to Gilbert and had an apple put into his hand.

"I didn't have any other food in the kitchen," it was a short pause before he continued, "Now, would you like to tell me your name?"

"I'm Matthew."

"No surname?"

Matthew debated on telling the man his surname. Gilbert did tell him his, but Matthew was still a child and the idea of the man knowing his full name was not sounding like a good idea.

Gilbert laughed, "No worries. I just want you to eat that and then we can work on bringing you upstairs to sleep." Matthew bit into the apple. It was juicy and not floury at all. Matthew had never really had fruit as hit first choice of food, but the apple was definitely good enough to constitute a good snack.

"They're good, aren't they? My brother grows them himself. You would never expect a lawyer to have such an interest in gardening but Luddy's a real character."

"I have a brother too." Matthew said in between bites.

"Oh, do you know where he is?."

"He was adopted by the Jones'," Matthew said and took another bite of apple.

The Jones' were quite renowned in their smallish town. They were both one of the richest families in America and had turned their slowly dying town into a booming holiday destination. Nearly everyone knew who they are and at least some of what they had done.

"They didn't say anything about a brother in the news."

"They…overlooked me because I was too reserved."

"That's stupid," Gilbert grabbed an apple for himself and took a large bite of it. He chewed a few times before swallowing, "I mean you seem like a wonderful kid. No one should just leave a younger brother on the wayside."

"Twin," Matthew corrected. He held the core of the apple in his hand and looked for a bin to dispose of it. He spotted one in the corner of the room and took aim and tossed it. The core landed nearly perfectly in the bin.

"That makes it even worse." Gilbert's nose wrinkled in distaste, "I never did like them. Not because of what they've done, but they seem like they're doing it all just to show off."

Matthew nodded. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt to give his hands something to do. After cleaning them he inspected them again before putting them back on. They had just as many scratches and dings as they did before. He was forever being careless with his too-big glasses.

"It doesn't matter now. I'll take care of you for a while if that's okay," Gilbert smiled hopefully.

Mathew gulped. Could he trust Gilbert? The man was being nice to him and did not seem like he wanted to do anything. He could try to make a run for it or say he was not going to stay with the white haired man, but, having a buggered leg would not help a bit at all.

"Okay." Matthew said hesitantly.

Gilbert's face lit up in a smile. "I want to take you to the hospital tomorrow morning. Tonight's not gonna do anything. I'll get some fresh linen and put it on my bed for you—the stairs shouldn't be a problem, should they?"

Matthew shook his head and accepted Gilbert's help in order to stand up. Gilbert helped him to the stairwell and stopped.

"I'm sorry kid, but it will be a bit difficult to help you up the stairs. The railing should hold you just fine though."

Matthew eyed the stairs. The stairwell was not properly lit and it was very narrow. About halfway up they changed directions until they then led in the opposite direction. Matthew grabbed the cool metal and began to hoist himself up the stairs. By this point in the evening his good leg was beginning to complain from his leaning nearly all of his weight on it, but the man promised a bed at the end of the stairs. That was enough motivation to get him to start moving up the stairs.

He was startled when the man erupted into obnoxious laughter, "You're still carrying the bag I'll take it from you until we get to my room."

Matthew felt Gilbert's hands close around the strap and pull it gently off of his shoulder.

'Jeez, kid, what's in here?" Gilbert grunted as he struggled to compensate for the weight of the bag that was heavier than he was expecting.

"Nothing much, just some food and Kumajirou."

"Kuma-whatsit?"

"He's my stuffed polar bear. I've had him all my life."

That annoying laugh filled the air again, "Don't tell Luddy this, but I still sleep with the stuffed bird he gave me when we were still kids. I even own a real bird just like him."

"I like birds quite a bit." Matthew said as a way to try and continue the conversation. He slowly climbed the stairs with Gilbert behind him. The pain pill had eased the pain in his leg just slightly but the main ache was still there.

"I call him Gilbird."

"That's not a very inventive name." Matthew's eyebrows furrowed just the slightest bit, Gilbert did not see it however.

"That's what I call my stuffed toy. I'll show you both Gilbirds if you want."

