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Arthur, I have a question.
“Oh?” Arthur was resting comfortably by the warmth of the fireplace— a feeling he rarely got to cherish, and only when they could afford a nicer hotel. He tested the edge of the cup in which he’d made his tea, feeling the temperature to be just cool enough to drink, and enjoyed the rare privilege of tasting it sweetened with milk (and just a little sugar). “What’s on your mind, John?” The two had been chatting idly, reading the day’s papers, ‘terribly boring’ as John always described them. Arthur was tired, but not tired enough to sleep. He’d been grateful for John’s company, even in the moments they didn’t have any words to share.
There’s… this word you say, sometimes, and that I never quite understood. I’d like to know what it means, John queried.
“Oh? You can always ask me when you hear it, you know.” Arthur blew gently over his tea, always a habit, even when the temperature was comfortable, and drank it happily. “What word is it?”
‘Cute’, John declared.
“Oh! Cute,” Arthur smiled, gently placing down his tea on the saucer. “Well, ‘cute’ is… two things, I suppose. Two different meanings, but they’re similar in many ways.”
Mhm?
“One of them is… easy to understand. A cute thing is something… gentle, and soft. Something that you want to protect. You might want to hold it, or pet it. And it makes you happy, when you see it. Like… have you seen a puppy, or a kitten?”
John pondered a moment. Most of the animals they had seen were dangerous, frightening. He’d noticed cats, sometimes, walking quietly through an alleyway or sitting neatly upon a fence, but they seemed like odd creatures, always aloof and uninterested in people; and he and Arthur had passed plenty of dogs on the street, leashed beside their owners, and heard the click-clack of their nails as they walked by on the pavement. He hadn’t really paid them much attention- some of them seemed nice, perhaps, and some of them were small, but some of them were vicious, snarling things that wanted to bite and tear and kill. …No, John concluded. I don’t think we’ve ever seen a baby one. Uh- I haven't, he corrected himself.
“Right, okay- ah…” Arthur sipped at his tea, turning over ideas in his mind. “Baby birds are cute. They do look frightful when they’re just born, but when they grow up a little, they’re fluffy and soft. They’re vulnerable, and they can’t survive on their own. They’re dependent on their mothers to feed them and keep them safe.”
Ah, John pondered. I think I… understand, maybe. Something cute needs to be protected. It’s young. It hasn’t learned… how to be a part of this world, yet.
“That’s part of it, yes. But there’s… ah, maybe I’m just not describing it right. Cute things also make you happy. They make you smile. Holding something cute, or even just seeing it, makes you feel… warm, inside. In your heart.”
Hm. I… I’m not sure I have that feeling, Arthur. John seemed dismayed, somewhat. Like it was another part of being human he was missing.
“Oh, John…” Arthur didn’t want to have upset him, nor did he believe he was in any way correct. “No, I think you would. You’re… strong. You’ve protected me more times than I can count. I believe- I know, you have the instinct to nurture something, something that’s… vulnerable. You just haven’t had the chance to- oh, John!”
Uh… yes?
Arthur placed his teacup down with a loud clink, raising his hand up to his face as if he’d made some kind of great revelation, and he laughed shortly at himself. “John, I’ve been so daft! Babies! Like… a human baby. Some people don’t quite think so- and God knows some of them come out looking dreadfully ugly- but babies. Babies are cute.”
Oh! Oh, Arthur, I think I- I think I know. John sounded cautious, but quietly elated at the idea that he did, indeed, understand. When we found the baby girl, in the woods. Shortly after we’d… met. I remember when you took her in your arms, I felt like… we were holding something precious. And I remember when you laid her down, so she could go to sleep, and she closed her eyes. She looked so… small. I think I felt it, then. I felt… warm.
Arthur felt his throat tighten. His bottom lip quivered, a little, as he fidgeted with one of his buttons. For John, though, he forced a smile. “Yes, John, that’s exactly it. That’s what it feels like. Like you’ve been given a gift, something incredibly precious, that you need to protect.”
