Chapter Text
Arthur always hated coming into campus. In fact, he could count on one hand the times which he had actually come in, across the two and a half semesters that he had completed so far. It would be two hands, though, if you were counting the orientation day at the beginning of first year.
He supposed that was his main reason for never having gained more than a single friend since beginning his degree, actually. Not that he necessarily needed friends. Of course, he wanted friends, he missed that kind of human contact but… it was futile, really. And everyone only served to remind him of what he’d lost in Parker.
Oscar, though… the man with one arm that he’d met on that orientation day, when the staff at Miskatonic decided it would be a good idea to introduce the disabled cohort to one another and apparently nobody else. It had been nice, making a friend, of course, but he truely didn’t appreciate being completely shut off from everyone else on campus. That had certainly made him feel… well, something. Certainly not accepted, that is. More like shoved to the side and hidden from view.
At least, though, he had Oscar to make that day a little less humiliating. In fact, when he thought of Oscar, he wasn’t reminded of Parker, like in most cases. Instead, Oscar actually reminded him of himself. And he supposed, in a way, when he was with Oscar, Arthur himself was the one to remind himself of Parker. It was certainly nice to be that friend for someone else, yes, but regardless, it was still a little too painful to have Oscar as any more than a friend he texted two or three times a week, when one or the other of them found themselves needing some company. On occasion, they’d even called, rather than simply texted.
But, of course, that was the extent of their friendship, really. What, with Arthur so rarely coming into campus, and Oscar living on the other side of the city anyway, the two of them basically never saw each other in person.
This time though, he’d managed to give Oscar an unexpected call at 8pm the night before that was somewhat surprisingly picked up. Arthur had been rather dejected in asking, but his friend quickly took the offer to guide him around campus in the morning, refusing Arthur’s offer of a coffee as a payment . Arthur had exam, and, well, he could certainly get around campus on his own, but it was rather humiliating stumbling around with nothing but his only half decent spatial awareness and a cane. It had been almost two years since he lost his sight and still he was not used to it in the slightest. Perhaps that was because he did spend most of his time at home, in his apartment, though. God he needed more friends…
Earlier that morning, the one friend he did have met him at the main entrance to the campus, where Arthur’s taxi dropped him, and they had headed to the Disability Collective building, with Arthur paying close attention to the way there. Then, Oscar had lead him a few buildings across campus to the room where Arthur’s afternoon exam would be held.
Having memorised the route to the best of his ability, Arthur thanked Oscar and bade him farewell, not letting the man guide him back to the disability room on account of him being very close to late for his 10am class, by then.
So slowly but surely, Arthur had managed to find his way back to the Disability Collective with surprisingly little trouble, and managed to get into the building, find the study room, and managed to only stumble around for about thirty seconds in there before someone spoke up and let him know where a desk was. He thanked them, of course, and sat, sliding his only somewhat effective noise cancelling headphones over his ears so he could attempt to forget that he was in public.
He had then set his screenreader on to go over his notes one last time, and managed to relax back into his seat as the monotonous and somewhat robotic voice began to recount his notes to him. Then for the next hour and a half, he listened to his notes, typing occasionally to amend anything that needed it, or to add in a note that he had forgotten. Thank god he had learned to type without actually looking at the keyboard years ago.
He was fairly certain that he was set for this exam, and had honestly only made his way onto campus so early so that he could get Oscar’s help finding his way around. Oscar’s classes ran from 10am till 5pm that day, and, of course, Arthur’s exam conveniently started at 2pm, right when his friend wouldn’t be able to guide him around. Which, he didn’t mind anyway. He always did hate asking for help.
So he’d come in early, gotten a vague idea of the route to class, and was now sat there with that monotonous voice reading aloud the various theories of crime that he already knew so well by heart, and that severely bordered more on what you should be hearing in a philosophy class than a criminology one. He had another two whole hours to pass by like this before he could do the exam. Christ, he found himself wishing time would just pass in the blink of an eye. He wished more than anything that it could just be that easy.