"Okay."

Matthew finally made it to the top of the stairs and waited for Gilbert to unlock and open the door.

The room was…small for one. It was also cluttered. From behind Gilbert Matthew could already see at least three different types of instruments and was almost worried about the rest of the room. In the one corner a white cage sat and a small yellow bird—Gilbird Matthew assumed—chirped merrily at the arrival of its owner.

Take away was on the kitchen counter and it looked to be more than enough for three people, never mind one and an unplanned guest. Other than the instruments and the take away the lounge and conjoined kitchen area were spotless. There were only three other doors in the whole house, they were all open and Matthew could only see one bedroom.

The couch was in good condition, but had definitely been around.

"You're not giving me your bed," Matthew said with a resolute tone in his voice.

"There is no way that I am allowing a guest to sleep on my couch, especially one that is injured."

"I'm a kid, you're an adult"

Yet, somehow, Matthew ended up with a stomach full of Chinese take away and the uncomfortable noise of Gilbert snoring. He really should not have trusted him in the first place. The sound of him snoring was absolutely horrendous, and even worse, he was a cuddler.

There was no clock or anything to tell him the time and Matthew's old fashioned phone, it cost him nearly nothing and it got the job done, was at the bottom of his tog bag. He could only guess that it had been a few hours since they had gone to bed. The pain pill was wearing off and the shadows in the room had changed since earlier that evening. Gilbert's arms had somehow snaked around his waist and he did not look forward to getting out of the man's vice like grip. He was only fifteen he was not supposed to experience the innocent part of sleeping with someone until much later on.

At least Gilbert was not gross. Sure he had farted during the night, a lot, Chinese seemed to not the most agreeable food for Gilbert to eat, but the man was cleanly shaven and was quite good looking, even when you overlooked his somewhat exotic looks.

Gilbert also was not kidding when he said that he still slept with his stuffed bird. The large, almost yellow, bird was pressing into the Matthew's back and thankfully prevented them from pushing completely against each other. Matthew was grateful for little things like this in life.

It took a while longer before he managed to drift off to sleep. It then felt like only a minute before he was being woken up by a girlish shriek from Gilbert as he realised that he was spooning with Matthew.

-Arthur-

The antipsychotics were awful. They came in large pills and Arthur had to swallow one every day. So far they were not working. Ivan had told him that they would begin to work in a few days' time. Arthur did not believe what he said.

Today was the first day that he was allowed to meet other patients. The security was watching him wearily and he made a point to give them a curt nod, he was not too bothered by it.

The main room was quite plain, light brown floors, cream walls, a slightly different cream for the curtains. It was actually quite boring. From where Arthur stood he could see that most of the other patients were in groups at tables, four to a table and about eight tables in all. There was little conversation going on between the patients and only a few people were talking together.

In the far end of the room there was a table that was empty save for a man with hair too long to be considered presentable and an unhealthy amount of facial hair. By the looks of it Arthur was going to have to sit with him, there were no other free seats. The man looked… despondent. That would mean less conversation, he hoped.

The nurse that was escorting him gave him a small push to his lower back in order to urge him to go to the available seats.

"I'll be here to fetch you in an hour. Don't cause any trouble."

Arthur walked slowly and tried to move his stiff feeling legs. Sitting here most of them looked almost normal. Arthur could see people of all different shapes and sizes and in the one side of the room he could even see two Italian men conversing, one in hospital attire, the other one in civilian clothes. They spoke in rapid-fire Italian and as he passed the one that was in the hospital clothing waved cheerily to him. Arthur gave a slight wave back before aborting it in favour of getting himself to the only seat.

The clock in the corner of the room told him that lunch was only a few minutes away. Arthur was going to have to eat with the man he had already taken a bit of a disliking to.

He pulled the chair out with the intention of making it scrape along the floor as loudly as possible. That finally gained the man's attention. Arthur sat down daintily and pulled his chair forward in short jerks, more sound to annoy him.

Tired blue eyes locked into his.

"Good morning," the man's voice was gravelly from sleep. The French accent to his voice was instantly distinguishable.

