Chapter 1

Victorian Rooftop

And then she walked up the lonely street as the night air hit her neck, sending a spin chilling breeze down her body. The city wasn't the place that she knew back in the day. No, it was more corrupted; more cold and less welcoming. It was almost evil. The way everybody rushed off to go about their day in that cold demeanour has rendered the city soulless, without spark. Without happiness. It was then she realized that at long last her...

Arthur stopped writing and sat back on his chair, not knowing where to continue in his story. Once again, he has reached a certain point and didn't know how to continue on with the plot. Yesterday it was the same routine, and so was the day before that, and the day before that...and so on. Until he realized he hadn't gotten anywhere with his story at all. Again.

The writer rubbed his temples with his two fingers and sighed. This had been the third week that he hasn't been able to conjure up more material to finish up his story; the third week that he has been sitting behind his laptop and groaning, completely unmotivated and lacking the necessary ideas to meet the deadline for his novel. Sure, his last two novels had done extremely well, but if this book flopped then his career as an author will be over. Everyone will know him as the guy who wrote that crappy sequel because for some reason, people like to focus more on one's failures. It's as if people get a thrill out of watching others fail. Himself included.

The blonde pushed back his chair and made his way to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of tea. Tea had always calmed him whenever he was anything but happy. But after his sixth cup, it just wasn't doing it for him today...or any other day that involved him working on his novel for that matter.

Arthur placed his tea cup on the counter without bothering for any more tea since it wouldn't help him in his state. Perhaps some fresh air would do him some good. But then again, it probably wouldn't. Regardless, it was useless to stay inside all day if it was going to prove to be unproductive once again.

Pulling on his winter jacket and a scarf, he started to make his way out his house after he stepped into his winter boots. The snow wasn't as bad as it was last week, but it was still somewhat chilly. At least this time the snow wasn't up to his knees like last year when he didn't have the knee high boots he has now. Francis sure had a good laugh when Arthur showed up shivering in his wet socks at that Frog's house.

"Such a quiet street." he mumbled to himself as he continued to walk down the white path. Normally, the street would have been filled with people during any other time of the year. People shopping, going to work or play, or even just hanging around with their mates would fill the streets. But during winter things just die down. Perhaps the cold weather was just too much for the individuals who preferred staying in.

After arriving at his desired location, Arthur smiled as he glanced at the roof top of the tall old abandoned school in his neighbourhood. He didn't know why it was abandoned, but it's rooftop sure provided a peaceful atmosphere. Not only that, but the scenery from the rooftop was so amazing that even he, the oh so experienced writer, couldn't properly describe it in words. Even the words 'amazing' or 'spectacular' are understatements for the view. The only thing he wished was for him to remember to bring a camera whenever he decided to indulge himself in the beautiful scenery. But to his dismay, it always slipped his mind. Every single time. And today wasn't an exception, which made the author grumble in annoyance.

The man made his way into the building through the back as he slipped through the broken boards of wood that was supposed to cover up the various entrances of the building. The building itself, was just as amazing. It had a Victorian feel to its wooden designs and its age showed through the many cracks and grooves in the material that only made it all the more appealing to Arthur. He was a sucker when it came to anything from the Victorian or Renaissance era. Hell, anything that dated back from the Victorian period and further irked his interest like no tomorrow. The remnants of its history just calmed him to the point where he could lose himself in its beauty and in the wonderment of the skill level those who created them had.

Arthur glided his fingers across the textures of the wooden designs on the stair railing as he ascended up the spiral staircase. He wouldn't be surprised if this school was built back in the Victorian era and not just a mere imitation of that time period's design. The designs today just don't compare, and it's a shame that people actually prefer machine made designs that are "in" now over hand crafted beauty such as the ones present in this school. Maybe that's why they decided to close this school down; it's too old and people probably preferred modern designs. But he didn't care. Even though it took God knows how long to climb all the way to the top and it tired him to no end, he enjoyed every bit of it and took his time whenever he came here. It's almost like taking a long walk and being alone with your thoughts.

