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Arthur turns over in bed, his sleep disrupted by the loud and incessant meows of a fluffy golden cat by his feet, “Ohhh, Pannenkoek! Be quiet!” Arthur grumbles, aggressively rubbing his eyes. He raises his arms up in an overly dramatic stretch, groaning all the while. Pannekoek, pleased to see him awake, slyly climbs into his lap and nudges him. He scratches behind her ears swiftly, which she responds to with a positive purring.
“Aw, Pannenkoek, you're so adorable, wow.” Arthur mumbles sweetly, smiling, “Just the most perfect cat in the whole world.” Then hit with a sudden wave of guilt seeing a stealthy black cat in the doorway, he adds on, “And you too, Snoepje, of course.” Not that these words matter anyway, cats can’t understand English. Maybe they can understand Dutch. Maybe that’s why they’re always so insatiably hungry.
With a soft chuckle to himself, Arthur crawls out of bed and with a glance back to the empty bed, he feels a devastating pang in his chest. He physically deflates, shoulders hunching in and head hanging low. As he shuffles into the bathroom he ruminates on last night’s events, contemplating what he possibly could’ve done wrong.He begins scrubbing his teeth, longingly glancing at Max’s toothbrush sitting in the cup.
Last night, his beautiful, talented, and amazing girlfriend was cooking dinner (fettucine alfredo) for the two. Arthur, stupidly, began pestering and whining to her, “Teach me!” and “Please! Tell me how to cook!” Not surprisingly, these requests were ignored and Max continued cooking with nothing more than a few unimpressed glances towards Arthur. After a painful twenty minutes of this back and forth, Arthur slumps back to the sofa with a solemn sigh. Max shortly brings the food out and it’s quite possibly the most appetising thing Arthur has ever witnessed.
“Wow! Babe, this looks so good.” Arthur exclaims, his eyes shining brightly with adoration. He tries it with an exaggerated face of bliss and a hum of approval.
“Do you like it?” Max questions, with a subtle tilt of the head and a subdued expression on her face.
Arthur nods enthusiastically, “Mhm! So good. Love it.” He replies, albeit muffled from the bite he was still chewing.
She throws a disgruntled look to Arthur before responding curtly, “Glad to hear.” Max herself leans back on the sofa and begins eating.
With a sharp smile and a crooning voice Arthur chirps, “Of course, sweetheart!” Then, upon receiving no response, he obliviously continued to happily eat his food while some indie French art film plays on the TV (Max’s choice, obviously). If it were up to Arthur he would probably choose the 2000s’ worst rom-com.
Time passes, the movie having one of those elaborate psychologically complex endings that Arthur never tends to understand but watches just for Max’s sake. He turns to Max with a rapid turn of his head and just as he’s about to ask with a pathetically idiotic expression, “Babe, what the hell just happened?” He’s able to see Max is already up and into the kitchen, cleaning away the remnants of their dinner. That’s strange. However, Arthur isn’t discouraged and springs up to join her.
“Need help?” Arthur slides an arm around Max’s waist, whispering in a beguiling tone.
“Ha. Very funny.” Max dryly chuckles, rolling her eyes and tapping Arthur’s shoulder, an extremely clear sign to back off. Arthur, ego a little bruised, obliges. He takes a step back, leaning against a counter, and instead chooses to watch in admiration as Max cleans.
“But, Baaabe!” Arthur bemoans, “You go relax, I'll clean the kitchen.” When a raised-eyebrow-stare is thrown his way, his face erupts into one of shock.
“I’m serious! So serious!” His voice, betraying him, raises a few octaves. He gesticulates dramatically before giving up, “Okay. Wait. I’ll actually help, what can I do?” He stands up straight, hands on his hips.
Max turns around, crossing her arms, “I’m serious too.” She gives him a look, “Go get ready for bed, I’ll be up soon.” With that, she spins back around and gets back to cleaning.
Arthur pouts, slumping, “Fiiine, babe.” He strolls over, twirls her hair and places a soft sweet kiss to the top of her head. He lowers his head down to her face, requesting, “Kiss goodnight?”
Max winces, “Not tonight, No. Off to bed.” She declares sharply.
Arthur, confused and a little hurt, furrows his eyebrows. However, as always, he isn’t that discouraged, “Night! Love you!”
