The whoosh of the wind, a long drawn out squeak, and then the sounds of sliding doors opening: these are the first things that greet Arthur prior to his entry on the SkyTrain.
He peered in as the doors were pushed apart. The train was nearly empty. A few people sitting on the plain blue seats, and, from the looks of it, they all felt just as shitty as he did. There were a few older men who obviously were upset with the whole scenario and wanted so desperately to get off this train, a cute couple in their late fifties who was more than a bit tipsy, and what appeared to be a large stuffed giraffe sitting in one of the corner seats.
This was where Arthur found himself at three that Sunday morning.
Calves burning, Arthur pushed himself up onto the platform of the train, his five buddies directly in front of him. He huffed a bit before sitting, the tension in his legs and feet quickly dissipating. It had been a long night. He couldn't ever remember having a concert quite that wild.
Flashes of events that had taken place that night whirred through his mind: drinks, sweat, dancing, bright lights, loud music, and even louder screaming.
The vibrant thoughts faded, and he suddenly became aware of how quiet and bland this train really was.
None of them spoke. Not even the stupid Dane who has issues shutting his mouth for a period spanning longer than two seconds. Needless to say, they were all burned out and had no intentions of doing much else but breathing and attempting to keep their heavy eyelids up.
Not that Arthur was successful in his efforts to keep them open.
No, twice over he found himself losing to the battle against sleep. It was only then that he decided he needed to stop staring at the toes of his boots and focus them on the ever changing backdrop of the skyline just out the window. The steady flow of flashing colors and shapes that lay beyond were much more fit to keep his brain alert - well, for awhile at least. It was effective until a new subject came into light, one that continued to steal glances at him from across the aisle.
It was a curious thing to see.
Blue eyes darted back to his lap at the first sight that Arthur was eyeing him back. Arthur chuckled internally at this, the man was trying so hard to be subtle about his quick glances.
Arthur took a moment to examine him from across the aisle while he pretended that nothing had occurred between the two.
The stranger's long blond hair was tied up in an oh-so-neat ponytail that put Arthur's raggedy mop of hair to shame. It swayed slightly with the turnings of the train, and the way it shone in the trashy lighting of the train was nothing short of mesmerizing. Arthur would have compared it to spun gold, but that was a little too cliché for his tastes. Perhaps straw? Or did that insinuate that it was coarse and twine like? He wasn't sure and, to be frank, it didn't really matter.
The real attention catcher, however, was this man's clothing. They were clearly designer and too damn nice for someone on the SkyTrain at such a godforsaken time.
Not that Arthur could stay dumbfounded with him for long.
He was just like any other person you'd might see stuck on this train at such an hour; tired, confused, and maybe a tad insane. Despite it all, he still held that certain air of elegance. Arthur wasn't sure if it was the way he held himself or his facial expression or the fancy clothes he wore. All he knew was that it was there.
Though, he had to admit, Arthur was a bit lost as to why the other would bother looking him over.
The only thing he even mildly resembled right now was a wreck. The sweat that was dripping down his face had probably ruined his cheap eyeliner, and he knew for certain that he and the five others surrounding him reeked of booze, sweat, and a hundred or so other people.
Oh yes, he was definitely a sight to see.
Looking over again at the man, he noted that he had slight stubble growing on his chin and the fact that his pants nicely hugged his-
For God's sake, Arthur. Keep it together. You don't even know the poor bloke's name.
Not that he listened to his own advice. No, he kept looking and rightfully got what he deserved. The other, seated opposite of him, finally threw another glance in his direction. Neither one expected the other to lock eyes, but there they were doing exactly that. Funniest thing about it was that the Brit couldn't force his eyes to move back to his boots or the window or anything else on that damned train. Just like the dumbass he was, he continued to look into those cornflower blue eyes with no signs of stopping.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the blond haired stranger through him a smile and a quick wink.
Arthur huffed before allowing a small smirk to play on his face. That was all he needed to pick this man apart. Perfect hair, designer clothes, and a great deal of confidence to call upon. He was definitely the sort of person that has men and women alike fawning over him; the sort of person that's never faced rejection.
Yes, the exact sort of person Arthur believed he wanted no affiliation with until this very moment.
He moved his gaze back down to the ground. Shifting slightly, he realized again exactly what he was wearing. His black skinny jeans were littered with holes and his shirt was no better off. It had been ripped and stained considerably over the hours he'd been crammed in at the concert. Over it, he bore his only leather jacket.