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow, "Hello. What are you in here for?"

It took a few moments for the French man to answer.

"Chronic PTSD."

"What does chronic even mean?" Arthur could not stop the vague dislike he felt for the man from bleeding into his voice.

"Had it on and off for years," A humourless laugh came from the man.

The music that played from the radio only served to emphasise the uncomfortable silence that sat between them.

"And you?"

It took Arthur a moment to realise that the man had spoken.

"O-oh. I'm self-admitted, I have schizophrenia."

Francis straightened his slightly hunched back, "Schizophrenia?"

"Yeah, Schizophrenia is—"

"I know what it is," the man cut him off rudely, "What is it like."

"Now listen here you bloody frog!" Arthur stood up and the chair skidded out from behind him, what was everyone's obsession with asking what schizophrenia is like? The staff member that was seated near the door made a start to stop Arthur from doing anything to the man.

Arthur's teeth were clenched together and he fought to not start shouting at the man again. What right did the man have to speak to him like that? He sat down in the chair and pulled it back to the table, quietly this time.

"Francis," The man supplied his name with undue flair.

"Arthur Kirkland," Arthur replied to Francis. He straightened his back and crossed his wrists on top of the table. The plasters still sat on his fingers and had been replaced many times since the first day they had been put on.

"What is schizophrenia like?" Francis said again, he looked over his shoulder before looking back at Arthur's face. Arthur managed to properly see Francis' face now. He could see the sharp nose, soft cheekbones and plump lips that looked uncomfortable when not pulled into a flirtatious smile of some sort. The bags under his eyes and flyaway hair contrasted greatly with the front Francis put up.

"I hear voices and they tell me things. I know they're not real but sometimes I—" He paused to swallow. A sharp nod from Francis urged him to continue, "I guess that's why I'm here."

They stayed in silence for a few more moments and eventually Arthur allowed his shoulders to relax and drop the slightest bit. In turn Francis straightened his back from the painful hunch it had been in a few moments previous.

"Scary, no?"

"I've only suffered from it for the past few months."

"You haven't been afflicted by it your entire life?"

Arthur shook his head, the motion a lot smoother than Francis' nod. "Usually it manifests between ages sixteen and thirty."

The tiniest smile graced Francis' lips. Arthur felt a large amount of pride at being able to make such a melancholy man do that.

"I am safe then?"

"How come?" Arthur had begun to pick on the plasters over his fingers while he paid attention to Francis.

"I am in my thirties, a tad too old for such an ailment."

"There are exceptions you know." Arthur felt himself slipping into a playful smirk. Francis definitely did not look to be in his thirties.

They continued to banter for a while until a nurse came into the room and called Arthur so he could be escorted to his room after lunch had been finished.

"You did well today Mr. Kirkland," the nurse said. Arthur glanced at her name badge, Michelle.

"Thank you, but what for?"

"I don't think I've ever seen Mr. Bonnefoy so animated before. He took a real shining to you," she smiled at him.

Arthur scoffed, "You're lying, the frog doesn't like me at all."

The turned a corner and another grey-white corridor filled Arthur's vision. The place was so dreary. At least he was allowed some form of decoration for his room. Now, if only he could get something to decorate his room. Alfred was not going to visit again until next week.

"Mr. Bonnefoy has not spoken that much since before he was admitted."

Arthur smiled just the slightest bit before he let it fall.

"We're at your room."

She opened up the door and Arthur was greeted by the familiar sight of white bedding with the hospital's logo on and his guitar propped up against it, the strings tinged red from blood. He winced at the sight of it and made a mental not to clean it later on.

"Thank you ma'am," He walked into his room and she closed the door. They had apologised profusely when they said that he would be in his room most of the time, at least until they fully understood the extent of his illness and had made some leeway with the various drugs they had pumped him up with.

"I'll be seeing you at dinner time." The door closed and Arthur sat down heavily on the bed. The sheets were not scratchy, but they were far from comfortable. Alfred might be able to bring him his duvet from home at some point.

He sighed and flopped backwards.

All of the silence in his room was starting to annoy him.

