"Alfred - it's just going to be you and me, right?"

He reached out for him and their hands joined. The boy's fingers were so very warm when they stroked across his knuckles. Alfred knew his name, but he didn't know it well enough to say it out loud. His lips would move and he would speak without a sound, and the boy would always laugh and drag him closer to the edge of the building. His green eyes would be the last thing he saw before they fell.

"Just you and me!" he screamed as white feathers blinded his eyes: "Just you and me!"

Alfred woke up to the noise of his alarm going off. He reached out from underneath the duvet and clumsily pushed the clock down from the nightstand. It fell onto the floor and the batteries were knocked out and started rolling in underneath his bed. He peeked out from underneath his pillow and shortly eyed the mess before dropping it back onto his head. He pressed his face to the mattress with a sigh. He'd been haunted by yet another gay dream.

Alfred Jones was 16 years old and had for the last year been chased by the same boy in his dreams. Over and over again he would show up and they would act as a couple. Sometimes he was happy and sometimes he was sad, but he would always repeat the same question:

'It's just going to be you and me, right?'

Alfred threw the duvet off and stumbled out of bed. He squatted to pick up the batteries and put them back into the alarm clock before turning it off. It was black and shaped like the Batman-logo. His mom got it for him as she was busy in the morning. Still she always took the time to tell him 'good morning' and 'goodbye' before leaving; she was worried about him as well, but for reasons other than his disturbing dreams.

"Are you awake?" she called the moment he stepped out into the hallway. Alfred grabbed around the banister and leaned in over it to look down. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen while putting on her earrings. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Alright," he shrugged and smiled.

"Is Betty coming over later?"

"Who?"

"Alfred," her voice was stern, "your girlfriend."

"Oh." He straightened up and scratched his chin with a yawn. "No, I don't think so. It's Thursday, right? She's got, uh, dancing lessons on Thursdays."

"Well, let her know she's always welcome to join us for dinner," she said and grabbed her purse from the hanger. She looked up at him and pecked the air. "I'll be home around five. Remember to have lunch, sweetie." She waved up at him and he waved back at her lazily.

"Yeah, bye Mom." As the door closed, he headed for the bathroom with a headshake. He always forgot about Betty. She was a sweet girl - no doubts about that. Pretty as well; with her curly, red locks and freckles she'd been able to get a small job doing modeling for some make-up company downtown. But that was all there was to her, a pretty face and a nice smile. He'd started dating her thinking that a girl like her should be able to make any wet dream about the green-eyed guy go away. But so far she'd failed.

"I'm an asshole," Alfred mumbled as he turned on the shower and stepped out of his loose boxers. He moved in underneath the cold stream and shuddered. "I probably should break up with her." Then he laughed. It wouldn't be the first time he told himself that he would do that and it probably wouldn't be the last. From the way that she looked at his brother, he wouldn't be surprised if she pondered the same. They weren't meant to be outside of high school. But in high school they were the most popular couple to gossip about.

There were a lot of things that Alfred felt he should let Betty know, but which he didn't. That he wasn't the least interested in her was not even the most important thing. He heard voices. It was the voice of the boy from the dream and he would never be able to hear everything he said, but sometimes he could make out some of the words. He knew he was angry about him being with Betty and he always spoke of falling; falling from high above, like they had fallen from the building in his latest dream. The way he would speak of death and angels was almost suicidal.

Mostly Alfred tried not to listen to him. It was okay as long as he was among friends or family, but when alone the words would sometimes get to him and make him shake in worry. He knew it was all just in his head, but that was almost scarier than if the boy existed. He wished that he had at least a name to pinpoint him with; an idea about where he knew his face from, then maybe he would be able to find a logical explanation. Like when the experts talk about childhood memories that you carry around in your subconscious. But as a kid he had no friend with such clear, green eyes.

Alfred quietly flickered through the pages of his schoolbook. Class was close to being dismissed and it was probably for the best. Something had started to trouble him and he wasn't sure what. It was often a sign of one of his quirks coming forward. The back of his head was hurting and his tongue tasted metallic. He poked it out as he tried airing it a bit.

"Are we having fun, Mr Jones?" Alfred glared over the edge of his glasses. The teacher was keeping an eye on him.

