Prologue

All life begins the same: with a scream. In Arthur's case, the scream came from both his mother and his small form as he cried after taking his first breath. Although he would never remember that moment, as he grew older, he would resent it. Things would be easier if that moment did not happen, if there were complications, if his parents decided to use a fucking condom and stop after two kids. Arthur sat against a building down a side street, removing a needle from his arm.

Man, fuck his family.

Chapter 1: A Gentleman's Introduction

Despite where he ended up, Arthur really had a decent setup for growing up. His parents were wealthy – both came from old money but continued working to expand their reach. He was able to afford luxuries, and have his own space despite being the youngest of three.

Sadly, with every privilege, came a sacrifice. Young children rarely are aware of the sacrifices that need to be made to achieve happiness, and Arthur had no idea how things could really get. He could only absorb information about his family, what was expected, and what was good.

The Kirklands were required to entertain and maintain a certain appearance. They were a high class, proper family, and all their children were to be instilled with the same values. Mr. Kirkland spent time teaching his sons how to be proper gentleman and all the idiosyncrasies that went with being a Kirkland.

Although lessons and etiquette bored Arthur, he valued his father's words and thoughts. His dad was the man of the house and what he said was fact - all there was to be learned about the world could be learned from Arthur's father. His dad was respected and the kind of person everyone should be, so Arthur worked to mimic his father. By age five, Arthur could state basic facts about gentlemanliness, although at this time he didn't quite understand the meaning of the words. He was young and content with his place in life.

Things changed as he grew older. Constantly striving to compete and match his two older brother's wore him down. Arthur always thought Scott was the favorite. Scott's talents and interests were as if God threw all the ingredients needed to create a perfect Kirkland heir ready to take over the family business into one womb ready to be shot out and take on the world.

At age fifteen, Arthur resented Scott. Unlike his brothers, Arthur had no interested in hard sciences or business, rather, he liked creative endeavors like literature and creative writing. That same year, Arthur's other brother Walter pointed out something that helped shape Arthur's early teen years.

Walter stumbled on Arthur sitting on the stairs sulking.

"Any reason why you are playing bridge troll and blocking the way?" Walt questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Arthur responded with a strug, attempting to hide his face behind his almost non-existent bangs.

Walt let out a sigh and sat down next to his brother. "You know Scott is full of shit, right?"

Arthur lifted his head to give his brother a soft glare - hard in the face yet soft in the eyes - at the use of language their dad would scoff at and for already knowing the problem. Walt rose his eyebrows in return letting Arthur know he wouldn't let the silent treatment last much longer.

Arthur huffed, "It's the same as usual. I just want to be good at the stuff that matters or at least be able to pretend to like it."

Walt scooted to face his brother head-on stating, "Arthur, you're not this dumb. None of that business and math stuff matters," he held up a hand stopping any protests, "If Scott is good at it, and runs the business, why do you need to also do the same thing?"

Arthur paused. He supposed it was always important to pursue the family business for their parents and all the respect he'd receive but Walt had a point - he had no plans to pursue the business, but, rather, was interested in biology and animal sciences.

Walt continued casually as he watch Arthur consider his words, "Go after what you want and be successful at that. They just want successful children. They don't really care what you do as long as its enough to brag about at a dinner party. So do what you like."

Arthur's huff and mumble in response was not what Walter was expecting from his quiet younger brother.

"What?"

"I can't pursue my interests."

"Why's that?" Walt questioned.

Arthur refused to make eye contact until Walter nudged him and gestured to continue.

Arthur swallowed before stuttering out, "My interests are puff interests."

Walter scowled, "Says who?"

"Scott," Walter rolled his eyes in response as Arthur continued to mumble, "and… dad."

"God, you need to learn to stand up for yourself," Walter once again put a hand up to stop Arthur's response, smirking at the irony of the action, "Don't listen to them. Tons of great men pursued literature and philosophy. Look it up. You're smart and better at words than anyone in this family. If dad makes a comment, quote C.S. Louis. Talk about the publishing industry or great thinkers - something."

He took a breath and put an arm around his brother. "Yeah, they might not get it right away, and you might have to be an educator, but, come on, you're reaching the point in life where you have to realize dad doesn't know everything. Sometimes you have to explain things and argue your point. Just… don't let them stop you from being who you are."

