Chapter Text
Arthur had one more box to unpack. He didn’t bring much from Nottingham—just the necessities consisting of a few boxes of clothes, a camera, and a guitar. Regardless, the moving process was grueling. He was jetlagged from the flight, had nothing to eat since the slop they served on the plane, and worst of all, he forgot to give the movers his dorm room number, so they up and left his things at the bottom of the stairs. No passing student offered to help, leaving him to heave all of the boxes up one by one. He had lots of time to think during this endeavor, though there was one thing he’d been anxious about since he got assigned to a dorm—his roommate. He hadn’t been home yet, despite it being 4:00 AM, but Arthur could tell the place had been lived in. Moving to the United States was bad enough, but he could not fathom the idea of living with an obnoxious American. He couldn’t have been that bad if he got into the university; worst-case scenario, they simply ignore each other and coexist, right?
He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice the front door opening or the weary footsteps of someone stumbling inside. Their quiet sobs echoed throughout the dark room. Only when they noticed a dim light from the previously unused room creeping across the rest of the apartment did they stop crying. Curious, they wiped their tears and peered into the room to see a blonde man sitting on the floor in front of a small cardboard box. He did not notice them.
“Are you the roommate?”
Startled by the voice, Arthur yelped and turned to where he heard it from. Looking down at him from the doorway stood a person who he guessed to be a man, albeit a very pretty one. Arthur was relieved that his supposed roommate appeared to be nothing like he feared. He was well dressed, wearing a tight server’s uniform, but it was unkempt from a long day. His hair was tied into a low ponytail, with loose strands escaping from its hair tie. Golden brown, watery eyes pierced through him, hindering a response.
“Yes,” he managed to speak, “my name is Arthur Kirkland.” He stood up to shake the other’s hand. Eyeing him inquisitively, he accepted the handshake. Arthur gripped his hand so firmly that it surprised him in a comforting way. He almost didn’t want to let it go.
“I’m Yao.” He said and lightly smiled before uncoupling their hands.
They stood there for a moment, taking each other in. Like picking out the sweet undertones of a cup of tea, they got a taste for one another. It was a tranquility born from their shared exhaustion, yet was strangely alluring. Unfortunately, social awareness lured Arthur back into an awkward state of mind.
"So, um,” he fumbled with his words, “you’re home awfully late.”
“I know, sorry for startling you.” Yao sighed and leaned on the doorframe with his shoulder. “I was planning on spending the night somewhere else to give you some space while you moved in, but,” he said, breaking eye contact to look around Arthur's room instead, “it didn’t work out.”
He was tempted to ask what Yao meant by that, but even exhausted, he had the sense to know it was personal. “No need to apologize. Besides, you’ve been moved in for a bit, haven’t you?”
“Since last week—I already lived in the area, so getting all my stuff here was easy.” He took a step backward into the living room. “I think I’m gonna shower and go to bed now.”
“Alright, well,” Arthur tried to pick his words carefully, “I’ll see you around then.” He chimed, coming off as more excited than he meant to be. Yao laughed a little and shut the door.
I’ll see you around? They live in the same flat; of course, Arthur will see him around. He dragged his hands down his face out of shame. Yao probably thought he was such an idiot already. Deciding to unpack the final box later, he went to bed on his floor mattress. The walls were so thin that the running water from Yao’s shower kept him up longer. He ended up falling asleep, wondering what his new roommate's long brunette hair looked like wet and trickling water down his back.
* * *
When Arthur woke up, there was a severe dryness in his throat. No matter how badly he wanted to stay in bed, he couldn’t ignore the drought stinging with every breath he took. He wobbled groggily into the joint living room kitchen and found a stack of plastic cups on the bar counter. They were multicolored with a simple flower pattern. Yao must have bought them—cute.
Quenching his thirst with tap water, Arthur finally caught sight of the flat’s décor, which had been hidden in darkness the night before. All walls were adorned with paintings; some were complete in frames, but others looked unfinished. In awe, he strolled around the flat, gazing at the walls as if it were a museum. Watercolors, acrylics, oil paintings, even mosaics—everywhere he looked was a piece of art. The paintings varied in inspiration from art movements before the contemporary, but many combined the calligraphic aesthetics of old Chinese paintings with modern elements, showcasing beautiful people living everyday lives. As he studied each work, Arthur found himself eager to ask Yao endless questions about his art. Arthur hardly knew him, and yet he grew more fond of him with each observation. Along with the paintings hung potted plants and vines that looked healthy aside from sparse yellowing leaves. The bulk of the plants were placed around a large wooden easel covered in splotches of paint from years of use. It was the only piece of furniture in the room.
