Arthur noticed that Francis had been busking more often than usual. Much more.
At first, he didn't pay too much attention to it. It was none of his business to mind over other people's lives and whatnot. But after Francis had busked outside for an entire week, that was when he went from slightly worried to legitimately concerned.
And he couldn't help but notice that despite having the same energy and rhythm, his music sounded… flatter. As in, it didn't have the same care nor heart put before.
He was overreacting, he told himself. It was none of his business to mind what Francis was going through. Nevertheless, it still worried him. Francis was there playing in the mornings when he left for work, and again during the evenings when he returned. At last, when he woke up on Saturday to the sound of the saxophone again, he decided to fuck it and give him a piece of his mind.
Arthur stood by Francis as he continued to play a tune; a different one. He didn't seem to notice him. Arthur drew a deep breath in.
"Hey."
The tune stopped to a halt. Francis blinked, as if he was going out of a trance. He spun his eyes around.
"Ah. Hi!" Despite attempting to create a friendly air around him, Arthur noted that he looked a bit more worn out than usual, with his dark eyebags and his slightly unbrushed hair.
"Francis, I-I think that you should go take a break."
"Hm? Ah, sure." He sounded distracted. Francis disassembled his saxophone, and sat onto the bench. Arthur did the same. He twirled his thumbs. He doubted that just a single request would prompt him to stop immediately.
He drew a deep breath in. "What I'm saying is that it's bad for you… o-or that you need to watch out for your health as well. Erhm, you can't just force yourself outside all the time." Jesus, that sounded forced.
From the way Francis blinked to the way he controlled his breathing, Arthur could tell that Francis was nervous. Shit, did he go too far?
Francis drew a breath in. "Alright. I… I understand," he muttered. "I'll keep that in mind."
Keep that in mind…
The energy in the four words reminded him of a time when he was depressed.
Or maybe he was overreacting. He tended to nitpick over tiny details.
Arthur sighed. "Sorry, I tend to overreact."
"Thanks for your concern, but truly, I'm fine!" The atmosphere seemed to become tenser. Unlike their previous conversation, this one was like stepping onto a minefield.
"What? I'm sorry, do you not want to talk-."
"I am fine."
The tension became so thick, one could slice it with a knife. He blinked. Even Francis was surprised over how harsh that came out.
He heard Francis draw a breath in. "It's fine."
A silence brewed between them. It wasn't a comfortable silence, but instead one with a heavy fog of tension and restlessness as more time went on. To leave now would be impolite. How the hell could he say anything after saying that? Fuck, it was probably a mistake to go out in the first place.
What hurt more was probably the fact that Francis was hiding all this, pretending that everything was fine. "You can't hide it forever, you know."
"What?"
Arthur regretted saying that. In the end, he decided to fuck it.
"You could keep all of it in, but it'll just poison you, damage you, and just fuck you right up. And you have to face this problem one day, or else it'll ruin-"
"Alright, ALRIGHT!"
Time froze.
If the tension wasn't thick before, it was now. They stood, both shocked at Francis' outburst.
Time moved again when Francis breathed out. "I need to go now."
And he crossed the road towards the apartment block.
Arthur's words echoed again and again in his skull as he climbed the stairs.
"You could keep all of it in, but it'll just poison you, damage you, and just fuck you right up. And you have to face this problem one day, or else it'll ruin-"
He was fine.
He was just a bit down. He was alright.
It wasn't like his life was at risk or anything. It wasn't like he was fundamentally depressed. He was just down.
Even if he was… depressed, it wasn't like his case was the worst. There were many other people worse off than him, his own situation should go away quickly.
When he entered the apartment and closed the door behind him, he collapsed onto the couch and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
As he sighed, he realised how spent he was. Maybe he should go take a break.
Take a break.
Take a break and do nothing all day while whittling away a whole day from his life.
He felt… lazy. While everybody else was working on their own breakthroughs and milestones, he was simply just floating around in time. Each second from his whole life was ticking away while he was lying down, all while everybody else was working hard on their own projects.
What could he do? Busk? Was that all he could do all day? To play music out on the streets, practically begging for attention?
He busked to pass the time, it was just a hobby, he told himself.
Just a hobby.
Was that how he was going to spend the rest of his life? Playing music out on the streets? No.
Francis was surprised at the harshness of his own words. When did he start to think like that? Nevermind. It wasn't often in which he mused about his use of time, either. But with his current situation, it wasn't surprising why he would.
Was that who he was now? A lazy, negative, ungrateful person who needed constant attention? Who didn't even have a proper job, but instead a hobby?
Everybody were busy with their own projects. Antonio with the musical, Gilbert with his job, and now Arthur with his book. Shouldn't he be busy doing something as well?
Prepare yourselves, folks, it's gonna get a bit more self deprecating later on