How to leave the closet

Saturday he spent sleeping. Sunday he spent forgetting Friday. But Monday was a workday.

Arthur’s hand was locked around the doorknob, but he didn’t dare to turn it. What could be behind the door? Had it been only four days ago, he would have walked straight in – straight, hah! What a joke! – knowing that what would be greeting him was his same old office.

Now he felt he couldn’t just assure that everything would ever go back to being normal again. So what could he expect? A naked Alfred sleeping on his desk? He had to fight the thought in order to gain enough courage to open up the door, and with the eyes tightly shut he took a step inside. And waited. But nothing happened.

Slowly Arthur took the chance and crept his right eye open, gazing around the small office. There was his work desk, and the only thing resting on it was his laptop. The walls were still covered with posters advertising for stuff like boxers and whiskey, and on the shelf beneath the window his teacups and bags of Earl Grey were placed. “Mine very straight and indeed heterosexual tea,” Arthur added in a whisper, and finally he allowed himself to let go of a sigh in relief. Apparently it was all okay, and those bad memories of Friday night would soon erase themselves from his mind.

Arthur chuckled, closing the door before going to the desk, placing his briefcase next to it. Now all he had to do was to deliver Matthew’s wallet at the police station, telling them that he found it lying on the street, and hopefully Alfred would do the same with his, and it would all quickly be-

“Arthur!” The door swung open. Arthur hammered his closed fists down onto the table.

“No!” he yelled, “no-no-no! I’m an old man, my nerves can’t handle this!” He looked up. In the doorway his German colleague Ludwig was standing, looking rather shocked.

“…What?”

“Oh, Ludwig!” Arthur straightened up, spreading his arms as he walked over and gave his old friend a short hug. “Good, straight Ludwig, you have no idea how comforting it is to see you again!” Ludwig looked down at him with nervous eyes, slowly getting free of Arthur’s embrace.

“Apparently not, but I do have a clue.” Arthur cleared his throat with an excusing smile on his lips, shaking his head a little.

“Sorry, it’s just… I have had a weekend to remember,” he sighed, making the other raise a brow in disbelief.

“You? You’ve done something beside watching the news?” Arthur snorted.

“Don’t make me sound so boring, as a matter of fact I haven’t been watching the news this week.” He hadn’t, since he’d been to busy denying the existence of a world outside his own flat. Instead he’d finished crosswords like a madman. 62. A personal record. Arthur cleared his throat once again as he returned to the reality and Ludwig, looking up into the other’s clear blue eyes.

‘Not as blue as Alfred’s… Oh dear God, Arthur! What are you thinking!’

Flustered, Arthur turned his back to the other, acting as if he was in a sudden need of checking his teacups for cracks. “B-but you’ll get the story later,” he mumbled keen on changing the unpleasant topic. “Did you come here for a certain reason?” The German nodded eagerly, making his slick, blond hair a bit uneven.

“I was reading the paper, and I found this article. I thought it might humour you, since you seem to take a joy in other’s unhappiness.” Ludwig handed Arthur the morning’s paper. Arthur snapped it from his hands with an ironically laughter as a response to his joke.

“Let me see… Where?”

“Page five.” Arthur leaned back against his desk as he turned through the pages.

“This one? ‘Madmen ruining innocent’s life’?” Ludwig nodded as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“One thinks we live in a safe city, but no! Not anymore. It’s scary. Try reading it.” Arthur wetted his lips with the tongue, eyes skimming through the article.

“Friday night… Man on bike and his buddy… Attacking stranger… Man on hospital with broken arm and-…” Arthur’s voice died out.

“There’s a picture, too. Look. Look at his face.” Ludwig tapped at the next page. Slowly Arthur looked at the photograph of the unlucky man. The man stared back at him with eyes Arthur knew all to well. It was the man from the park. The homophobic, violent rapist. “Poor man. He doesn’t even live here,” Ludwig said, “Russian tourist, had had a few drinks and was on his way to his hotel, when two men suddenly turned up. It’s scary, isn’t it? It happened in the park. Just besides where you live!”

Arthur wanted to nod, but he couldn’t. He wanted to say that it was all very scary, and that he hoped they caught those bastards who’d done such mean things to the man. But no caring words crossed his lips, and instead he found himself mumble:

“Oh well, we don’t know the whole story. Maybe the men had a good reason for giving him a few hits.” Ludwig blinked with his eyes in confusion.

“Arthur! You can’t mean that,” he said, clearly offended, and he grabbed the paper, folding it with an admirable accuracy. “They ran him over with their bike!”

“Yeah… But…” Arthur shrugged his shoulders. He was looking down at the floor in front of him. He felt as if he was about to faint. The story had made it to the newspaper? What if the police was looking for him right now, at this moment? He couldn’t feel safe anywhere now! His eyes started hurting, and even before he had the chance to react on his emotions, tears slipped down his cheeks.

“…Arthur?” Ludwig’s voice had turned from stern to kind, “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

“I just…” Arthur shook his head, hiding his eyes behind a hand. Ludwig moved to stand in front of him, placing his hands on his shoulders as he leaned down, looking at his friend with worry.

“Arthur, what’s wrong? Do you… Do you know anything about this case?” The German’s voice had turned very quiet. He almost whispered the last sentence. Arthur spread his fingers, peeking through them at the other.

“Ludwig… I… I might… I…” It knocked on the door. Ludwig stood still, looking at Arthur who was looking at him. No one moved. It knocked again.

“I know you’re in there!” Francis. His French accent was easily recognized. Had it been anyone but him, they could’ve ignored it, but they both knew they had to answer. Ludwig sighed.

“Wait here.” He turned around, opening the door a little as he looked out at Francis. “Mr. Bonnefoy, you knocked?” Francis sloped his head to the side, an unsatisfied look in his eyes.

“Yes, but I did expect Kirkland to open the door, since it’s his office, am I not right?”

“Mr. Kirkland is… He’s busy at the moment.” Pause. A loud whimper was heard behind Ludwig, who added: “Very busy.” Francis tiptoed at the sound, trying to get a glance of Arthur over the other’s shoulder.

“But I want to speak to him. Immediately, at my office. It’s important.”

“May I ask for the reason, sir?”

“My son.” And Francis turned and walked away. Ludwig wrinkled his brows in confusion, turning to face Arthur.

“…why would Francis want to speak to you about his son?” Arthur wiped the tears from his eyes, a helpless smile crossing his lips.

“Oh, Ludwig… Ludwig…” He took in a deep breath, smiling brightly at the other. “Ludwig, I think I am going to die in a minute.”

“Wha’-“

“No, don’t say a thing. Just…” Arthur grabbed his teacups from the shelf and shoved them into the hands of his friend. “If I get fired, keep these. They don’t belong outside this office. Just… clean them every Wednesday and Friday, okay?”

“Okay?” Ludwig mumbled, though he had no idea what was going on. However, Arthur gave him no time to ask, for he quickly slipped out of the door and walked in the direction of Francis’ office.

Ludwig was left with a bad, bad feeling. And when a German feels something is coming up, there often is.