Winter had always been Arthur's favorite season. It was void of summer's bothersome heat, and the dreary rain of spring and fall. Christmas was just around the corner as well. However, as November grew old, and December was fast approaching, Arthur found himself growing anxious. There wasn't a flake of snow in the forecast. The Brit was so fond of white Christmases, the idea he wouldn't see one this year was quite depressing.
The Writing Club, however, bore better news. It was slowly coming to life, already recognized by the school as an official club. They met twice a week in Arthur's classroom, and he took pride in it, just as much as the girls did. Though without an official project to work on, the club members were free to write whatever they pleased while Arthur graded papers and looked over planners at his own desk. He never read their writings as to not invade their privacy, though no amount of such courtesy could silence the curiosity that gnawed on the back of his mind. What was it Kaesha wrote everyday, what words, what thoughts flowed from her pencil into the printed world? He wondered what he could learn about her should he read them...
What an outrageous thought! He reprimanded himself. Writing is a personal thing, such an invasion would be unforgivable! Deciding it would be more gentlemanly to forget the matter, he distracted his attention once again with his snow predicament.
That was, until an opportunity presented itself.
It was a quiet afternoon, some time after the writing club departed. The orange glow of sunset bathed the room in a fiery hue, and threw long shadows across the desks and the floor. Having finished his work, Arthur slung his coat over his arm and jingled the keys in his pocket to assure their presence. As he was about to leave, however, something caught his attention. Two spiral notebooks lay on a desk, their plastic covers reflecting the light of the sunset. To his dismay, Arthur realized they must belong to the Writing Club. What secrets they contained Arthur should like to know, so he thought. Besides, they were his club members, he had a right to know what they wrote about! Just a peek couldn't hurt...
After only a moment of doubt, he caved to the curiosity and approached the notebooks, his footfall soft as if he might frighten them away. He picked one off the desk - a black one- and realized with a start he had no idea what to expect. What did girls write about these days anyways? He flipped open to a random page, the rustle of paper quite loud in the silent room, and began to read:
"He was poisoned..." the nurse said meekly, leaning over the mans dead body, his empty glass forgotten on the floor. A chorus of gasps and mummers followed in suit, everyone in shock.
"Was it a suicide?"
"But where did he get the poison?"
However, they were all silenced by the steady, cold voice of Celeste. "Clearly, he was murdered." Her diagnose left everyone silent, as they faced the suggestion- that there was a murderer on the island.
(AN: Sorrynotsorry for shamelessly advertising a story that may or may not happen)
Arthur frowned, setting down the notebook. Was that not plagiarism? Shaking off the strange story, he picked up a second notebook, this one purple in color. Again, he flipped to a random page and began to read:
As the light fluffy snowflakes fell all around you and your cheeks numbed because of the cold; Arthur was chatting non-stop about how the 10th doctor was to regenerate soon and how you both were not ready for that day to come. Secretly you always had a crush on the green eyed nation but you were pretty sure that would never happen you thought he only saw you as a friend; nothing more. After passing the parliament building you swore you heard a familiar sound. “But that’s impossible”, you muttered. “What was that love?” Arthur asked. “OH nothing... My mind was playing tricks on me that’s all”. After that being said Arthur started talking about how it was almost tea time. You weren’t listening because you heard the sound again when suddenly you knew exactly what it was; “Arthur shut up!” You hissed. His reply was nothing but friendly “I would like you know that...” “Arthur! Do you hear that?” your voice getting more excited by the minute. “Is That?” “The TARDIS” you both yelled simultaneously looking at each other. You grabbed Arthur's hand and started running toward the sound too excited to be blushing.
Arthur softly closed the notebook. Indeed, there was only one person he knew who would write such an adorably dorky story, and it brought a slight flush to his face. Always had a crush... he read those words over again, and found himself smiling without meaning to. A fine concept indeed...
~~~
"Arthur guess what!" Kaesha greeted him excitedly, flyer waving in hand like the flag of a liberated nation. Following her, and nearly matching her enthusiasm, was the rest of the Writing Club. "We found a project to get started on!"
From her excited babbling, accompanied by a word or two from the others, Arthur gathered that they had entered a writing contest. "And the winners get to go to London for Christmas!" Kaesha said, excitement finally bursting. That caught Arthur's attention. It would be a dream come true, being home for Christmas. A place where he knew all the streets by name, and no one had strange accents, and there was hope of a white Christmas...
"Hey, where's my notebooks?" Rose's comment brought him out of his day dream.
"You and Kaesha left them here," he said, "they're on the back table."
That's right, he thought, doing his best to hide the blush that threatened his cheeks, I'll be able to spend Christmas with Kaesha this year...
