Chapter 20
TWENTY
My eyes flutter open to the sound of my alarm, and slowly adjust to the early morning light streaming through the curtains. My arm grazes Arthur’s, and I smile at the feeling of him here in my bed with me. The memories of last night come flooding in, filling me with a sense of comfort and relief. The evening may have started with tension and a potential for everything to fall apart, but it ended up being perfect. We stayed up late, playing with Neville and simply being together, letting our quiet moments speak for themselves. And our connection only became stronger as we fell into a deeper level of understanding and trust. One I’ve never felt with anyone else before.
I turn off the alarm and roll onto my side, my eyes tracing the contours of Arthur’s face as I realize he’s already awake, staring up at the ceiling with that familiar intensity.
“Morning,” I murmur sleepily.
He turns his head slightly, his eyes flicking to meet mine for a brief second before darting away. “Morning. ”
I study his face, noticing the subtle frown in his brow, and the way his chest rises and falls with a deep, deliberate breath.
“What time do you need to be at work?” I ask carefully.
He hesitates as the crease in his forehead deepens, then he lets out a long breath. “Uh… I don’t…” Then he squeezes his eyes shut as the tension in him becomes palpable.
A wave of worry rolls over me as I watch him. He looks like he’s struggling to just be here right now.
“Hey,” I say gently, reaching out to take his hand in mine, and squeeze it tight. “What’s up?”
His eyes open, and he turns his head to look at me with his brows drawn together. “What?”
“What’s going on?” I ask again, assuming he didn’t hear me. But when he still looks confused, I can’t help but give him a small smile. “It seems like something is bothering you,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand. “Tell me about it.”
“Oh,” he says, closing his eyes again as he releases a sigh. And that sigh sounds a lot like disappointment, which tugs at something deep inside me.
I’m learning that he needs direct communication, and I’m trying to be better at that for him. But when it slips, he’s so hard on himself for not immediately understanding. It seems like he’s been conditioned to believe he should, and I hate to see him carrying that weight.
“I don’t know what to do…” he admits, his fingers slowly tightening around mine like he’s unaware he’s even doing it. “I’ve never started a workday when I’m not at home.”
“Ah.” I nod in understanding. “Ok. So, we need a plan.”
He turns his head towards me, his eyes meeting mine with light sparking to life behind them, and nods.
“I don’t need to be at work until 8:00. So, we have,” I glance over at my phone on the bedside table, “an hour before I need to head out. Where are you shooting today? ”
He shakes his head. “I’m not. I’m editing this morning.”
“What time do you start?”
He hesitates again, his gaze flicking between me and the ceiling. “Well… I usually wake up at 5:30,” he says, his eyes locking with mine for a moment. “I do every morning. I just stayed here while you slept until your alarm went off because you sleep until 6:30.” He shifts his gaze back to the ceiling. “On days I work at home, I go for a walk down my street to the water and back. Then at 6:20 I make a coffee and drink it either outside on my deck if it’s nice out or inside at my kitchen table if it’s not, and read until 7:20. Then I make breakfast and eat it, and that is a little more difficult to determine an exact time for, because it depends on what I make. But it’s usually eggs and toast which doesn’t take too long, so I’m usually done eating by 7:45. Then I shower and get dressed, and then I go to my computer to work by 8:15.”
His eyes quickly dart to me, and I realize I’m smiling.
He’s fucking adorable.
His routine, so structured and deliberate, is a perfect reflection of him. Precise and thoughtful, with little room for deviation. I love the way his mind works, and how he’s crafted a life that makes sense to him, even when it’s hard for others to understand.
“Well,” I say, propping myself up on my elbow, “we’re a little far from the water, but I have coffee, a deck, and eggs and toast.”
And right on cue, now that we’re awake, the sniffing and scratching starts at the closed bedroom door.
I chuckle, tilting my head towards the door. “And I think someone else might appreciate the company this morning too.”