And then, just as he was contemplating switching to an audio book and forgetting about the studying altogether, he heard a low, deep voice over the drone of his notes.
“Uh… excuse me?” Was the voice addressing him? God, he could barely hear it. Rather hesitantly, he reached up and took off his headphones. Fearing a mistake on his part, and not wanting the embarrassment of starting to talk to someone who was not at all talking to him, he just hummed softly, looking up but not knowing where to place his unseeing eyes.
“Sorry, but is this seat beside you taken?”
Arthur still wasn’t sure if it was him being spoken to, but he risked a few words.
“Sorry, this one?” He asked, his hesitance clear in his voice as he gestured to the seat beside him, which was still empty, to Arthur’s knowledge.
“Uh, yes. That one. Is it free? May I sit?”
Arthur just shrugged, managing the slightest hint of a smile, mostly just out of politeness.
“Of course, let me just…”
He reached over beside him, quickly finding his bag and cane. He lifted them out of the way as he heard the stranger sit beside him, and placed them on the other side of him.
“Room’s pretty full then, hm?” He asked, running his fingers idly along the edge of his laptop.
“Oh, uh… yeah. It is.”
There was so much confusion in those few words that he immediately felt the need to explain himself, despite the fact he quite regularly tried not to talk about his blindness. He hated talking about it, really, but felt so bad that he was just confusing this poor stranger by asking questions like that.
“Sorry, sorry, I ah, can’t really tell myself,” he said with a tight yet polite smile, gesturing vaguely towards his eyes. He’d been told that they still looked exactly like they did when they still worked, and he could of course still move them like usual. Perks of a traumatic brain injury, he supposed. Everything looked the same, but nothing actually worked anymore.
“Huh?” Muttered the stranger, kind of dumbly, but certainly not unkindly. Arthur opened his mouth to reluctantly elaborate, but the stranger beat him to it. “Oh! Oh, you’re blind! Right, I’m sorry. Uh… yeah. The room is pretty packed, there’s only two seats remaining, and this was the only one at a table. The other two are beanbags, and… well, I kind of need a table for my work.”
“Oh? What are you working on?” He was quite glad for the opportunity to switch topics.
“Oh uh… just a few sketches for class.”
“Ah, you’re in the arts, then? What major?”
“Fine arts, actually,” he said, sounding rather nervous.
“Oh, that does sound good. I used to be quite into the arts myself. More so music, and, well, the occasional poem, but well… life happened, I suppose.”
“As it so often tends to do,” the stranger chuckled.
Surprisingly, that got a chuckle right back from Arthur. “Yes, it does tend to do that.”
He was honestly so surprised by the amount of comfort he found with this stranger so quickly. First actually sharing about his blindness without being asked, and now laughing with him? That so rarely ever happened with Arthur. They’d gotten along quite well almost immediately, and that… was surprising. The last time it had really happened was Oscar, and then before that… Parker.
He shook away the thoughts with a small sigh he hoped was imperceptible to his new desk mate, and forced the slightest of smiles onto his face, after his laughter had quickly faded away.
“Anyways,” he said, breaking the silence beginning to grow between them, and bringing up his hand, holding it out for the stranger to shake. “I’m Arthur. It’s good to meet you.”
“Oh uh-”
There was a brief moment where Arthur waited, his hand hovering in the air, unshaken. Then a warm, large hand clasped his and shook it, rather weakly, though.
“I’m John. It’s good to meet you too, though uh, I’m left handed, it took me a second to figure out how to shake.”
“Oh Christ, I’m so sorry,” he chuckled, giving John’s hand one last shake before letting go, “I was wondering why you left me handing for so long. I was starting to get worried.”
“No no! Nothing like that, I just forgot how to do it, I uh… can’t say I shake very many hands.”
“No?”
“Not at all, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled for real this time, shrugging and half turning away. He really liked this man’s voice, it was almost soothing, in a way?
“Well, perhaps you should try it more, it’s quite good.”
“I bet it is, for you. You would actually get to feel the person you’re talking to.”
