"You see that ref? He's reading the 'how to ref a game' book."

Sitting in the middle section always comforted Mark. For some reason, he always felt more comfortable around complete strangers than people he knew. Considering he met Alfred yesterday, and the fact that he was technically not real, his shoulders were relaxed, and his head was held high. Surrounded by shouting fans, the sun shone behind them while the players on the field were draped in the shadows of Soldier Field. The smell of cheap beer and nacho cheese encrusted on the concrete floor lassoed around the stands. The fans stood around, hopping whenever the Bears made a decent play. Sadly, they weren't making very many. It did not help that the referees were making calls against the team.

Alfred was particularly incensed. "Forte hasn't done a thing this whole game. We should have gotten Doug Martin."

"You say that like you've been a fan for life."

"I practically have, dude. I need more Coke. Walk with me."

"You've had seven cans. And eight hot dogs. You must be three hundred pounds."

Alfred grinned and took Mark's arm. He dragged him down the navy blue aisle and down the wide hallway towards the circular concourse. Rounding the corner, they reached the long line at the concession stand. They plugged themselves into the back of the line. Mark shifted his eyes around the line, seeing a plethora of children and older adults peering at the menu. Personally, Mark was a bigger fan of the Packers. However, he wouldn't be caught dead wearing that to Soldier Field (unless he had his gun). If anything, he was a little bored from the whole thing, considering the Bears were down by three touchdowns. He wanted to talk to Alfred, because he wasn't even real, right? He could say whatever he wanted, and there would be no consequences. If course, he kept debating whether he could consider Alfred A person. Moral issues was another talk for another time. It was time for less cerebral conversation.

"Have you ever wished you felt like you were waking up?"

Alfred looked at him with an inquisitive expression. "What do you mean?"

"When you wake up, you're in a different realm of emotion. It's a feeling you don't get any other time. People like to think they do. When they get high, fall in love, etcetera. I wouldn't know if that's the case, but I guarantee you there's nothing like it. Even when you have a hangover, you don't immediately feel bad. Maybe after a few seconds, but at first, no. When you're mad at someone and you wake up, that weight just floats away. Right off your shoulders. It just happened to me the other night."

Alfred shook his head like he was waving off a fly. "I don't get mad. I'm just glad to be around with Silvia.

"There's nobody in the world that's ever made you mad?"

"Well, I guess I haven't been in the world very long, have I?" Alfred chuckled. They took another step as the line clashed forward.

"So you know what you are?"

Alfred stared at the menu, letting the buzzing crowd roar in the background. Mark moved a little closer to him. His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"That doesn't bother me much. As long as I can be me. More than I can say about Artie. The normal one is a lot nicer."

"Really?"

"This one isn't as much fun. He's funny when he's mad, but he usually doesn't try to strangle me like he did."

"At least he doesn't throw bottles at you. Sorry about that." Mark said

"No bigs, dude. I hopped back up the moment you left. Things can't keep me down."

"You're more optimistic than anyone I've met lately. Believe it or not, I actually am quite the optimist. I like to think I'm a realist optimist. You know what that is? Think of meeting a guy. Say he's, I don't know, a huge idiot or something, and he wants to be friends with you. Now, naturally, you'd stay away from him. But you don't want to be all lonely. So, you're optimistic because you have a friend, but you're realistic because you know who he is. "

"I know what you mean. France can be annoying at times."

"You'd call him a friend?"

"I'm what he calls a wingman. I'm still not sure what that is."

Does he make you talk to girls about him in a gloating manner?

Yeah. Then they talk to him and disappear. I'm starting to think that he's using me.

Absolutely not. If you wanna be a good hero, you have to help him get laid."

Alfred shivered. "He's using me for stuff like that?"

"They didn't nickname me Superman at my hometown for nothing."

"Why'd they call you that?"

"I was kidding."

Suddenly, the crowd down the walkway exploded in cheers. Alfred and Mark shot their vision towards the television above them. A football player ran right through a linebacker like a rock through a glass window. He scored a touchdown, bowing to the approving fans.

Alfred fist pumped. "Hell to the yeah. Forte is awesome, isn't he?"

Mark nodded. They started to approach the counter with bags if chips resting on spinning racks. He then got an idea. He was planning on doing it at some point in the season anyway. With Alfred there, he decided to add a little excitement. Even though he knew he needed to keep his head low, he figured that a little thrill wouldn't hurt. Worse case scenario, he's be kicked out of the stadium.

"You know, there's a service walkway from outside the arena that leads towards the locker rooms."

Alfred groaned. "Too bad security locks the place down. That's why the normal Iggy is great. He can sneak around places."

"That's not to say that I don't have press passes in my pocket."

Alfred raised his eyebrow, intrigued by the offer. "How'd you manage that?"