Max giggles quietly with a slight smile, “Love you too.” She replies quietly without so much as a glance back.
Arthur, despite being a little confused by her quiet nature, does what she asked and goes to get ready for bed. He’s asleep before she comes to join him.
Now here he is, lonesome and wistful, brushing his teeth. He’s so confused! Did he do something wrong? Was he more annoying than usual? Probably most definitely yes to both of those questions. Well shit. With a subdued sigh, Arthur trudges into the kitchen to see a sticky note pressed to the table. It reads: “Gone to work. Be back at 5.” Arthur sighs once more, except much louder and aggravated, so much so it should actually be considered a groan of agony.
He lifts the sticky note and inspects it closer, “No hearts? No kisses?” He frowns, “God, she must hate me.” Arthur looks down at the cats who were now circling his feet, purring while rubbing against his legs. Arthur’s eyes brightened, his mood somewhat improved. "At least you guys don’t hate me.” Okay, well whether she’s mad at him or not, the safest thing to do is woefully beg for her forgiveness anyway, right?
Filled with a new and improved motivation, Arthur goes to get ready to win the affections of his girlfriend back. The first step is to look so unquestionably handsome that she can’t possibly reject him. That’s how Arthur spends a whole thirty minutes fixing his hair. Delicately coercing each ‘natural’ golden blonde strand into a ‘natural’ wave. This is followed by an additional thirty minutes selecting an outfit. Eventually, he decides on his darkwash bootcut jeans, joined by his favourite belt (a fancy black leather one Max bought him for his latest birthday), a grey Weezer band t-shirt, and his converse. Classic Arthur outfit.
The second step then would be to decide what exactly would convince her to take back such a pathetic mortal man such as Arthur. Nothing wrong with flowers. Max loves flowers! Arthur considers a few varying ideas for what kind of flowers to buy. Her favourites are the traditional Dutch tulips, but Arthur already gets her those bi-weekly so that wouldn’t work. At a loss, he decides to refer to his ‘Flower Language’ novel that contains the majority of flower species’ and what they mean. Yes, he owns one of those. He’s a romantic! Some would say loser, but he denies this accusation.
He flips through the charmingly vintage pages, elaborate illustrations adorning each page. Aha! That’s it. Lilies of the valley, represents rebirth and a return to happiness, just what Arthur needs. He closes and places the book back on the shelf, and throws himself a dashing smirk in the mirror before grabbing his keys and getting in his truck.
With his mood substantially raised, he’s compelled to listen to music. Arthur turns on the radio and is overjoyed when The Smashing Pumpkins starts crooning out of it. He hums and taps his steering wheel along to the beat as he drives to the store.
Luckily for Arthur, as soon as you walk into the store there is a varied and humongous display of fresh flowers. He takes his time searching, before he eventually comes across the dainty lilies of the valley. Considering the many bouquets of it he sees, he inspects incredibly closely to ensure he selects only the best for his sweet Maxine. Embarrassingly, this takes over twenty minutes of staring intensely at flowers less than a foot away from his face. Other customers were getting noticeably worried. Once he finally selects a bouquet that is perfectly in blossom, no lousy leaves, and a gorgeous, vibrant green colour, he can move on.
He strides purposefully through the rather deserted aisles of the store (it is 3:30PM on a Wednesday to be fair). His prompt footsteps only subsiding once he enters the biscuit aisle and a fully stocked shelf of stroopwafels greets him. A cheerful tune is whistled by him as he saunters on over to grab a pack before he’s interrupted by a distinct throat-clearing tremendously close to his left ear. He all but leaps out of his skin, clutching the flowers to his chest and letting out a whiny high-pitched squeal.
He cowers and turns around slowly, only to be filled with rage to see Friend. What’s even more enraging is that Friend is noticeably holding back a raucous bout of laughter.
“Dude. What the fuck.” Arthur deadpans. “Just because you did that shitty magician workshop last year doesn’t mean you get to scare me every time you see me!” Arthur chided angrily. He stands up tall and huffs audibly, a measly frown forming on his face.
“Awww, but, Arthur, it’s just so hilarious!” Friend declares, giving up on holding back his hearty chuckles.
It’s only then Arthur notices Friend’s attire. He’s decked out in a full snake-print 3-piece suit, as well as a gigantic champagne-coloured mink coat. Oh God, the shoes. Golden pointy loafers. Arthur is visibly grimacing as he scrutinises Friend’s outfit.