Silence…

The voices really were gone. Maybe Ivan had found the right medicine after only a few weeks.

He revelled in the complete and utter quiet of his room with only the noises of the common room as ambience.

-Alfred-

The sun was comfortably hot in the morning as Alfred jogged slowly around the park and towards the row of shops he had bought Arthur's guitar from. Sweat beaded at his forehead and his hands were feeling uncomfortably clammy from the exercise.

His feet pounded against the pavement and the quick jarring motions of running were welcomed. Alfred used running as a way to get rid of his stress and was even a representative for his school, despite not wanting to be one. It was only for his parents, they had forced him to join the team once they realised his abilities with sport.

He sighed as well as he could while running. It was only lunch time and the psychiatric hospital had told him they he could only visit Arthur two times a week and he had already visited him twice and it was only Tuesday. They had also boasted of their wonderful successes with his older brother and they were planning on only requiring him to stay half days in the near future. That was an exciting prospect.

Alfred did not notice the other person in the road carrying a large box, he did notice it when he ran straight into them and caused them to fall over.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!" Alfred said loudly and looked down to see who he had run into. It was a teenager of similar age to him and an eerily similar build. They had some differences and enough to set them apart if one was trying to tell the difference between them.

"It's okay. I wasn't looking."

"Lemme help you at least." Alfred hosted the heavy boxes up, "Where are we taking them?"

"To Gilbert's shop."

"Gilbert?"

"I work at the music shop over there," the other kid took an arm and gestured in the direction of the shop.

Sweat was beading uncomfortably on Alfred's face and he did not have an arm available to wipe it away. He watched as the other boy took the other box and held with as much ease as he did.

Alfred set off towards the music shop. He had actually met Gilbert when he was buying the guitar for Arthur. The man had been very helpful and had even given him discount despite knowing that he could pay it all. Something about looking similar to his little birdie.

Alfred could only assume that this kid was his 'birdie'. They looked similar enough.

Alfred pushed the door open and breathed out deeply once he felt the cool air of the air conditioner hit his face.

"Where would you like them?"

"Next to the counter if you can."

Alfred followed the other kid's instructions.

"Is there anything else you need help with?" Alfred asked once the boxes had been set next to each other on the floor. He was dying to see what was inside them. Most likely instruments, but the curiosity still held.

"If you really want to you can help me unpack these."

"Okie dokie."

Alfred was handed a pair of scissors that he used to open the boxes.

"So what should I call you?" The kid asked. He was shy for sure and the question seemed almost odd coming out of his mouth, unprecedented.

"I'm Alfred Jones!" He said with a large smile, he pointed at himself with the scissors and only realised what he had done one the tip of the blade had touched his chest, "Call me Alfie if you want, but please not Al."

The other guy stopped in his tracks.

"Is something wrong?" Alfred asked as he took in the widened eyes of his almost doppelganger.

"I'm Matthew Williams. You're my brother."

Alfred's eyes widened as well. This was the person he was looking for, he hoped. He had absolutely no recollection of what his brother looked like other than a picture that was taken while he was a young child. The kid in front of him did match up with the picture though. He set the scissors down gently on the box.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Matthew's voice was sad. It absolutely broke Alfred's heart to hear someone who was supposedly his twin talking like that. The amount of emotion in Matthew's voice was almost terrifying.

"O-of course I do remember you! I wouldn't forget my own twin brother would I?"

Matthew visibly deflated.

"You do remember me then?" It came out unsure, a complete question.

Alfred nodded wildly in agreement.

"You're my brother, how could I even forget you. I swear you look just like I remembered."

They pause between each of them speaking was awkward.

"You don't really remember me."

"I do, I just don't remember that much of my childhood and I've been going through a lot recently and—"

"Going through a lot?" Matthew's voice was weak but I climbed in volume.

"I was left at the orphanage while you were adopted by the Jones'. You know what, it sucked. So I ran away and the only person I know that has actually been nice to me is Gilbert, so don't just start saying that you're going through a lot. He struggles to make enough money to feed me while you're on to your third car of the month."

Alfred really should not have taken the bait. But he could not help it. He could have blamed Arthur for his fiery temper, but there were so many ways to get out of this.

