Rainhasaguitar

  I frowned at my friend as I entered my room, having been once again beaten home. Arthur had made a game of showing up in here before I even arrived at the house, both to my mild annoyance and amusement. Arthur, like every other time, wore a smug grin of victory, id across my bed as if it were his.

  I squinted, sunlight hitting my eyes. “How did you even get in this time? I told mom to lock the door.”

  Arthur shrugged as best he could from his position. “The lock’s busted. If ya slide a card through the crack, it opens, just — like — that.” he mimed swiping a credit card up and down.

  I huffed, tossing my bag across the room as I plopped myself on my gaming chair. I turned on my PC, monitor, and the wall-plugged fairy lights that I preferred to the ceiling-mounted fluorescent mp. Arthur, as usual, had sprung into position, which was to say he had turned onto his belly and grabbed a controller.

  I raised an eyebrow in exasperation.

  Arthur looked back at me innocently, kicking his feet behind himself like a schoolgirl. He tilted his head in question, though I knew very well that Arthur was just acting.

  I turned back to my now-booted-up PC, ignoring the whine Arthur let out as I pulled up my PHIL101 essay. Arthur made an excellent distraction, and I needed everything but a distraction at the moment.

  Which is to say I immediately got distracted by how silent Arthur was being, and so I looked back at my friend, ughing at the — fucking — puppy dog eyes he was doing.

  “Fuck off dude, I need to work. And you do too, this shit due midnight.”

  Arthur snorted, sitting up and cleaning his gsses on his shirt, making it ride up slightly. “What makes you think I didn't finish?”

  I looked back up at Arthur's face, and suppressed a grin, “You never finish, limp dick.”

  I dodged the pillow that was thrown my way. “Hey!” I ughed, grabbing the thing just as Arthur went to whack me with another.

  “Oh, you’ve chosen war.” I decred. Arthur snorted at that, and so we fought.

  -

  I y panting on my bed alongside my friend. Pillow fights rarely had victors, and this one wasn't any different. Though judging by the state of our hair, especially my frizzled shoulder-length mess, there were, without a doubt, losers.

  “No, really, Jack, I submitted mine.” Arthur breathed as our ughter died down. “Could help you out if you want.”

  I ughed, but Arthur wasn't. I shot up. “Really, dude?”

  “Yeah ma… — uh, yeah, Jack, I’d be down.”

  I scoffed at my friend, staring in incredulity. The offer was welcome, and it wasn't like we hadn't helped each other with homework in the past, but College was something else. We had barely made it in, how were we supposed to be able to help each other? How had Arthur managed to… manage this already!?

  “What!?” Arthur shot at me, looking uncomfortable as I stared him down. I scoffed again.

  “Bullshit.” I said. “It's more likely that you haven't written a word.”

  Arthur mimed a hurt expression, nodding at my PC. “I could prove it.”

  I faltered. “Is it — alright, fuck. Prove it.”

  Arthur rolled his eyes, plopping himself on my chair and logging onto his school account.

  “There.” he said, a tad annoyed, maybe. I shot him a look. The two of us had consistently left our work to the st minute throughout highschool, often finishing homework the break before it was due — finishing something early was a bit of a break from precedent.

  “I… I…” I blinked as I skimmed the text. It was good? Genuinely interesting!?

  Arthur beamed at the unsaid praise, looking to have completely forgotten his prior annoyance. “Right? Like Jack, dude, for the first time since middle school, I feel like I'm learning stuff. Real stuff. How to argue, and think, and how to understand how people’s damn brain's work, and… and… Jack…?”

  I looked away, nails digging into my palms. I couldn't. I couldn't study — not like others — I wouldn't graduate, I couldn't even hold back my tears. Who am I fucking kidding? People would move on, and they would forget about me — Mom and Arthur and Zoe all. I would fade away, and they wouldn't even care because I was worthless, because I was wasting the money Mom had saved up, because I had torn our family apart, because I was stupid, and bigoted, and… and…

  …and Arthur was hugging me.

  I couldn't recall the st time I had been hugged. Had I been sick? A birthday, maybe? No, no — wait, I remembered it now, Dad had run across the field to hug me after a soccer game. I had been eight. Eight years old.