"Nope," he answered and slipped his tongue back in. She lifted her piece of chalk and continued writing across the blackboard.

"Maybe you're bored? Would you like to go next?" she asked.

"Uh, with what?" There was a light snicker around the classroom.

"Reading out aloud."

"Sure." Alfred let go of the pages of his book and peeked towards Betty behind him. She held up her book for him to see the page they were on. He narrowed his eyes to read the little number in the corner.

"Page 46, Alfred," the teacher said. Alfred gave her a thumb up and turned to the page. "Line nine."

"Okay," he cleared his throat and leaned in over the book. The many words slipped in between each other and almost confused him. He closed his eyes shortly and took in a deep breath as he tried reminding himself that whatever he was feeling, it was all just his imagination. "Okay," he said again and started reading out aloud: "Although his existence has been questioned by many modern historians, there is no doubt that his name will forever be remembered in the folklores. He stands before us today as a legend; the British leader, king Arthur of.. King Arthur?" Alfred blinked.

"Is anything wrong?" the teacher asked him as he paused. Alfred's fingers spread out across the page as he looked at the name more closely.

"Arthur," he mumbled. The name occurred strangely familiar to him. The pain in his head worsened at once. He clasped his hands to his ears and grimaced. "Ouch!"

"Alfred?" Betty called. He could hear the concern in her voice. The teacher quickly walked over to lean in over his table.

"Is your headache coming back again?" she asked him quietly. Alfred nodded. "Do you want to get some water?" He nodded again. She stepped aside and Alfred pushed out his chair as he got up. As he opened his eyes, he could feel the other students looking at him, but instead of showing him sympathy they seemed rather annoyed. This outburst was the sixth he'd had in a month.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Betty asked. "I'll go with you."

"No, it's fine," Alfred mumbled and looked over his shoulder back at her. He gave her the kindest smile he could manage with the pain still vibrating through his skull. "I'll see you at lunch. Could you bring my bag?" She nodded and he slowly left class leaving his things behind. He'd hardly made it to the hallway before he heard the happy echo of the boy's voice in his head. It was as if he cheered him on for leaving Betty. He closed the door to the classroom and headed towards the toilets upstairs.

"Shut up," he mumbled as he started walking the stairs. He pinched his earlobes and shook his head. "You're making my head hurt!" But the voice kept whispering things to him that he couldn't understand. Alfred bumped into the wall on his way up and had to walk stooped the rest of the way before he entered the toilets and could hold onto a sink. He hesitated for a moment just staring down into it before turning on the water. It came out in spurts and he cupped his hands to catch some before splashing it onto his face. It was as if his headache just disappeared immediately. He blinked and lifted his head to look into the mirror. He was staring back at himself confused.

"Was that it?" he asked out aloud, but the voice was gone. He straightened up and gave himself a concerned look before he pressed his wet middle finger to the reflection: "Fuck you."

"Dude, are you okay?"

Alfred looked towards the door. Gilbert was watching him. He was holding onto a can of coke while looking him up and down before raising his brows. "You looked pretty dope walking up those stairs," he then said and grinned. Alfred weakly smiled back at him.

"I'm just having a headache."

"Again?" Gilbert sipped from his can and then offered it to him, but Alfred shook his head.

"I don't need more sugar," he grinned. Gilbert pulled the can back with a shrug and took yet a sip from it while leaning against the doorway. "Don't you have class?"

"Yeah?" Alfred laughed at the carelessness Gilbert had to his voice and turned the water off. He should know Gilbert well enough by now to be aware that the guy wasn't going to attend class if he could have a smoke and a coke somewhere else in the building.

He'd known him since 7th grade. At first they'd hated each other and they had always ended up fighting in the schoolyard. But since they discovered a shared passion for video games, it was impossible for them not to hang out. These days they mostly just smoked and shared dirty stories about the girls from class.

"You look like shit," Gilbert continued honestly. Alfred took off his glasses and wiped them clean in a piece of paper.

"I've been having strange dreams again," he said.