“Oh, well, yes, I suppose it does help having somewhat of a mental image of the person I’m talking to. You’re not just a disembodied voice then.”
“I’m glad I’m not. Can I ask… what you think I look like?”
Arthur was confused for a moment, and was sure it was clear as day on his face before it finally clicked. “You want me to describe what I think you look like based on just your hand and your voice?”
“Uh… well, when you say it like that, Arthur…”
God he liked the way that John used his name.
“Oh, I didn’t at all mean it like that, I was just clarifying. Because… well… well I can? Describe you, that is.”
There was the brief pause that Arthur had slowly come to know as the place where people usually shrugged. “It’s alright, there’s no need. But- also, you never told me your major?”
Arthur was thrown off by the sudden change in conversation, and he paused briefly to shrug as well.
“Oh, Justice, actually. Only criminology.”
“*Only?* I hear that’s quite a hard degree Arthur. I- actually- I have a friend in fourth year doing it.”
Arthur brushed over the first half of that sentence, not particularly wanting to argue on that front. Instead he focussed on the friend.
“Fourth year, hey? I’m only second. But, even if they were my year, I probably wouldn’t know them. I don’t… well I don’t particularly spend much time on campus.”
“Oh. Why not?”
“Uh… well my eyes, John,” he replied quickly, and a little bluntly, but there was no nice way to say it.
“Right. Right yes, that would make it hard. Have you… what about a dog?”
“A dog?” He asked, raising a single eyebrow in scepticism.
“Yeah! Like, a service dog. Right?”
“Well, a dog is a lot of responsibility…”
John was silent, and Arthur just kind of… waited for him to speak again. There was a soft hum of… consideration? It was hard to tell without seeing the facial expressions.
“Well, if you ever do get a dog, maybe you could bring him onto campus so I can pet him?”
Arthur smiled, turning once again to face John properly.
“What?” His voice was dripping with equal parts scepticism and amusement.
“Your dog! If you ever decide to get a service dog. I want to pet him.”
“Well, first of all I think I would get a her rather than a him, John.”
“Mm?”
“Yeah? I think it would be nice, don’t you?”
“Well, of course, Arthur. What would you name her?”
“Oh. Uh…” he trailed off. He certainly wouldn’t be saying the first and only name that came to mind, and other than that, he had absolutely no idea. So he just deflected. “I’m not sure. What would you name her?”
John hummed with thought, Arthur smiling vaguely in his direction all the while. “Maybe Lily?”
Arthur nodded. “Oh I like that. It’s sweet.”
“Yeah,” John sighed softly, and Arthur knew there was definitely more to the name there than he was letting on. But he’d only just met this man, he was in no position to push for answers. His curiosity wasn’t that strong and there was no way he would be that rude.
“Anyways,” John huffed. “I should leave you be, you look like you’re doing some important study. And if criminology is as hard as Noel says it is…”
“Oh this?” Arthur asked, gesturing to his computer. He managed to whack his hand on the side of the screen and hissed a little with the pain, but shook his hand out and it was gone within moments. “This isn’t much, really. Just my notes. I know it all already, I’m just passing time until my exam, really. And this friend of yours, Noel, you said? I think he’s lying, this degree is a breeze. You’re probably the one doing work far more important than mine.”
“Arthur, I’m doing an art degree. Yours is certainly more important by miles.”
“Don’t humble yourself, the arts are important too. You ah, said you were sketching? Wanna tell me about them?”
“Oh- uh-” he struggled for a moment, trying to find words. Then there was a brief rustling of paper, as if he were flipping through some paper. A sketchbook, maybe? Or just loose sheets? Arthur couldn’t tell. Normally, he would just go on not knowing. Normally, he would be far too worried about annoying people or putting them off that he would just let himself us stay in the dark, his curiosity banging it’s fists against the front of his skull where his eyesight used to be. But this time, with John, something felt easier. So, he tried it. He tried, possibly for the first time, just asking.
“Is it a sketchbook or loose pages?” He asked, his words unsure. He hasn’t intended them to sound that way but, well, he couldn’t really control his tone when it came to this, apparently.
