Warnings: This is a) an optional chapter and b) has the romantic UsUk wane a lot, especially towards the end.

A little bit of closure for you:

After a small trauma over the summer of their first year, Alfred falls in love with Opera and his singing turns to reflect that. Arthur was stuck for a while between theater and creative writing as his major and is struggling under the workload of choosing both.

They go to Italy together in their second year of college: Alfred, for the Italian opera, composers, and musical culture. Arthur, to study commedia dell'arte and the long line of Italian epic poets (Virgil, especially: Arthur could dedicate his life to studying and wondering about the abrupt ending, wondering what happens next after an earth-shattering death.) Barclay cannot afford another ticket to accompany them-he resorts to skyping Arthur to keep in contact, even though his internet bill is about to break his budget. Francis has graduated. Though he still keeps an eye on them, he's unable to hover over Arthur as he did before.

Alfred and Arthur watch a performance of Pagliacci together, even though neither of them speak much Italian. They hold hands. Arthur has bad days in Italy.

It's hard to get his 'medicine,' there, and the years of toeing the line of addiction have been slowly taking their toll. He's still grieving, years later, having kept it covered up with pills and denial, and trying to distract himself with music and poetry and anything beautiful, instead of the dark of the reality he's been trying to avoid. It was nice in Montana, where he could pretend he was the beginning of a story (a life beginning in solitude under an endlessly blue sky and the watchful eyes of the mountains) instead of a festering character development tumor in the fringes of a door-stopper novel.

Italy is both the best and the worst place for it to happen. Italy, where he is somewhere all-new. Somewhere his family never touched before their deaths, somewhere they strove to but failed. Going to Italy physically puts Arthur beyond the reach of his dead family, but Italy also puts him beyond the reach of his living family. His only support there is Alfred, who is overwhelmed and dealing with his own issues, as he always is and always will be. Italy is the place Wally always wanted to go. Italy is so far from even the concept of his family; it's refreshing and mortifying all at once.

Arthur has a breakdown in the catacombs of Rome. They go there on a daytrip. They survive it, somehow, with Arthur leaning on Alfred's shoulder and a long and difficult silence on the bus ride back to their dorms. Arthur starts missing class. Not enough to fail himself, but enough that there is notice.

When they go back to the states, Alfred has to return home for the summer, leaving Arthur alone again with his last brother—again, Francis has graduated, has his own budding career, and can only spare so long to take care of his little adoptive family, which is what the two brothers have inevitably become—and with Barclay gone to work most of the day, Arthur starts upping his "medicine" doses. It's easier to disregard the threat of overdose and addiction when your ability to fear has been compromised, after all. And Arthur has been running off of patterns and instincts for so long, it's not even that he fears death or the future anymore. He remembers he's supposed to, but they hold little power over him. He could die easily, if he wanted to.

Arthur is sent to a rehab center. From the rehab center it's decided he needs a therapist. The trouble came in finding a therapist who would treat Arthur like an adult and a human being, rather than a child to be coaxed into following demands. He can still choose, Barclay insists. There is nothing in his head that makes him unable to decide things for himself. Sometimes his choices are dangerous! But they are his choices. He has the right to choose for himself. He does. He does. He always will. And Barclay will fight to his last breath to give Arthur as many options as he can.

They find a therapist, finally. One who helps wean Arthur off the drugs he's used as a crutch for—what—years, now? One who accepts phone call sessions when Arthur has days he can't leave his room. He has those days, now. They're almost a new concept, but the university, still very helpful, still demands that he show up to classes with a certain frequency. Alfred helps the best he can, but they both have to start discussing their thesises in junior year, and with Arthur more stressed than Alfred's ever seen him, things are hard all-around.

Junior year is the hardest year.

In senior year, Arthur switches his major.

He tells Barclay about the decision a day before he turns in the paperwork. Barclay greets it with a deep breath, pinches his nose, and says, "All right. If you're sure you wanna do this. All right. Lemme know how to help."