"When don't you?" Alfred grimaced at him, but he didn't add anything. Gilbert was one of the few he'd let in on his worries. He hadn't told him just what the dreams were about, because he didn't want to be accused for being a fag, but he had told him that he was having nightmares and that they sometimes seemed to play out in his head when he was awake. He hadn't specifically said that he heard voices, but it was in between the lines and he had no doubt Gilbert got the picture. He didn't seem to think less of him, though. He'd only said that he sometimes got the same feeling and they had laughed it off. "Was it a nightmare again?"

"Somewhat."

"Did you know," Gilbert said and his voice had an informative tone to it, "that they said that whoever you see in your dreams is someone you've seen someplace before?" Alfred gave him a long look.

"Really?"

"Yeah man." Gilbert sipped of his can again while nodding. "So if someone is chasing you with an axe, be sure to look out for their face! It could be someone you just passed on the street the other day." He started laughing, but Alfred couldn't even manage a smile. He wasn't sure he liked this new knowledge. As he didn't react, Gilbert cleared his throat: "Uhm, do you want to go have a smoke?" Alfred shook his head.

"Sorry man, I promised Betty I would meet her at lunch." Gilbert shrugged.

"Your choice. But hey, did you know Annie likes you? If I were you, I would go fuck her instead!"

Alfred laughed: "You would go for anything with boobs!"

"Right on," Gilbert smiled. He raised his can. "Well, see you around." Alfred waved him off and put his glasses back on. He blinked at his reflection with a little smile. Everything seemed so surreal when he talked to normal guys like Gilbert; as if he just made it all up. His mom seemed to think so. She'd suggested he went to see a doctor the very day he told her about the voices. She hadn't forced him yet though, probably because he didn't appear ill. It had only started to worsen recently, but as it started it all happened quickly. His headaches appeared often now, the metallic taste sometimes made him feel like puking and the voices sounded more and more like a psycho's demands to him. Sometimes it sounded like the voice wanted for him to kill himself. But he wasn't sure.

The loud flutter from a captured bird made Alfred turn around. He was puzzled by the sound that came from the stall the furthest away from him. It sounded like the animal was trying to escape from it, but couldn't find its way out. He looked around. The toilet had no windows and only an old, closed-down ventilation that had stopped working ages ago. There was no way a bird could've flown in here. Still, he hesitatingly walked towards the stall.

"Hey?" he called out. He got no answer, but the fluttering stopped for a second but then started again with more power. Alfred wrinkled his brows nervously. No one ever used these last stalls. The cleaning ladies somewhat avoided them. They always reeked and had pools of water and used paper on the floor. They were the stalls used for bullying weak kids. He'd seen before how boys had been locked in there and kept until they could hardly breathe in the smell. If an animal had really been captured in there it should've been dead by now.

Alfred grabbed around the handle and took in a deep breath before he pushed the door open. He cringed at the sight before him. There was no bird, but a dirty toilet someone hadn't flushed and paper clinging onto the walls covered in writing. But what caught his eye was a white feather falling down through the air. He reached out and grabbed it before it landed on the floor and he held it out to take a look at it. It was huge. Way too big to fit any bird and way too soft and fine. Running his fingers across it was like running his fingers through woman's hair. He shuddered at the thought and looked around to make sure no one was watching him as he tugged the feather into his jeans and pulled his shirt down over it to hide it away. He knew this had something to do with him.

For the past three weeks Alfred had been finding feathers like this everywhere. As he got home and opened his drawer, he counted eight feathers all alike. With this one he'd found nine altogether. He pulled up his shirt and dropped the ninth feather down to the rest before closing his drawer again with a sigh. It could be that most of it happened in his head, but it was things like these that kept him worried whether he or the world was going insane.

The boy was skipping across the big lawn while laughing and fluttering with his big, bright wings. Alfred was chasing him smiling. "Do you see me? Do you?" the boy laughed and Alfred nodded:

"I do!" The boy turned around and reached out for him and Alfred grabbed him by the hands as he stepped in close. He started speaking, but Alfred couldn't understand what he was saying and as he asked him to repeat, he just kept whispering:

"Do you see me? Do you see me?" Alfred started shaking his shoulders, but he wouldn't stop repeating the same words over and over again. Then he shook his head and whispered: "Alfred - it's just going to be you and me, right?"

