The Artist | #3✓

Chapter 18

"He said he was taking today off, didn't he tell you?"

No. No, he didn't. I wanted to say out loud, but I instead gave Mr. Philip a small smile before thanking him for the information. I'd asked him where Toby was. I'd gotten worried since he hadn't shown up to work yet, and he was never late. I headed back to the art room, letting out a loud sigh as I took the seat behind my desk.

Why isn't he picking up his calls? I asked myself, biting my bottom lip in worry as I tried to call his number repeatedly. I still didn't get an answer, so I eventually settled on texting him. I asked him how he was, and what he was doing before I put my phone away. I tried to busy myself with the classes I had, but I always ended up turning my gaze to the door, as if waiting for Toby to just walk right through it — he never did.

At the end of the school day, I packed up my things and left the art room. I briefly thought about if it would be appropriate for me to show up at his house unannounced. I eventually decided that I'd go visit him, so I took the bus to a stop about two blocks away from the apartment complex he lived in. I walked the rest of the way to his place, and when I got into the building I walked up the stairs before stopping on the fourth floor where his apartment was located.

After a while of just staring at the wooden door, I knocked. I knocked again when I didn't receive a reply, and I repeated the action since I didn't get an answer after that either. I was about to give up and leave, but I decided to turn the handle only for the door to click open, making me look on in surprise.

Huh. He left his door open. I walked into the small living room, looking about the place in search of any sign of Toby. Everything from the Aztec styled wallpaper, to the glass cups arranged in the cupboard by the kitchen area, was still in place.

Great, so it's not a robbery. I thought to myself as I left the living room area, walking into the small hallway that led to his studio and bedroom. I opened the door of the art room, only to get disappointed when I didn't find him there. I sighed, walking over to his room door just across. I turned the knob, and the door creaked open.

Toby was laying down on his bed — he was probably asleep since he didn't make any movements when I closed the door behind myself after walking in. Duke was there with him, but the dog was awake and currently just staring at me from its position on the bed.

"I came to check up on him," I muttered, for whatever reason feeling like I had to explain myself to the greyhound. Duke sat up on the queen-sized bed when I began to walk towards them. The dog kept observing me, and I eventually made to sit down at the edge of the bed. Toby looked worn out. His face was red, and I wondered if it would be okay for me to wake him up.

A small smile made its way to my lips when I heard him mutter my name under his breath. I wondered if he knew I was here, and just was too tired to move yet — or was he having a dream? I let myself think as I used my fingers to push away strands of his brown hair that had clung to his face due to sweating. I then got up and headed to open his windows before turning on the fan at the corner. The summer heat had a way of fluctuating, he might have started sleeping when it was cooler. Looking back at him, I decided to wait for him to get up on his own.

Duke's eyes followed me as I rearranged the window curtains and pulled the covers that Toby had buried himself in down a bit. The greyhound eventually followed me out of the room and into the living room. I headed to the area that served as a kitchen and dished out some dog food for Duke. I wondered if Toby had been asleep all day, or whether he'd come back from somewhere a while ago and was now taking a rest.

It took a while, but Toby eventually emerged out of his room. His eyes widened a bit when he saw me, but his expression was soon replaced with a smile.