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Martin Crieff was on a date with Arthur Shappey.
A date.
Walking by the riverbank in a city that seemed out of a fairytale, with a dumbstruck Arthur that seemed to have overdosed on excitement and happiness and now walked in wide-eyed silence beside him, brushing against him every so often.
A Date!
Of course, neither had used the D word, and they hadn’t done anything that couldn’t be interpreted, at a distance, as nothing more than a nice afternoon out with a friend. But Martin knew better. Because, if he had to be honest- and he didn’t think a gun to his head would be enough encouragement to be honest, mind you- he had considered this before.
Martin was lonely; no point in sugar-coating the truth in his own inner-monologue. While he liked to think of himself as straight, at the back of his mind he knew he considered every new person he met- regardless of gender- as a possibility before his brain proved to him that it would be impossible. The process usually lasted about ten seconds. And yes, that meant he had considered Douglas, and… and Carolyn. He couldn’t help it! It wasn’t conscious!
But, for about five or ten seconds, way back when, he had thought about Arthur that way. He had dismissed the idea before he’d even learned of his friend’s peculiarities. Arthur was a man, so that made him easier to dismiss if only for the stress that revising his own sexuality would entail, and he was also… yes, good looking. Not strikingly handsome, though sometimes, when his smile was a bit tamer and he was distracted… Yes, Arthur was good looking enough that the idea he would give Martin a second glance was remote at best.
After that, they’d become friends, and on top of that co-workers. Those alone were enough barriers in his mind; barriers that Arthur had brought down in less than a day, taking Martin completely by surprise. He wasn’t even sure if Arthur had done it on purpose, or that he saw this as a date, too. He just knew that every moment they spent walking together, he was less and less startled every time their fingers brushed.
There were too big parts of him that fought his resolve to see what was happening as a date, however. One, the more present, more familiar obstacle, was his own insecurity. It gnawed at the back of his brain. Arthur just got dumped, by a girl, a pretty blond girl. You’re just a good friend. He doesn’t know this as a date. When that failed, because Arthur would turn to look at him with something in his eyes that made Martin jittery, or threatened to hold his hand again, it resorted to: You’ll ruin everything. You’ll hurt him. He’s too good for you. But Martin was used to that bit of himself. He dealt with it every waking hour.
No, it was the other bit that made him nauseous. The bit of himself that had forgotten he’d wanted to be a pilot because he loved to fly, not for a title and rank, and puffed with misplaced pride every time he rubbed it in Douglas’ face that he was in command. It was a little monster born of years of trying to prove everyone, even himself, wrong; that believed he could do better than everyone expected him too. To that bit of himself, Arthur wasn’t good enough; not the beautiful model wife that would make Simon and Douglas eat whatever words they’d said about him. He hated that bit of himself. It was there, but it wasn’t real, and gods help him if he ever really listened to it.
So, seeing as it was nearing sundown, and he wanted to kill that last bit of himself by proving that first bit of himself right, Martin had only one option, and that was to address, as forwardly as he was able to, the elephant in the proverbial room. It helped that he was about to break the long, comfortable silence, when Arthur was looking at the river with that same soft, distracted expression that made him look so out of Martin’s league.
He had to clear his throat to force his voice out.
“So, Arthur,” he started nervously. He had Arthur’s attention at once. “You’ve had a few girlfriends, right?”
“Uh, yeah…” He frowned a bit, counting with his fingers. “Seven. But none stayed for too long. It’s a pity, they were all brilliant!”
He had no intention of dragging the conversation into territory that would be painful for Arthur, so he did not hesitate in asking his next question.
“How about…?” But just as he started, Arthur finally decided it was time to hold his hand again, and pull him on, to boot.
“We should go get something to eat!” he said excitedly, not giving any sign that he’d realised he was interrupting a life-altering question.
“Ah, Arthur, I…” He let himself be pulled- had no fighting chance against an excited Arthur, really.
“What do they eat in Bern, that would be very… Bernian? Do you think they have food in the shape of bears?”
He was beaming, and while it did seem like there was a nervous current underneath all that bumbling enthusiasm, it was nothing at all like that morning. He just irradiated pure joy.
“Arthur, listen…”
“Cheese bears! Made of Swiss cheese! Oh, those bears were brilliant, Skip! The cubs!! I’d never seen cubs before!”
“Arthur!!” And finally, the high pitch and sheer desperation of his voice caught the younger man’s attention (as well as the attention of everyone else passing by.)
Arthur stopped and stared at him, and was that fear in his eyes? Martin was probably projecting his own feelings onto him. They were still holding hands. He drew a long sigh, and promptly chickened out.
“Are you having a good time?” he merely asked.
“A good time?! This is absolutely brilliant!! Best trip ever!!”
The radiant smile Arthur directed at him reflected in a small smile of his own. It suddenly didn’t matter; his inner-struggle, his doubts. Arthur seemed to be enjoying himself so absolutely. He wouldn’t ruin it. He still wanted a bit of what his friend was feeling, though.
“How do you see things?” he found himself asking softly, before he could even make sense of his own question. Of course, his friend seemed confused by it.
“How do you mean? With… my eyes?”
Martin chuckled and shook his head.
“No, I mean… This place, it’s beautiful,” Arthur nodded emphatically. “But if you had to tell me about it, if I… if I was blind, how would you describe it? What do you see?”
Arthur looked down, frowning that adorable (yes, adorable, no point in trying to deny it anymore) little frown of concentration.
“You have to close your eyes, though.”
“Sorry?”
“Well, I can’t pretend you’re blind if you’re looking at what I’m describing, can I?”
“Oh,” Martin closed his eyes and stood a bit firmer, feeling slightly exposed.
“Well, uhm,… There’s a statue on the grass, and it looks like its just sitting there, watching the people walk by, just lounging about. It all looks a bit like a fairytale; I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw an actual fairy. The sun is setting, and it’s like it spilt something all over, and it’s all golden. The grass is really, really green, but also golden at the same time, that’s really weird. The river has millions of tiny specs of sunlight, too. It does look liquid, the sunlight, not the river, of course. Like, if you could touch the side of the buildings, or the floor, it would stick to you. Though it does look like it also spilt on your hair, cause it looks like its on fire.” Martin had to fight the urge to hide his head somewhere in shame, but suddenly Arthur’s fingers were brushing a few bangs from his forehead, and Martin forgot how to breathe. “It’s so pretty.”
He opened his eyes a fraction, just a bit. Arthur was so close, blushing, one hand wrapped tightly around his own, the other brushing his hair gingerly. As soon as his eyes had opened, he shut them again, closing the tiny distance.
Lo and behold, the world didn’t end. It was barely a press of lips, nothing passionate or heated, though Arthur did whimper a bit. Just a peck, then two when Arthur’s hand rested on the base of his neck. Three, because Arthur decided to imitate him. Martin lost count after the fourth, and he didn’t know who started it. But eventually he pulled away, feeling light-headed and… happy.
“I can’t afford to buy you dinner,” he whispered.
Arthur smiled and held him close.
“Let’s go get a hot dog, or something.”