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The shitty motel room was bathed in shadows, the sole light trickling from the partially ajar bathroom door, dabbing a stripe of maize over the sheets and stained wallpaper.
But the glaring light in the otherwise dark room was not what had drawn John's fading attention.
No.
Arthur had done that.
Arthur, who had scrubbed his face in what was likely cold water from a too-old tap, who ran his fingers through his mussed hair, who slowly discarded layer after layer of clothing, bundling coat, tie, and shirt neatly on the counter.
Arthur, thin as a rail, weariness clinging to every jutting bone, battered and bruised and separate and…
Freckled.
.
.
.
John finds something else about Arthur to be completely enamored by. -
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KD
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This is so cute (love in 2025, who would have thought!)