Arthur licked at the cold metal that cut in at his lips, his sweaty hair sticking to his cheeks. Licking at the inside of his piercing had always been a nervous habit, but he couldn't exactly figure out why now of all times he felt compelled to do so.
The Brit threw yet another glance at the man. Fuck. Why was he so intrigued with him? He hadn't even spoken a word to him, and yet there were already thoughts of other, more intimate situations involving this conveniently attractive stranger. He scoffed at his own thoughts. Not that he was given time to dwell too hard on them; his train of thought was thrown off its tracks when Lukas' sharp voice sliced through the otherwise silent room.
"We get off two stops from here and you all better be awake when we arrive. " He stopped to poke at the Dane, who was half asleep on his shoulder.
"Including you, Matthias. I'm not fucking carrying anyone off this train."
Arthur nodded silently. Thank God. He would be able to brush off this entire situation. Never again think about that annoyingly gorgeous man, and the only thing he would have to do is step off this train.
His ego wouldn't let him know, but he was secretly a bit disheartened at the lost opportunity.
His thoughts went quiet, now instead thinking about the warm, cozy bed that would await him once he got back home to his small apartment. It was closer with every passing minute, and how he could not wait to be there.
The train jolted to a stop again causing Arthur to lean into Alfred who was seated right next to him. He mumbled a quick apology to the American before straightening back up and numbing his brain once again.
The minutes whirred passed and he passively watched as the man across the aisle fumbled a bit with his belongings before taking them off his lap.
Overhead the speakers went off announcing their stop was up soon.
"Next stop: Holdom Station."
As if triggered by that very announcement, the blond stranger curtly stood up from his seat and stood directly in front of Arthur. His hand jolted up to the metal bar below for stability and in the same instance his mouth began to move.
"Could I perchance ask you, the captivating man you are, for your number? It's not everyday I happen upon Canada's Next Top Model while making the rounds on public transportation, and I was hoping to make the best out of an unlikely situation"
The first thing that clicked in Arthur's mind was how this man's accent was a dripping French one. Though, he hadn't the time to think about it as his brain was sent into overdrive with the question. It was so very blunt yet so very suave.
At Arthur's silence Li Xiao stood up and was clearly ready to tell the man to back down and deal with him in a more violent fashion if necessary. He rapidly gestured for his neighbor to be seated, as there was no need for violence. The actions of this man may have been a tad peculiar, but he was well prepared to take care of the issue on his own.
Except he wasn't.
This man was the most intriguing and captivating person he had met to date. He seemed to have no boundaries, and even worse, no fear of consequences.
That really couldn't be a fair assumption, though. He was probably stoned or drunk. He took a small whiff of the air. No, that couldn't be it. He smelled of neither substances. Regardless, he probably wasn't in his right mind, and the Brit wasn't about to let his friend beat the living shit out of some poor man on the SkyTrain.
Arthur moved his hand to one of his small pockets. He carried very few things with him to concerts: A bit of cash, his mobile, and, as always, a Sharpie. He knew, it sounded a bit outlandish, but it had its uses. Think about it: Labeling drinks, curt reminders that need to be scrawled across one's arm, signatures from band members (though he had no such luck tonight), and really anything else you can dream up.
Sharpie now in hand, the Brit grabbed this presumable Frenchman's arm and yanked it down closer to his face. The sleeve had to be rolled up, but after that he was able to scribble out his phone number in dark ink with a quick "- Arthur K." following it. The sleeve was tugged down again, and the Englishman quickly pushed the stranger away. He was able to relax and moments later the train came to a halt. Their stop.
None of his friends spoke as they filed off the train. Stepping off the train, Arthur threw one quick glance back at the man who was still standing in the middle of the aisle. The only change in position was the way he cradled his arm in a semi-dazed state - very much out of his element. He smiled at the Frenchman, and then stepped off the train with the rest of his buddies as the door shut behind him.
They walked up the steps as silently as they had left the train. However, silence never lasted long with Matthias around.
"Nice going Art! I can't believe you gave that guy the slip with the fake number, that's what you did? Right?" the Dane babbled like the idiot he was.
"Yes," he lied, "That's exactly what I did."
You fucked up, Arthur. His brain chided.
I know.