“Hey, man, what’s with the staring issue?” Arthur can’t see under Friends day-to-day sunglasses but he’s sure he’s glaring. “Want a fight?”
“Eesh, man, no.” Arthur gesticulates wildy, “I’m just so fucking bewildered you wear that shit all year round.” Arthur sighs, “Aren’t you hot? It's almost ninety degrees outside!”
Friend shrugs, his coat glimmering under the fluorescent lights of the store, “Nah. I don’t feel the temperature. I’m built differently.” A shining smile is plastered on his face.
“Built obnoxiously…” Arthur mutters, rolling his eyes.
“Watch it, blondie!” Friend pokes Arthur in the chest, and that’s when he notices the flowers, and subsequently the wall of stroopwafels behind him. “Wait a minute… What did you do?!”
Arthur, overcome with a nauseating guilt, raises his hands up in surrender, “Nothing! Literally nothing. It’s none of your business. Yeah.” Arthur coughs, awkward, visible perspiration running down his forehead.
Friend stares, not impressed in the slightest, “Yeah… Sounds totally true.” He raises his eyebrow quizzically, “Drop the bullshit, Sinclair, you look guiltier than a guy cheating in poker, and trust me, do those guys look guilty.” He stares off fondly into the distance, as if reminiscing on tender memories.
Arthur slumps once more, a pathetic and childishly sad expression dawning on his face, “Okay, fine.” He looks down at the flowers in his hands, “Apparently I'm the worst boyfriend in the whole entire world!”
Friend tilts his head, “I mean… Yeah? But what makes you say that?” his tone confused and wholly bored.
Arthur scowls, choosing to ignore the initial comment, “Well. I don’t know but I do know that my darling Maxine is mad at me and I must fix it at once.” His face takes on a determined expression and he wistfully stares off, filled with hope.
Friend, clearly disinterested, just nods slowly as if interacting with a small child, “Okay? Good luck with that, bro, I guess.” He twirls around in an instant, his luxurious coat flowing behind him. Damn, his aura is crazy.
With a sigh, Arthur turns back around and gazes woefully at the stroopwafels before crouching and selecting a pack from the back (they’re fresher that way). Deciding that his job here is done, he pays for his items and leaves.
The ride home is considerably less cheerful than the one to the store. His newfound determination was replaced by an intrinsic anxiety. What if Max actually is mad? What if this has been building up? What if it gets worse? His chest aches, he really is scared.
He trudges up the stairs to the apartment and opens the door to be greeted by Snoepje and Pannenkoek. His heart swells with adoration and he coos as he enters the room. He gently sets down the flowers and stroopwafels on the table before crouching down and petting the cats.
He strokes Pannenkoek and scratches Snoepje, “Awww… You guys are just so adorable! I love you guys… Awww…” He smiles brightly at them both, some of his worries quelled.
He straightens up, brushing the cat hair off his knees, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips, “Okay guys, give me time now, I gotta set this up so your mom will forgive me.” His dismissal of the cats is met with angry meowls and hissing, followed by them trotting by his ankles.
Arthur scavenges through the cupboard under the sink in search of their crystal vase to put the flowers in, he lets out a whoop of victory when this goes successfully. Setting it on the table filled with water, he goes through the motions of prepping the flowers to be displayed. It’s almost like instinct to him at this point, evidence to show that he does it often.
Final touches are to be added. He softly hums a tune as he fluffs up the flowers in order for them to look their most beautiful. Perfect. The stroopwafels also find their place next to the vase. Something is definitely missing Arthur ponders… Got it! An apology note. He rummages through the drawers in the kitchen, finding a piece of paper and a pen.
Hunching over the table, he writes in a messy scrawl: “I’m terribly regretful and wholeheartedly apologetic for behaving incredibly annoyingly before dinner yesterday. I beg of you from the depths of my soul to forgive me. Please, babe?” Right next to this sorrowful declaration of sin, Arthur sketches a rather horrible portrait of Snoepje with a dramatic sad face.
“Hmmm…” Arthur murmurs out loud to himself, “Should I cry so my tears stain the paper? Proof of my sorrow?” He looks up and stares thoughtfully at the ceiling, genuinely considering this before shaking his head abruptly, “No. No. That’s too much.” As if everything he does isn’t too much, but alas. He signs the note off with an ‘A’ and a little heart.