Arthur swallowed and blinked in order reign in his emotions - proper gentleman do not burden others with unnecessary emotions, and good businessmen do not show all their cards on their faces. He nodded in understanding, hoping Walter knew how important his words were.

Walter stood up and straightened his shirt. "Good talk. Now, let me pass. I need to change. The Bonnefoy's are coming for dinner, remember?"

How could Arthur possibly forget the Bonnefoys were coming? Their dinners had been happening more and more over the years and were on the verge of becoming a regular thing. Now with all of both families! The reminder made him internally shudder. He didn't want to have to put of the business face for an entire French family while adults snuck business talk into conversations. Arthur never paid much attention to the business talk, only ever pretending, but the Bonnefoys were in business with the Kirklands and a good relationship was necessary, despite the families' stark differences.

Arthur went to his room to find something nicer to wear. It had been a while since they had a joint family dinner. Recently, Mr. Bonnefoy came alone or had just his wife with him. Now, the couple had recently moved to London with their only son, so family dinners were necessary as a sign of good faith, apparently. Arthur didn't get it, but maybe that is why he was not cut out to be a businessman. God, that thought stung considering he comes from a family drenched in the politics of entrepreneurship.

After putting on his formal clothes and spending five minutes attempting to tame his hair in a respectable way, Arthur dropped into his desk chair with a grunt. He ran his fingers over his desk, tracing books and papers, while reflecting on what Walter said.

He should have thanked his brother for saying exactly what he needed to hear - it was okay not to fit in an existing space in his family; he had to make a space for himself. Arthur never really fit with his family, always the outcast masquerading as a typical Kirkland. He didn't know what it was that forced him to be so different despite what he tried. At least Walter saw past the facade, saw that Arthur was struggling and was unhappy in his attempts to do what he thought his father wanted.

His hand paused when tracing a copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, a specialty bound version gifted to Arthur by his mom but picked out by Walter.

"C.S. Louis, huh?" Arthur mumbled to himself.

His mom didn't know it, but Walter wrote a note on the inside - he still appreciated his mom trying to get something fitting his interests, even if she went through his brother. He grabbed the book, and, leaning back in his chair, opening the cover.

To the Littlest Man,

Growing up here is fast and difficult. Take some time to escape and find yourself. The wardrobe and the opportunities inside are tempting, but remember there's a lot to miss on the outside.

-Walter

It was a comfort to have someone looking out for him that really understood, but it always seemed Walter knew more about Arthur than Arthur did. The thought could be concerning, but sometimes it is nice to have someone nearby who can see through your masks and steer you the right way.

A knock on the door frame shook Arthur out of his thoughts

"You need to come downstairs. The Bonnefoys will be here soon," demanded Scott.

Arthur put the book down and went to follow Scott as his older brother called him a bookworm good naturedly. Arthur responded with an eye roll.

"Did dad tell you about tonight?" Scott questioned.

Arthur admitted, "I'm sure there's something I missed, why?"

"You remember the Bonnefoy kid, Francis?"

"I can't even remember the last time we saw him or anything about him, but I know he's coming. Family dinners are the new craze I hear." Sarcasm dripped through his words.

Scott snorted at the joke amused but added, "Well, the kid is your age, so you get to entertain him." Arthur groaned. He hated having jobs at these kind of things, but at least no one pays attention to keeping kids busy. Scott continued, "Don't complain. The rest of us have to try to impress the parents, and you know how they are."

Arthur did know how they were: French. That was it. The couple had many eccentricities that irked Arthur's father, but Arthur was sure their traits were cultural. The pair carried an air of drama about them that heavily contrasted the stiff professionalism of Arthur's family. He secretly found himself drawn to it and liked them, but he would never let his family know that. Hell, he barely admitted it to himself.

As they reaching the bottom of the stairs where Walter was already waiting, Arthur's dad emerged to look over his sons, occasionally straightening a collar. Arthur jolted at the force his father exerted while pulling his collar and tried to hide his annoyance when his dad patted his shoulders twice in succession. Thank God he wasn't wearing a tie this time.

"Alright boys, you know the drill. We are hosting, so be courteous. These are friends, but it is still business, remember that. Best behavior," demanded the Kirkland patriarch.

Mrs. Kirkland stood by, commenting on how handsome her boys looks, and holding back from ruffling Arthur's hair out of place.

The doorbell rang, and the inaugural Kirkland-Bonnefoy family dinner party began.