Arthur glances at the door, where Neville’s shadow is visible beneath it. A quiet chuckle escapes him, and he nods.
My smile widens, and I sit up in bed. “Alright. Time to see what the beast has been up to all night.” I glance towards the door, already picturing the chaos Neville might have caused. He was pretty damn excited to have Arthur here last night, so I’m hoping he didn’t go completely batshit crazy on the house. Good thing I kept the door closed… he’s a terror on a good night, so I’m bracing myself for what I might find.
Arthur grabs his glasses from the bedside table and slides them on as he sits up beside me. My eyes trace over him, taking in his sleep-rumpled hair, the white t-shirt clinging to his lean frame, and those bright green eyes catching the early morning light.
His gaze catches mine, and he gives me a soft, sheepish smile. “Thank you,” he says softly.
I lift my hand to the side of his face, letting my thumb brush along his cheekbone. “You don’t always wear glasses.”
Arthur shakes his head slightly. “I wear contacts when I hike.”
I tilt my head, admiring the way the glasses suit him. They add something to his quiet, thoughtful, understated presence, like they’re offering a glimpse into his deeper layers. “I like them,” I murmur.
His lips tilt up in that small, endearing smile of his, and I can’t help but lean in and press my lips to his as I savour every bit of him. And I take a moment to think how lucky I am that he’s here with me. That he’s given me another chance to understand him, and treat him the way he deserves to be treated. That he’s let me in, and is willing to show me his beautifully quiet and intricate world.
But then a loud thump followed by a squeal comes from outside the door, interrupting the moment. I sigh in frustration while Arthur’s head snaps towards the sound.
“Is he ok?” Arthur asks, looking back at me with wide eyes .
“Oh,” I roll my eyes at the door as I push the blankets back and get out of bed, “he’s completely fine. He’s just impatient and throwing a tantrum.”
Arthur gets out of bed as well and watches me as I head towards the door.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob, giving him a warning look over my shoulder. “Prepare yourself.”
And sure enough, as soon as I open the door, Neville barrels into the room like a tornado, immediately leaping onto the bed and tangling himself in the blankets with happy squeals.
Arthur watches him with a big smile, and his beautiful laugh fills the room.
Then, Neville suddenly jumps from the bed, and heads downstairs in a tear.
I huff out a breath and shake my head. “He’s ready for breakfast now. Then, he’ll crash and sleep all day.”
We follow him downstairs into the kitchen, and the bird immediately starts chirping and hopping around in her cage. Arthur’s face lights up as he heads straight for her.
I set to work preparing Neville’s breakfast, tossing his usual dog kibble with carrots and cucumbers into his bowl before setting it on the floor for him. Then I hand Arthur a small dish of soaked dog kibble. “Want to feed her?” I ask with a smile.
He studies the dish with a furrowed brow. “Dog food? For a bird?”
I chuckle, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I know it sounds weird, but it’s what I feed the rehab birds. It’s high in protein, and a great substitute for their diet of insects.”
Arthur hesitates for a second, but then takes the dish from me. He gently opens the bird's cage with the same quiet care he has towards everything, and sets the dish inside. The bird immediately hops over, pecking away at the food as if it’s the best meal she’s ever had.
With a quick glance at the clock I head back to the counter to start the coffee, knowing Arthur will need to leave soon to get back home and do what he needs to do before work. But as it brews, my gaze keeps slipping back to him. He’s sitting on a stool by the bird’s cage with a peaceful smile as he watches her eat, and the sunlight filtering through the window catches his red hair, like flickers of a flame.
He’s out of his usual routine, and I know that brought him some anxiety this morning. But to see him here, with me, in my house… so at ease in this moment… it once again makes me feel incredibly lucky. He could have gone home to the comfort of his usual habits, and I would have understood. But he chose to stay here with me. And that means a lot… for both of us.
“What photos are you editing today?” I ask as I pour coffee into two mugs.
“The ones I took yesterday,” he says, his eyes still on the bird as she hops under a branch in her cage.