He steps back and just gazes in admiration at his hard work. She has to love it. She has to forgive him. Arthur glances down at his watch, Max should be home any minute now, props to him for optimum time management.
Just as he’s about to take a seat on the sofa, he hears the lock turn, and accompanied by the cats, he scampers over to the door. Max walks in, deep brown eyes drooping, she’s clearly exhausted after what must’ve been a terribly difficult day at work. Arthur feels his heart begin to race, the sight of her extraordinarily long copper hair intricately woven into a Dutch braid, how fitting. She’s wearing her new painter’s apron, the one with the tulips embroidered on the pocket. Wow. She’s simply the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He feels himself get all dopey with a gooey smile on his face before he remembers exactly what he’s here for.
She hardly has a second to greet him before he flings himself down on his knees, clutching onto the back of her thighs, “Maxineee…my darling sweet girl…” He wails, voice warbly and whiny. “Baby, please you have to forgive me…” He chokes. Feeling an aching anguish deep in his soul. Also noticing the pain of the friction burn which is swiftly forming on his knees. Ouch. Regret that one.
Max glowers thoroughly, incredibly confused. She gingerly places her hands on Arthur’s shoulders, a small attempt to soothe his incoherent ramblings, “Arthur? What is the meaning of this? Huh?”
He buries his face more, muffling his words, “Forgive meee…” He babbles. He glances up, face crimson and eyes wide as well as teary, “Aren’t you mad?”
Max stammers, completely perplexed, “No? Literally no?” She gently brushes the hair out of his eyes, “What gave you that impression?”
Arthur’s eyes widened even more, “You’re not?” The threatening to fall tears dissipating as soon as they came. “But… What about before dinner?” Arthur hesitates, feeling stupid (rare occasion), “When I pestered you and begged you to teach me how to cook…” He stammers a little, “Um. Then you seemed kind of annoyed… And like, hardly spoke to me the rest of the night…” He avoids eye contact, embarrassed.
Max grimaces, she feels so awkward but still she does feel sympathy for him “Oh, Arthur.” Max murmurs as she pets his head, “Can you stand up for me?” He rises immediately, aggressively wiping his eyes before looking down at her with a carefully neutral expression.
Max’s arms are crossed and she's pursing her lips at him. He hunches his shoulders, worried. That’s when she sighs and gently takes his hands in hers, “Now. Why on earth did you think I was mad?” She studies his face closely.
“Well. Uh.” He chuckles nervously, “You were just very quiet and I swear I made this, like, hilarious joke,” Arthur huffs, “And you didn’t even crack a smile!” Max smiles, “No! Don’t laugh!” Arthur whines, pouting. Max is really giggling now, Arthur can’t help but join her. She’s too cute to resist.
Arthur stifles his laughter, putting on a blank face, “No. I’m being serious.” He fixes his posture in a re-establishment of masculinity.
“Okay, okay,” Max relents, “Dude, what even was the joke?” She gazes at him quizzically.
Arthur clears his throat, a distraction, “Doesn’t matter.” He swings their hands ever so slightly, fidgeting, “But that’s not it! When I asked you for a kiss goodnight, you said no!” Arthur frowns, genuinely looking hurt.
Max’s heart softens but she stands her ground, “Really?” She stares at him, dumbfounded, “I made fettuccine alfredo, with garlic. No way was I kissing you after that.”
Arthur knits his brows and hangs his head low, looking intensely into her piercing eyes, “Oh woe is me… My heart is bludgeoned and it drips blood onto your merciless hands.” Arthur mumbles in a breathy tone with a lopsided smile, leaning in even closer.
Max lets go of one of his hands to push his face away, her face flushed a fervent red, “Shut up.” She looks away, her face all screwed up and flustered.
She takes a breath before looking at Arthur again, “Okay. Well I'm not mad at you. I haven’t been mad at you in, like, four days.” She explains logically, shrugging her shoulders.
Arthur gasps as his face drops, jaw slack with shock, “Wh- What did I do four days ago?” His question is met with silence as Max stands there looking woefully chagrined, “Uh. Doesn’t matter.”
Looking for a distraction she aimlessly looks around, “Oh? What’s that behind you?” She scans behind Arthur to see what’s adorning the table.
