Don't throw out my Legos

World's Smallest Violin

A few minutes after he woke up the first time he realized he couldn't fall back asleep. Sometimes, when the body wants to be awake, that's all you can do about it. So, Alfred got out of bed, pulled on a shirt that had been laying on the floor, and made his way quietly into the kitchen without turning on any of the lights. He poured himself a cup of leftover coffee and leaned against the counter, considering whether to go on a run this morning, or just walk to and from the corner store instead. Either would be about the same, he supposed, but walking would save gas. And it's nice out this morning, so that would be a bonus. Maybe his house guest would be gone by the time he got back.

The American didn't bother getting dressed for a trip to get gas station groceries- even forgoing socks in his tennis shoes, which he cursed himself for every step of the way. While there he made sure to say hi to Sam, the woman who owned the corner store and ran it about by herself, and slip her cat a piece of pepperoni from his pack in secret. "Come on, its for protection," he said when she called him out on it, "I can't have him turn on me now can I?"

On the walk back it started to rain, and the grey rainwater in the dirty city streets splashed into his un-insulated shoes and made him at least a pound heavier the entire way. By the time he made it back to his doorway, his clothes stuck to his skin and made him feel like an undercooked dumpling. He came into the dry house, peeled off most of his clothes, and left them in a crumpled pile to drain into a puddle next to the door. He started to head back to his room and about tripped on his companion sitting on the living room floor. "What in the holy god damn- why are you just sitting on the floor? There's three perfectly good couches in here that I paid good money for."

"I'm looking at your reconstruction," Ivan said evenly. "Why are you building one this way? Wouldn't it be more accurate to use real building materials? Or even just a more accurate model kit?"

Alfred didn't know how to explain that the point was that it was an easy medium to build through. He also didn't know how to explain that he wasn't building it because it was a model of the Coliseum, he was building it because he needed something to completely encompass his entire attention so he stops thinking about everything all the time and- "Maybe I just like toys." He definitely did know how to be defensive. The other man quickly glanced his way out of the corner of his eye, but paid him little mind. Used to it, probably, he thought. "It's not actually about the Coliseum, it's more the fact that it's the new biggest Lego set, and I thought that it would be fun to build. I'll probably put it on display somewhere in one of my houses or donate it to some local library or what have you when I'm done. Y'know, that sort of thing. Philanthropy or whatever the fuck."

Ivan nodded through his little spiel. To give him credit, he did listen whenever Alfred talked, even if it was about nothing, or something horribly, terribly stupid or inane. Probably to use against him later. "I have read that people require proper enrichment in the same way that animals in zoos might." He left the sentence there.

"And?"

"And what?"

Alfred looked at him with his arms crossed. "That statement was obviously a set up for something else. What about enrichment?"

"Nothing in particular. I had just figured that this would be the same for you, would it not? An enrichment exercise?"

"Are you insulting me?"

"Not this time."

Alfred thought, then nodded. "It is enrichment for me I think. Like how some animals will start rubbing their fur off or something like that but like, mentally or whatever, Maybe it is enrichment." He paused. "Where did you read that?"

"Twitter, I believe. Some kind of study or article that people really liked. I'm surprised you did not come across it."

He shrugged self consciously, and his crossed arms turned into a self-hug without him really noticing. "I kind of try to stay away from things like that," he said, "It gets to be too much for me and I kinda clock out after a bit so I just. I just stopped making myself go into those kinds of situations."

Things were quiet for a while, that was both too short and excruciatingly long. "Did I put you into one of those positions? Is that why you were gone this morning?"

This question wouldn't have stopped him like it did if Ivan hadn't still been sitting on the floor, faced away from him. It felt vulnerable. "No," he breathed, almost to himself. "No, you didn't. I don't think you have in decades." It was in these moments he realized he was still holding a bag of groceries on his wrist, cutting off circulation into his hand and starting to sting. He uncrossed his arms and held his hands at his sides, the plastic shuffling of the bag cutting into the genuineness of the moment. "Anyway I bought some things to make a real breakfast so if you want to eat you'll have to get up off the floor and come to the kitchen."

Obligingly the Russian stood and gestured to the kitchen area, the transition changing the mood entirely and relieving the weight that had been building on Alfred's shoulders that entire talk.

--

About an hour and a change of clothes later, the two sat at his small kitchen bar with an amount of pancakes, thick and fluffy, and eggs in front of them. Not the most extravagant meal he's ever prepared for someone, but vastly better than what he'd recently been doing for himself in the mornings. They ate in mostly one-sided conversation- both preferred it this way. Then, at some point in the morning, the rain turned to a storm, and wind bashed the branches of the only tree on the block into the side of the house, scratching at the siding and the windows of the second story, which echoed through the whole house. The sound was like creatures trying to claw their way out of the walls, and it made Alfred shiver. Something about his dreams tugged at the back of his thoughts, but he forced it back. Something for his subconscious to deal with later.

"You seem unwell," his partner commented, picking up their plates and setting them into the sink to be done later. "Did you eat too much? I did not think that was possible for you."

"Yeah, haha, very funny," he said sarcastically, but his heart wasn't in it. "I'm just listening to the storm. I don't want to have to replace any shingles again because of that god forsaken tree."

"Could you not remove the tree?" He refilled Alfred coffee; Ivan brewed new while he was out and it was a little too strong for his liking, but coffee is coffee.

"I could, but I don't have the heart. It's the only tree around here and its a fun hangout spot for some of the younger kids when they get off the bus in the afternoons. I can't just, get rid of it." He didn't want to say that it's the only living thing he interacts with regularly. He didn't want to say that the only reason he goes outside half the days is to talk to the tree so it doesn't get lonely.

"That is respectable. Even if it is part of your 'philanthropy or whatever'." He smiled, leaning forward enough to rest his elbows on the counter and sip from his cup. Alfred was going to stand, or lean forward, or leave, but he stayed right where he was, cup in hand, thinking about how his hands were long and slim and the other's were rough from wear and made to work.

Maybe the secret to life is in the hands.

"If you say so."