Finally, Arthur stepped onto the very top step and headed out to the roof of the school. He accidently stepped on some crumpled paper and what appeared to be a used juice box and a mushy sandwich bag. The man scrunched his face and continued towards to door.

"Maybe I'm not the only who comes here." he thought.

With difficulty, Arthur pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the cold once again and shivered slightly. Except this time, he's probably ten stories from the ground with a magnificent view of the city. He started to head near the edge and noticed footsteps. Fresh footsteps to be exact. They didn't look like they have been there for a while because there would be fresh snow filled in them by now. Actually they looked like they were JUST made. Could someone else be there as well?

Following his curiosity, Arthur traced the way of the footsteps. They seem to be leading to the edge of the rooftop; the same way he was going anyways, so he might as well follow them. For all he knew, the person was probably gone already. But he was still curious nonetheless; curious of where exactly the footprints would lead; curious of how far towards the edge did the person walk.

Without taking his gaze off the footsteps, Arthur placed a foot into one of the prints and frowned. "They have bigger feet than me." he thought to himself as he continued forward.

Arthur lifted his head from the ground and was shocked to find a male form standing close to the edge of the roof and gazing downwards. Too close to be safe actually. He was standing right at the edge where one would have to climb over to get there, and a simple tap would have probably sent him falling ten stories down the ground. The man didn't seem to noticed him as he continued to stare downwards towards the ground. Almost as if he was fixated on something; something on the ground; something...

No.

Tossing out all ideas of himself being the only presence on the roof, Arthur lunged forward, and being careful not to knock him over instead, grabbed the taller man by his waist and pulled him backwards, making them both fall back on the rooftop. The smaller man groaned a bit from the weight pressing down on him from above.

"J-just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur coughed up, not sure if the other man even heard his strained voice.

The taller man struggled from his gasp. "W-what?"

"I said, what the fuck were you trying to do?" he yelled, this time knowing for sure that he was heard quite clearly.

The taller man broke out of his hold and moved off of him. He sat next to him and tried to calm down his own breathing. "You scared the shit out of me, y'know!"

Arthur noted his American accent and knew immediately he wasn't from London. For all he knew, he was probably some crazy foreigner. "I do apologize, but I should be saying the same to you since you were the one trying to jump off this bloody building!"

The other blond fixed his glasses and panted, glaring daggers at the author. "You have some nerve."

"For trying to save your life? You fucking twat!" Arthur spat and stood up. This was the last time ever he tried to do anything nice for anyone.

"You ruined it for me!" The American followed him up and pointed accusingly at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Since when was suicide something that people fancied? Excuse me for being old-fashioned." he dusted off the snow from his jacket.

The taller man glared. "I wasn't tryin' to kill myself, pops. I was trying to get a picture of the city, old man." he pointed at the camera around his neck and Arthur sputtered, partly for being called out for his age in less than three minutes into their meeting but mainly for jumping the gun.

"W-well, you shouldn't have stood so close. What the hell was I supposed to think?" he tried to hide the heat crawling up to his face from embarrassment. If there was one thing that the Briton hated, it was being wrong. No, more like he hated being wrong AND looking like an idiot. And somehow he managed to pull off both today.

Arthur cleared his throat and decided that he should leave gazing at the city and being alone with his thoughts for another time. Obviously the mood was ruined and has probably rendered him even less productive for later. He took a walk to place himself in a better mood, and now that he was feeling even worse than before, he might as well call it quits for today. Maybe he'll try again tomorrow, unless someone else decided to ruin that too.

"Well, if you are alright then I guess I should take my leave." he nodded and turned around . "Good day."

"Hey, wait a sec!"

Arthur groaned and faced the boy once again. "What is it now? I didn't break your camera did I?" he asked rudely, not looking forward to the fact that he might have to dish out some money to replace a possible broken camera. If so, then he definitely won't ever do anything nice again if it was just going to make him suffer emotionally and financially.