"At the airport, some reporter dropped them. That's how I got in last year."

"Will they still work?"

Mark nodded. "Of course. It doesn't have the year on them, so it should be good."

Alfred grinned like a madman before laughing out loud. Even Mark let a quick smirk flash on his face.

"We got arrested."

Alfred burst through the door and threw his brown jacket onto the black coatrack next to the door. His shoulders were slumped, and his cheeks were red. His blonde hair was disgraced from the wind whistling outside. The lights outside in the city just blinked on for the night. Silvia and Francis sprung up on their feet from the barstools, where glasses of a brown liquid sat. Arthur stood behind the counter, his chains on his jeans clinking as he walked towards Alfred. When he reached him, he took Alfred's body and slammed it on the wall.

"Why do you always look for trouble? I thought you promised to not destroy everything?"

"Dude, I didn't destroy anything. It's his fault." Alfred pointed at Mark, who walked to the counter.

Silvia shook her head. "Mark, why do you look for trouble."

Without turning towards him, Mark's voice bounced off the walls towards them. "I do not look for trouble. I wasn't looking for you all, so I guess that just makes me unlucky."

"What are you gonna do?"

"What is this?" Mark looked down at the bar. Lifting the glass, he sniffed the alcohol brewing from the cup.

"We found your White Sifindal. We didn't think you'd mind." Francis said.

"You did say you were gonna cut back." Arthur said.

"I'm not an alcoholic, and that's only for special occasions." Mark said.

"Well, you did get arrested." Francis said.

"Stop ignoring me," Silvia said, jabbing a finger on Mark's chest. "What did you get arrested for?"

"Mark said he had press passes for the locker room. When we walked in, they saw the passes." Alfred said.

"Turns out, they change colors for the passes every year. It was yellow last year. Now it's blue. It also didn't help that Alfred punched Matt Forte." Mark said.

"Holy shit," Silvia thunked Alfred on his head.

"Hay dios mio. Why the hell did you punch him?"

Alfred's cheeks reddened. "We were gonna take pictures with him, but he got all defensive. He bumped into Mark, and I thought he was gonna hurt him. Look at him, Silvia. He couldn't take on Matt Forte."

"Point is," Mark said. "They let us off with a warning, since this is our first offense."

"What are you gonna do?" Arthur said, his fists shaking at Alfred.

"There's nothing to do," Mark said. "It's not going on my record, or anything like that. It's as if it never happened."

"Dude, we got arrested. They put handcuffs and put a taser on my back." Alfred shouted.

"That was excessive, by the way. I'd sue if I were you."

Silvia sighed. She looked out at the glowing skyline. The wind muted the sounds of zooming cars and chatting pedestrians on the sidewalk. Turning around on her toes, she brushed back some of her hair.

"I'm sorry, Silvia. I tried to help out." Alfred said, his shoulder slumped and head hugging his chest.

"I guess I'm sorry, too. I didn't think you'd be so upset by it."

Silvia smiled softly. She reached up and ruffled Alfred's hair. "Relax, Alfred. I'm not mad at you. I'm not gonna lie. Most of my friends don't live in Chicago. So, I don't have many people around. I certainly don't want you two to end up in jail."

"We wouldn't go to jail." Mark said.

"And you, mister. I need you. Iggy can't be by himself, and it wouldn't help your flight thingie if Matt Forte decided to press charges."

Mark paused. Then, his eyebrows furrowed. "Did you say you need me."

"Wha-? No, that's no-not it at all. You know what I mean." Silvia stammered.

"I don't think I do. Care to explain?" Mark smirked and crossed his arms.

"Silvia, I thought your crush was me?" Francis said with a chuckle.

"Shut up. I meant that he needed to be a role model to Iggy. Sorry, but you are quite immature." Silvia said.

"I'm not immature. And if I am, it comes from this demon." Arthur said.

Mark walked back towards the bar. He gripped the glass bottle of wine in his hand and waved it in the air. "Could you all finish your Sifindal and leave, please? We spent three hours in holding, and I'm tired."

"Fine. Alfred, strictly french friend, let's get out of here." Silvia pushed by Alfred and yanked the gold handle on the door. Alfred and Francis followed her out the room, leaving Arthur and Mark inside the apartment.

"You know, when I told them to leave, I meant you, too." Mark sat at the counter and switched on the television. The glowing light illuminated the window behind it.

"Hah hah. Very funny. I'm retiring for the night. Good night, wanker." Arthur said as he took off his neckerchief and threw it in the couch.

"Okay. I declare, with posthaste, that I will act accordingly." Mark said in a mock grand tone.

"Are you making fun of me?" Arthur asked while fuming.

"Just your speech. Go to bed."