It was as if his wings exploded. Suddenly blinded by white feathers, Alfred felt himself falling. He tried to reach out for something, but there was nothing for him to grab onto on his way down. He could taste blood in his mouth. He gagged on it and spat it out and his head started hurting, but as he reached to the back of it, he only found a big, open wound leading through his skull.

Alfred sat straight up in his bed with a shout. His forehead was wet and drops of sweat were clinging onto his skin. He ran his arm across his face to wipe it off as he took in a deep breath. This time the dream had been very real. He'd almost felt the bullet as it flew through the air towards him. Instantly he touched the back of his head, but of course there was nothing to be found. He was just starting to feel the headache coming back.

"Fuck… That was too real," he mumbled and shook his head. He looked towards his alarm clock. It was only two at night and he had plenty of hours to sleep in. Still he didn't feel like sleeping at all. He swung his legs out of bed and shuddered as his feet touched the cold floor. He curled his toes and for a moment just watched them as he tried to calm down his heart. It was still racing and sweat was constantly slipping down the sides of his face. He wiped it off again before standing up and opening the drawer in his nightstand to look for his cigarettes. He found the crumbled package in the back and pulled it out to look inside of it. He only had three cigarettes left despite the fact that he bought them yesterday. "I thought I only had one," he mumbled and shook the cigarettes around before looking inside the drawer to see if they fell out, but there was nothing but a bit of dust, a lighter and an old love letter in there. He pulled out the lighter and lit a single smoke before putting the rest back into the drawer. He then tip-toed across the floor, trying to make as little noise as possible, as he went to open his window.

Outside the night was cold. He felt the wind blow in on his face and dry out the sweat. It was a wonderful feeling and he smiled at the moon as he took his first puff of the smoke. The taste of nicotine always calmed him down.

He didn't felt the need to smoke before he started in high school a year ago and he'd always been able to turn down Gilbert's offers. But as he started having nightmares, the guy convinced him that a smoke could make it all go away. Strangely enough it had actually helped him the first month. Then the effect stopped. These days he just couldn't help but to smoke every now and then. He knew it had become an addiction, but he would rather be addicted to cigarettes than medication. If he was supposed to swallow pills to calm down, then he preferred getting the same effect from nicotine. After all - who knew what medicine would do to him in the long go?

Alfred shook his cigarette out the window and watched as the ash dropped off and was caught by the wind. He leaned out over the sill and looked down at the lawn as he wondered how much it would hurt to fall from up here. There was only one floor down, but if he was unlucky he could probably still break his neck. He took yet a puff of his smoke while grinning at himself. Since when had he started to consider such odd things?

Alfred dropped his cigarette out of the window and reached for the knob as he heard the light sound of wings fluttering. It was so delicate that he could've easily missed it. It started lightly but then the bashing got more and more hectic and it came closer and closer to his back.

Alfred took in a deep breath. He could feel the hair on his arms raise as a cold shudder went down his spine. The bird was back. Whatever it was, it was back. He wanted to look, but found himself frozen in his position by the window. The blood in him began to rush. His heart pounded so quickly that it almost drowned out any other noise in the room. The nagging voice of the boy started shouting things at him again. He yelled about love and pain and being left behind, and how could he? - How dare he leave him behind?

Then Alfred turned around. The voice stopped immediately. He looked around the room and gasped in a big mouthful of air as he realised that he was alone. He hadn't even noticed he was holding his breath. He leaned back against the sill as he panted out of breath. It had just been another one of his dreams.

"That was…" Alfred shook his head and pressed his fingers to his sweaty, red cheeks. "That was strange…" He laughed shortly, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be quiet. He sucked in his lips. He suddenly felt like laughing very loudly at himself, but he managed to keep it in and turn to close the open window. The fresh, cold air was now filling up the room and making him feel fully awake. He could still taste the nicotine on his tongue, but the metallic taste was completely gone. In relief he staggered back to his bed and grabbed at his duvet to crawl back up. A feather was sticking out from it. He hesitated, but then he pulled at the end of it and slowly withdrew a long, fine feather from the cover. It was similar to the one he'd found at the toilets earlier. He carefully put it on the nightstand and looked down his duvet. Yet a feather was sticking up further down and as he ripped the duvet off of the bed, he found most of the mattress covered in them. He let go of the duvet and stepped back.

