Every day, Arthur Kirkland left his office building at the corner of Harrison and Crane at exactly 5:30 PM.
Every day, Arthur took the concrete steps down to the sidewalk two at a time, took two lefts, jaywalked toward the kebab stand in front of the tailor's, and waved at Gil before disappearing in the alley between the credit union and the sweets shop.
Every day he emerged on the other side, turned right and stepped into the crowd at the bus stop, waited an average of 4 minutes and 28 seconds, and boarded the crowded city bus.
Every damn day.
Except for the day of April 15th, in the year of our lord, two-thousand and thirteen.
On that blessed day, Arthur's boss suffered a case of explosive diarrhea so foul, he had to evacuate everyone from the office lest they collapse from the horrible stench.
At least, that's what Arthur believed. In reality, some unfortunate creature had managed to find its way into an air duct and promptly die, meaning that a horrid stench began to pour out of the ducts, forcing the office to close down for the day.
So, Arthur emerged from the building at 12:38 instead of five, and found the street outside to be much lovelier than he remembered.
The weather was unusually warm for April, and Arthur slipped his suit jacket off and slung it over his shoulder as he headed toward Gil and ordered a bottle of Turkish soda.
"Get fired old fart?" Gil asked with a wicked grin.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"I've the rest of the day off, it seems."
Gilbert growled a bit, obviously envious.
"Lucky bastard."
Arthur bit his tongue to avoid a smart retort. Today seemed too good to fight with Gil over the young lad's future. He wanted to say something about nothing being luck and everything being about hard work, but he had argued with Gil endlessly. The man refused to pursue any education, despite his older brother's repeated attempts to assist him. Life had handed him a kebab stand, and he was loathe to do any more than he had to; he could rot with the damn thing for all Arthur cared.
He decided to change the subject.
"Have you any idea what I should do with myself today?"
Gilbert winked mischievously at a passerby, shaking a lamb kebab in her direction.
"If it were me, I'd get my drinking started early, but an old fart like you can't handle liquor so early in the day. For a guy like you, I'll say the park."
Arthur was about to reply that he could drink young Gil under the table with ease, but the mention of a park distracted him.
"Is there a park nearby?"
Gilbert looked at him incredulously.
"Y'serious? How long have you been here? Gah. Thank God you know an awesome guy like me, otherwise you'd be hopeless. There's a park three blocks over."
Gilbert dropped the kebab he'd been brandishing at another confused young woman and pointed down the street.
"It's on Hope street, you can't miss it. Well, apparently you can, if you're a moron!"
At that Gilbert fell into peals of raucous laughter, wheezing and guffawing at his stupid excuse for a joke.
Huffing, Arthur abruptly turned and left him, heading toward what he hoped would actually turn out to be a park. He did not need a repeat of the embarrassment he'd felt when Gilbert had given him directions to a library. Arthur hadn't even known places like that existed in this town. Or America. Or the world.
As Arthur headed toward Hope street, he tried to remember how much of the city he'd actually seen. Of course, he had only been a resident of the town for about four months. Even so, when he reflected on it, how much he knew about the area was really pathetic. He spent most of his time at work, rarely left his apartment when he wasn't working, and when he did emerge from his cave to seek sustenance it was usually at the pub closest to his house. There he had found the only other true European this town seemed to offer. He and Francis had formed a rather beautiful friendship; they hated each other's guts, whined constantly and drank bitterly.
But thoughts of that dark hole in the wall were ill-suited for such a gorgeous day, and Arthur found his mind emptying completely. The sun was warm and relaxing as it danced across his shoulders, easing his tension. The street was alive with people, young and old, all going about their own business, all trying to realize their own dreams.
It wasn't home, Arthur thought, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he made it out to be.
At last, Arthur found Hope street, and on it, he found the park.
It wasn't a big park, not by any means, but it was big enough. It was stuck among all of the brick and steel of the city like a little weed weaseling its way out of the sidewalk: green, resolute, but ultimately out of place. An iron gate found its way along the edge, beginning at a screen printer and ending at a computer repair shop. Behind, trees grew as tall as they could, shrubs stubbornly refused to remain kempt, and children, it seemed, refused to be quiet.
The whole place was alive with the sound of them. Little ones, not yet out of diapers, determinedly wobbled towards their mothers on unsteady legs. Bigger ones tossed a ball back and forth or hula hooped or rolled and ran about. And they were all screeching, yelling, singing, shouting at their mothers and fathers and caretakers about ice cream and dirt and the color of the afternoon sky.
He was a little stunned by it, really. Here he was in the middle of what was supposed to be a work day, in the center of the business district, wearing a freaking suit, watching the epitome of childhood at play. He felt like a trespasser. An outsider looking in.
He stepped inside.
It wasn't exactly transformative, but the park was a little larger than he thought. There were a couple of swing sets and a slide on this side. Two large hills (man-made, he mused) separated the rest of the park from view, making it feel more spacious than it was.
He continued on, passing through the two via a little cobblestone path, and found the other side to be much quieter. It was flatter, and fewer people were around, making it more peaceful overall. In the far right hand corner there was a small amphitheater, currently occupied by a girl around six years old who was putting on a one-woman show for her grandmother.
And on the left there was a balloon stand.
It was a rather classic affair, Arthur mused. No more than a small box painted with white and red stripes, the top of which hung open, revealing a heap of balloons in every color imaginable. Crouching beside it was a man who appeared to be handing a red balloon to a child, but his back was turned to Arthur, so he couldn't tell how he looked.
Amused, Arthur approached the scene and noticed a small blackboard, one of the two sided ones that often stood outside restaurants.
It said, in slanting letters of red, white and blue:
"Hi there! My name's Alfred! I'm mute! That means I can't talk! But I can hear, so feel free to ask for a balloon!"
Beneath that it read that small balloons were fifty cents and large ones were a dollar.
Arthur felt that he would look rather ridiculous with a balloon, but wanted to give the man a little money out of kindness. He glanced back up, prepared to approach him, but found that the man was already gazing straight at him, a grin on his face.
And what a face it was.
He looked young, Arthur thought. So young. His skin was smooth and tan, and free from any spots or marks, save for a mess of freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. And above that nose sat the bluest eyes Arthur had ever had the pleasure of seeing in all his days.
Arthur found himself, ironically enough, unable to speak.
The awkward moment stretched on as Arthur gaped at the young man, whose grin had become an expectant (and slightly amused) smile. He leaned down toward the box and produced a second chalk board. Resting it against his stomach, he quickly wrote a few words and flipped it over, gesturing for Arthur to read it.
"Yanno, I can't really break silences."
Author's Note: Thanks for reading. As a new author for this fandom, reviews would be insanely helpful and appreciated. More to come soon.