When Arthur opened his eyes to face the white washed roof of the hospital, his first emotion was the farthest away from surprise. Nor was it any close to confusion. After all, it was difficult not to recognize the neutral, ubiquitous colour of the building that housed both the living and the dead. No, the emotion he felt was darker than that: despair. Because, if he was somehow here, then his facade failed. Someone had found him in a moment of weakness – his condition so pathetic that they had to call upon medical services to fetch him.

Who? Arthur wondered, forcing his eyes to loll side to side to examine his surroundings. From what he could see, the teen was stuck inside a private room – a single bed in the centre of a confining six by six metre space stuffed with medical equipment that Arthur was absolutely sure was unnecessary. Arthur blinked his eyes closed, tracking back to the moment his mind still had a grip on consciousness. Who brought him here?

If the man – Arthur assumed his benefactor was male – was able to snatch the teen a room of his own then, obviously, the man had the funds to purchase the services. But, why would he put the effort to secure the room for him?

Sympathy.

His benefactor was either foolishly kind, or already knew him then. Arthur leaned towards the latter answer. He dug deeper into his memories, trying to separate the haze that clouded the images that appeared before the darkness.

Arthur!

Alfred's voice rang through his head in a shrill cry, forcing the teen to flinch at the sheer emotion behind his own name. The sudden "sound" split his sight, leaving him with a head ache that had him cringing in pain on the colourless sheets. It had been Alfred. That stupid American had been the one to bring him here, the one who had seen Arthur at his weakest point – a place that only a handful of people had witnessed. And now, the fool knew. He knew how pathetic Arthur really was if he couldn't even keep himself from collapsing to walk himself to a hospital if he just so disgustingly ill.

"You're awake?"

Arthur startled at the sudden voice appearing to his right. He hadn't even heard the door open nor the clack of dress shoes that came with every swift step the man that Arthur assumed to be his doctor made. The white lab coat coupled with the air of confidence and indifference hiding the underlying exhaustion gave his profession away.

The teenager tilted his head to examine the man before he could step forward to reciprocate the gesture with the bedridden boy. Arthur, thankfully, could not recognize the man so there was a possibility that the doctor was not familiar with the others of the same profession whom the Briton was forced to "visit" in the past. Back when his manner wasn't quite as gentlemanly as he was now. They had treated him as equivalent to rust on a bed frame, maybe even a murderer. Possibly even rightly so.

"Hello, Mr. Kirkland. My name is Gupta Muhammad Hassan." He took a step forward, stopping at the way Arthur eyed him and the medical chart in his had warily. "You're in the hospital and I'm the doctor overseeing your stay here. Do you remember how you got here?"

Arthur snorted, answering with a sneer as he turned away. The gesture inadvertantly allowed the doctor to sneak in closer to the teen's bedside.

"I don't. It'd be a bit of a surprise if I did, seeing how I was unconscious before I realized anyone came to my aid."

The doctor frowned slightly at Arthur's tone, though he chose to ignore it as he proceded to place the stethoscope to his ears. He waited until his patient relented and turned back to face him with a nod – permissing him to continue on with his examination. Arthur flinched at the slight cold of metal, despite metal being insulated by the lamentable fabric covering his chest in the form of a hospital gown.

"I apologize for having to change your clothing without your permission," the doctor murmured, still listening to his patient's heartbeat. "Your shirt and ends of your pants were stained with stomach fluids. Your companion as well was...he was making a fuss that we thoroughly examine you for anything that could be ailing you. It was more convenient to do so with the gown."

Arthur flinched at the mention of his "companion," knowing full well who the doctor meant.

"You're doing well, quite a relief considering the stress and malnourishment your body's been through," his doctor concluded, running his gaze towards Arthur's arms – all of which still carried bruises, however faded they were. Arthur pushed away the urge to pull the blanket over him, to hide the shame that was himself.

"Seeing how I'm doing fine, surely there isn't further need for my presence here." He directed his gaze towards the outside window, watching the dull view of falling snow. Arthur silently wished that it was spring. At least then, there would have been a tease of colour to comfort him; instead, there was only dull white both inside and out. The doctor didn't seem to mind, following his patient's gaze and smiling with cheer.