After an overly long dinner and refusal of post-dinner coffee, the two families stood by the front door saying goodbyes. Mr. Kirkland continued talking to Mr. Bonnefoy as Scott stood by diligently. Mrs. Bonnefoy began to say her byes to the rest of the Kirklands starting with Arthur.

She grabbed Arthur by the shoulders giving him a kiss on each cheek causing him to flush. "It was so nice seeing you again," She exclaimed. "Try not to grow so much more next time, little one," she said while running a hand back and forth in Arthur hair. He tried to hold back a scowl having just got his hair fixed from when she messed it up upon arrival. He tried to joke back with her and claimed it was nice seeing her, but his words felt stilted.

Mrs. Bonnefoy moved onto Walter who accepted her embrace loosely and relaxed, returning her energy with equal force. Arthur was distracted from watching the scene by a short, polite cough. He turned to face two amused, blue eyes.

"It was nice seeing you, Arthur. I barely remembered you after all these years." Francis spoke smoothly pushing a long strand of hair behind his ear. It was the first thing Arthur noticed when the Bonnefoys walked in - Francis had shaggy hair. It could have been feminine, but Arthur thought it fit Francis and liked how it looked on him.

Arthur smiled but tried to maintain formality that he had abandoned earlier when talking with Francis at dinner. "I feel the same. We must not let so much time pass next time."

Francis grinned. "I have a feeling we won't." Then, Francis leaned forward an embraced Arthur. This was not how gentlemen said goodbye. Proper gentleman shake hands; businessmen shake firmly, but less so with women. Arthur stood stiffly for a moment before returning the hug.

Arthur felt air tickle his cheek as Francis whispered, "Goodbye, Arthur." As quickly as Francis had moved forward, he stepped back giving Arthur one last smile before turning to say goodbye to the others. Walter got a handshake, not firm. Mrs. Kirkland got a gentle hug; Scott a handshake, firmness debatable. For Mr. Kirkland, Francis tried to stand straight and stiff to deliver a firm handshake, but it looked awkward coming from the boy. Arthur smiled to himself at the attempt.

Soon the Bonnefoy's were out the door and the Kirkland's were settling into their living area. Walter was sitting on the floor, a book on the table, trying to catch up on homework. Scott was reviewing notes, working ahead on his studies. Arthur was sitting in a chair reading a book, wishing it was a different book, one Francis had recommended during dinner.

Arthur thought back to their conversation. He had started the meal stiff, unsure on how to handle someone as different as Francis.

Francis didn't seem awkward, willingly leading conversations. "What do you like to do, Arthur?"

Arthur tried to shrug the question off with half answers or by claiming to enjoy activities Scott talked about, but Francis called him out and clarified, "but what do you really enjoy."

"I like reading, and not just stories, sometimes philosophy," Arthur admitted honestly but added philosophy to sound more intellectual and mature.

Francis grinned. "What is you favorite book?"

"Um, I'm not sure. I always liked C.S. Louis, but I don't know if I would call his books my favorite. I have a nice copy I got as a gift, so I guess it's just special."

Francis was delighted by the answer, expressing so briefly before continuing, "Have you read Emily Bronte? I love Emily Bronte."

"No. Aren't those more for girls anyways," Arthur muttered trying not to be rude but feeling the need to repeat what he was taught.

"Why would you say that?" Francis scoffed, visibly offended.

Arthur put his hands up feigning surrender, "I just meant that the themes and stuff are more for girls. You know, aren't a lot of the books by those authors just romance anyways. Bronte writes stuff like Pride and Prejudice. That's romance right? For girls?"

Francis smirked. "You are missing out and clearly illiterate." He took a bite from his meal looking satisfied.

"Excuse me!" Arthur exclaimed a little too loud for the current volume of the table. Luckily, Francis laughed and everyone's attention went back to where it was previously. "It's not funny to insult the host."

Francis's laugh lowered to a chuckle. "You aren't the host. Your parents are, so it doesn't count. Besides, if you think 'those books' are just dumb romance, then you don't understand them."

Arthur scrunched up his face in defiance.

"Unless you haven't read any?" Francis leaned forward as his question floated in the air to his neighbor.

Arthur shrugged. "I've just been told."

