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Basile grins as he feels the pounding bass pulse through his veins, the lights flashing blue and green and amber over the swaying mass of bodies. He hasn’t smoked anything tonight, but he still feels so fucking high, buzzed from the sensation of all the happy people around him and the brief snatches of laughter he hears between the beat of the music. It isn’t the best party he’s been to, but it sure isn’t the worst. He turns around, ready to share the thought with his favourite person, except -
“Hey guys, where’s Arthur?”
“He went for a piss,” Yann replies, then stares when Basile begins looking around the club for the bathroom. “What, are you planning to piss together?”
“It’s a good bonding experience,” he says. “If you haven’t seen each others’ dicks, are you truly best friends?”
“He’s not wrong,” Eliott says with a grin, and Basile slaps his shoulder.
“My man. You get me.” He gives him a quick fist bump, then starts to push through the crowd. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
“Wait,” Yann begins, sounding baffled.
“Let him go,” he hears Lucas say faintly behind him. “You know those two are codependent.”
He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, because he’s finally reached the door to the bathrooms. It turns out they’re down a flight of stairs, which seems pretty counterproductive for all the people who can’t even walk straight, but luckily Basile is only a little tipsy and he navigates them with ease. There’s then a network of corridors, dotted with unmarked doors - surely designed to be as confusing as possible for drunk people - before he pushes open the actual toilet door.
As he had suspected, Arthur is not taking a piss. He’s standing at the sinks, his hearing aids resting on the countertop, splashing water over his face. Basile touches his arm to get his attention.
“Hey,” Arthur says, surprised.
You okay? Basile signs. He doesn’t look particularly not okay, but he’s hiding in the bathroom at a party, which doesn’t exactly scream happiness.
Fine, Arthur says, but then he sighs and hops up onto the countertop, gesturing for Basile to join him. There’s barely enough room for both of them before the sinks start, and Basile ends up with a faucet rammed against his right hip, the rim of the sink uncomfortable beneath his thigh. It doesn’t matter. He can endure a little discomfort when Arthur needs him.
They sit in silence for a minute or so, then Arthur says, “Don’t look so worried, I’m good. It was just too loud out there.” The music is loud. Even down here, Basile can feel its rhythmic thump vibrating the countertop. “Music sounds shit nowadays, anyway. Like someone screaming into a tin can.”
Basile snorts at the mental image, but he feels bad. He knows he shouldn’t - Noée has definitely given at least one speech about pity and how much it sucks, and Basile doesn’t pity Arthur, that would be weird - it’s just…music was always their thing. They used to walk home from school together sharing a pair of earbuds, one bud in Arthur’s right ear and one in Basile’s left. And like, it’s not a big deal, there are plenty more things they can do together, but Arthur deserves to be able to enjoy as many things as possible.
“Dude,” Arthur says. “You’re doing the face again. I promise I’m fine.”
“The music upstairs was objectively crap,” Basile says. “I’d much rather be here with you.”
Arthur frowns, struggling to lipread, and reluctantly reaches for his hearing aids. Basile catches his wrist. Don’t, he signs slowly. It’s okay. The music is shit - he points upwards - I’d prefer to stay here, with you.
The thing is, Basile has been trying really hard to learn LSF. He’s been taking classes once a week at l’asso, and watching videos in his spare time, and has spent hours practicing signing in front of the mirror. He’s just not a fast learner. Even after months of Arthur’s deafness, he can only sign in short, broken sentences, painstakingly fingerspelling the words he doesn’t know. It’s much easier for them to communicate by mouth, but he’s not going to make Arthur put his hearing aids back in when he’s clearly overwhelmed.
He must get his point across, because Arthur smiles and says, Me too. Basile bumps their shoulders together with a sudden rush of affection. This would be the perfect time for a bro hug, but there’s no way he’s going to manage that without falling into the sink.
“Lucas says we’re codependent,” he says.
“We’re what?”
C-O-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T. It takes a long time to fingerspell, but Arthur clearly realises what he’s trying to say, because he laughs before Basile has even finished signing.
“Yeah, well, fuck him. So are him and Eliott.”
“They’re like, together, though.” He says. Dating.
“So? We basically are, too.” Arthur nudges him, a glint in his eye. Wanna kiss?
Sure. Basile puckers up his lips and leans in, smacking them as obnoxiously as possible. Arthur shoves him away, which makes him lose his already precarious balance and fall to the gross bathroom floor with a yelp.
“Sorry, sorry!” But Arthur is laughing as he helps him to his feet. “You okay?”
Basile pouts. “No.”
Arthur shrugs. “Sounds like a you problem.”
Basile looks at him; his face, washed out by the dingy bathroom light, the slight upturn to his lips, the gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, and feels an irresistible urge to hug him. Arthur squeaks in surprise as he’s yanked into his arms and groans, “Baz,” but he can’t hide the smile in his voice.
“What, can’t I hug my best friend?”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Arthur says into his shoulder.
They hold each other tight for a few seconds, then Basile draws back and signs, You’re my friend.
I know. Arthur rolls his eyes, although his cheeks flush a light pink. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Baz. Had you forgotten?”
He doesn’t bother to respond, already planning out the next signs in his head. You’re my good friend. Most good friend.
Best friend? Arthur suggests wryly.
Yes. Best best friend.
Okay. He rolls his eyes again, going all shy, and hides his face back in Basile’s shoulder. “This is getting weird.”
“You’re weird,” he responds, and Arthur must figure out what he’s said, because he smacks him lightly.
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
When they release each other, Basile steps back to arms length and peers at him. You better? Want to go back to the party?
Arthur hesitates. Sure.
“Well, I don’t. Wanna come back to mine?” Before Arthur can ask him to repeat himself, he signs, Come home with me and play games? Have a drink?
Arthur’s face relaxes into a genuine smile. “That sounds great.” He reaches for his hearing aids and puts them in, pulling a face as he turns them on. Basile isn’t sure exactly how much Arthur can hear without them, but he figures it must be pretty jarring to return so abruptly to a world of sound. “We should ask the guys if they want to come.”
“Eh, they must be smashed by now. They’re probably planning on staying til they get kicked out. Lucas and Eliott were all over each other when I left, so they’re probably in a corner somewhere with their tongues down each other’s throats.”
“Thanks for that mental image.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll message them now.” Basile taps out a quick text - arthur and i are ditching, have fun, be safe, use protection ;) kisses - then pockets his phone, and together they make their way back up the stairs and out into the night. The music quickly fades behind them as they walk. Paris is never truly quiet, even at night, but after the noise of the club, it feels like they’ve stepped into a vacuum, just himself and Arthur in the city lights.
“Dude,” Arthur says, and slings an arm around his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything else, but Basile knows Arthur, can read him in the words unspoken, and his meaning is clear: I’m glad you’re here with me.
Me too, Basile wants to say, but it’s too dark to sign, and he doesn’t want to break the silence between them. Instead, he wraps an arm around Arthur in return, and they walk like that, side by side, all the way home.