"You know, in my home country – Egypt – it snowed for the first time in a century."

Arthur didn't look at him. Dr. Hassan continued speaking.

"I wish I was there to see it, honestly. Imagine: the pyramids that had never even known the concept of snow in my childhood blanketed white." He chuckled. My parents were in shock. They believed the world to be ending and wanted to know if I was alright."

Arthur stared blankly at the man, his silent sufficient in terminating the light conversation. The doctor shrugged his shoulders, waiting unsuccessfully for any sort of verbal response from his patient. He followed the gesture by walking up to tap the IV drip back beside Arthur's bed.

"You've been in bed for about ten hours give or take," he murmured, checking the liquid levels. "Malnutrition, presumable work-related exhaustion."

The doctor gave a tsk as he gave the teenager a one over. "Do you live on your own?"

Arthur bit his lip, knowing what his answer would give him: another lecture on how seventeen year olds weren't responsible enough to take care of themselves. It was a topic that never seemed to leave anyones lips no matter how flawless he completed his work: both as a student and employee.

"Yes, I do," he grit out, already forming his retorts against the chastising words that was sure to come. His expectations came short when all that followed his response was silence as his doctor continued to find an almost obsessive interest with the teen's IV. Arthur could see the man was thinking though.

Probably trying to decide the best way to deal with me short of kicking me out, the teen thought bitterly.

"After the drip is done you'll be free to go," Dr. Hassan spoke conversationally, deigning the IV bag worthy after the prolonged examination. His eyes then found the small aluminum stool by the side of the hospital bed. He pulled it closer to himself and took a seat, taking renewed interest in the clipboard that he had brought into the room.

Arthur took a sick satisfaction in knowing that his thoughts had been right. The doctor was probably more than willing to kick him out of the bed and throw him out the window. His neutral words sugar coated by professionalism and good bedside manner. No doubt the doctor thought his flesh was just a waste of hospital space and services. They probably couldn't wait until he was out the doors. Maybe they even wished that he had bypassed the hospital visit and hopped straight into a coffin at the morgue.

If the doctor was aware of the teenager's irrational thoughts, he made no note of it. Rather, he seemed to ignore the blond completely - dim to the seventeen year old seething with angst on his hospital bed. It was only when his patient made the choice to initiate a conversation himself did the doctor react.

"What are you still doing here?" Arthur asked, clutching at the thin blankets that covered his emancipated form. His stress and lack of intake other than instant noodles and the obviously nutritionally balanced meals of mc donalds and fastfood had eaten away at his muscles. He no longer had the same tone or bulk that Alfred had seemed to admire when they had met a few months previously. It was a pathetic sight, in Arthur's opinion.

"Some light reading," Dr. Hassan responded. It was followed by a snort from the patient.

"Yes. I suppose a medical chart does fall into the category of light reading, doesn't it?" Arthur said drily, a sneer beginning to twitch at one side of his face.

"It does. Would you like a look?"

He handed the teenager the chart, his own face twitching with a small smile of amusement. It was filled with checks and illegible writing from top to bottom - and from the boy's face, he couldn't read a word.

"Would you like me to translate for you?" The doctor took the chart back, reading only the basic comments that had been written down at the bottom of the page.

"Short-term diet regimen planning required for treatment. Minor. Suspect of neglect. Social worker possibly required."

Arthur stiffened quite visibly at the last part of the doctor's words though he made no comment. It did not go unnoticed by his room companion, however.

"The last bit there is unnecessary, seeing that you live on you're own," the doctor said soothingly, watching as Arthur relaxed. "Though we'll have to talk to a family member - preferably the adult guaranteeing your apartment contract seeing how they're likely the most informed of your general situation."

Arthur's muscles froze a second time, his expression taking on a pained expression. "My brother. He's in the UK right now but he'll be visiting in a week or so."

"I see. Can I trust that you can make an appointment with the nurse at the desk downstairs?"

Arthur gave a slow nod, his mind already coming up with excuses not to do as the doctor asked. He just needed to eat more, right? It would be easy to take home more leftovers from Yao's restaurant. All he needed to do was that and everything would be alright?