"My brother just got put into a mental hospital after he tried to kill me and I would much rather be without a twin that resents me for something that I could not control!"

Alfred's fingers were spread apart and hooked into claws. He consciously eased the tension in them and tried to contort his countenance into something a bit more palatable.

Loud footsteps sounded from the stairs and Alfred fought the urge to duck.

"What is this noise going on here?"

Gilbert came down the stairs. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else and his snowy hair was mussed up from sleep. Alfred noticed Matthew redden visibly as Gilbert came down the stairs.

"Please no," was all he said. Even if he did not know Matthew, the idea of someone being in a relationship that was considered illegal just made his gut turn. It was wrong.

Gilbert laughed.

"There's nothing on between Birdie and I. While he may be cute he's a lot younger than me."

Alfred did not release the breath he was holding.

"Would you like to introduce me to your friend?" Gilbert asked. It seemed as if he was the only one talking out of the three of them.

"I'm Alfred, I'm Matthew's twin."

Gilbert's face showed shock, "So you found him Mattie?"

"He found me rather."

Alfred watched the two of them. They had definitely known each other for a while and it was possible that Matthew had come to stay with Gilbert only a short while after his final escape attempt. That was if he was staying with Gilbert.

"You know about Matthew's past?" Alfred asked,

Matthew decided to answer this time, "Of course he knows I ran away and that my parents died in a car crash." He glanced scathingly at Alfred before turning back to Gilbert.

"Well how did this meetup happen?" Gilbert asked almost immediately.

"We ran into each other." Matthew said.

"Literally," Alfred added afterwards and tried to keep his attention on one of the guitars in the background rather than on Matthew or Gilbert. He was not that clumsy anymore.

"You're the kid I helped a few weeks ago with the guitar."

Alfred nodded.

"How is your brother doing?"

Gilbert sure was inquisitive. Alfred wanted to give him some slack. It wasn't every day that you met the twin of someone you were looking after and definitely not a long lost twin brother.

"He's alright. They might release him in a few weeks if he's lucky."

"Release him? Your brother's in prison." Alfred had just said that his brother was sick, not that he had schizophrenia.

"He's in Blue Crane." Alfred decided not to elaborate any further.

"Blue Crane?" Matthew asked. While they had been talking he had decided to start unpacking the boxes and waited for things to calm down. He took out various smaller boxes and cut them open in order to reveal various different accessories for instruments. Guitar straps, picks, drum sticks, the whole lot. He put them onto the counter before flattening the boxes and putting them on the floor.

"It's a mental hospital," Gilbert explained.

"Oh, what is Arthur in for?" Matthew asked

Alfred hated the fame. Sure he was one for the spotlight, but never fame. The idea of nearly everyone in the entire country knowing his name and various parts of his life gave him the chills.

"He has schizophrenia," there was no denying it. The media would have a festival once they got that piece of information and it was not going to stay under cover for much longer. Arthur had already been out of the media's sight for a few weeks and Blue Crane, or one of the staff members, were probably in the mood to earn the bit of money that came from selling stories to the press.

Matthew looked up from his work, "Is that why he—" Matthew made an odd sound in the back of his throat.

"He didn't even touch me, but yes."

"What did he try to do?" Alfred realised that Gilbert had only come into the store once their short screaming match was over and even at the volume they had both been screaming at it would have been quite difficult for Gilbert to hear what was being said.

"Arthur nearly tried to strangle me."

"And now you put him in hospital?"

"He put himself in there. He was worried about being a danger to me." Alfred replied to Gilbert.

"You can do that?"

"Seems like it Gil," Matthew said.

Alfred bounced on the balls of his feet. He had found his long lost twin. He also needed to get home before it was dark. Being out while it was dangerous was something that Alfred preferred to not be doing.

He checked his phone.

I have to get going now…" He waited for their reply.

Matthew did not reply.

"Okay, but I need to see you soon kid, you're Birdie's twin. We were planning to contact you."

They had been planning to contact him.