  No one had hugged me in ten years.

  The dam broke then, and I was sobbing into my friend's shoulder. It sounded ugly, and I probably looked it too, but tears came, little as they were. I didn't truly cry anymore, there weren't many tears, mostly just snot. But that didn't really matter, because Arthur was there — I could feel the rise and fall of his breath as I held on to him for dear life — because for the first time in a very long time, there was someone to hear me cry.

  -

  Arthur stayed over that day, comforting me both with my breakdown and the embarrassment that followed. I hadn't objected to being hugged, and I didn't object to a bit of snuggling either — though admittedly, the contact was limited to our shoulders touching as we sat on the bed, our backs to the wall. We had Arthur’s ptop open on my p with my essay pulled up on it, editing it and expanding it as Arthur reiterated the course material in a way that I could understand. We had also cracked open the windows, relishing in the coolness of the nighttime, te summer air — though admittedly, we had failed to notice a car parking in the driveway. We did, however, notice when my mom walked in with a box of pizza.

  My head shot up from the keyboard. “Mom? You're back!”

  My mother chuckled, pcing it, along with two cans of co, on the bedside table. “Astute observation, young man,” she stated in an exaggerated British accent that caused me to flinch, embarrassed. “though it baffles me as to why you feel the need to hide the screen of your friend’s ptop.”

  I groaned, feeling my face heat up. “Mom, cut it out?” Arthur was chuckling to my left.

  My mother continued talking as she handed us our ptes. “No, really, get it in your head, Jack, I'm not your father. Oh, Arthur, love, be careful with that, it's hot. Ok, so — what is it that you're learning? Literature? Philosophy? Satanism?” she wiggled her eyebrows.

  Arthur pried his ptop’s screen open and turned it around, so that Mom could take a good look. “It’s Jack's philosophy assignment, Mrs. Rivers. I was just — helping out — a bit.”

  “Ooooh, well that looks nice!” she commented, reading the introduction. “But fix the formatting, you two. The font’s too small. And there.” she pointed at the screen. “Don't use the word obviously. Teachers hate it.”

  I gnced between the screen Mom, thanking her betedly. Arthur was grinning. “You’ve been to college, Mrs. Rivers?”

  I shoved him, gring. “She has a bachelor's in education.”

  Arthur blinked as Mom ughed. “Yes, Arthur. I've been to college, and university. You don't get a teaching job with nothing, dear. Now.” she said as she took a slice or two. “I have homework to correct, so I'll leave you two to it, alright?”

  We chorused “Yes, Mrs. Rivers” and “Yes, Mom” as she closed the door, returning to work.

  -

  We were almost finished with the essay when Arthur spotted something in the text.

  “Hey, you can't say that.”

  I frowned, scrolling back up. “Can't say what?”

  “This part. You're making an argument from incredulity, it’s a logical falcy.”

  I raised my eyebrows, waiting for an expnation.

  “You can't refute something just because you can't imagine it to be true, or false. If you do, it invalidates your argument. Take… uh…” Arthur paused, a look coming over his face that I couldn't really dischiper. The pause went on for quite some time.

  “Take what?” I offered. The silence had started to annoy me. Arthur looked up, and I got the feeling that I shouldn't have asked that. Arthur put the ptop away, shifting in his seat. I saw him bite his lip.

  “You're a girl.”

  “...” I paused. “No…?”

  Arthur shook his head. “You’re a girl.”

  I looked down, and then back up at my friend. “Dude, No — I'm not!”

  A smug, punchable look appeared on Arthur's face. “Prove it.”

  I turned red, blinking. Arthur just stared at me, until he, apparently, realised the implication, and he also blushed, though it quickly turned into ughter. “No, you dumbass. I meant it argumentatively.” he slid a hand over his face. “Look, it’s just for the sake of understanding, right? Just listen to me?”

  I groaned in embarrassment, nodding at him. I should have realised it was a joke. I would never live this down.