"Alright, then I'll leave you here," the doctor declared, turning to leave. "Your things are in a bag on the floor by your bed. That model of yours thought that you'd be more comfortable if you knew where they were. Be sure to thank him."

The bed bound teenager's face twitched into a mix of acknowledgement and distaste as he began to count how many drips before he'd be free to leave. There was still half of the IV liquid left so a few hours at a least.

Arthur waited until he heard the doctor's footsteps completely receded from the hospital corridor before he took a peek at the side of his bed. Indeed, there was a plastic bag stuffed with his clothing and bag. With a grunt, the bag was pulled onto the bed as Arthur ruffled through the fabric to get to his phone.

1 missed text message.

Arthur threw his phone back onto the bed. He knew the message was from Yao; he'd missed another shift. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why did Alfred have to bring him to the hospital of places? If he'd found him at the agency, could he not have just laid him on the couch and be done with him? Why bother?

Arthur knew he didn't have to worry about the hospital charges, his brother had set everything up so that anything other than the basic living necessities that the blond paid for himself was charged to the Kirkland account. Thus, adding to his already un-payable debt.

It was impossible to escape, he knew. There was only a few more months left until graduation and the amount he owed was more than the average made in a decade. He'd be spirited away back to London to work for his father; with his brother supervising his every move. Bye bye freedom. Bye bye happiness.

Arthur slammed his head down to his pillow, throwing his forearm onto his eyes. He wouldn't allow tears to fall; that would be weak. And if he was weak, his family would find another way to exploit him; he knew this.

With a sigh, the teenager pulled out the laptop that was in his bag, taking a glance at the battery percentage before getting to work. He'd missed ten hours of his life that he wouldn't get back and now he needed to catch up. Arthur pulled up his student presidency campaign poster, his stern face looking up at him from the screen. It would have probably been better if he had smiled; would have gained him more popularity otherwise seeing how he wasn't all that bad looking…but, it just wasn't him to just smile like that.

Arthur knew that if he'd have chose to work as a model as Francis asked him to, he might have been able to pay the debt off. But right after Jeanne's death, he was afraid of how the public would have reacted to him; even now, if he were to reappear into public eye…the retribution would be even worse that he remembered to be. And back then, he'd almost given up on everything because of it. Arthur didn't think he'd be able to get through it twice.

I, Arthur Kirkland promise…

The blond tilted his head, thinking what he should promise the school. Better lunches? He's already given that…larger budget? He's already stretched it as much as he could. With a sigh, Arthur flipped the screen down onto his laptop. Everything. Absolutely everything he could have done for the good of the school, he'd already done. Maybe it was good thing for the election, he was absolutely sure he'd lose; it was more a popularity contest than anything else. But then, he'd have more time.

More freedom before it all ends. He flipped his laptop shut.

Arthur breathed in deeply, holding his laptop with a hand over it on his chest. He closed his eyes, straining his ears as he heard the liquid beside him.

Drip, drip, drip.

His eyes closed, allowing them to flutter shut. He reopened them, knowing that if he fell asleep now, he'd get nothing done. Arthur was just about to start on his laptop again when he head the door open again. He ignored it, thinking it was the doctor again.

"Hey, Artie."

Guess not.

Arthur eyed the other blond warily as the boy strut in, all smiles and sunshine. He looked down onto his own hands. How any human being could be so ignorant to the atmosphere or any sort of decorum baffled him.

"How've you been?" asked Alfred, shifting around the room as if he couldn't find a place to stand. He looked at the walls, the window before his eyes fell on the IV drip; he stepped over to poke it.

"Are you blind, or mentally disabled?" Arthur threw the insult though there wasn't really any bite left in it. He hadn't even bothered to look at the taller male beyond the initial glance. "I'm in a hospital bed with a needle on my arm."

"Yeah," affirmed Alfred, quite obviously. He sat down at the bottom corner of the bed, fidgeting. The action garnered a raised eyebrow from the Briton: maybe even the great Alfred F. Jones could feel nervous.

