April the twenty-third, thee- almost four- months later, and it was Arthur's birthday.
Finally summer, the outside was warming away the cold of winter and the cold of Aucifer's hostility; snow melting long ago like the melting friction between new friends. Housing was accommodated-- although, partially useless, as the demon never cared to stay close unless mandatory, and their less than likely friendship had began to settle. Three months, and Arthur's comfort level remained the same. As did Aucifer's. The Britt was still as lively and nonconforming around his housemate, and the demon's denial in their relationship remained just as so. School was of no hassle, Aucifer raised no flags. Arthur was still alienated, still sat alone in class, worked alone on projects, but the hellish man remained by his side through all of it. And now that school was over, and now that there was no daily ritual of companion to unwilling companion, the duo were forced to much closer quarters and much more "bonding time", as Arthur liked to call it.
April the twenty-third, thee- almost four- months later, and it was Arthur's birthday.
His house, still as small and old and empty, was alive with temporary streamers that would probably remain up for weeks later, ones that lined door ways and walls of the living room, crudely tapped up with little care. Balloons, only half inflated, dusted the floors, kicked around when someone walked through, and on the small wooden coffee table in the middle of the room was an equally small and cheap cake that looked to be bought from the convenience of a grocery store discount. Of course, this was all produce of Aucifer's effort. Or, lack thereof, more specifically, but effort all he same. On the couch, a small and pale Britt, face bright with excitement and near bouncing in joy. Aside from the ones his parents would throw for him as a child, this was Arthur's first birthday party. He had a real cake, ral decorations, a real friend to share it with. He was having a real party for the first time in his young adult life, and it only cost whatever life came after. A pretty steep price, needless to say, but as of right now: it was worth it. He was actually having a real, exciting, birthday party. Aucifer stood in the doorway, leaning against the threshold and admiring the little work he had done. What little work, and what big impact; he human was practically drowning in his excitement. The sight caused him to feel a bash of pity for him-- if something as simple as a half-assed birthday party could make him this happy, he wondered how bland his life was before. Faded, old decorations and a shit cake was like it meant the world to Arthur. And, as the demon started to fear, it did.
"Hurry up and blow out the candles before you set the house on fire."
He said, walking over to the mere three candles on the cake and pinching the wicks to light them.
"I can't," rebuffed Arthur.
"You have to sing to me first."
Like tradition of the memory of his fifth, sixth, seventh birthday, and like all other birthdays to someone else, a "Happy Birthday" must be promised in song. It wouldn't be a birthday without it, right?
With the roll of his eyes and the shake of his head, his friend crossed his arms. The man stared through narrow, unwilling eyes, silently, met by the calm, unchanging eyes of that of the Britt. One, two, three, silence. And then he opened his mouth, and then he started to sing.
It was certainly nothing impressive, it was certainly nothing important, but to Arthur it was like a gift-- a great gift, a best gift.
"Happy birthday, blah, blah, blah, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, you pain in my ass, happy birthday to you."
His words were not only accented by tune, but by a smile. Crooked, soft, but a smile no less. A friendly smile, a worthy smile. To that of which, Arthur smiled back.
"See, that wasn't so hard."
"Shut up and blow out the damn candles."
The ritual of a gust of breath proceeded into the cutting of the cake and thus the eating of the cake, the eating of the cake led to a quick clean up and soon the conclusion of the party. Chipped glass plates and stainless silverware: discarded; left overs: preserved; Arthur: stationary. As Aucifer started to kick the effortless balloons out of the room and peel down small cardboard paper letters on the wall, the Britt's stationary immobility shifted to that of a curious gesture. He tilted his head, furrows his eyebrows, and even stood up to somewhat capture his attention.
"What about my present...?"
"Present? You don't have one."
This was absentmindedly shot back, carelessly returned. That, then returned with a sturdy remark of british annoyance.
"What do you mean I don't have present? I saw you working on it."
"You did no such thing..."
"It's a paining,"
"What are you getting at?"
"And it's in your room."
