Chapter Text
Arthur carefully drops the needle onto the record, grimacing as it scratches the vinyl surface. The first note breaks through the static, the piano ringing out through the drafty cabin.
The vocals skip as the needle moves across the scratches, the singer’s voice bending unnaturally from the warps. The run-down cabin has little insulation, so Arthur can only assume it gets as hot in the Summer as it is cold now. The stack of records left on top of the uneven table had certainly seen better days, most of their sleeves dotted with mould and yellowed with age.
“I guess this will have to do, Arthur says, sighing, “I suppose we’re lucky that the record player works at all.”
He moves toward the middle of the room, the stained floorboards creaking beneath his feet.
“Shall I lead, then?” Arthur asks, smiling at his own joke.
“I suppose so,” John says, in a tone that lets Arthur know he’s rolling his eyes, “why are we doing this, again?”
The wind, as if on cue, howls.
“Because we’re stuck here for the night, and unless you want to pick through the stack of dime romance novels, which I do not, then this is the only thing we have to pass the time.”
John’s movement betrays his attitude, his foot already tapping in anticipation and his hand planted firmly on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur takes John’s hand into his with a smile.
“Okay,” Arthur says, “so you start with your right foot…I didn’t think this through.”
John laughs, the sound warming Arthur despite the breeze slipping through the cracks in the door.
“We’ll make do.”