"I found you this morning," Alfred revealed.

"I realized that."

A pregnant pause filled the room; it was as though the volume of drips and breathing increased as neither teens spoke.

"The doc told me that it was 'cause you weren't taking care of yourself."

"The doctor should have kept his mouth shut," retorted Arthur. He pulled the plastic bag of this things closer to himself simply for the sake of having something to do. At the back of his mind, the green-eyed teen knew that he should thank the boy in front of him - but he couldn't bring himself to. "What are you doing here?" Arthur opted to say instead.

"I just got off work and the visiting hours were still on," explained Alfred. He watched as Arthur glanced at the IV bag that was still a quarter full.

"So, you alright now?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I will be when the bag's sodding empty."

Alfred coughed into his first. "Can I say something then?"

Arthur's face twitched at the inquiry. He glanced up to find the American staring right at him. The attention made him flush but he brushed it off to himself still being simply unwell. "It's not like you to ask," observed the Briton, following the other blond with his eyes as Alfred got up to stand at the side of the hospital bed. He coughed again, but Arthur supposed that the teen was just trying to clear his throat; honestly though, it sounded as if he was the one who belonged in the hospital.

"Well, go on. Anytime now would be great," said Arthur drily. He almost smirked when Alfred's face almost twitched into a frown. Alfred closed his eyes before opening them again with his mouth.

"You're a shit bag," he deadpanned. Arthur's own mouth dropped into an 'o.'

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked, stretching his neck forward as if he missed what Alfred said.

"You. Arthur. Are a stupid, bad-mouthed, idiotic, huge eye-browed, retarded shit-bag," he spat. Arthur's closed his mouth, opening it again to respond though it seemed he found that no sound came out.

"I woke up this morning…" Alfred breathed. "…planning the best way to sweep you off your fucking feet but you had to ruin everything just like you always did, didn't you? !"

He kicked the frame of the bed, shocking Arthur out of his stupor. "Well, I apologize if my collapsing ruined your day. I didn't think I had any bloody control over it!" Arthur threw back, his nose held high. If he showed any fear at the way the American was towering over him, no one mentioned it. Alfred wasn't done with his rant though:

"Well if you'd actually eat for once so that you didn't vomit practically nothing onto the floor and I don't know actually SLEEP, maybe you wouldn't go around fainting like a goddamn girl!" he rebuked, blue eyes flaming with an anger that Arthur had never once witnessed in the American.

"I've been busy, alright! ?" Arthur shouted defensively. "I've had things I needed to do! Something you're unfamiliar with, I'm sure!"

"How hard is it to stuff food into that mouth of yours? !"

Arthur's face was flush with argument but Alfred didn't back down, still uncharacteristically glowering down at the bed ridden teenager. He was surprised when Alfred shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans, taking out a granola bar. The American kept it in his hand for a few long seconds and momentarily, Arthur believed that he was going to offer it to him. But instead, Alfred opened it himself and the Briton chastised himself; of course, Alfred hardly ever offered food to others. Glutton.

The Briton almost allowed his shoulder's to relax, however, before he could turn his head away from the American, he felt fingers take hold of his chin. Alfred was still glaring at him, and he tightened his grip on Arthur's face, forcing his mouth open. The granola bar, peeled and chocolate flavoured was shoved into his mouth. Arthur's eyes watered at the unwelcome intrusion and he choked.

"Chew," ordered Alfred. He didn't loosen his grip. Arthur was looking at him to something akin to fear but he didn't react. "I said chew, Arthur."

Arthur's mouth closed once then twice and thrice the food, and he swallowed quickly. Then Alfred slammed his palm onto the mattress beside Arthur's thigh, looking down to floor at the sound of a small whimper.

"Do you have any fucking idea how scary it was?" he said. "You were just walking to the door. You were just walking to the door - just like that and you even had your hand so close to the door knob."

Arthur didn't say a word when Alfred's head ended up on his shoulder. He just stared at the messy blond hair in shock.

"Then you just dropped and I didn't know what to do! I called Mattie and the ambulance but you wouldn't wake up!"