"Well, whoever said so must not understand art. I bet they don't read or even like artistic things. Probably hate expression." Francis's flippantly statement made Arthur chuckle at hearing such rude things said about his family. The funniest thing was that Francis wasn't wrong. Arthur had vivid memories of his dad complaining about some art gallery advertised in the newspaper and of his mom constantly expressing concern about some bands that play not too far away, well, the whole culture surrounding that kind of music. Arthur always believed them, especially since his brothers seemed to agree, but maybe they were a tad close minded about things considering the vast amount of things that were bad.

Arthur leaned into Francis and murmured, "You're not wrong," and then sat up and shot a look at his father who was sitting stiffly while listening to Mr. Bonnefoy talk expressively with both hands. His face was hard as if he actually did have something up his ass, something Walt said to Arthur last time their father berated him.

Francis grinned and his amusement shone in his eyes. Arthur watched his reaction with a smile.

"You need to read Jane Eyre. You'll love Jane Eyre."

"What makes you say that?"

"I can just tell," Francis said flippantly, "Plus, I have a copy that you can borrow that I bet could rival your Wardrobe one."

Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow. "And you'd let me borrow it?"

"You could use it more. Besides, I am more of a Pride and Prejudice kind of guy." He gave Arthur a teasing look. A light flush dusted Arthur's cheeks as the book he insulted by name was mentioned. A gentleman never openly insults a guest.

It had been a good conversation. The entire evening had been good, and Arthur really wanted to read Jane Eyre, but was determined to wait for Francis to give him his copy.

Arthur was jostled out of his memory by his parents returning to the room each with coffee. Mr. Kirkland sat on the couch with a groan.

Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "They always exhaust you, don't they?"

"You have no idea. Louis I can handle, but Joan is such a handful. No idea how he handles her all the time." Mrs. Kirkland chuckled. "She really is a strange woman." Mr. Kirkland grunted in agreement.

Scott spoke up. "What did you think of the kid?" He looked at Arthur, the person he was questioning whose head was still buried in his book. "Arthur?"

"Huh?"

"The kid. What did you think of him?"

"He was okay." Arthur said trying to stop a smile from forming. Francis was by far the most interesting person he had ever met, different in the best way possible and nothing like the kids Arthur was surrounded by at his private school or other family functions. Sometimes he was a little too comfortable in his skin, but it was still better than the elite stuffiness he was normally around.

Arthur's dad chuckled. "Always the kind one, son." Both brothers looked at their father. Scott looked back at Arthur continuing, "I feel bad for you having to talk to him all night."

"He wasn't that bad."

"Really?" Mr. Kirkland was intrigued.

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. "Surprised?"

"Extremely." Mr. Kirkland stated while his wife nodded in agreement. "Good that boy still has a chance to be normal I suppose, but with the way they let him act, not much of it."

Arthur stiffened. "Meaning?"

"It's the way his mother treats him, I think," Mrs. Kirkland suggested more to her husband than anyone else.

"Who knows, but it's a problem how feminine they let him be. The way he dresses, which I'm sure is some convoluted French thing they thought they could bring over, but also the hair? Much too feminine."

Scott suggested, "Maybe they wanted a girl? They sure let him prance around like one."

Walter glanced up from his book. "Isn't it ungentlemanly to make fun of cultural differences?"

Mrs. Kirkland responded seeing a potential argument forming between her two older sons. "I don't think it is quite a cultural difference. He acts more like his mother than father."

While his family debated what was wrong with Francis and how he was being raised, Arthur lowered himself in his chair and tried to distract himself with his book. He ignored the snide remarks about Francis's femininity and the praise his father gave him for being more of a man at such a young age. He disappeared into his novel wishing he could be reading Jane Eyre.

Arthur didn't see Francis for three weeks until the next family dinner. This time, the Bonnefoys came early. His father acted like it was to allow more time for the men to talk, but his disgruntled behavior led Arthur to believe it was the Bonnefoy's request.

The French family arrived in the late afternoon. This time, the Kirkland children were not standing in a line in their best attire waiting to greet their guests. They wore nice clothes, and still waited, but the air of this gathering was much more relaxed than in the past.

Mrs. Bonnefoy entered first giving each Kirkland a hug and dutifully messing up Arthur's hair. The other two followed in similar fashion. Soon the men, plus Scott, were moving into the sitting area. Mrs. Kirkland looked at the remaining boys, "Why don't you entertain yourselves, while I get dinner started?"