"Holy shit…" he mumbled wide-eyed. The long, fine feathers looked as if they had been neatly placed all over. They were shining dimly in the poor light from the streetlamps outside.

Whatever he'd heard had to be real. Something had been in here shedding off those feathers. And maybe it was still here. Alfred turned around, but no one was behind him. There was no one by the desk or the door. Still he didn't feel safe. He reached out and grabbed his pillow as he quickly stumbled out of his room and down the stairs. He made it through the dark hallway into the living room where he looked around suspiciously. His mom had left a single lamp on. It was giving the whole room a dim, nice feeling. The heat had only been turned off recently and as he stepped in, he could still feel it wrap around his cold arms. He sighed. Whatever it was, it was not down here.

Alfred threw the pillow onto the sofa as he lay down and made himself comfortable on it. He turned onto his back as he eyed the ceiling. His own room was right above the living room. He waited for a few minutes as he just listened out for any sounds, but there was none. Then he closed his eyes.

All through school Alfred had thought himself to be pretty common. He was good at sport, but not excellent. He knew how to do maths, but it was still a surprise for him if he got a B on a test. Sometimes he would have a girlfriend and sometimes he would not, but most of the time he would just hang out with friends and do nothing but to listen to music and chat. It seemed unfair that such an average boy as himself should start experiencing all these weird things.

He didn't want to be ill. No one in the family wanted for him to break down. It wasn't just because they cared for him, but also because they couldn't handle yet another sick boy. His brother Matthew had always been a bit off. Since birth he'd been very clingy and couldn't handle the thought of being alone. They'd been best mates when younger, but as Alfred became a teenager and wanted to be alone, Matthew wasn't able to understand it. He'd become hysterical as if leaving Alfred alone for a few days would kill him.

It had torn the family apart. His parents divorced and his dad had moved with Matthew closer to school and the hospital. These days he didn't see much of him, but he'd heard that his condition was only getting worse. It was as if he was scared of reaching a certain date and he followed the calendar closely. Other days he would look completely healthy. He would attend classes and charm all the girls with his sweet smile and witty comments. Betty used to go to his school and Alfred had no doubt that she'd only fallen for him because she recognised Matthew's looks in him. But how would she feel if she was to recognise his illness as well?

"Alfred. Wake up, sweetie. Are you okay?"

Alfred blinked. Something soft was stroking through his hair. He sighed blissfully and smiled lightly as he tried to focus on the face hovering above him. "Mom?" he mumbled.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Alfred slowly woke up. His whole body was cold and hurting from having slept on the small sofa. As he stretched his legs, his feet bumped out over the armrest and dangled in the air. He groaned.

"I think so…?" He rubbed his eyes and was finally able to see his mom's face clearly. Her blue eyes were dark with concern. She straightened up and ran her fingers through her hair as she kept looking at him. Alfred sat up in the sofa and watched as his pillow dropped to the floor.

"Your door was open, so I went to check on you," she said and sat down on the edge of the sofa. Alfred pulled his legs up close to his chest as he looked at her. "You weren't in your bed. You scared me." Alfred yawned and looked around. The living room was lit up by the sun. He could still tell that it had to be pretty early in the morning. He hugged himself tight and shuddered. He'd been freezing all night. Then he remembered why he'd fled down here in the first place.

"You checked on me?" he repeated and his mom nodded. "Did you see the feathers?"

"The feathers?" she asked.

"There were a lot of feathers on my bed." She gave him a stern look before she eyed the floor sadly. From the way she stroke her ear he could tell she found his words concerning. He quickly mumbled: "It must have been something I dreamt."

"You dream a lot of things these days," she said, "don't you?" Alfred nodded a bit and scratched his knees shyly.

"Well…"

"Do you still hear those voices too?" Alfred felt like saying no, but as she looked at him he still nodded. She sighed and got up.

"It's not that bad, Mom."

"I really think we should see your doctor."

"But I don't want to," he sighed. He got up as well and pulled up his pillow. She rubbed her forehead with wrinkled brows.

"You know I am not going to force you, but I don't know if I can trust you like this either."

"Of course you can trust me!" Alfred looked at her upset. "What is this about? Are you visiting Matthew later? I've been alone before!"

