Chapter Text
A single flyer grazes across the street, gliding in angular dives by a gust that seems determined to stop its flight. It fails to do so. Stoplights signal upon deserted roads, softly blinking, ever diligent. It was cold, colder than previous days past. The streets were empty, unrecognisable. All was quiet, all was good.
Arthur peers upwards towards the big letters and digital snow flashing across the curving screen “Happy Holidays!”, he sniffs and sneezes into the crook of his arm. Kicking his legs up to jog back to his regular pace, fighting the chill coursing through his body. It’s what he gets for standing out in the dead of winter in nothing but compression tights and thin running gear.
December was never a favourite month of his but there were perks, small as they were; through the echoes of his footsteps on a secluded square, to the clearing of his calendar that allowed him the space for company. He never imagined himself so fond of the season until he caught himself in a daze watching the outside glisten with all the ideals; of festive lights and sparkling displays from the window. For once he eases into the slow down of his movements, taking a pause to his busy life, his work left atop a mug stained tabletop that doesn’t seem to goad him anymore.
Quickening his pace, Arthur heads south east of Piccadilly, towards the banks of the Thames, knowing he was behind schedule, he lingered a little longer than expected, feeling a certain tenderness that comes with the conclusion of a year. This in contrast to his productive early rise, completing a handful of chores and then readying himself for a jog in the city, writing a note of his whereabouts and a promised meeting point left beside the bedside table for his sleeping companion.
Seldom did he have these moments of being a tourist in his own home, and so Arthur thought to make most of what he could, rushing across the 3 parks, passing by the two palaces and weaving himself towards Soho and Covent Garden with no notion in mind but to see them deserted.
Memories come to him, neither sad nor happy, but sensations, different images to be considered like a line of Christmas cards hung above a fireplace. From a young and insatiable youth fuelled with ambition, to a subdued brooding self, confused on a trajectory between countryhood and the smallness of their person, to something in between; timeworn yet still persisting. Fluctuating versions of himself that seem distant but not entirely shapeless, in the same way frost gathers across a surface to melt away by a simple touch, the connection a fading prickle.
But there were more tangible things he had at length, turning left at a corner to the path that led to the stretch of Embankment. But just as relief begins its pass over him a hazy cafe light catches his eye, slowing down his steps to come face to face with the display of fresh pastries. Past the snowy vignette windows, a lay down of hay cushions sweet black pepper tarts and dark chocolate orange zest mince pies, other flaky goods crowd round them, wrapped around in botanical paper of tangled pointed branches with clusters of resin and small leaves. It takes little time for him to make a decision and enter the cafe through its doors, the scent of sweet earthy spice and butter greeting him from within.
“I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.” Arthur is a little breathless, squinting slightly as sunlight strains his eyes. It doesn’t impede on his ability to recognise the figure standing beside the stone walls however, who turns at him with a still face but playful eyes. He was 10 minutes late.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done so,” Kiku pulls down his scarf, he is in all dark colours but there is a soften quality about him as if Arthur were looking at him through a candle lit window, “I’d be in the wrong to not have that factored in.”
Arthur closes the gap between them, easing into a relieved sigh. Kiku hands over a bag of his items and after sifting through it he is met with a winter jacket, thermos, a change of socks and shoes, gloves and scarf. Arthur drops one of the handles to pass over the bag sandwiched under his arm to Kiku.
“To compensate for last night’s dinner. I hope it didn’t make you second guess spending your holidays here.”
“I considered.” Kiku passes a look at him before scanning the bag of treats for first pickings.
“It wasn’t too bad, if you bypass some of the vegetables and the gravy I think I did a pretty good job. Think of it this way, at least I didn’t burn anything this time.”
“All you do is make me consider.”
“And every time regardless of what it is you consider, you seem to stick around.”
“Perhaps next time I won’t.” Kiku says over the pepper tart he bites into, with Arthur passing an ‘oh really?’ through a smirk under his breath not entirely over their back and forth. He changes his shoes and clothes.
“I have a strong feeling you’ll come back.”
“Only because you beg for my attention.” Kiku wipes away at his mouth with a tissue and gently tucks the pastry back into its bag, folding it over neatly for him to grip as a handle.
“Really? I don’t seem to recall any begging.” Arthur plays clueless, edging closer so he was inches away from Kiku who remained unbothered, comfortable.
“Maybe I could remind you of your numerous messages pestering me to come and spend the holidays with you,” Arthur hums, nodding to Kiku who raises a brow,” Or perhaps I could even mention last night, someone was particularly needy in the dark, do you remember at all?”
“I really don’t. Must’ve slipped me.” Arthur looks from here to there still playing his obliviousness until he couldn’t and cracks a smile. When he locks eyes with Kiku again however a more concerned look is spread on his face and with a sharp intake he comes down towards the bag in Arthur’s hands for the thermos, pouring out hot tea into its lid then passing it over to Arthur's hands.
“I’m all for looking after one's health, but what I can’t understand is running in the middle of winter in such thin clothes,” tender concern replaces quippy remarks from Kiku who shakes his head, “You’re bright red.”
“Because I’m boiling.”
“Because you’re freezing.”
A cry from a seagull echoes across the Thames, its usual dark choppy waters tamed by the sun and it glitters, cradling dapples of orange light. Arthur tries to spot the bird, sniffling, warmth flowing through his body from the black tea in his hands.
“It’s unfair for anyone to be currently at work, it’s too beautiful of a day.”
“It is,” he sees it taking flight just left of the bank, arcing high in the sky before diving into deep water, surfacing only a few seconds later with a fish wedged at its beak, “No matter how great of a tip or easy company I gave them.”
“Always so generous.” Kiku smiles, humming into the thermos for one last drink before pressing it toward Arthurs’ cheek. He leans towards it instinctively, closing his eyes as he took in the warmth.
For much of the world blurs, golden singularity, nipped by the severity of winter, piercing through skin and bone. A spark from a thin line of wick he follows, flaxen head turning to the sight of candle light, three purple, one rose, a steady hand with a single flame, igniting the white. Deep smoke, anointing oil, visions of a star in wandering, nativity scenes in celebration, a story he recalls like the songs of blackbirds or the horn of a ship.
What did Kiku say to him that evening he’d landed? How he understands the baby in the way consciousness came to him atop a blade of grass, the wisdom of consideration between two living things came in the shape of an animal who stares back at him. Its fleeting attention instills the knowledge that he was not worth much for it reverts back upon the grass to feed. In which consideration comes to those who were worth the hold, that beings strive only for what was useful in things that sustain them. To leave an impression, long legacies in such minor details that come from a blip in time.
Tired eyes untangling the yarn he’d worked through, piecing together the things that sustain him. The rarities that were offered gold, frankincense and myrrh, in a lifetime as long as there's never seemed as rare as they are spoken of. For like the streak of a star in the sky bound in orbit, through sight and all that was tangible returns and degrades. He’d sought something far beyond what wise men could give, found in all that is calm laid bare on the floor, to listen vividly in his insights, sated, another stares at him in consideration and he feels wisest of all being gifted a star so bright.
“I’ll sort out dinner for tonight.” Kiku’s voice is distant, Arthur snaps back into consciousness. He’d missed much of the conversation, Kiku walking ahead of him whilst he stood, still with the flask to his cheek he held like a fool. Quickly he chugs down the rest of his black tea, wincing through the heat, pushing through the starting aches of his body to jog back at Kiku’s pace.
Just as Arthur catches up, Kiku outstretches his hand, sweetened pastry ready for the taking and Arthur chuckles into it taking a bite, tangy and fragrant to the taste.