  Arthur nodded back. “Your “No, I'm not” is an argument from incredulity. You can't possibly imagine that it could be true, so you dismiss it, right? But where's your proof? How do you know that it's that obvious?”

  I smirked. “Well I'm not going to show you my fucking junk, but it is sort of obvious.”

  Arthur snickered. “And there's your pitfall. Take your gender, for example. It seems so obvious to you, but it isn't! See, first of all — your bits, how you look, that's not how you tell someone's gender. That can all be changed, right? And–” he put up a finger. “–and, your appearance could be wrong. Your body could be one thing and your brain another. I can pull up papers upon papers on that, disproving this obviousness you never verified.” Arthur looked at me with wide eyes.

  I frowned. “Wait, wait. I'm derailing this, but how would you… well… how would you know if your gender is different from your body's? How would anyone know what gender they are?”

  “Oh, — that's simple, apparently. I learned about this st… wednesday, right? And my professor said that there are usually clues, but he kept saying: “Your gender is whichever you’d prefer to be.” So, you can just try out which one you like best. Test it out.”

  My stomach was feeling a bit tight, for some reason, but I couldn't resist the morbid curiosity that was forming. “Did you?”

  Arthur nodded. “Yeah, actually — but you're changing the subject.” he smirked accusingly.

  “Yeah alright, I get your point. Give me a minute to fix this.”

  Arthur spoke with a mouthful of pizza. “Submit your essay, once you're done with that. Then I'll sate your curiosity.”

  -

  “Ok.” I said, after a while. “It’s submitted. Thanks, by the way. Couldn't have done it without you.”

  Arthur took a gulp of co, and put it down. “My pleasure!” he said, a bit of DM showmanship creeping into his voice. “Now, I believe I promised to share with you the results of my little experiment.”

  “You certainly did, good sir.” I echoed in the same tone.

  Arthur snorted, shuffling around to properly y on my bed, legs draped over my p. I looked down at them suspiciously. “Yeah, no big revetions on my part — I mean, I'd chill in a skirt now and then, but I like being a guy.”

  “I mean, yeah, I sure hope it does.” I said, frowning at him.

  Arthur snorted again. “You're a dumbass, you know that? I was being serious earlier. You're a girl. That's what I realised.”

  That gave me pause. “Bullshit.” I shot back.

  Arthur smiled, almost staring through me. “No, it isn't. I was lying in bed, asking myself if I'd ever met someone like that, and it dawned on me! You are such a girl.”

  I frowned, Arthur wasn't joking, I could tell now. “What the fuck?” was all I managed to say.

  Arthur’s smile widened at that. “I think it checks out! Haven't you ever thought about it before? You being a girl?"

  I went to answer, but paused. "N-no." I lied. I had, of-fucking-course, everybody has, but that's a secret I'll keep to my grave. "And what do you mean it checks out?!"

  Arthur chuckled, shifting in his seat. "Let’s see… you hate it when people call you dude, or man, or handsome, you wear loose hoodies, even in summer — I’m assuming that's to hide your body — You py as girl characters more often than not, you–”

  “Hey, I py as Joker in Super Smash.” I interrupted, face heating up as Arthur continued his list.

  Arthur swatted me away. “Oh, I'll get to that. Anyway, you hate swimming, and when you do, you’re the only guy that wears a shirt. You hate the locker rooms, you hate wearing shorts — because, y’know, hairy legs — and, well, Jack… your discord username is gwenstacysupremacy, you get where I'm coming from, right?”

  I frowned defiantly. “No — no. Those don't mean anything, the Gwen thing’s a running joke, you're nitpicking, that's a logical falcy — and, well… no, there's just no way. Don't fuck with me. You're not convincing anybody.”

  Arthur grinned again. “Well, you're not convincing me to the contrary.”

  My face burned. “I’m not convincing you that I'm not a girl?”

  “Yep.” Arthur said with a pop, swirling his coke. “Though I think we can agree on one thing.” he grinned. “Which is the fact that you're straight.”

  I frowned. “Obviously. Why would you…”

  “Yes! It's obvious.” Arthur cut me off, grinning even further, somehow. He stood up, looking down at me. His eyes were wide. “You’re a straight girl.”