June 5th, 2014
AUTHOR: in-spring
June 5th, 2014
It's a quarter after one, and Arthur's running on his third cup of tea and Gilbert's drunken texts in hopes of finishing this dreaded essay. The glare of the computer screen stings his eyes, and the flickering overhead light's constant hum drives him crazy. He wants nothing more than to dive headfirst into his bed, even if the mattress springs poke out in uncomfortable places and the pillow is hard and smells like shampoo and fast food.
His phone buzzes:
- was thinkn takeout
- do u like pork
- ???????????????
Arthur props his chin in his palm and stares at Alfred's messages. He's too tired to type out a reply, and sometimes, with Alfred, it's much easier to just call him. He's in the midst of dialing the familiar digits when he receives a photo: the Chinese restaurant near the laundromat, open sign a blur of red-blue light; he makes out the outline of Alfred's upper body, half of his face, and obnoxiously-yellow hoodie in the glow of the nightlife. Arthur presses the call button.
"I went ahead and bought the pork," is what Alfred says, foregoing a greeting.
Arthur rubs his eyes. They ache, but so does everywhere else in his head at the moment. "That's quite alright." He saves his work on the computer; he doesn't want to risk losing it all now and have to start over. "Why are you awake?"
"We had plans." Alfred hums something far too cheery and upbeat for such an hour. "But Matt told me you had some shit to do, soooooooo I'm coming to visit you! And you can't turn me away now because I went all the way out in the rain to get food for you. So ha!"
Arthur leans back in his chair; it creaks behind him, but that might be his spine popping in place after sitting in the same cramped position for so long. His lips twitch at the corners. "The food may stay."
"What about me?" he sounds genuinely curious, a bit hopeful, eager; a puppy starved for affection and more than willing to please. "Can I stay too?"
"Mm," says Arthur, "we'll see."
Alfred whines Artie, low and drawn out; it does things to Arthur's heart - and well, perhaps his dick. "I'll blow you under the desk?"
"Free food and sex? Tempting."
"I better be the only one offering you this, too," Alfred says. Arthur can imagine the narrowing of his eyes and downward curve of his lips, probably on his way back to the campus, keying in through the girls' dormitory entrance and cutting through the courtyard to his hall. "Anyways, shitty cell service through here. Talk to you in a few?"
"I suppose," Arthur agrees, cradling the cell between his shoulder and ear. He's more relaxed now. "See you soon."
Alfred clears his throat, and then says, cutesy-voiced and laughing: "love you, Artie."
Something warm comes over Arthur then, bubbling up between his lungs and stomach till it's ready to burst. Such an absurd response to Alfred's silly confessions, but the feeling is as real as the meaning behind Alfred's words despite the mindless way of saying it.
"Brat," he says, but he supposes the fondness slips in because Alfred laughs again, softer and, dare he say, shier.
Arthur carefully places the phone on his computer desk and saves his essay once again. There's always tomorrow.
For now, though, he'd like to share the night and Chinese takeout with his boyfriend.