Before Arthur could respond, Mrs. Bonnefoy was already insisting to help. Mrs. Kirkland tried to refuse it, but it is near impossible to refuse a French woman on a mission. Besides, it would be rude to turn down a guest's request, even gentlewomen had rules to follow. Francis smirked at Arthur during the exchange. The women went into the kitchen, and Walter went upstairs to his room leaving the two youngest boys.

"My mom's entire mission today was to get into your kitchen."

"What?"

Francis leaned close to Arthur conspiratorially. "The English can't cook."

Arthur scoffed. "Excuse me?" Francis just laughed. "You've grown up eating it, but trust me. Just having my mom in the kitchen will make dinner better. Don't deny it until you eat tonight."

Arthur was dumbfounded. "Was that really why you came early?"

Francis winked and started walking towards the stairs. "Now, we have some free time, so please lead the way." He adjusted a shoulder bag Arthur hadn't noticed before and waved dramatically at the stairs. Arthur glanced into the sitting room where their dads were and made eye contact with Scott. "Uh… Okay."

He passed Francis and led the way up the stairs trying to ignore the way his new friend was carefully analyzing this new part of the house. The walls in the stairway were clean and bare - no pictures or knick knacks. The upstairs hallway was a similar state except for one picture in the gaps between each door.

"Was kind of hoping for some embarrassing kid Arthur stuff." Francis gestured to a stiff family portrait taken in front of the house that was hanging to the right of Arthur's room.

Arthur shrugged. "I've never been embarrassing." Francis snorted. "I guess we are still kids."

The two walked into Arthur's room. Arthur standing just inside the doorway. Francis walked past him and jolted his body onto the bed. The mattress shook and springs squeaked at the force. Arthur crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"Really?"

Francis grinned. "I am also disappointed by your room. Not that interesting, and this bed is uncomfortable."

Arthur sat down in his desk chair and shrugged, while Francis watched him intently. "I don't know what you were expecting. It's a bedroom."

"Not just a bedroom. Your bedroom." Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "And?"

Arms waved dramatically as Francis sat up with a huff. "And that means this is your space. It means that this is where you can be yourself. I was hoping to be able to learn more about you. The real you, you know?"

Arthur hooked one foot behind his knee in a need to move. "Maybe it is the real me."

"Yeah, right." Arthur pursed his lips. He never thought about needing a place for self expression, but Francis may have a point. The walls in Arthur's room were mostly bare. Any poster or picture was not hung just because he liked it, but because he knew his parents would approve. His head turned as his looked around trying to imagine his room from Francis's point of view.

"I have to think of what my family thinks usually, but it's not like I don't have a space to be myself."

Blue eyes narrowed as they peered into Arthur's green ones, observing. Suddenly, Francis stood up from the bed and walked forward. Arthur leaned back in his chair thinking Francis was approaching him, but Francis went past him to the desk.

Papers shifted filling the silence, as Francis looked through the contents out on the desktop. Arthur watched his friend's face. Francis may have been looking at the desk, but it felt like he was looking straight into Arthur. Francis leaned close and Arthur held his breath for a brief moment before realizing Francis was leaning past him to grab something.

"Is this your Lion, Witch and Wardrobe book you spoke so highly of?" Francis spoke flippantly but handled the book with care. He opened the front cover and began to read the note inside before Arthur could snatch it away.

"You shouldn't just go through people's things like that!"

"Sorry."

Silence settled over them. Arthur let out a long breath.

"You can dig through the desk. I know you want to."

Francis grinned, and patted Arthur on the head reminiscent of the way Mrs. Bonnefoy was always messing up his hair. Unlike when Mrs. Bonnefoy did it, Arthur scowled.

Francis shuffled papers finding them mostly uninteresting. He gestured toward the drawers. Arthur nodded having given up any sense of privacy in the matter. Francis opened the second drawer from the top, and pulled out a worn composition book.

"Uh… maybe not that one," muttered Arthur weekly, raising on hand as if to grab the book. It was too late. Francis had already opened it and went to sit on the bed reading. Arthur closed his eyes. If he couldn't see what was happening, it wasn't happening. A boy was not sitting on his bed reading anything personal at all. Nope.

"You write?" Francis's soft voice caused Arthur to open his eyes and look at his friend. Francis's head was still looking down at the pages, but Arthur's skin itched at the attentive gaze.

"What the hell do you think your looking at?" Francis looked up with mischievous eyes. The pair of blue eyes sparkled like what foreigners must image the Thames to look like - Arthur was sure of it.