"Aren't you that famous author? Arthur Kirkland?" the boy asked.

Arthur's interest perked and he turned fully around to face him.

"Yeah! You ARE him. I recognize you! You wrote the Dark Rose series, right?" the taller boy's smile widened.

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, I am." he held his smile.

"Oh my God!" he practically pounced the man and gave him a firm handshake that hurt Arthur's hand. "I love your books!"

"R-really now? I didn't think they were that popular with American readers." Arthur pulled his hand back and rubbed it slightly, trying to ease the pain.

"Are you kidding me? They're awesome!" he laughed enthusiastically and Arthur mentally slapped himself for thinking someone like him could be suicidal.

The younger boy's expression fell. "Oh man, I don't have any of your books on me. I really want your autograph." he pouted and Arthur smiled at the cute expression that reminded him so much of some of the younger fans that he always ran into.

The Briton cleared his throat. "Well, there will be a book signing going on later this month why don't you-."

"HEY WAIT!" the American grabbed the Briton's hand again, interrupting him and making him jump in the process. "Why don't you come to my place right now?" his loud voice pierced Arthur's ears and tempted the older man to tell him that he was standing right in front of him and that there was no need to be so loud.

"I'm sorry, but that's not-."

"Aw come on! Please Artie?"

Artie?

Arthur shook his head. "It's Arthur. And no, that's inappropriate. I don't even know your name for goodness sake!"

"My name's Alfred. I'm nineteen and I'm a freelance photographer who moved here from America. My hobbies include eating ice-cream, playing video games, and photography. Now can we go?" Alfred sputtered quickly and pulled on Arthur's arm. He really was like a kid.

Arthur eyed him suspiciously as he wondered if it would even be safe to visit a stranger's house let alone proper. Who knows, this kid could be waiting for him to let his guard down and then-BAM!

"I have a lot of photos that I want to show you too!"

Actually, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. Besides, the photos could be just the inspiration Arthur needed to get himself out of his slump. Beautiful photography had always been a source of inspiration for him. That is where he got the idea for his series of novels after all. He could still remember it vividly; that gothic styled photograph of a single black rose on the marble step of a Victorian themed church. It was such a simple photograph and yet, it had so many meanings for him. Mainly because he was somehow able to identify himself with that lonely rose on the steps. It was almost as if he was the rose himself. The odd one laying on the steps while the red roses remained with one another in the rosebush faded into the background; the odd one that was excluded from the rest of the desired flowers and left on the steps to be later stepped on by those entering the house of God; the odd one that wasn't welcomed in the Lord's humble abode but only remained outside and with a tearful demeanour.

Arthur nodded. "Alright then. But just this once. And only because I'm curious about your work."

Alfred's smile lit up brighter than any light bulb. "Alright old man, you won't regret it!" he laughed wildly.

"I'm not that much older than you, lad." Arthur sighed.

"Yeah well, you sure act like one." he patted him on the back and Arthur coughed. Maybe he really was getting too old for this kind of behaviour. But then again, it was pretty refreshing to have someone as energetic as this Alfred fellow around.

Arthur fixed his scarf and ignored the latter comment. "So are we going or not? I don't have all day."

"Right right." Alfred quickly walked forward and opened the door for him. "Careful, don't want you to break those fragile bones of yours. The door's kinda heavy." he grinned as he held the door.

"Bloody git." Arthur mumbled and walked forward, still able to somehow thank Alfred for holding the door in a gentlemanly manner.

As they descended down the spiral staircase, Arthur noticed Alfred taking pictures every time they passed a different design engraved in the wood of the railings. It surprised the older man that someone as young as Alfred would be interested in old works of art; especially those that the youth nowadays couldn't bring themselves to give a least bit of their interest.

"I didn't know you were interested in this kind of thing." the Briton smiled at the younger man taking a picture of a carving of an angel on top of the railing. She was a bit faded, but her face was still beautiful nonetheless. But her expression of sorrow tugged Arthur's heart and he couldn't help but feel that her sadness was from the years of abandonment. Left there to rot with the rest of the beautiful unappreciated designs in the old building. If it wasn't for the faded varnish on the figure, Arthur would've expected actual tears from her eyes because of the realness in her expression.

