Chapter 5
Arthur:
can we please call
George stops brushing his teeth for a second. He’s wearing a hoodie he stole from an ex-girlfriend who was taller than him, and suddenly he wants to take it off.
He does, and then finishes brushing his teeth faster than any dentist would accept.
George: Incoming Call
Arthur picks it up as fast as he can.
“You okay?” George’s voice is deeper than it was in second-year, and the skin on the back of Arthur’s neck bristles.
“Yeah,” Arthur says, voice small.
It’s silent. George doesn’t pry.
“I keep wondering,” Arthur says, breathing out, “If I’m the moment and everyone else keeps the memory. If I don’t know how to hold onto people I connect with. I just do it and then I go off not caring.”
“Of course you care,” George says gently, flopping onto his bed. “I see it in the way you look at people.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know if I actually, properly hold onto people.”
“That’s because you’re scared of them letting go.”
George doesn’t say anything for a second. He just presses his palm to his chest like he can hold Arthur’s voice there. He remembers how Arthur looked the morning after they hooked up, barefoot on the cold floor, shorts low on his thin hips, hair flattened from sleep. George had wanted to ask if he could stay longer, but he didn’t.
And now Arthur’s on the phone, sounding broken. George is already trying to pick up the pieces.
“I don’t want to be hollow. I want to be full of memories of people.”
“Do you have any memories of me?” George asks, voice a little shattered. He shouldn't ask it. Should tell Arthur he's a good person without asking to see it. But he wants to see it, just for himself.
“Yeah,” Arthur breathes, and George missed his voice. “You kept counting my ribs with your fingertips. And then we got really high, and you asked if the birds that dance for each other feel like they’re falling in love the same way we do.”
George laughs, a broken sound. He wants to be remembered so badly it hurts.
“Yeah, that sounds like me,” George says, but it comes out choked. He presses his fingers to his eyes and breathes through it.
“You had a mole on your left shoulder,” Arthur continues quietly. “I kissed it. You asked me why, and I said I didn’t know.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah. But it’s dumb,” Arthur laughs.
“Tell me.”
Arthur breathes out, trying to be brave. “I had a therapist, when I was younger, and she had a mole on her cheek. I told her an angel kissed her. I thought maybe an angel kissed you too.”
“You kissed me,” George whispers back. “Felt like an angel.”
“God, you’re such a sap,” Arthur laughs, light and meaningful. “Do you compose those lines in your head before you say them?”
George smiles into the quiet. “No. You just make it easy.”
Arthur’s breath catches, but he covers it with a soft scoff. “You’re lucky I’m emotionally unstable or I’d hang up.”
“You’re lucky I’m emotionally unstable or I wouldn’t pick up,” George counters.
It’s a soft kind of quiet after that.
“I really missed you,” Arthur says, barely above a whisper.
George closes his eyes. “I’ve been missing you this whole time.”
“How did we both get hung up on a one-night stand?”
“You shouldn’t have made me that toastie. You Pavlov’d me. I’m just waiting for another, nothing else.”
“Nothing else,” Arthur laughs back. “Just toasties.”
It’s quiet and comfortable. George sits with the presence of Arthur against his ear and feels his body warm up.
“Your voice sounds pretty,” George murmurs.
“We are not having phone sex.”
“God! You really do jump to conclusions. I’m just saying your voice sounds pretty.”
Arthur hums, pleased. “Okay. I’ll allow it. But only because you said I was pretty.”
“I said your voice was pretty,” George teases.
“Don’t make me hang up.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” George says quietly. “You sound... content. Softer than you used to.”
“I’m tired,” Arthur admits. “But not like, in the awful way. Just… warm. Like my body finally gave up fighting the cold.”
George exhales like it’s a relief he didn’t know he needed to feel. “I want to be part of that warmth.”
“You are,” Arthur says before he can think better of it. And then, a beat later, “You’re not allowed to use that as an opening for a sex joke.”
George grins into his pillow. “That’s fine. I’ll save it for when we’re in person.”
Arthur’s smile stretches across the phone line, and George can feel it like a pulse under his skin.
“So… No phone sex. How are you feeling?”
“You can’t be serious right now.”
“What! You called because you were feeling sad. I’m trying to make you feel better.”
“By vaguely suggesting phone sex.”
“By asking you how you feel.”
“About phone sex.”
George laughs.
“At this point, it sounds like you want it more than me. You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”
I do want it, Arthur nearly says. I just don’t want you to leave again.
“Hey,” George says, quieter, “I’m just joking. I don’t wanna do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Can you just…” Arthur trails off. “Talk about, um, having your hands on me?”
Arthur waits for George to ask what do you mean?
“I’d hold your face and swipe the tear off your cheek."
Fuck, he gets it immediately. Arthur’s hand comes up, and hesitates. And then, gentle and slow, he mimics the motion, the other hand holding the phone to his ear.
“I’d wrap my arms around you and press my chest against your back so our hearts were lined up. I’d wait until the rhythms synced, and then I’d kiss your neck because I couldn’t reach your face.” George laughs quietly to himself. “Maybe I’d kiss your face. Kiss your pretty ribs one by one and thank them for holding your heart. Wrap myself around you so tight you didn’t have to worry about letting go. I’d let you melt into me.”
Arthur’s breath catches. “You’re going to kill me,” he whispers, voice wrecked and affectionate.
“I’d never,” George says, soft and sure. “I’d keep you alive. I’d hold you until the world softened around the edges. Until your hands softened, and you held your pretty face the way it deserves to be held.”
“Would you hold it?” Arthur’s voice is small.
“Yeah,” George replies, smiling through the phone. “Yeah, I would.”
Arthur places the phone on his pillow and wraps his arms around himself. It finally feels warm, doing that, even if it’s someone else’s hands he’s imagining.
George speaks again, quieter now, like he can sense the stillness on the other end of the line. “You can fall asleep if you want. I’ll stay here.”
Arthur hums, barely audible. “What if I dream about you?”
“Maybe I’ll dream about you too.”
Arthur doesn’t answer – not with words, anyway. Just the rustle of sheets and a breath that evens out. And George lies there too, holding his phone like it’s Arthur’s heart, listening to the sound of someone beginning to rest.