He heard John hum a little in his head, happily. That way his voice turned brighter, how it chimed when they had succeeded, when they had figured something out. It was easier, then, to swallow back his tears, when he knew they at least had each other.
And what about the second thing?
“Hm?” Arthur looked up from the plain carpet he’d been staring at, trying to avoid the downward pull of his memories.
You said there were two meanings. That ‘cute’ means something else, as well, John insisted.
“Oh! Ah- God, John, this one might be… a little harder to understand,” Arthur stumbled. “It’s… not easy to articulate.”
Try me.
“Alright, well… when somebody is… romantically interested, in someone else, and perhaps they’re too shy to say so— usually, people describe women this way, but not always- that tends to… show in their body, in the way they present themselves. A woman, for example- she might… twirl her hair around her finger, or look down at her feet, or blush, if she were talking to someone she loved, but she was too afraid to say so.”
Oh, John started. That makes sense, I think. Like being shy.
“Well, yes-“ Arthur continued- “but it’s also when there’s somebody you do love- when you have told them. A partner, perhaps, or a dear friend. When you spend time around someone, and you notice… little things they might do. Harmless habits they might feel ashamed about, or something unique about how they move or act. Like, ah- maybe when someone wakes up in the morning, they might yawn and stretch in the same way every time. Perhaps they’re very particular about how they take their tea or coffee. Or… a partner, maybe, who always wants to hold the other’s hand. Those things can be cute. It’s about… body language, I suppose, and caring for someone.”
I see. Something cute is about… love, not necessarily romantic. It’s something or someone that you care for. A… connection you have, that goes beyond words.
“Jesus Christ, John,” Arthur beamed, “I really thought the less… abstract concept would be easier for you to understand. Perhaps I’ve been feeding you too much poetry.”
Perhaps you just explain that kind of thing very well.
Arthur smiled, finishing off the last few sips of his tea. “Sure.”
…I think you’re cute, Arthur.
He nearly stopped moving entirely, the cup held still in the air above the saucer. It felt like Arthur’s heart stopped. “You… ah, John, I must have explained something wrong,” he stammered, cheeks flushing bright red. “I’m certainly not- I mean, I’ve really never been- maybe when I was a child, but-“
No, Arthur, you’ve explained it quite well. And I think that you’re… cute.
Arthur was entirely speechless.
You’re somebody I want to protect. More than anything else. You feel… smaller than me, somehow. Even though I only exist in… in here. I’m with you every moment of the day, and of course I notice the little things that you do. You always lift up your pinky finger every time you pick up a cup— still holding his tea right above the table, Arthur lowered his pinky down in line with the rest of his fingers- and you always seem embarrassed when you notice you’ve been doing so. You cut the sandwiches you make differently than the ones I’ve seen in the cafés. Sometimes, when you’re nervous, you hold your hand by your side as if you’re preparing to draw a holstered gun.
“A-ah…” Arthur blinked haplessly, finally lowering his empty cup in near silence, “I guess I- thank you. Thank you, John. And for what it’s worth, I… I appreciate your little habits too.”
Hm? John was curious. I didn’t realise I had habits.
Arthur’s cheeks were flushed bright red, and he thanked the stars John couldn’t see it. “It’s… your voice, mostly. When something goes right for us. When you understand something, or help me accomplish something. You sound… lighter, like you feel safe, and you don’t have to- to protect us, for a while. I hear when you’re frustrated, like when we’re in a public place and I can’t talk to you, but I hope you know I… always wish I could.” Arthur reached for John’s hand, and he took it gently. “And when I sleep. I know it’s the most comfortable position to keep my shoulder in, but… you often hold your hand over my heart. Like you’re making sure I’m alright- even then. Always. So… I hope you know how dear you are to me, John. No matter what’s happened, or what will happen. I suppose that means… I suppose I think you’re cute too, John.”
…Oh. John held Arthur’s hand tighter, like a lifeline. And the two of them were silent for some time, feeling Arthur’s heartbeat slow and settle, but they both understood.