Chapter Text
Atticus sighed. “That doesn’t matter.” He picked the file back up and dismounted Arthur. He had to do this quickly and leave. It was extremely awkward and almost morning. He got up himself and helped Arthur up. “I need to show you this.” Atticus said.
Arthur was more worried than intrigued. He sat up and watched Atticus pull a ripped paper out of a tan file. Both the file and paper itself were in awful condition, but Arthur couldn’t understand what he was seeing.
Atticus pointed to the mugshot. “Don’t you remember?” He asked.
“Is that… me?” Arthur whispered. “You have a photo of me in your bag?” He laughed. Laughed at the photo directly relating to the event that caused him all of this trauma. The trauma that locked him in the house for years. The trauma that kept him from making friends and meeting new people. The trauma that prevented him and Atticus to… be friends.
“It’s not a joke. I’m glad you’re not upset, but I don’t understand why you’re laughing.” Atticus stated.
“I think it’s silly that you have a photo of me in your bag. I guess it’s a little sad to look at, though.” Arthur frowned at his mugshot.
Atticus, noticing Arthur’s mood change, scooted closer to him. “You okay? I can throw it out if you’ve seen enough.”
“It’s okay.” Arthur held Atticus’s hand, making him drop the file to the floor. Instead of pulling away, Atticus watched in curiosity as to what Arthur was going to do. With Atticus’s silent permission, Arthur leaned in. “Do you like me?” Arthur whispered.
“L-like you? Like— as a friend?” Atticus asked nervously. He swallowed and let Arthur lean in closer.
Instead of answering the question, Arthur replied, “I have a surprise for you. Tomorrow, come at the usual time. Okay?” He said, trying to be confident but sounding nervous.
Atticus, still stunned at the previous question, took in the information. “I will.” Atticus promised, squeezing Arthur’s hand reassuringly.
“It’s getting late. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Arthur said, finally releasing his grip on Atticus’s strong hand. His hand already started to feel cold.
Atticus got up first, and helped Arthur up as well. He smiled softly one last time and walked out, leaving Arthur alone in the house. With Atticus’s bag. Again. He had forgotten the bag again. Arthur wanted to snoop. He promised to just take a peek and put it back.
He opened the bag and placed his hand inside, moving it around to find something interesting.
First, he felt and heard the rustle of papers. Pulling one out, he couldn’t understand a single word on the paper. Not because he was illiterate, but because these were Atticus’s work papers that he didn’t understand. He placed them onto the floor and moved to the next item.
He pulled out a small bag of dried strawberries; the bag was almost empty. He opened the ziplock and took one out, examining it. It smelled quite strong and was a vibrant red, a stark contrast to the near colorless house Arthur was sitting in. He took a bite, trying to pull off an unnoticeable amount of the chewy strawberry with his teeth. The sweetness on Arthur’s tongue widened his eyes. He hadn’t had something sweet at all since he was a kid. Not wanting to take too much, he took one last small, barely visible bite and put it back into the bag. He kept that to the side and moved on to the next item.
As he moved through the items, he got more and more curious and didn’t know if he would be stopping anytime soon. The next item he pulled out was a tin can. He opened it and realized it was a sewing kit. Atticus didn’t seem like the type to sew in his free time, and because it was in his bag, Arthur assumed it was for emergencies like buttons falling out. The can had multiple spools of thread in neutral colors, hand sewing needles in a small assortment of sizes, mini fabric shears, straight and safety pins, a thimble (which Arthur didn’t think Atticus even needed; he seemed like a careful man), a tape measure, a seam ripper, and lastly, a needle threader.
Arthur himself hadn’t sewn in years and didn’t plan to. His hands weren’t steady enough and he would always end up poking himself.
Arthur saw that Atticus had bandaids in a separate compartment. They’re good to have, Arthur thought. In that same compartment, there was a single piece of hard strawberry candy. It looked tasty, but there was only one, and Arthur didn’t want Atticus finding out he had been through his bag. He unwrapped the candy and quickly licked it. It was sweet and surprisingly didn’t taste artificial. It almost tasted like a real strawberry. It wasn’t too sweet— most likely an energy boost for Atticus. To make sure Atticus wouldn’t find out, he didn’t eat it. He rewrapped it and put it back into the small compartment.
He went back to the main compartment and felt something soft. He pulled it out, and it was a tie. Atticus would always carry an extra in case of emergency. It was pure black and smelled like Atticus. Arthur lifted it up to his chest to see how it’d look on him. He looked in his mirror across the room and thought he looked silly.
He placed the tie onto the floor and moved on to the next item, which was a card. It looked like a child had drawn the cover. It said “To Atticus,” on the front, and “From Scout and Jem,” on the back. It had crayon drawings of stick figures with smiley faces. It made Arthur smile. Atticus was a good dad to them, Arthur thought.