“Hm?” The rustling stopped, and for a moment dread filled his stomach as he thought he may have made the wrong decision to speak up. “Oh, you mean my sketches. They’re just loose paper. I do have a sketchbook, but these are for an assessment, so they have to be handed in separately.”
“Ah, I see.” His words were almost dripping with relief.
“Do you… uh… want to touch them?”
“Sorry?”
“My sketches? They’re pen, they won’t smudge, if you wanted to sort through them.”
Arthur frowned for a moment, but nodded.
“I… yeah. I’d like that.” He surprised even himself with the ease at which he realised he’d like to do that.
With one hand, he pushed his computer and headphones across the desk, out of the way, and with the other hand, he took the paper that was almost immediately handed to him. John placed it in his waiting hand so gently that he wasn’t sure if it was in consideration of the sketches or of Arthur himself. He chose to assume it was not the latter, and took great care as he held the paper out in front of him.
He traced his finger along the side of the page, feeling the thickness of the texture, the weight of the pages. They were roughly A4 size, actually, and he didn’t really know what to do with them, so he just… held them.
“Uh… that one, there, that you’re holding,” John started, and he turned his head to face his direction. Was he leaning over closer? “It’s a figure drawing, from class, when we had a model.”
“Oh?”
“Well… Yeah. It’s a woman, she… well, she’s naked Arthur.”
“Of course. It’s a figure drawing. Models often are.”
“Yes, yes, they are. She’s sitting on a stool, one arm stretched above her head. The lighting from above is stark, casting deep shadows along the forms and contours of her body, where the light does not touch her. She is lithe, her limbs long and thin, and, well… very difficult to draw. I prefer to draw fuller figures, actually. But she isn’t that. She’s the definition of elegant, her hair practically glowing in the light from above, although that was difficult to capture with only pen, and it curled down gently over her shoulder, covering only one breast. I was sitting in front of her, with a full view of her face, her hair, and the pose. I suppose I had one of the best places in the class, actually. She was gorgeous. The sketch you’re holding doesn’t quite capture all of that but…”
“I can certainly imagine it, John,” he said, his voice coming out so warm, and do very close to whisper. Without thinking, he took that first sketch, and lifted it from the small stack of papers, placing it at the back, and tilting his head down to the next sketch. He waited a moment, then turned to look up at John.
“What’s this one?”
“You want me yo keep describing it? That wasn’t… too much?”
“No, no, of course not. I… well, I enjoyed it, John.”
He blinked back down in the direction of the papers for a moment, then his common sense caught up with the awe he was in, and he shoved the papers back in John’s direction, gently, of course.
“Sorry, John. Sorry. I should give them back, they’re yours.”
He felt a warm hand on his own, but the hand wasn’t taking the papers. It was guiding his hands back in front of him, and he tilted his head down, staring sightlessly at the papers still between his hands. He didn’t quite know how to feel in that moment, but so far, both embarrassment and gratefulness seemed to be at the top of the list.
“This one is a still life. Chiaroscuro. Do you know what that means?”
“No… I don’t.”
“It’s an art technique, characterised with strong contrast between light and dark. The blacks are saturated and solid, almost as if peering into a void. I used paint markers to get the deepest black possible, and used negative space and the white paper beneath to show the contrast. I used a lot of hatching with my ballpoint to get the mid-tones. It again was quite difficult using only pen, but the task is to attempt different art forms using only one material. I don’t often use pen. I’m more of a painter, and occasionally I sculpt, so I wanted to choose something different for this task. I wanted to try something new. I certainly don’t think I’ll stick with the pen sketches but… I did enjoy doing most of these.”
“Wow, you, certainly sound like a good artist, John.”
“Oh- uh- well-“ he again struggled for words, and Arthur helped him out by changing the topic before he could get too caught up in being flustered over the compliment.
“So, what’s the chiaroscuro of then? Another model?”
