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“I’m not doing ecstasy with you guys, sorry.”
Arthur’s apprehension is mostly for show. He knows full well the most illicit thing they’ve ever done is one joint, passed three ways, before Dom grew queasy and decided it wasn’t for him. And anyway, Arthur has made it four years without breaking into the college party scene; the evening of his graduation, sitting on the rug in the Cobbs’ small apartment, doesn’t seem like the time or place to suddenly introduce hard drugs.
But that particular set of Mal’s grin has always given him pause, and Dom’s earlier promise of a “surprise” doesn’t exactly help. There may be a ring of truth to Arthur’s nervous laugh.
“Maybe next time,” Cobb chuckles, ducking to retrieve something from a drawer in the TV console. Arthur sits up straighter, fidgeting his hands where they sit in his lap; he’s never been super graceful about receiving gifts.
His awkwardness turns to confusion when Dom produces a nondescript metal briefcase. It’s not dissimilar to the ones they use in movies to transport state secrets—or maybe a bomb. It looks totally out of place amid the warm, bohemian decor. If this is a graduation present, it’s the strangest wrapping he’s ever seen.
Mal laughs, and Arthur realizes it must be at his tilted head and openly quizzical expression. He huffs, schooling his face. She’d once told him he does “an excellent impression of a spaniel puppy,” and he’s still sensitive about it.
“Only good things, my dear,” she promises. “After all, it’s the first day of the rest of your life.”
“What if I told you,” Dom interjects, “that we had a research opportunity for you?”
Arthur brightens. “I’d say I’m all ears.” His job search thus far has been cursory at best, between the overwhelm of finals and the looming end of his lease. It’s been a source of nagging anxiety; he really, really doesn’t want to have to move back east. “Is it local?”
Mal smirks. “In a manner of speaking.”
And, alright, he has no idea what that means. Nonetheless, the intrigue already has its hooks in him; as he reaches for the case, he’s startled by Mal’s hand, settling over his.
“I warn you though,” she says, “once you see it, you may never want to do anything else.”
“So…are we meeting someone here?”
The high ceiling echoes Arthur’s question back to him as he meanders through the empty rows of desks and study carrels. The early evening light filters through the arched windows, catching dust motes as they float lazily. He’s always liked the stillness of the empty library, once most of the other undergrads had gone home for breaks, but current circumstances have him increasingly antsy.
“Is this an interview?” he tries again, when he doesn’t get a response. “I’m not exactly prepared. And it’s kinda late, right?”
“Not yet.” Cobb emerges from behind a tall shelf, waving him over. “C’mon.”
Arthur follows him out of the great hall and into a long corridor, past the arbitrary threshold where the grandeur of the old stacks transform into the monotony of a modern administrative building. It had been part of the university’s recent renovations, of which Arthur had not been a fan. As he looks around, he frowns. None of the office lights are on. Who had stayed so late for this? Whatever this is.
Dom seems confident enough, though, so Arthur doesn’t question him further. They make a few twists and turns through the indistinguishable halls before they finally come to a door.
There’s no name plaque, or sign, or really anything remarkable about it at all. But Cobb has stopped, hands in his pockets, settling onto his heels in that stance that says they’ve arrived. Arthur waits, the furrow in his brow deepening. Dom just tips his head to the door.
The Cobbs are clearly going all-in on the “cryptic” thing. Arthur snorts, resigning himself to the mystery. Leaning heavily against the crash bar, he pushes through.
Immediately, he’s assaulted by midday light. His eyes snap reflexively shut, but the rest of his senses are overwhelmed in their own right. He inhales the tang of saltwater, wafted up with the sounds of crashing waves. The heat of the sun is the kind he can actually feel radiating into and under his skin, pleasantly offset by a soft breeze.
When he’s able to crack an eyelid, he finds himself on a balcony overlooking a harbor. Bright faces of orange and red and yellow terraced buildings dot the cliffs all around him, seated right in the stone. The hills are lush and green.
“What,” he says, a little dumbly. Dom strolls up beside him, casual as always.
“What do you think?”
“I…I think the library has a secret portal to Cinque Terre.”
Dom beams. “Welcome to lesson one.”