"I didn't expect you to write poetry." Arthur grumbled incoherently. "Much less good poetry."

"Are you some sort of poetry expert?" Francis ignored the question. "You have a lot going on in your head Arthur… And I plan to figure it all out." Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion; Francis dropped his gaze to the book Arthur was still clutching in his lap.

"I would like to request a trade!" Francis accented his statement by closing the book of poems. "The poetry doesn't leave this room." Arthur glared.

"Not what I was going to ask for." Francis held up one finger and began digging through his bag.

He pulled out a small book. "I believe I promised you this." Arthur couldn't suppress his smile at seeing the nicely bound version Jane Eyre, even though he didn't want the French boy to know how pleased he was.

"Now, I know I said I would give it to you but…"

"What do you want?"

"A chance to read that." Francis gestured at The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Arthur clutched it tighter.

"I don't know." Honesty was the best policy for a gentleman, well, unless you were working on a business deal. It was one of the rules that had too many layers for Arthur to keep straight when he just didn't care.

"I don't want to keep it or anything. I just want to read your favorite book, especially since I'm making you read one." Arthur nodded along. "Fine, but you have to bring it back next time I see you or I'll skin you alive." Francis grinned. "There's a bad boy under that gentleman. Isn't there, Arthur?"

"Just shut up and give me the book." Arthur demanded hoping his movements of swapping the books and sitting on the floor, back against the bed, would hide his blush.

A soft thud broke him out of his thoughts as Francis sat next him opening his borrowed book. He watched the French boy read Walt's note in the cover. Watching someone else's fingers trace the handwritten words did not make Arthur's skin crawl the way he thought it would. He turned to his own borrowed book, intent to figure out why Francis was so offended he hadn't read these kinds of books.

A soft cough interrupted the gentle cadence of page turning. Arthur looked up to see Walt leaning against the door frame with a soft look on his face. "Dinner is ready, boys. Time to head down."

Arthur closed Jane Eyre and set the book on his bed. Grabbing the composition book that was still on his bed, he opened to a more recent page and ripped it out.

"Here." He thrust the page towards Francis who was still sitting on the floor. Francis grabbed the page slowly and went to read it. "It's for a bookmark. Mark you page, so we can head down."

Francis talked as he closed his book and packed it in his bag. "It's a poem."

"No shit." Francis's head shot up at the curse, eyes dancing in mirth just like before. Arthur crossed his arms and challenged, "Thought you were interested in them?"

"Very." Francis stood shouldering his bag. He gave Arthur a curious look. Arthur sighed. "You needed a bookmark, and you were interested in my stuff. It's not a big deal. You can read it later or toss it for all I care. I have tons that are just sitting in here not being read. Now, come on." Arthur walked out of the room heading for stairs, trying to ignore the bright, grinning face that followed him.

Dinner went by smoothly and quickly. Francis and Arthur spent most of the time talking about the first few chapters of their respected books. Arthur kept trying to steer the conversations away from Francis's questions about his writing habits. Do you also write prose? You know if you write a lot of poetry, you could be a good musician? I wish I could write. On and on. Luckily, he was able to distract his friend by commenting on how good the food was. Francis laughed. Francis had a great laugh - very French, but still pleasant on the ears.

Arthur blinked realizing he couldn't remember a word he just read and would have to start the page over. He sighed as he started again at the top. Although he wanted to read, his mind kept drifting to other things like the dinner party that happened earlier in the week. He only was able to get a few chapters in over the past few days, but was determined to finish it soon. Then, maybe he could reread it. It was going to be one of those kinds of books.

His concentration was broken by someone knocking on his door frame.

Walt leaned against the door. "No one is home." Arthur looked up unfazed. It was the middle of the afternoon and not surprising. "Okay."

Walt rolled his eyes. "Come on. Brother bonding time." Arthur remained on his bed, not quite understanding what he should be doing. Walt sighed and gestured dramatically with his arm. "Come. On. Follow."

"Fine. Fine." Walt waited for Arthur to reach the door before throwing an arm around his shoulders and steering him down the hall into his own room. He pushed Arthur to sit on the floor before going to dig in his closet.

Arthur looked around, not being one to barge into his older brother's room. Walt's bedroom was messier than Arthur's - some clothes on the floor with books, papers and spirals scattered. The desk was relatively organized. The spines of various science and biology books visible. The walls had bizarre art and posters that Arthur could never get away with hanging in his own room.