"Bye, I'll see you." Alfred left the store and resumed his running. The meeting had not been long and had only been a few minutes, which was quite long his opinion. Telling Kiku about finding Matthew was his top priority at the moment. The next time he visited or contacted his brother he would tell Arthur about the news. He was no longer sweaty and the sound of his feet against the pavement was a lot more refreshing than it had been previously.

-Arthur-

The letter was under his bed and had been forgotten once it was detached from his guitar and it had slid under the bed. Only now had Arthur found it.

'Hey Artie,

Sorry to be talking to you in letter form. They never told me when you're getting your visiting hours. I just wanted to tell you that I love you and you're the closest thing to family that I've got.

I really don't know how to sign off,

Alfie.'

Nearly three months had passed since he had admitted himself into the wretched Blue Crane Psychiatric Hospital and all they had done was swap him from pill to pill. It was their fault that they were not shutting up, maybe if they could have made something that just worked instead.

They had taken his guitar away after they told him that he was using it for self-harm. How did one use a guitar to hurt themselves? He continued to pick at the plasters that covered his fingers in the eerie silence of the room.

He had not told Ivan everything. Sure he often spoke to Ivan about his issues, the schizophrenia namely, but not once had he opened up about his past to the doctor. He probably should, but it had happened so long ago. The memories were probably all fuzzy and some of the thing she remembered wrong.

Yet the mental image of his father holding the gun against his head and pulling the trigger was etched clearly into his mind. All the other details escaped him, he could not remember his brothers very well, or the set out of the kitchen, but the growing crimson pool that clashed terribly with the carroty hair of his father caused him to freeze in place whenever the image bombarded him in his daily life.

The idea of talking to someone about everything seemed so promising, but Ivan would not listen, he is for people who are already crazy, he did not care about their childhood woes.

Arthur rolled over in his bed, sleep eluded him. During his stay he had made a friend. Well, a fair weather friend, in a permanently stormy sea. That definitely described his relationship with Francis. The man had become less and less withdrawn over the weeks and was now speaking to him in full conversations. Arthur pretended not to notice it when the nurses made sure they were always near each other when not in their rooms.

He stood up and went to his door. There was no way he could open it while it was still locked. He knocked at the door in order to gain the attention of someone.

"Hello?" Asked a familiar feminine voice from the other side of the door. It was Miss Héderváry.

"Hello," Arthur knew that she meant well, she was a good person with good intentions, "Do you think I could talk to Ivan? I want to tell him something."

"I can pass a message on four your first thing in the morning."

Arthur leaned heavily on the door frame, "I need to talk to him now, it's important."

"How important do you think it is, I can't go waking him up for nothing," She meant well and Arthur respected her for that, there was still that underlying fear of her that he had yet to get rid of.

"He's been trying to get me to talk about this for a while. Tell him I'm ready to tell him."

"Okay."

She walked away and Arthur was left to stand in his room with only his pyjamas on. He did not have shoes on the rough carpet flooring was uncomfortable against his feet.

A while later Arthur could hear the hurried footsteps of two people, Ivan and Miss Héderváry.

The door opened to show a smiling Ivan.

"You're ready to talk?" He asked with a smile in his voice.

'I think so," Arthur said shakily and followed Ivan out of the door.

-Matthew-

The next few months passed by quickly and it was not long before Matthew heard that Arthur had been released from Blue Crane with a very strict regimen of pills and scheduled check-ups for every month.

That solved the issue with Arthur, but there were still a few more issues that had no solution in sight.

The Jones' had eventually returned from their trip to who knows where and from Alfred's dramatic recollection of the story they really had freaked out when they found out that Arthur was in a psychiatric hospital and Alfred was jumping between his own house, Kiku's house and Gilbert's house.

That eventually escalated into a full blown argument and that had landed Alfred on the curb with little more than his car keys, a few measly belongings and a sore butt. Matthew really hatted the Jones'

Alfred still kept the surname while he was being processed and reintroduced to Harmony Hill Orphanage. The tables had really turned on their positions in the past few months and Matthew was the one with a loving home Alfred was about to become stuck in the orphanage.