I smile as I place the pot back in the machine. “Landscape or animals?”
As I turn around to face him again, his eyes are on me and they’re bright with excitement. “European Golden Plovers.” His fingers twitch in his lap, and he bites his lip like he’s holding back, and trying not to say more.
I hand him a mug and lean against the counter, giving him my full attention. “Tell me everything.”
He takes the mug with wide eyes and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I saw four ,” he says excitedly, and I can feel the happiness radiating off him as he completely lights up, and his words flow faster. “They tend to breed in moorland areas like the Arctic tundra, as far west as Iceland and as far east as central Siberia. In winter, they migrate to milder regions in Europe, Africa, Asia, and even as far south as Mediterranean regions. But they can come as far west as Newfoundland. And they tend to gather in large flocks in open areas. I saw four, which isn’t a large flock, but since they came so far, that’s understandable. They’re considered rare for Newfoundland, but records occur almost annually in April and May, usually because strong storms over the north Atlantic push them this way.” He pauses for a very brief moment, and sits up taller with a surge of excitement. “Oh, and I heard its call. I saw them near the lighthouse in Bay Bulls, and then I heard it. Its call is a melancholic ‘tuu’, monosyllabic and slightly descending. I liked it a lot. And they look really nice. They’re similar to the American and Pacific Golden Plovers, but the European is slightly bigger with shorter legs. And the European Golden Plover has white axillary feathers instead of grey.” He nods matter-of-factly, then his eyes quickly drop to the coffee in his hands. “It was cool,” he says quietly.
I step closer, standing in front of him as he sits on the stool, and gently lift his chin with my fingers. “Sounds amazing,” I say, my smile widening as his eyes soften. While he may be self-conscious about his bird-rambling, I absolutely love it. “I love how much you know about birds.”
He gazes up at me as his expression shifts and softens, and I slowly slide my hand from his chin to thread my fingers through his hair. He pulls in a deep breath as his eyes close for a moment. And when they open again, there's a sense of resolve in them that wasn’t there before.
“I want to go to the wedding,” he says quietly.
I nod slowly as worry creeps in. I don’t want him to feel pressured into going, and for him to think he has to push himself into situations that make him uncomfortable just for my sake.
“I just…” he continues, “don’t know if I can. ”
I give him a soft smile. “I know. And it’s ok.”
Arthur’s gaze shifts out the window as he seems to fall into thought for a moment. “I want to be able to do things that everyone else seems to do so easily,” he says, an edge of uncertainty in his voice as his gaze stays fixed on something in the distance. “I’ve always wanted to… but it’s just easier to be on my own. So I stopped trying.”
My chest tightens at his words, and at the look in his eyes. He prefers solitude… but it sounds like that’s out of self-preservation. The thought of him feeling lonely breaks my heart, and I wish more than anything I could ease this pain for him.
His eyes slide back to me, and it seems like it takes a moment for them to focus. “I want to try with you.”
I lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll help you with whatever you need,” I say, running my fingers through his hair again. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Emotion passes through his eyes as he presses his lips together. But then something shifts in him and he winces slightly. “Your friends probably don’t like me. They think I’m weird.”
I shake my head. “They don’t.”
His brow furrows. “How do you know?”
“I just do.” I shrug.
Confusion is clearly etched in his features, but I just smile and take his hand in mine, squeezing tightly.
“You don’t have to decide about the wedding right now,” I tell him. “Take your time to decide what you want to do. And I’ll always be here to help you.”
A small smile forms on his lips, and I see something in him I haven’t seen before. Something light, soft, and unguarded.
I think it’s hope.
I smile back at him, shaking my head slightly as admiration for him takes over. Every day, he fights forces that most people don’ t even notice, in a world that seems determined to pull him under. But he adapts, finding his own way to survive with his untamed spirit intact, holding onto the beauty that makes him who he is.
“Stay wild, Firefox.”