“What? Oh! No, no, It’s a fruit bowl. The bowl is woven actually, so it could be considered more of a basket, although it has no handle and is the size and depth of a large serving bowl. It sits atop a table adorned with a cloth bathed mostly darkness, but the folds of it reflect the light shining in from the top right of the scene. I believe it was satin. Within the bowl is a selection of fruits, including apples, pears, a banana, and a small vine of grapes with the leaf overlapping the side of the bowl, casting a deep shadow on the woven thatch of it. Sat atop it all is… a pineapple. It throws off the balance of the piece, but we were given only one bowl to draw each, and this was mine. We weren’t allowed to rearrange the fruits within, so the composition appears at first, strange, off-kilter with the large jagged pineapple topping the bowl of rounded, softer forms beneath. I managed, I think, to even out the composition with the shadows, using stark darkness and contrast, but fading it out smoothly with my hatching, until the edges of the pineapple grew soft, while still maintaining their form. It’s recognisable, but gentler, despite - no, because of the sharp contrast. It was… difficult to do, Arthur, but I am proud of it.”
“Oh, I would be proud of that too, John,” he said, somewhat idly as he lifted a hand and traced the back of a single finger along the page. If he concentrated, he could feel the pen marks beneath his skin. His fingertips were already quite accustomed to reading braille, so he had to fight the urge to flip his hand over and use the pads of his fingers to take in the pen marks on the image. He was far too worried they would leave grease marks however, so he didn’t dare.
“How many more are there?”
“Just one. And, well, the one I still have left to complete.”
“You didn’t… want them back?”
“Not until you’re done with them, Arthur. I have all day to finish this last one.” He hesitated for just a moment, and Arthur waited patiently, facing him somewhat expectantly. “Would you like to see the last one, Arthur?”
Arthur opened his mouth to reply, his head already beginning to nod before he could speak the word, but John cut him off quickly.
“Oh- sorry- not- not see-”
The panic in his voice had Arthur smiling with a chuckle on his tongue. Without really thinking, he took one hand off the sketches and reached out, finding John’s arm easily.
“You’re fine, you’re fine. You can say that word, John. Especially when you’re describing to me like this, actually. It’s not… I’m used to the word, I don’t take it literally. So don’t worry, right?”
He gave John’s arm a small reassuring squeeze, before removing his hand and flipping to the final sketch. He tilted it towards John, smiling as he waited for the description to start.
John was so good at this, honestly. It was remarkable to Arthur. He had never truely been able to imagine much in the way of imagery ever since he lost his sight. He could never imagine much, actually, even before. His head had always been painfully devoid of imagery. But when John spoke… oh it was almost as if he could see again. It filled him with near equal amounts warmth and grief, both at once, but he was so accustomed to the latter. He let the grief go as soon as it hit him, but god he missed the warmth. He hadn’t felt warmth and joy in such a long time that he could almost cry, honestly.
But he wouldn’t let himself cry. He had to enjoy this moment as long as possible. After all, he may never see John again after this.
He may… oh god, he might not see John again.
“This one is a landscape. I went out to the edge of the city and found a tree, felled in a storm, it’s wood twisted and split only just recently, so much so that you could still see the orange in the wounds of the wood, not yet dried even. Its leaves had not even yet begun to wilt. That tree is in the centre of the image, the focal point, with… the…”
Arthur managed a small frown as John trailed off.
“Arthur, are you alright?”
“Hm?”
“You’re… you have a strange look on your face. You look… almost upset? I can stop, of course, is it-“
“No, no no, I’m alright. You don’t need to stop. I’m… I’m okay, John. Please, continue.”
“Uh-“ John was hesitant, obviously torn, so Arthur turned his head back to face the sketch, again lifting a single finger to trace over the pen marks in the paper. When John still didn’t talk he filled the silence himself.
“I was just missing… things. This is nice. It’s very, very nice. It’s just been reminding me of a few things that tend to make me sad. But this, itself, is so nice, John. And…” he bit his lip, not quite sure if this was at all the kind of thing you could just… well, say to a near stranger. He supposed he just had to say it, if only to put himself at peace.