Arthur couldn't figure why Aucifer would have made something, something he was careful to hide these three months, something Arthur had encountered late at night when he couldn't sleep to find the demon up, sprawling away with colors and brushes and cursing upon apparent and unfortunate incidents, something he proclaimed to be his in said incidents: "that brat better like this..", to creat something and then not present it. On account of his lack of a reply, Arthur already knew he was right. He knew prior, this was just overkill. Stepping forward, Arthur crossed his arms. He had every right to be upset-- this was his birthday, Aucifer was supposed to be his friend. He was supposed to revive presents... And then, on top of not, being lied to about it? It tapped the fragile pride that was Arthur's, scratched the fragile friendship that appeared to be one sided. Arthur had promised him the remainder of his life, and he couldn't even receive a gift in return? Pitiful, was he, upset over a demon not being unconditionally kind. Pitiful, was he, near pleading for a gift he wasn't even sure was his. Maybe the brushes and the paints and the efforts he saw were not aimed for him. Perhaps, Aucifer had other deals to manage. Perhaps, Arthur was wrong, Aucifer was without, and the memory of two A.M. rebuffs were a dream that he hoped were true so intently, that to him, they became true. To him, they became true. But not to reality, not to the rest of the world, not to Aucifer. Caught in these thoughts, the room as silent. Neither party said a word, and in that wordless era exited the black haired human guise in heavy, stomping feet. Arthur went to reach of him, like he did on their first encounter, but from feet away it was hard to grasp the oil black fabric and plead to the oil black heart. Out the threshold, into the hall, and into his room with the startling and anticipated slam of his door.
Great...
Not only, had he managed to piss off his friend, but now he would have to spend the remained of his day alone...
Ah, well.. Suppose, that's what movies were made for.
Arthur sighed heavily, letting his arms fall loosely to his side. Just his luck, just his luck... But in the process of urging his body to turn away, a sound caught his attention: the brisk opening of a door, Aucifer's door. The pale man craned his neck to see down the hall, to watch the other pale man returning with a scowl on his face and a small canvas in his hands. His face instantly lit up; Aucifer really had gotten him something! What a joy, what a joy! He bounced softly in happiness, smiling, enjoying. The other stomped in, sighing, presenting. Once in the room same as Arthur, he extended his hand. T'was it no bigger than an awkward square foot, elongated on the sides and compensated by the shortness of the ends, he was handed a canvas; half colored, randomly marked, and even signed at the bottom.
"You better like it, it only took me about five tries..."
It was crude, and sloppy, and actually quite terrible... A depiction of a disproportionate british man with thick black eyebrows and yellow hair, green, dotted globs for eyes, and a thin body much too small for his head stood standing next to a much bigger, black haired American monster with white skin and two black dots hovering over a one line smile. Aucifer wasn't very artistic, but he was thoughtful. The two of them, side by side, and to much surprise: they both had wide smiles that covered a little more than the bottom half of awkwardly shaped faces.
"I used your paints-- and, your money to buy the canvases... But, I figured that would be okay."
Arthur could hardly care, could hardly consider his expenses in his own present, for it really was the thought that was the present after all. He had painted them as friends, happily together. From the man that seemed to dread spending today with Arthur, came a proof of friendship. Arthur could hardly care for his expenses in his own present, because regardless of its supplier, it was a present from Aucifer all the same.
"Sorry, I know it's shitty, but keep in mind that you insisted."
"Shitty? I love it."
Arthur replied, his face still bright with a smile and pink with excitement.
"It's such a work!-- thank you, Aucifer."
He was about to rebuff with a scoff, sarcasm to downplay Arthur's excitement, but before he could open his mouth Arthur had already started walking away. Dangerous blue eyes followed him, followed him as he walked around the coffee table and over to the streamer dressed wall. An admirable painting hung, one of Arthur's own, the same one Aucifer has took liking to those months ago. An admirable painting was lifted from the thin nails that hung it, an admirable painting was set to lean against the wall on the floor, an admirable painting was replaced with a a canvas; half colored, randomly marked, and even signed at the bottom.
"To Arthur, from Aucifer; to a friend, from a friend."
