[ Arthur leaves two voicemails (all on some variation of Hey, it's Arthur. Call me back.) and three text messages (WHERE ARE YOU? and CHECK YOUR VOICEMAIL. and I'LL BE COMING ROUND IN FIVE.) He doesn't hold it against Dom, the lack of response, but there is a tightness in Arthur's chest that becomes too pressing to ignore. It's panic that spreads along cartilage and bone and blood and hums low in his chest, please stay, please don't go, please don't fall deep into somewhere I can't follow.
(Don't leave me too.)
It's late in the afternoon when Arthur comes by, juggling a paper bag of groceries in one arm and house keys in the other. He hasn't had to use them in a situation beyond babysitting James and Phillipa for a few hours, but as it stands, waiting feels too cruel.
When he pushes the door open, the house seems empty and Arthur's not sure what to make of it. ]
Hello? [ He calls, quietly shutting the door behind him. ] Dom?
no subject
(Don't leave me too.)
It's late in the afternoon when Arthur comes by, juggling a paper bag of groceries in one arm and house keys in the other. He hasn't had to use them in a situation beyond babysitting James and Phillipa for a few hours, but as it stands, waiting feels too cruel.
When he pushes the door open, the house seems empty and Arthur's not sure what to make of it. ]
Hello? [ He calls, quietly shutting the door behind him. ] Dom?