“Could we exchange numbers, possibly? You seem like you’d be a good friend, John. And, well, I’m rarely on campus.”
“Oh? Oh! Right, of course, I’d love to. You seem like you’d be a very good friend as well, Arthur. Do you… have a phone?”
He rolled his eyes, placing the papers down gently in front of him while he fished his phone out of his pocket.
“Of course I have a phone, John,” he teased, managing to find John’s outstretched hand in one go. “The password is 327635.”
“You give it out that easily?”
“Yes,” he chuckled, “it’s either that or just point it at my face until it decides to let me in. This is easier.”
There was a few moments of concentrated humming, and Arthur found himself picking up the sketches again, flipping through them again in order, reminding himself of which was which.
Lady. Fruit. Tree. Lady. Fruit. Tree. Lady. Fruit. Tr-
“There you go. I put myself in as John Doe, in case you need to… I don’t know, say it to Siri?”
“I have a screen reader, John,” he chuckled, “this is an Android. And- John Doe? Is that your actual name?”
“Uh… yeah. It is.”
“Impressive,” he handed over the papers as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. “I believe these are yours though?” he teased, passing over the sketches again.
“They are indeed. Thanks. What did you think of… oh.”
“I thought they were amazing, John. You can feel the pen marks in the paper, and with that and your descriptions, I think you’re a very good artist indeed.”
Immediately John was flustered again. For as sweet as the man was being to Arthur, he truely could not take a compliment. Arthur took it upon himself to try and save him once more.
“What are you planning on doing for that final sketch, then?”
There was a sigh, then silence, and just as Arthur was opening his mouth to speak again, John beat him to it.
“A portrait, it has to be. I was going to do a self portrait, actually. I even brought this mirror with me.”
Arthur was surprised as something cold was placed into his hand where it rested on the desk. He closed his fingers around it, feeling over the metal, and beginning to fiddle with it as he spoke.
“You say that like you’ve changed your mind?”
“Oh. Well, in a way, I almost have.”
“Almost?” He found the small hinge on the mirror, and flipped it open. He didn’t dare touch the inside for fear of smudging the glass.
“Ah… well… I thought potentially… I might, well, I might ask you?”
“Ask… me?” His fingers stilled on the metal.
“Could I… draw you, Arthur?”
“Me?” He repeated, a little dumbly. He was more shocked, than anything.
“Not- not if you don’t want me to, of course, I was just-”
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. You can draw me, John. I was just, well, a little shocked. I can’t say I’ve ever been asked that before,” he added with a smile, closing the mirror but still fiddling with it, rotating it around his palm, his fingertips tracing small letters engraved in the top of it. He couldn’t quite make out what they were.
“You’re… sure, Arthur?”
“Of course I am. It would be my pleasure, John.”
His smile was genuine as he turned John’s direction.
“You just tell me how to pose, alright?”
“Oh, no no, you can pose however you’d like. If- if you still have to study, you could do that, and I’ll just… observe?”
“Absolutely not,” he chuckled, reaching out and actually closing the laptop so John knew he had his full attention. “I’ll pose for you. Is there an angle the lighting works best with?” He asked, rotating his head slightly.
“Uh… to the left a little… there! There! That’s it, the light from the window behind us is creating sharper rim lighting on one side of your face, and the light of the room bounces gently off your skin on the left. It’s a perfect balance. It almost makes your skin glow, Arthur.”
He did not know how to react to that at all, so he just stayed as still as possible, hoping the slight blush he felt rising was not visible to John. “Ah… is my expression okay? Oh- and am I looking the right direction? Do I need to move my eyes?”
“No, no, you’re perfect as you are. Just stay… uh.. somewhat like that, yeah. You can move, if you need to, though. I’m- let me just-“
There was a rustle of paper, and then of pencils, and eventually John sighed.
“There, found my pen. Alright. I’ll- I’ll be quick.”
“No, no, take your time, John. I’m comfortable. My exam is at 2, I have quite a while.”