He gently put the card onto the floor with the other items and moved to what he saw was the last item; a notebook. He opened it and skimmed through the pages. All of them were full with lawyer notes, Arthur assumed. As he neared the end of the notebook, an envelope that was wedged in between two of the pages fell out onto Arthur’s lap. In curiosity, he slowly and carefully untucked the envelope and opened it. He took out the piece of paper to see who it was written by. He saw a name, Alexandra. The letter wrote,
“Dear Atticus,
I know you’ve always had these tendencies. Ever since we were little, you never looked at girls the same way John did. That didn’t change when we grew up. You couldn’t imagine how surprised I was when you finally met a girl. You got married and had beautiful children, but when your wife passed, you turned into the same boy you were as a child. The one that would look at other boys. I support you no matter what. You’re my brother, after all. But in this town, homosexuality is shamed upon. To support your children and keep them safe, you must not let anyone find out. You must present an acceptable front to this community.
Love, Alexandra.”
Arthur was at a loss for words. If this letter hadn’t confirmed his slight suspicion, what he found next absolutely did. The half-folded paper in the notebook where the envelope had fallen out from had writing on it. Atticus’s writing. As Arthur read the page, he realized what it was. An unsent letter to his (now dead) wife about his sexuality. But what really caught Arthur’s eye was the end of the letter. A promise from Atticus to never indulge in homosexual actions ever again.
Could that be true? After all these late night conversations, if Atticus had a crush on Arthur, would he never let himself confess? That’s simply not possible for anyone, right? Arthur knew what he had to do. He had to kiss Atticus Finch.
He refolded the paper, wedged the letter back inside, and started placing the items back into the bag. First, the notebook with the letter inside. Then, the tie and handmade card. Then, the sewing kit and dried strawberries. And lastly, the bunch of papers from Atticus’s work. He closed the bag and laid back on the floor.
He shut his eyes and sighed, his mind racing with thoughts of Atticus. How would he be able to kiss him? He’s never kissed anyone, let alone another man. He’d just have to wait and see. He wasn’t very tired, but slept so that the next day would come quicker.
When he woke up in the morning, he made sure the bag was still there. When he had confirmed that it in fact was still in the same spot that it had been last night, he sighed in relief. He didn’t want to miss a single interaction with Atticus, and if the bag had been gone, that would’ve meant Atticus had come in and taken it while Arthur was asleep.
Arthur opened his blinds slightly, peeking across the street to the Finch house. He couldn’t tell if the lights were on due to the brightness of the sun, but he knew they were awake when he saw a shadow that he assumed was Atticus moving around the house. He wondered if Atticus would need his bag to go to work. Part of him wanted him to take it now so he could see Atticus, but part of him wanted to keep the bag with the letter and be able to feel it to know it’s truly there. He couldn’t keep the letter, though. He knew that. He also knew that he needed to play it cool in front of Atticus when he came. He couldn’t just force a kiss.
Closing the blinds, Arthur combed his hands through his hair and looked around in hopes of finding a nice outfit for a change. He pulled out a striped shirt, similar to what he had on now but with no holes or dirt, and khaki pants. There was also a belt, but he already had his own, so he left it. He took off his clothing and was about to put the clean clothes on, but realized he might get them dirty or wrinkled. He decided to instead leave them to the side to change into later and stay undressed until night so he wouldn’t forget to change. He locked the door to make sure nobody could come in unannounced.
Arthur wasn’t cold without any clothes. It wasn’t air conditioned in the house, so he was usually hot. He laid down on the couch and put his thin blanket over himself just to cover his bare chest and legs. He was only in boxers and the blanket was barely long enough to cover his chest to his thighs, but he didn’t mind.
He stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought. He couldn’t stop thinking of Atticus. How would he kiss Atticus when the time comes? Is he supposed to cup his cheek like what he’s seen on television? What if they never kiss? What if Atticus was so disgusted with their last interaction that he’d just leave the bag and never come back? Arthur discarded the negative thoughts. He had to stay positive.
Atticus, on the other hand, had just gotten out of the shower. He was putting on his clothes and reached for his bag. When it wasn’t there (once again), he felt like an idiot. Although he didn’t want to bother Arthur so early in the morning, he needed his bag for work. He quickly finished getting dressed and snuck outside, his hair still dripping wet.
When he arrived at the Radley porch, he knocked twice. He rattled the door handle and was surprised that it was locked. He was about to call for Arthur when the door opened slightly. Arthur poked his head through the door. “You can’t come in.” Arthur whispered.
“Why not?” Atticus asked. “I’ll be quick, I just need to get my bag.” He pushed open the door and Arthur hid behind it. He grabbed his bag and noticed Arthur’s clothes on the floor. In confusion, he looked back at Arthur and finally saw what he was hiding.
Atticus couldn’t help but stare. Arthur’s body was captivating. His thoughts were interrupted by Arthur’s soft voice. “I didn’t know you were coming.” Arthur finally came out from behind the door and reached for the blanket. He tried (and failed) to cover himself fully with the small blanket.
“You have a nice body.” Atticus blurted out.