Arthur becomes a journalism major. It's not the most horrendous switch, since he already has all of his creative writing credits to help, but for a few weeks its absolute chaos trying to arrange his class schedule to get in the last few credits he needs. More than once, he's asked (not by Barclay or Alfred or Francis) "Why the fuck would you do this?"

"I realized it while I was working on my thesis," Arthur said. "This is what I want to do."

His thesis is on his family. His family tree. Family history. Criminal records. Namesakes. He tracks down an uncle he never knew about, discovers an old family crest in Inverness, learns about the great-great-great-great-grand-relatives he had who served kings and knights. He traces his family's history on all the way back to 1451 AD where his family's first known ancestor wrote an old letter containing the full name of their child. How did they wind up like this?

Arthur chronicles his family history using any tidbit Barclay can get him, contacting long-estranged relatives and through exorbitant use of the internet and several day trips to the library of Congress.

(What Arthur's really searching for is his long-lost brother; he puts out a call to search for him, phones everyone he can, posts online, asks friends of Alfred's for favors. And perhaps Aiden shows up, knocking on the door, dissolving into tears alongside Barclay in the front hall. Aiden was honestly never the best person at handling grief and he's sorry, but with no friends, one little brother dead, the other injured, his mother gone—

But perhaps Aiden doesn't. Perhaps he comes to their door one evening, jetlagged, alone, and covered in sweat, lugging his travelsack over his shoulder with all his worldly possessions inside. Perhaps he lifts his fist and prepares to knock, but when he brings his knuckles to the door his arm gives out. The tap is so pathetic it couldn't wake a mouse. Perhaps he stands there, his knuckles on the wood, for several minutes on end, breathing heavily and staring at his hand before he walks slowly away from the door, wishing someone would open it and call him back. But they don't, and Aiden goes and sits on the curb until the night's almost turned back into day. He smokes. He smokes a whole pack of cigarettes. Then he stomps them all out, pulls out his cellphone, and calls up some friends to ask if he can couch-surf through the US for a while. He's done all right for himself, alone. He can do it for a little while longer, until he's forgiven himself.)

Alfred and Arthur graduate. Neither are valedictorian, but neither was trying to be. They get their robes and their hats, and afterwards Barclay and Francis take them out to a nice restaurant.

Francis hasn't seen either of them in person for quite some time, and over a glass of wine (holding Barclay's hand under the table, knowing that once it's time to go home he'll be the one trying to hold Barclay together) he asks them what they plan to do now. Alfred knows already. After his first year he started gaining traction socially. He's made enough connections at an Opera house a few hours north to get a few auditions lined up, and he's going to be working with a friend of his to make a CD.

Arthur is still unsure of exactly what he's going to do. Sign on with a newspaper or a journal, perhaps do some online journalism. Perhaps he will take a year to tour Europe. Francis offers to let him do a few stories coverings some of the fashion shows and see if he has any contacts in news agencies. In magazines. Any good opportunities he can find.

Arthur gets a small job with a botany magazine, and writes an article or two for some brochures, for some theater articles, a guest article for a few blogs, gets a gig with the local newspaper, and then with a national one. He gets a chance to travel to India with a team; by then his salary is enough to hire a professional minder—someone who will stand back and just stop him from walking into a hornet's nest if necessary—on Barclay's request. Arthur doesn't believe he needs a minder, but when it comes down to his own decision, he agrees to humor his brother's worry. They're unobtrusive enough and give him space when he wants it, at least.

He falls in love with India. It's full of movement and colors and food that he hasn't really ever had access to before. He falls in love with the movies and the Bollywood stories where even the clichés are beautiful. He falls in love with a man with dark skin and soft hands.

The first person he calls is Alfred. A rising star in the opera world, and currently in-between contracts. You two can talk about music, Arthur says. You both love music so much.

This time, Alfred doesn't fly across the country for Arthur. He flies across continents to be beside Arthur when they give his new boyfriend the talk, the one about the things they will need to know to have a fully open and consensual relationship. And Alfred will be there too, just in case, if this new boyfriend decides that the level of dedication is too much. Because for some people, it is too much. No one is obligated to date anyone. No one is obligated to stay.

But wow. It would be so wonderful if he did.