John sighed, and it sounded, to Arthur, a fair bit like relief. Soon, the soft sound of pen on paper began, and Arthur stayed quiet, rather enjoying the silence that rang out between them. It was a comfortable silence, filled only by the sounds of the room around them, and by the soft scratching of John’s pen.
Slowly, a smile began to appear on Arthur’s lips, unbeknownst to even Arthur himself. John sketched away, and the minutes fell away so, so comfortably, every moment stretching outwards and slowly filling Arthur with that warmth he had so dearly missed. John would be a good friend, if he could manage to keep him. He would certainly try his hardest to keep him.
Far sooner than Arthur could ever have imagined, though, a small but sharp beeping came from his watch, quickly followed by the sharp words; “the time is one-thirty pm.”
Arthur felt himself deflate at that. It was his alarm to begin making his way to the classroom. He pressed the small button on the side of his watch to stop it from repeating that beeping.
John’s pen stopped scratching, and Arthur sighed.
“I guess my time is up, then?”
“Mm, I wish it wasn’t,” Arthur muttered, barely audible.
“What?”
“Sorry, nothing. Uh… yeah. I have my exam.”
“Right, of course. I... well I was nearly done anyway. Could I… have five more minutes, perhaps? Only if you can spare the time, of course.”
Arthur shrugged, still keeping his head tilted at the same angle for John.
“Well, it only takes me half an hour to cross campus if I’m alone. I’ll make you a deal, hey?”
“I walk with you to class and I get five minutes more?”
“Honestly make it ten,” he chuckled. “I don’t want you to get bad grades because I had to run off.”
The heard the soft hum of approval from John, and within moments the pen was again scratching against paper, and Arthur found himself relaxing back into the silence and calmness of it.
It did not feel like a whole ten minutes before John spoke up again.
“Alright. I think I’m done, Arthur.”
“Wonderful. You ah… don’t have to describe this one to me. I do know what I look like.”
“Right, right, of course, Arthur.”
He leaned over, away from John, and grunted softly as he dragged his bag into his lap. He placed his cane on the table in front of him and began packing away his headphones and laptop. He realised, with somewhat of a start, that he was still holding the mirror. Quickly, he slid it across the desk to John.
“Here, too. Thanks for letting me hold it.”
“Wh- oh! Right, I honestly forgot you had it.”
“So did I,” he said with a smile and what he hoped was a pleasant sideways glance.
The smile quickly faded though as he realised what he had just asked of John, a few moments ago. Wow, he had not thought that one through. He didn’t want to drag John away from his work and force him to walk across campus with him. God, why did he even ask? He’d better… well, give John an out, he supposed.
“You’re ah… sure you’re okay to walk me across campus?”
“Definitely, Arthur. What block are we, then?”
That ‘we’ clanged around in Arthur’s head for far longer than he cared to admit. If John had asked, he’d have quickly covered up the reason for his taking a long time to reply as forgetting. In truth, he was just considering the word. The word ‘we’ implied he was not a burden, not a task. He liked that. ‘We’. Arthur very much liked being a part of a ‘we’.
“Uh… Arthur?”
Shit. He hadn’t actually replied.
“Oh- sorry, right. C block, please. I know the vague direction but-“
“I know the way, don’t worry. I go there with Noel often. There’s some quite good study spaces in there.”
Arthur stood, swinging his satchel bag over his shoulder. He was joined only seconds later by John.
“Noel?”
“My friend, who does criminology as well.”
“Oh, right! Of course, you did say that before. Noel… right. Well, we criminology majors do tend to use that block a lot. Or, well, so I’ve heard.”
”So you’ve heard?”
”John I can count on one hand the times I’ve come into campus since I started my degree.”
”See? Maybe you do need a dog.”
Arthur rolled his eyes at that, but laughed softly. He turned vaguely in John’s direction, aware that the way the tables were positioned, in the very back corner of the room, Arthur couldn’t get out without passing John. And he hadn’t heard John move at all, other than to stand.
“Uh…?”
“Oh! Right, sorry, you have to come past.” There was the shuffle of footsteps, and soon he was sweeping his cane across the ground and stepping forward, following John out.