This room was something only Walt could pull off. Since he was young, Walt showed a proficiency for science, and grew to be obsessed with different animal sciences. Sometimes, he got leeway when it came to the rules because he had a crazy genius reputation - or that's what their parents thought, and parents can always find time to brag about how one of their sons is an eccentric genius. Arthur always wanted to hate him for it, but with the way Walt treated him, could never find the energy.

Walt emerged from the closet with a record player and one record.

"You know how to work it?"

"Not an idiot."

Walt grinned and rustled Arthur's hair. The arm retreated before Arthur could smack it away. "Put this on." Looking at the cover, Arthur was confused. It was Bach. Why was he in here to bond over Bach? The confusion dissipated when he took the record out, and realized it was not actually classical music. His brother was disguising records.

Beginning to set up the player, he glanced at his brother. Walt had part of his matress lifted and was reaching underneath it. Arthur held off from turning on the music to watch. Dropping the mattress, Walt sat beside Arthur with an oof holding another record. This one was not disguised; the cover colorful.

"Start the music up, Little Man. You're going to love this."

Needle in place, Arthur started the record and sat back next to his brother. A guitar riff filled the air between them followed by quick-paced drums. Arthur turned towards his brother just as the singer began doing some cross between singing, screaming and just talking.

"This isn't Bach." Walt laughed and pushed his brother shoulder. "No, it is not, but it is time you got to appreciate some culture."

The singer wailed on with the guitar.

"Culture?" According to everything Arthur knew, culture was white marble, string instruments, and fancy cheeses. The not quite rhythmic beats filling the room did not come to mind.

"Just because some rich old people hate it doesn't mean it isn't art. Besides, I can tell you'll like this stuff. Don't deny it." Walt's assertion made Arthur think of Francis, but the only thing he could think to say was, "Mom and Dad aren't that old." For a moment, Walt's laugh drowned out the music.

"Still, just because mom hates the punks nearby, doesn't mean we have to." He looked at Arthur who was watching the record spin. "You do like it, right?" Arthur smirked and nodded. For some reason, he did. "Good. I hate being wrong."

The two listened to the next few songs in silence, letting the experimental riffs be the only thing vibrating through the room. After flipping to the B-side, Walt started talking about the bands and similar music and anything Arthur wanted to know. Hours later, Walt was showing Arthur where he hides his records, in case Arthur ever wanted to borrow them.

Throughout that fall, Arthur would borrow them a lot when his family was out, or would sit on the floor and listen with his brother. They would talk about themselves and their interests. They reminisced on the one other joint family dinner that happened that fall, laughing at how uncomfortable their parents looked at some of the things the Bonnefoys did.

Walt took time to poke fun at Arthur and Francis's friendship, having seen Francis return The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe but let Arthur keep Jane Eyre. Arthur didn't share what Francis had said: "I told you a long time ago, you could keep it, remember? I said that you could use it more? Besides, if I need it, I'll just have to come over." Arthur didn't share everything when he sat with Walt, but his older brother always gave him the same knowing look.

Time passed. Family dinners continued every month or so, but halted during the holidays when the Bonnefoys went back to France and the Kirklands celebrated themselves.

Arthur's father gave him a book on law ethics. Arthur had been framing his interests in writing and philosophy better, and his family interpreted it as Arthur on the track to study law - something he was not interested in, but felt more comfortable pretending to be.

Walt's gift had been his favorite. Peeling off the wrapping paper, revealed a Mozart record that had already been opened. The night Arthur got to pull out the record from inside it's false cover to find Nevermind the Buzzcocks and a note from Walt explaining that he could use some more music education and a record collection of his own so he would stop raiding Walt's room.

The new year was going to be great - Arthur was sure of it. He was close to his brother. He had a friend in Francis. He felt like things were finally coming together. Maybe his life really was looking up - his piece morphing to fit in the puzzle around him.

A/N: Welcome back, friends! Most chapters will not be this long. Right now, I plan on updating no less than once a month. I have five chapters written, but want to get ahead because I might start a teaching certification program. There will be somewhere between 16 and 20 chapters depending on how long some scenes run.

If you haven't read The Boy with the Backpack, it's a good read, even if I think the beginning that I wrote when I was 14 is rough. I'm proud of the ending.

Let me know your thoughts and feelings. I don't know anyone who reads my stuff, so reviews really help me know if I'm going in the right direction and getting the things across that I want to.