"It's not just about you being alone, Alfred!" Alfred shut up. The tone of her voice was restrained, but clearly filled with anger. She walked around the table and then turned to point to him. "It's about you feeling well and being well." They were quiet for a bit. Alfred took in a shaken breath and hugged his pillow to his chest.

"I am okay, Mom," he said and looked her straight in the eyes. "I am." She wasn't satisfied with his answer, but still she nodded; maybe because she wanted to believe in it herself.

"I'll be home for lunch tomorrow," she said. Alfred felt odd having her changing the subject this quickly, but he didn't complain. "Is there anything you want to give Matthew?"

"Not really," he shrugged. "I think it's better if he forgets I exist." His mom narrowed her eyes, but then she turned her back to him and walked out into the hallway. He didn't hear her say goodbye before the front door was slammed close.

Alfred wasn't in the mood for school, but he wasn't keen on staying home alone either. It took him courage to go back up the stairs and peek into his room, but just like his mom had said there were no feathers. As he opened his drawer, they were all gone from there as well. He tried lifting his books to see if they slipped in between the pages, but they had simply disappeared.

"Did you take them?" he shouted out, but he got no answer. His voice echoed lonely down the stairs. He pressed his hands to his ears and tried to concentrate on the face of the boy he often saw in his dreams. He tried to remember his voice. "Are you there? Then show yourself!" He stomped three times at the spot, but nothing happened. There was no sound from a bird, his head didn't hurt and his tongue felt normal. He skipped to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror as he stuck out his tongue and pressed two fingers flat onto it. He could taste his own morning breath, but no matter how harshly he rubbed the taste buds, he tasted nothing metallic. Then he glared at his reflection.

"You're sick," he grimaced disgusted at himself. He pointed to the mirror. "And you are going to stop being sick right now." He almost expected something to happen; either the voice to come back or for relief to fill him up, but things stayed the same. It scared him. He quickly turned on the shower and got ready for school.

His mom always went to visit Matthew on Fridays and if she had Saturday off, she would stay for the night. Alfred didn't really mind; after she agreed to let him be home alone without having her sister watching over him, he'd almost come to enjoy his lonely Fridays. But after the fright yesterday, he wasn't sure how to handle things.

He started by asking Gilbert if he could come over later. They were having a smoke behind the bike shed during lunch. "Sorry man," Gilbert answered. "No can do. Daddy is throwing some birthday party for Ludwig. I better be there."

Then he tried getting Ivan from the basketball-team to join him by promising him free candy, but he shrugged him off. He'd gotten a girlfriend now, so he couldn't be bothered to see anyone. Neither could Kiku who was normally easily convinced to join in on anything. He was having a test next week and since he got a B on it last time, he needed to study until he was sure to get an A. Alfred even tried telling him that he could study at his place and Alfred wouldn't bother him as long as he just hung out with him, but that just seemed to creep him out. Alfred wasn't surprised. He normally never invited Kiku anywhere.

His last hope was Betty. She just gave him this odd look. "But I'm having a photoshoot. Alfred, I told you?" He just shyly nodded and backed away. She probably did, he just couldn't remember it but he didn't want to look like a douche. "Maybe next week," she smiled. But next week wasn't now and it was tonight that Alfred feared.

In the end he found himself sitting alone in his room smoking all evening. He tried to get some work done and had all his schoolbooks laid out on his desk, but he couldn't concentrate on anything. Especially the history-book made him feel uneasy. They were still discussing King Arthur and the tales about him, but that wasn't what troubled Alfred. It was his name. Arthur. He felt he should know that name from somewhere, but he just couldn't. He smoked at least three cigarettes while just staring at the sketch of the man that had been printed on front of the book. Arthur, King Arthur, Arthur King. Arthur K. K?

Alfred let the cigarette hang from his lips as he ripped a piece of paper out his notebook and started scribbling on it:

Arthur K.

He looked at the letter for long. He suddenly felt strongly about that K. Not K as in King, though that was a pretty common surname. No, the K had to stand for something else. He tapped his pencil to his lips while he kept thinking of last names that started with a K.