He looked at the cat-shaped clock above the sink. The time read 11:30 AM, which was not bad considering he had 3 days to fix his sleeping schedule before classes started. His stomach growled. This was quite the predicament; he had no clue what he would do for meals. He didn’t know of any good restaurants nearby that weren’t fast food, so eating out wasn't an option. He looked to the fridge, knowing there must be food in there; the only problem was that it was Yao’s. His stomach rumbled again, this time very loudly.
“Are you hungry?” Yao chirped from thin air, startling Arthur. From his bedhead and comfortable clothing, he seemed to have woken up recently.
“Good morning, Yao!” He laughed nervously. “You surprised me there.”
“Jeez, you’re jumpy.” He sauntered to the fridge and pulled out a Tupperware of rice mixed with beef and sautéed vegetables. “Since you haven’t had time to get groceries, I’ll feed you just this once, okay?” Arthur ogled him like a benevolent angel as Yao divided the rice dish into two bowls and put them in the microwave.
“Thank you, I’ll go shopping today,” Arthur said apologetically. “Speaking of shopping,” he continued, “we ought to get furniture soon—at least a couch and some stools for the bar, you think?”
“If you want to, then sure, buy them. But I prefer standing when I’m not in my room.”
Yao set the bowls down on the counter and started eating. The food looked and smelled so delicious that Arthur would have devoured it whole if he wasn't such a gentleman. Instead, he took small bites and chewed slowly. Yao was an amazing cook, as he expected. The broth filled him with a warm sense of comfort.
“What is this? It tastes heavenly.”
“Thanks,” replied Yao, flustered. “I think Westerners know it as congee, but we call it zhōu in China.”
Arthur hummed in understanding. “So you’re from China?” Arthur gladly took the opportunity to learn more about his roommate.
“Mhm, I moved here for high school.” He took another bite. “What about you? You’re British, right?”
He nodded. “I’ve lived in Nottingham my whole life until now.”
“Is that near London?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Quiet befell them as they kept eating. It didn’t matter to Arthur; the homecooked meal was great, and they had plenty of conversations ahead of them.
Yao put his bowl in the sink. “I need to get ready for my shift.” He yawned and stretched like a cat. “Have fun at the grocery store,” he sang before disappearing into his room, leaving Arthur by himself again. He decided to do the dishes in return for Yao’s generosity.
* * *
Arthur was stuck in the labyrinth that is Costco, with aisles of merchandise towering over him no matter where he looked. It reminded him more of a warehouse than a grocery shop. He had various boxes of microwavable meals in his cart; they were quick and convenient, not that he could cook anyway. His bumbling around the bread aisle was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He contemplated calling the number back later or ignoring it entirely, but with his new local phone number, he couldn’t tell who it was.
“Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland speaking,” he answered, keeping his voice down.
“Bonjour, Artie!” The voice on the phone blared, rendering Arthur speechless as it continued to speak, “A little gil-birdie told me you were moving into a dorm on campus about now, is that true?”
Arthur was expecting an encounter like this, but not so soon and nonchalantly. Not as if nothing ever happened. He moved to a secluded part of the aisle with a hand clasped over his mouth to hide his quivering lip. “Yes, Francis,” he breathed after collecting himself, “I did.”
“Aww, just like you used to dream of,” he teased. “How does it feel?”
“Fine,” he contemplated. “I feel fine. Why are you calling? Do you need something?” Arthur’s tone grew more apprehensive.
“Can’t I reconnect with a dear old friend? I just wanted to speak with you,” Francis hmphed. “However, I was thinking about inviting you to some beers with Gil and Toni, but clearly you’re not interested.”
“I’m not old enough to drink here.”
“Don’t worry, mon ami, we know the bartender very well,” he reassured. “He’s such a doll, you’ll love him.”
“I never said I was going.”
“Meet us at seven, I’ll text you the address.” He hung up.
Arthur was a boy again. A boy alone, scared, and crying while lost in a grocery shop. He wanted to scream at Francis, to shout all the things he wrote in letters never sent since their last affair. If he were there with him, Arthur would have surely made a scene. The aisles seemed taller than ever; it was suffocating. He grabbed a bag of Wonder Bread and checked out.
He got a text from Francis with the address of the bar while on his way back to the flat. It wasn’t very far from there, just down the street in fact. He decided to go, only to catch up with Gilbert and Antonio.