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The delicate notes of a piano pulled him from sleep.
John struggled to fully grasp consciousness, floating between.
(Who's playing the piano if we're here in bed?)
The thought rolled in his head like a slowly building wave. That, and the continued darkness, brought on a tidal crash of panic. "Arthur, open your eyes so I can see where-"
Oh.
Right.
John opened his eyes (my own eyes, not ours, just mine). It was dark in the bedroom around him, though there were faint hints of light starting to creep in from the window.
He was laying in bed, in his own separate body. It was his heart thumping heavily in his chest, his lungs expanding and expelling air. All ten of his fingers clenched.
He had been dreaming - an awful vague thing with no real shape that left him with a sour taste of dread (a nightmare then) - and it didn't want to let him go. It weighed at his eyes, at his chest.
John breathed.
The soft music continued.
John looked to the space in bed next to him. It was empty.
Instinctive alarm rose in his chest, though his thoughts quickly caught up to it (who else would be playing the piano, idiot) and he forced himself to take another long breath.
Breathing was tedious.
Arthur had told him it was supposed to be a natural, unconscious thing that his body just did but John wasn't sure. He'd only had this body for a short time and there had already been plenty of instances where it felt like he was suffocating.
John touched the spot where Arthur was supposed to be. The soft sheets were still faintly warm (how had I missed Arthur leaving? I'm still not used to him being so quiet). It wasn't unusual for Arthur to wake early, though he tended to wait until at least sunrise to leave their bed. Mornings were cold and Arthur, thin as he was, hated the cold. He'd said before that John was a welcome furnace that warmed him through the night (at least this body has some uses).
John tossed aside the sheets, feeling the last lingering whispers of sleep release him. The chill of the house clung to him instead, making a shudder pass through him (are all bodies this sensitive). He was only in boxers, bare feet curling unhappily as he walked across the cold floor.
He padded into the hallway and saw that the door to the second bedroom, their music room, was ajar. They'd gotten a house with two bedrooms for the sake of appearances. The bigotry of humans was constantly exhausting (Before, in that horrid prison pit, I had voiced that thought to Arthur, who had laughed and called me a hypocrite).
John softly pushed the music room door open more, the sounds of the piano growing. He peered in and saw Arthur, as expected, still in his bedclothes, seated at the piano.
The piano was a grand old thing, dark and sleek. It was well cared for and showed it in its beautiful sound. John liked to stand beside it and feel the vibrations ripple through him (the music blocks out my other senses and the vibrations always make me feel a bit like static, incorporeal, even just for a little while).
Arthur's playing didn't stutter when John sat on the bench beside him. They'd purposefully gotten a large bench so that they could both comfortably sit before the keys.
"Did I wake you?" Arthur asked softly.
"It's 5:30 in the morning," John said in response. He leaned down to rest his head on Arthur's shoulder. It put strain on his back (why were human bodies designed so poorly) but it was worth it to be closer to Arthur. "I don't think I wanted to be asleep anymore anyway."
Arthur paused in his playing, turning his head slightly towards John. His lips were pressed to John's blond curls. "Another nightmare?"
John nosed further into the space between Arthur's neck and shoulder. He could smell the sharp aftershave that Arthur used mixed with Arthur's natural smell. John couldn't identify it (there are too many smells in the world, all different and overpowering) but he'd taken to believing that it was what a sunrise would smell like: warm and heady and stunning.
(I'll never tell this to Arthur; I don't want to hear him tell me that sunrise doesn't have a smell)
Arthur reached up, carefully feeling for John's face. John leaned into his hand when it found him.
"I- I think so," he said finally in response to Arthur's question. "I can't remember what it was about."
Arthur twisted more, fully dislodging John from his shoulder. He brought his other hand up and gently began to trace his fingertips across John's face. They ran from his forehead, softly following the curve of his brows to pad below his black eyes. They moved ever so slowly, seeming to feel the bags that were beginning to form.
Arthur's thumbs ran down John's nose while his fingers followed the line of John's cheeks. Once at his lips, Arthur dragged one thumb across them, lingering on the bottom lip. John hummed involuntarily.
Arthur gave a small smile. He faced the piano again and moved forward on the bench, leaving space behind him. "Come on, sit with me."
John examined the small space. The bench they had was larger than average but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to sit without falling backwards.
He tried anyway, somewhat awkwardly swinging a leg to either side of Arthur's hips. Arthur in turn pressed against John, his back slotting into place against John's chest. (It still surprises me how well we fit together, like puzzle pieces finding home). John curled in around Arthur, resting his chin on his shoulder. He circled his arms under Arthur's, crossing them across his stomach.
Arthur started playing again. There were no music sheets, from what John could see, so he wasn't sure if the song was something Arthur was playing from memory or something new that he'd composed. It honestly didn't matter, though. John just watched over Arthur's shoulder.
