Jðkêr//Är†hµr x RêåÐêr ïmågïñê§ & ðñê-§hð†§

• Dancing In The Dark (pt.1)

But then he'd shattered any preconceptions by gallantly offering to help carry up the box I was struggling with. Pleasantly surprised, I'd thanked him, quietly impressed that he carried the heavy box with ease in spite of his alarmingly frail stature.
He barely spoke, which made the situation somewhat awkward, so I'd tried to engage him in polite conversation. But other than telling me his name, and that he lived on the third floor, I didn't really get much more out of him. Realising that he was cripplingly shy, I'd rambled on like I have a tendency to do, and tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke;

"It's too bad you didn't get here earlier, Arthur. This is the last box." I chuckled.

And then he'd looked at me, the clown makeup accentuating his puppy-dog eyes, and said, "O-oh. I'm sorry. If I'd known I would've taken the bus to get here sooner."

At first I'd thought he was being sarcastic, but no. He was being completely sincere. And I realised in that moment that he was one of a kind. Kind of odd, eccentric, timid, and genuine. Genuine and kind. Which is certainly a rarity in this city.

So, I had told him that I would've made him coffee by way of thanking him, but seeing as I'd yet to unpack and even find the coffee, I said to stop by sometime for one.
The invitation seemed to really take him by surprise. He'd mumbled his thanks and left, and to be honest I hadn't expected him to take me up on my offer.
But the very next evening he'd turned up at my door, dressed smartly in burgundy pants, a white dress shirt and matching burgundy vest.
It completely threw me, and it was only when he spoke did I recognise who it was.

After that initial, undeniably awkward, first coffee, his visits became a regular thing. He lives on the floor above me, and stops by at least twice a week, and I've been to his own apartment once for dinner with him and his elderly mother.
So yeah, I suppose Arthur is the nearest I've come to making a friend here.
He is a friend. Not a close one, but he's not just a casual acquaintance either. To refer to him as such would be doing him an injustice, because he's nothing if not considerate and attentive.

And now I'm hoping, praying even, that he is here. That it is him at the door. It has to be, and...and I want it to be.

"Arthur?" I call out as loud as I can in order to be heard above the raging storm. "Is that you?"

"(y/n)? Yeah it's me. Are...are you okay?" Comes the muffled reply.

"I am now." Immediately the tension eases in my chest, as I breath a small sigh of relief. "Just hang on. I can't see a thing."

"No wait." He responds, with uncharacteristic assertiveness. "Where are you?"

"The living room, but I'm coming now--"

"It's okay, stay there. I'll come to you."

I frown in confusion. "What?"

"Just give me a minute. I'll be right back, I promise."

"Arthur?"

There's no response, so I retrace the few steps I've taken, and wait anxiously. Wondering what on earth he's doing.

True to his word, less than a minute later there's a tapping on the side window, making me almost jump right out of my skin. I whirl around and I'm just about able to make out the movement of a silhouette outside.
That crazy, lovable loon must have gone out in this appalling weather and took the fire escape.

I manage to make my way over without tripping and breaking my neck on anything, and unlock the old sash window. He assists in hauling it up and once it's open wide enough, carefully climbs inside.