There was Kelly and Kennedy, Kramer and Kirk. He wrote them down. He hesitated at Kirk. Arthur Kirk.

Suddenly he heard something crash down the stairs and he cried out as his head started hurting. He dropped his cigarette to the floor as he smacked his hands up to cover his face. It had gotten all sweaty in less than a second. He gasped in air and tried to stumble out of his chair, but he almost fell and hammered to his knees. He pressed his forehead to the floor and clenched his teeth together while waiting for the pain to wear off. Then he felt the vibration go through the floor. He opened his eyes and gawked. Someone was running around with heavy steps. The whole house vibrated as if someone was skipping up and down the stairs, and the pain in his head started to form into words instead of ache.

'It's just going to me you and me, right?'

The sentence was clear. Alfred sat up and stared towards his closed door. The sentences kept being repeated in his head, the boy's voice so clear this time. He could understand every word from beginning to an end. He was neither whispering not shouting the sentence; he was asking him.

"Who are you?" Alfred yelled. The running quickened. Alfred got up and held onto his desk as he felt his heart skip a beat. His palms were sweaty. He was scared. But most of all he was angry. "Show yourself!" The person ran down the stairs and around the rooms on the ground floor. Alfred hurried to the door and ripped it open. There was no one in the dark hallway, but the running was clear. He started jumping down the stairs. "I'll find you! I know you're there!"

Alfred skipped over the last step and leapt to the kitchen. By the time he got there, the feet had already moved on. As he looked down at the floor, he saw feathers spread everywhere. There were more than there had been in his bed and they were all glowing dimly. "I see them! I can see your feathers!" he shouted and turned around as he looked through the kitchen doorway towards the living room. The person was in there. He could hear them walk around slowly now. Suddenly the name came to him again:

"Is it you, Arthur?" The sound of bashing wings quickened. He walked through the kitchen to the living room as he yelled: "It's you, Arthur Kirkland!"

He'd hardly stepped into the room as he was blinded. The whole place lit up in a second before turning dark again and something hit him in the face, on his arms and on his legs. He screamed and stepped back as he held out his hands to defend himself, but he only felt soft feathers bashing to him. As he opened his eyes, the boy from his dreams was standing in the living room looking at him. He looked scared. More scared than Alfred felt. His green eyes were opened wide and shined of surprise. His slim, bright body looked like any other guy's, his clothes so common Alfred could be fooled to believe it was all a joke. But the bright, white wings on his back were real. They fluttered shortly before they folded in and rested close to the boy's back. Alfred tried to say something, but his mouth had gone completely dry.

"Do you see me?" the boy asked. It would be a lie to call him a boy. Suddenly this close, Alfred could tell that he was his age. At most a year younger. But the knowledge he carried in his eyes was that of an old man. "Alfred, do you see me?" Alfred held onto the door not to fall. He gasped in air.

"I…" The guy stepped closer. He looked him up and down before he held out his hand. Alfred looked down at it. It looked as bony, warm and lovely as it did in his dreams and unable to do otherwise, he grabbed around it and watched as his bigger fingers closed around his small wrist. The boy smiled.

"You can really see me!" he chirped. Then he threw himself at him in a hug. Alfred was about to fall over as his arms closed around his waist and the guy pressed his face to his shirt and started crying. "I've been waiting for so long…" he was sobbing. Alfred just stared down at him. Then, instinctively, he put his arms around his body and hugged him in close as he just kept bawling. The soft wings on his back poked to his naked fingers and Alfred couldn't help but to feel up the long, white feathers. His wings were shedding. They were shedding feathers everywhere. This had to be real.

"Are you…" Alfred almost choked on his own words. He cleared his throat. "Are you Arthur… Kirkland?" he asked. The guy looked up at him and grabbed him by the cheeks as he smiled:

"Yes, Alfred, I'm back."

Note: Hey and thanks for reading! And a big thanks to Smart-chan from here who BETA'ed this chapter for me the same day I had it finished. I appreciate your hard work!

The story will be about 3 chapters long. Any reaction, thoughts or feelings about where this is going will be much appreciated! =u=

If any readers of "American Dreams" are reading this; no worries! I have not forgotten about the other story and this is more of a summer-project than anything else. I will still be writing and updating on the other story as usual!