"I just like to capture things before they fade." Alfred smiled as he checked the picture he took through the screen of his camera.

Arthur smiled again at the young man's way of thinking. "That's..." he stopped and couldn't find the words he wanted.

He was touched.

"That's exactly the reason I became a photographer in the first place." he aimed the camera at the female craving again and took another picture. "Because before you know it, things can be gone." he continued sadly and adjusted his camera.

"Alfred?" Arthur's mood softened as he looked at the saddened boy before him.

Alfred quickly snapped himself out of his thoughts and grinned. "Which is why we need to take more pics downstairs! Come on!" he practically raced down the stairs ahead of Arthur.

"Ah, wait." Arthur sighed. Really now, the boy was just too hyper for his liking.

xxx

"So what do you think?" Alfred blinked through the photos he took during the day on his camera. Arthur nodded at the various scenery photos and the ones he took inside the school. He hated to admit it, but the boy does have talent. Everything just looked so professional that he can't imagine how well done his work related photos are. Apparently he was just taking a break today and doing casual photography for his own amusement.

"I say, you do have a knack for photography." Arthur glanced over from his seated position next to Alfred. Chasing after the boy tired him out so much that needed a minute to compose himself before they headed out the school.

"Thanks, man." Alfred chuckled. "That means a lot coming from a celebrity."

"W-well..." the Briton smiled bashfully. "I'm not THAT famous, now"

"I wish I could write as beautifully as you can." Alfred said and Arthur was suddenly caught off guard at the unexpected compliment.

"W-well...I..."

"I mean..." Alfred continued. "...you can capture such beauty in your words that it's almost camera like. It's almost like a photograph with the way you describe things. It just..." he smiled at Arthur. "...makes me feel."

Arthur turned away and scratched the back of his head. "Never has anyone given me such a compliment. Thank you, Alfred." It's true though, the compliments the he was used to getting consisted of how much this person liked his book and how much that person fancied a particular character in his novel without too much of an explanation.

Alfred smiled again and turned off his camera. "I bet, you could preserve that female carving with your words better than any camera or photographer."

"You think so?" Arthur chuckled.

"Oh yeah. I bet you would put camera companies out of business with your writing."

The remark made Arthur laugh out, echoing his voice through the empty foyer of the abandoned school. The very thought of it was hilarious but it was also moving at the same time. He's never had a fan read so deeply into his writing before. At least none that he knew of. But Alfred didn't seem to take his words at face value like many of his fans. It's evident that the boy had definitely immersed himself into his writing and was able to understand that, yes, Arthur was indeed trying to capture the very essence of the London he once knew when he was a child. And that he was trying the best he can to preserve it so it wouldn't completely disappear and leave him unable to even imagine, let alone remember, how it was like; that he could go back and read his own writing and it would be like looking at an old photograph of the place he remembered.

He could get a million superficial compliments from his fans, but that amount wouldn't touch him the way Alfred's thoughts did; the way Alfred understood him.

"So, you ready to go now?" Alfred smiled and stood up, extending his hand to the older man.

Arthur simply smiled smugly and refused his hand. "I can get up on my own thank you very much." he stood up and brushed himself off.

Alfred chuckled "Whatever you say." With that, he pushed open the front door, letting in the afternoon sunlight that made Arthur squint.

The author finally looked up at the taller boy and took in his appearance bathed in sunlight. It was again like the scenery from the rooftop.

Indescribable.

The young man's bright beauty was indescribable to the author as he gazed at the bright light outlining Alfred's features. That light making his already attractive features more appealing than they were while enhancing the perfect shape of his shadow on the wall next to them. Arthur was only able to marvel at the sight before him without any words that can help him describe Alfred.

"I guess there's another thing I can't described after all." he thought to himself as they both headed out the school and into the winter street.

To be continued...