Arthur heard the sound of Alfred swallow. He knew in situations like these - at least the ones he'd read in books - that he was supposed to pat the man on the back, maybe run his hand in his hair…any sort of comfort would do. But he found his hands couldn't move. It took a minute for even his voice to obey him.

"Why do you care?" rasped Arthur. Alfred moved his hands to grip at the smaller man's wrist; he noted how thin they were. They weren't like this when they first met only short months earlier.

"We're friends, Artie," he said, reverting back to the nick name. Despite how annoyed the shortened version of his name made him, Arthur felt relieved. However, the relief gave him back the energy to shove the American off him, glaring down at the blue eyed male.

"No. We're not friends," he murmured, glowering down at the man. He shook his head. "We're not friends."

"We are," Alfred insisted, looking up at the bedridden boy. "We're friends."

"No, we're not," Arthur grit out, clenching his fists by his side. His voice raised as well. "This." He gestured between himself and Alfred. "…isn't friendship. It's not."

The shorter blond took another breath. "It's a game."

"Art— it's not…" Alfred began.

"IT"S A GAME," Arthur yelled. "It's a game because it can't be anything else. And I don't know what to call it if it's not!"

His breaths were starting to come out in short bursts. "Kiku…Gilbert, Xiao, Kyle…Francis. Those are my friends! They're my friends because they know. They know and I don't have to tell them anything because they were there."

"What?" Alfred frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about? What can't we be friends?"

"Because you don't know!"

"…you don't know," repeated Arthur. "And I don't want to tell you."

Alfred stood up, brushing himself up. He had an inkling of what Arthur was trying to say to him and he grasped a hold of it. "Is this about your ex-girlfriend. The dead one?"

At Arthur's flinch, he knew he was right.

"Why can't you tell me?" he demanded. "Why can't you tell me when its been four years?"

"I don't trust you," said Arthur.

"Why? I haven't told anyone any of your secrets. Even when Kiku, Gilbert and everyone had been hinting at them ever since we met!" Alfred shouted. "I haven't even told anyone but Mattie that I brought you to the hospital because I didn't know if you wanted me to! So why can't you trust me?!"

"…because you're just like her," he grit out.

"What?"

"You're just like her!" Arthur shot out his hand to grab at Alfred's collar. "Down to the colour of your eyes and hair!" he hissed. "She made the same promises you did. The same offers you did! Then she lied!"

Arthur swallowed, throwing Alfred away by the collar. "She did exactly the same thing you're doing. Offering me your friendship and when I'm neck deep you'll throw me away, telling me it was my fault. It was my fault for pushing you away. It was my fault for taking you seriously in the first place." He sneered. "My birthday's in a few months. Maybe you'll take it up with Francis then just like she did!This time it won't be much of surprise but boo for you."

Alfred stepped forward, grabbing Arthur's wrist so he couldn't shove him away again. "I won't." he said firmly. "I really mean it!"

"Liar."

"I'm not a liar!"

Arthur glanced at the taller male. Alfred was looking at him with such earnest that he almost caved; but he wouldn't be taken in. Alfred was a model, just like her. Her protege even. He could look at the camera and make any face he wanted just for the fame.

"You are," insisted Arthur. "Even if you aren't aware of it yet, you're lying."

He closed his eyes. "Just leave, Alfred. This conversation is over." I don't want to reveal anymore.

The grip on his wrist didn't falter. "I'm staying here."

"Visiting hours are almost over."

"But not yet, they aren't," said Alfred.

"…just leave."

"No."

Arthur felt his energy drain and he turned away from Alfred's gaze. His eyes fell onto his phone.

2 missed text messages

He used his free hand to swipe the screen open. As he predicted, one was from Yao. The other one…

Hello, little brother.

Arthur felt his chest tighten in despair.

You wouldn't believe how I felt when I got a call from America this morning. I thought it was from you, but what surprise it was when it was a hospital! Of course, being the brother you are so fortunate in having, I decided to move my plans forward.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Arthur closed his eyes, letting his phone screen fade to black.

Why?

Why couldn't he have come to this hospital to die?

A/N:

Hi there...reviews?