“Left there, Arthur.”
“Left?” He questioned, but did as he was told, and found himself facing the sound of John’s voice.
“Uh… sorry, I don’t really know how to do this. Is that the best way to help you, or…?”
“It certainly works, but so does an arm. The choice is yours, honestly.”
He kept walking forward, stepping up beside John where he’s stepped out of the way for Arthur. He turned to face him with a soft smile.
“Arm is probably easier, right, Arthur?”
“For most it is,” he said with a shrug, and lifted his free arm. John held out his too, rather awkwardly, judging by the angle of it, and he placed his hand on John’s skin, up close near the crook of his elbow. John started walking, slowly at first, but eventually he picked up the pace to a steady walk.
Soon, they were out of the building and into the afternoon sun. John felt awkward beside him, and that fact alone made Arthur anxious. John didn’t talk at all for a very long time, save for one or two “watch your step here”’s as they walked. Eventually, Arthur couldn’t take it anymore, and he spoke up.
“Yknow, John, if it’s any consolation, I very rarely get guided around, so this is as awkward for me as it is for you but… please do try and relax.”
“Oh, I’m-”he paused for a moment, his steps slowing ever so slightly. “How did you know I was feeling awkward about this?”
“What? John you’re practically shaking and you’ve barely said a word the past five minutes. If you’d like me to let go, just point me in the right direction and I’ll make it to class, but, well, I promise this is fine, okay?”
“It’s not too awkward for you?”
“Not at all, John. It’s… well, I have to admit, it is a bit nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, giving John’s arm a little squeeze.
“Thanks, Arthur,” John sighed, and Arthur felt him relax beside him.
Arthur just shrugged in reply, before mumbling, “Thank you, John.”
And, well, soon, and in far less time than it would have taken for Arthur to get there on his own, they were standing out the front of his exam room. Arthur heard hushed voices and the rustling of bags as they approached.
“It looks like everyone is headed in, Arthur. Would you like help with anything else, or…?”
“I’m good, John, but thank you. I’ll text you after, hey?”
“That sounds good,” he sighed, sounding far more awkward now that it was time to say goodbye. It almost seemed like John didn’t know how to do it. “Well, I… had probably go. You… good luck on the exam.”
“Thanks,” he said with a smile, “see you round.”
John chuckled at that, and Arthur found himself frowning for a fraction of a second before he began to gape, playfully and amused, over at John’s direction.
“John!” He scalded, but there was laughter in his voice. He immediately heard John’s laughter grow, and as a side affect, so did his own. He let his laughter die out slowly, and gave his new friend one last wave, still chuckling to himself, and turned towards the classroom as John called out one last goodbye.
He called it back, smiling over his shoulder for just a moment more, before turning back to his beg, beginning to rummage around again for his headphones and his laptop. He shoved the headphones around his neck, and held the laptop under his arm. He shoved his bag into a place by the door between a few other bags, and shoved his phone into it before turning to the door.
With a sigh, and a smile still stuck on his lips, he stepped in, took his seat at the very back of the room, and began setting himself up for the exam.
Hopefully, it would be quick and easy, and sooner rather than later, he would be out of there, and he could give John a text telling him how he went.
He already found himself missing John, and wondering where he was now. Still in the elevator? Still on the lower floor of the building? Walking back across campus? Or maybe he was going to meet this friend of his - Noel. They were in the criminology building, after all.
He was surprised at the small pang of loss he felt at the idea of John going to meet another friend now. It was irrational, he knew, but… well emotions more often than not tended to be irrational.
Regardless, he would get through this exam, and when he was done, he would text John. Hell, he always got dinner in the city when he was on campus so, maybe… no. No he couldn’t invite John to a meal, he barely even knew the man. Well, he’d text him. It would be a start.
Maybe he could find a true friend, in John. And as he sat there, laptop now set up and ready to go for the exam he was about to complete, he found himself hoping more than anything, in that moment, that he would find that, and that maybe he could have something special with John after all.