After only a few nights together, Arthur knows that he tends to sleep better than Curt does - except tonight, apparently. Tonight Arthur can't seem to stop thinking. It's not just that he has been biting his nails ragged for the past several days, hoping Curt will call him again,and it's not just that he's lying awake with that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he gets when he wonders which hook up will be the last time he'll see Curt. He knows he's already dangerously close to losing himself and his heart. But of course he always was, where Curt is concerned.
He thinks of the chance meeting in a seedy bar that had brought them together, inasmuch as they are together. Curt hadn't changed that much since ten years ago - older, of course, a little sadder and wiser, but still the same fearless, beautiful creature. Arthur has always admired that fearlessness - admired him so much that it hurts, sometimes. He wonders if Curt can see that. Curt had sounded so bitter that night when he spoke of changing the world...
Arthur tries not to fidget; he doesn't want to wake Curt, after all, yet he can't quite keep himself from tossing and turning. Sure enough, Curt snaps his eyes open.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says, "I didn't mean to wake you."
"It's fine," Curt says, sleepily. "'It's better than being alone."
A rare admission of vulnerability, that. Arthur thinks, So maybe you will call again, and puts his hand on Curt's arm, surprisingly bold. Even in the dim bedroom he can see Curt smile.
"What are you up thinking of?" he asks.
"You," Arthur says, hoping he won't say too much. "What you said a few weeks ago about changing the world..."
"Yeah. You know - you should know - that you did change it, at least for me. I mean, when I was growing up. Because of your - music, your image, sexuality, everything, I could hate myself a little less than I would have otherwise. A lot less, actually."
He could as easily have mentioned Brian's example but doesn't want to bring him up. Anyway, he hasn't had eyes for anyone except Curt in years.
Curt exhales audibly. The sound is somewhere between a sigh and - perhaps - a laugh. He raises his hand to Arthur's face, running callused fingers over his lips. Arthur closes his eyes. He remembers that same gesture, that same gentleness, from ten years before.
"Goodnight," Curt whispers.