The Whistling Kettle

Weak

If only you could see what I do. If only you could know, could understand that you're the greatest thing in this world, you're-

"I'm just...I'm just tired." He said softly, defeated. Had I ever heard Alfred so weak?

What I wouldn't give to take his hand in my own, to hold him close and remind him that this pain won't last forever, he is not hopeless, he is not-

"I try so hard to not feel this way, to try to look at the brighter things. But nothing makes me happy anymore, Artie, nothing. " He said, his angering breath coming out at whisps of fog in the cold air, "Baseball isn't fun, video games aren't fun...Everything I used to love is just..."

He didn't finish, he knew he didn't have to- I knew he didn't have to. It didn't take a genius to notice how the light had faded from Alfred's eyes, how the smile dropped as soon as the door closed. I could remember watching that beaming little boy bounce off the bus and smile his whole walk home. Now, I dropped him off in the driveway, and he'd smile a smile that made my heart ache, and walk to the door with slumped shoulders.

I'd do anything to kiss away his frown, to wrap my arms around those saddened shoulders and-

"I want to die, Arthur. I just want to die..."

I sat in silence, the snow light and the sky grey.

Had I ever heard Alfred so weak?