If We Found Heaven ✓

fifty ☀

As Art sat down in his garage for what he knew would be the last time for many, many months, he felt a melancholy pang in his chest. The garage was empty now, save for a few cans of dried up paint and three of the clocks that he had decided to leave behind. Even the car he had worked on for so long with Reid was parked on the driveway, ready to be taken across the country by some movers he had hired. He was loath to part with the thing, and he hated himself for his sentimentality. Reid's notebook sat on one of the many built-in shelves in the garage, and Art went to pick it up. He had to give this back before he left.

The walk to Reid's house was tedious and long. Only because he made it so, Art reminded himself. Only because he was dragging his feet and pausing to smell every flower in sight. He must've made for a bizarre glance out one's kitchen window, always bending over to sniff at a rose. But there were more important things on his mind than the town he was hopefully leaving behind for good.

There were no cars parked in Reid's driveway; Art had no reason to chicken out. He hesitated all the same. At last, after what seemed like hours, he reached the front door. His knuckles lingered in the air, poised to knock. Finally, he did. Footsteps sounded from inside, coming down the stairs, and Art remembered the night he had knocked on Reid's door before their first evening walk. It wasn't evening now. Perhaps that was metaphorical. The sun rose over the downfall of their fledgling relationship. It was just not meant to be.

The door swung open and Reid made a noise of surprise. "Hi," Art said, looking everywhere but the boy in front of him.

"Art," Reid said.
"That's me," Art replied. The same words. They truly had come full circle. Art didn't know how to feel about it. "Can we take a walk?" Art asked.

Reid nodded slowly. "Sure."

They started off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace once Reid had locked the front door. "I'm leaving tonight," Art informed him.

"Wow," Reid said. "It's really happening, huh?"

Art felt his lips curl in an involuntary smile. "Yeah," he agreed.

"How do you feel about it?" Reid asked.

Art could feel Reid's gaze on him, but he kept his own eyes on the pavement ahead. "I'm ready for a change," he said after a beat. "It'll be nice."

Reid gave a nod in the periphery of Art's vision. "Cool."

They had reached the park by now, and Art paused in his steps by some trees. Reid slowed to a stop beside him. "I wanted to give this back to you," Art said. He pulled the little notebook out of his pocket and extended it to Reid.

Reid stared at it for a few moments as it hovered between them. "I've been looking for that," Reid said at last, taking the thing and shoving it into one of his own pockets. "Where did you find it?"

"In my garage," Art said. He studied Reid for a moment. "I read through it."

"Did you?"

"Yeah," Art replied. "I did." His next decision was impulsive, much like the first time. Art took Reid's hand, gently, cradling it the way the night sky cradles a crescent moon, and pressed his lips to Reid's. He knew, then, that in a million years and a million different lifetimes, there would never be anything quite like this. It was as though he could see, through this kiss, what might be if he didn't step on the flight in the evening and stayed here, instead, with Reid.

They might get jobs in San Francisco for a while to be near Sullivan and Cass. They could go out on plenty of dates and shack up together in a little apartment. They could live out their dreams hand in hand, side by side, together. How Art longed for that, ached for it, even. He wanted it so bad that he finally, for the first time in his life, understood what Sullivan meant. This wanting was going to kill him. Wanting and knowing that he couldn't have what was close enough to touch, close enough to taste, close enough to imagine. The possibilities were endless. Every one of those possibilities ended in happiness. And Reid was making no move to step back or release Art or do anything except for hold on so tight that someone would have to pry his fingers apart to make him let go. It was enough to make Art want to call up Mark and tell him that he wasn't going to live in the brownstone after all. It was enough to make Art want to run away with this boy.

But Art had spent a lifetime settling for that which he did not want. He had accepted and accepted and accepted until he couldn't anymore. And as of right now, he could still accept. He could deal with the disappointment. So he broke the kiss and he stepped away. "Call me if you're ever in New York," he said, voice choked, because he knew Reid would understand everything he meant. Call me if you ever want me again. Call me, and I'll be there, because I'll always be here, be there. Call be because wherever I am, I will always be waiting for you.

"Okay," Reid murmured. His lips were red and his eyes were that stunning blue and Art wanted to take a picture and keep it with him forever. This boy, who was nothing like Rex at all. This boy, who had taken his heart in one summer and had left Art's chest hollow and empty. This boy who had destroyed him. This boy who could destroy anything and everything and Art would still want him, still need him, still love him, dare I say.

Art couldn't bear to stand here any longer, looking at everything he could have yet somehow could not have. Everything that was within reach yet so far away. Art couldn't bear to stand here and look at The Boy. The One. Capital T, capital B, capital O. And maybe Arthur was being dramatic, but so what? He always had been.

He wanted to scream at Reid. To scream at him and make him apologize for tearing Art up into a million pieces. He wanted to make Reid understand why he was leaving. He wanted Reid to stop looking at him like a lost puppy who had been kicked to the curb. He wanted to tell Reid everything. He wanted Reid to know how much he meant to Arthur because only then would he understand why Art had to go.

But Reid was the one who was good at words and at comfort and at explanations. Reid. Reid, Reid, Reid. Reid was the one who was taking Art apart, piece by piece, like one of Art's broken clocks. Reid was the one standing in a park in Hemley while Art walked away.

The plane smelled like stale peanuts when Art began to cry.

---

only the epilogue to go! plus my picrews of the cast (y'all know i'm obsessed with it if you saw noor & zafira) and some extra stuff :3

i would publish the epilogue now but i don't want to hurt you too much all at once 💖