The summer day was hot and sticky and Matthew was enjoying the sweet scent of flowers that drifted lazily through the air. Gilbert had sent him down the road in order to fetch some milk from the shops. Honestly, Gilbert would probably starve if Matthew had not have moved in.

He went through the monotonous notions of buying milk, not even a break from doing errands like this on his birthday, but Gilbert was insistent on him getting milk for tea of all things. Matthew would have much preferred doing nothing on his birthday, but he knew that Gilbert wanted him out of the house in order to set up something. What Gilbert was planning he did not know.

He opened the door to Gilbert's music shop and the bell tinkled merrily. He immediately saw Gilbert standing near the guitars and he was busy talking to Alfred.

"That's why I call Matthew Birdie," Gilbert said to Alfred. Matthew knew the explanation for this, it was because he always wanted to be free, like a bird.

"Alfie, what are you doing here?"

Their relationship had improved tremendously since when they had first met and Matthew was almost thinking of Alfred as his brother. He doubted that they would be completely brothers, but it was an alright compromise. Alfred had Arthur and Matthew had Gilbert.

"Arthur wanted to visit Gilbert," Alfred replied.

Arthur and Gilbert had grown quite close and had bonded a lot over music. Gilbert preferred the drums and Arthur preferred the guitar, but they were still bonding over it nonetheless.

"Oh, did Francis come with?"

Matthew quite liked Francis. The man was a lot older than Gilbert or Matthew but still managed to fit in comfortably. He had a lot of culinary expertise, which Matthew had a bit of a habit of exploiting.

"He's up there with Arthur. I just got caught up with talking to Alfred," Gilbert said.

"You've been keeping me busy for the last twenty minutes!"

"You're interesting, what can I say. Shall we go up now?"

Gilbert was definitely planning something Matthew concluded. He went up the stairs after Alfred and Gilbert followed after them both. The door to Gilbert's apartment was closed—he only kept it closed when he left the shop.

Alfred did not notice anything wrong and opened the door handle. Matthew followed after him.

There was no surprise. Matthew was thankful for that. The lounge had been decorated in bright colours, namely those of the American flag, at this point in the year American themed decorations were plentiful and often cheaper, Matthew did not mind. They looked quote tastefully done, a testament to Francis who sat on the couch with a bottle of wine already opened.

Arthur was standing near Francis and smiled happily when he saw them, "Happy birthday," he said with a smile.

"T-thanks," Matthew stuttered. He had never been the centre of a birthday celebration and while Gilbert had mentioned a party at some point, he never expected it this year.

Alfred smiled widely and went to Arthur, "Thanks man."

"Sorry it's such a small one, I thought we could just have a bit of a family celebration," Gilbert said to Matthew.

Matthew looked at the various occupants in the room. He considered nearly all of them a sort of family. Francis was up for debate, at first he was only a part of everything due to his insistence on spending time with Arthur, but after that he had become part of the group.

Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Gilbert and Matthew were very odd family, but a family nonetheless.

The celebrations went on for a while and the food was doled out almost straight away. Everyone had eaten their fair share of Francis' cooking and were quite relaxed around Gilbert's lounge.

"I've got a present for you guys," Gilbert said suddenly.

That did not make sense. They had already gone through their presents—Alfred ripping the paper of his while Matthew preferred to savour the moment and take each piece of tape off before finally unwrapping whatever he had received.

"It's a bit of a joint gift, and I have to give it to you together."

Gilbert looked anxious and Matthew could see it clearly. What would Gilbert have to be anxious about? Mathew saw Gilbert looking at Arthur who responded with a reassuring nod, along with Francis.

Gilbert handed the twins two pieces of paper.

"They're adoption forms, at least until you come of age."

Alfred smiled gratefully, "Gil this is amazing. I don't have to go back to the orphanage now."

Matthew seemed to stutter in his thoughts. His hand wrapped around the page and held it tightly.

"Don't worry birdie. It's just so I can keep you with me and not have to give you back."

The music from the speakers played softly, the idea of being in an official family, even if just for a year, was like his entire dream come true.

Matthew smiled widely and pulled Gilbert into a hug.

"Thank you," he said into Gilbert's chest.

-The End-