His thoughts swirled-
(I miss you when you sleep, when I sleep. We both sleep now and now you can be awake without me and that shouldn't bother me but I miss being there when you would wake, when we would wake. I used to be there, aware and listening to every sigh and murmur. Now you can leave and I wouldn't know and you should, you should leave because I'm just a cast off remnant of a dead god pretending to be human and I miss being your eyes and isn't that fucking pathetic and isn't it just so fucking tragic that I'll never be that close to you again, no matter how tightly I hold you-)
"John?" Arthur ran his fingers over the back of John's hands. John realized he was gripping Arthur's shirt between white-knuckled fists. "You're shaking, John, what's wrong?"
John just pressed his forehead to the back of Arthur's skull, like he could burrow in there (like a cancerous growth, lying in wait to steal everything from you)
Arthur moved away to stand. John's breath shuttered. He forced himself to release his grip (let him go, let him go you absolute fucking-)
"John." Arthur now stood between John's legs, fully facing him. His eyebrows were together, worry writ across his expression. "Breathe for me, come on. Deep breaths."
John took in a shuttering long pull of air, realizing that he had been starting to feel light headed.
Arthur placed one long hand against his throat, his thumb pressed gently to John's pulse point. The other cradled John's cheek.
Arthur was by no means a short man, but John still normally stood a full head above him. Like this though, John had to look up at Arthur. His sightless brown eyes couldn't meet John's but they still captivated him.
John breathed.
(Maybe this can be enough. I'll never be your eyes again but now I have the feeling of your hands against me)
John raised his arms and again circled them around Arthur's hips. He pressed his face against Arthur's chest and just breathed.
(It'll never be our hand again, our body, but now I can listen to your heart beating, can smell the sunrise on your skin, can keep you warm)
"I have a selfish request," he confessed against the soft cotton shirt. One of Arthur's hands, which had been gently brushing through John's hair, paused. "It's more selfish than anything I've ever asked for."
John could feel Arthur's hesitant inhale. His hand finished its path through John's hair and settled at the nape of his neck. He breathed, "What is it?"
(I've already taken so much from you but I can't bear the thought of sleep without the knowledge that you'll be there when I wake. When I dream, we're still Together, Arthur-and-John, and I can't remember most of my nightmares but I know that in them, you're gone)
"Never leave me," he begged.
(I was a god of madness, Arthur, I inflicted it on so many, I know the taste of it, of course I know that it's madness that's filling my head, my chest)
Arthur's hands cupped his face, his thumb tracing John's bottom lip again. He leaned down to press their foreheads together.
"So long as you promise me the same, love."
And Arthur kissed him.
It was just a soft press of lips, almost chaste. It wasn't their first but it still made John's heart thump so intensely that he felt the vibration of it all the way to his toes and fingertips.
Arthur smiled against his lips. He moved his legs to be on either side of John's, then pressed forward to kneel on the bench. Arthur then sat himself fully on John's lap, his legs folded underneath him.
John's thoughts and breath momentarily halted. He just stared, wide-eyed at the mischievous smirk on Arthur's lips. Arthur fit their chests together and once again had his hands against John's face, brushing the edges of his jaw.
(This absolute demon of a man is going to be the death of me and I can't think of a better way to end)
Arthur kissed him again, though more forcefully. He wrapped both arms around John's shoulders, one hand tangling in John's blond hair and the other reaching down his back. John kept his arms circled around Arthur's hips and tightened his hold.
Arthur jerked forward, pressing them further together. A line of fire erupted from John's stomach, spreading in a matter of seconds through his chest and groin.
In surprise, John wrenched back from the kiss, an involuntary gasp punching through him.
He leaned back, arms still around Arthur. There was a low creak of wood and-
THUD
The piano bench had tipped backwards, dumping them both on the floor in a tangle of limbs. John, already breathless, felt his back slam into the floor as Arthur slammed into his chest.
They both laid on the floor, stunned. John wheezed, "Jesus Christ, Arthur."
Arthur began to laugh, a low chuckle that started deep in his throat but quickly became an open-mouthed delighted sound. He leaned his weight on one elbow while his other hand sat against his chest as his body shook with laughter.
"Bastard," John grumbled. "You used me as a landing pad."
"Hardly my fault," Arthur said between snickers. "Besides, it's your turn to be the one to land from a fall."
John couldn't stop the grin that split his face as Arthur rested his forehead against his chest, shoulders shaking. He felt an echoing laugh build in his chest and soon, they were both laughing heartily for several minutes. The sound danced through their music room.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked once his laughter began to calm. His cheeks were flushed and the smile he gave to John made his sightless eyes turn soft.
John's back and head ached from hitting the floor. He could feel Arthur pressed into his chest, his hips, while his heartbeat still thumped heavily through to his fingertips and toes.
(I can feel every inch of this body, of my body. My body. This painful, temporary, fragile form that I wished for so deeply. I meant what I said when I told you that I didn't want your body, Arthur, but when I wished for my own body, I guess I didn't know what to expect. I never expected this. I never expected you. You're a force of nature, a miracle, and you'll be the death of me and you were the one to make me want to live, to exist as I am now. We'll never be Together again as we were before but I think I can be satisfied with this. To catch you, to hold you, to love you, here and now and until this body gives out under me, so long as you'll have me)
From the window came the warm light of sunrise. John hugged Arthur close and breathed deeply.
"Yes, Arthur, I think so," John assured. "I... I think I'm going to be just fine."