Arthur jumps up in sheer wonder and excitement, “Yes! Come look!” He smiles charmingly at Max, wrapping a toned arm around her waist and leading her gracefully to the kitchen table. He makes a distance between them as she picks up his note to read. He’s noticeably agitated, shifting the weight between his feet, and fidgeting with his hands.
Max lets out a peal of laughter, her face glowing with a faint blush, “Awww, you’re so sweet.” She regards him tenderly before returning to reread, “Look at you getting all poetic to ask for my forgiveness.” She chuckles once more, “Poor Snoepje… You really did her dirty.”
Arthur doesn’t have it in him to get offended, he just snickers along with her. The sketch didn't take that long anyway, so no harm done. Max gasps then, “Ah! Stroopwafels!” She picks them up to admire, turning them over in her hands. Then her eyes fall upon the flowers and her entire face shines, “And the flowers…” She whispers in disbelief, “They’re beautiful.”
Arthur steps closer once more, wringing his hands together, “Mhm! My ‘Flower Language’ novel said they were the correct flowers for a sincere and honest ask for forgiveness.” His words blur together with the sheer speed of his speech, “And, well, that’s exactly what I wanted and I picked the freshest bouquet and-” He’s quickly shut up when Max stands up on her tiptoes, places a delicate hand on Arthur’s chest, and gives him a slow, steady kiss on the lips. He melts into it, setting his restless hands on her hips, pulling her closer while her other hand snakes up to tilt his jaw, deepening the kiss.
After a moment she pulls away with a soft exhale, caressing his cheek, “Don’t worry. It’s perfect.” She reassures, a little breathlessly.
Arthur hums, delightfully pleased, “Yeah?” He blurts.
Max hums in return, “Yes.”
Arthur laughs, overjoyed, wrapping his arms tighter around her into a hug. He rests his head on top of hers, rubbing up and down her back. He withdraws slightly in order to analyse her face. Taking a few seconds per feature, taking in all her otherworldly beauty.
Max flushes under the undivided attention, “Stop. Why are you looking at me like that? Stop it.” She can’t hide her toothy grin, however.
Arthur smirks playfully, raising his eyebrows, “No reason. You’re just cute is all.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
She rolls her eyes and attempts a glare but she can’t hide the shine in her eyes, “Shut up.” She murmurs. “Okay. Go sit down now, I’ll be with you in a minute.” She pats Arthur’s chest, dismissing him as a queen would her jester.
Arthur smiles even wider, “Okay, princess, as you wish.” He cups her head, plants a soft kiss to it, before pulling away and meandering over to the sofa where he lies down. He sighs in pure bliss, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the ceiling. He’s so glad she forgave him. For nothing really, as she wasn’t even mad, but still. His heart soars with happiness.
Arthur, growing impatient, peeks over the edge of the sofa and is delighted to see Max walking over. She’s holding a book, her latest reread, The Iliad. She nudges his legs splayed on the sofa, “Come on, shove over,” Eager to please, Arthur sits up quick. Max sits down, getting comfortable and cosy after a hard day’s work, and begins to read.
Getting bored, Arthur nudges her with his foot. She looks at him, suspicious and disgruntled, “What?” She snaps.
Arthur looks around in faux cluelessness, “Uhhh. Give me attention. Please?” He tilts his head and speaks sweetly. Who could say no? (Friend. With glee. But that doesn’t matter.)
Max sighs and rolls her eyes, but directs a contented smile his way nonetheless, “Okay, love. Just lie down.” She complies. He scrambles to lie down with his head on her lap. An odd choice of his is to stare right up at her. She glances down, a little concerned, “What is it?”
Arthur squirms a little, getting comfy, “Aren’t you gonna read to me?” He requests.
Max hums, “Don’t really want to.” She purses her lips.
Arthur huffs out a breath, turning on the ‘puppy-dog-eyes’, “Come on, Please?” He begs, asking so nicely.
Max glares down at him one last time, “Okay. Fine.” She grumbled in faux annoyance, not actually minding. He knows this. Arthur sighs contentedly as Max’s delicate hands come to toy with his carefully composed hairstyle, her fingers undoing his hard work. Her voice lilting beautifully as she recites The Iliad. Arthur is happy. Arthur is safe. He’s also annoying and dramatic, but, why be negative?