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John wishes he’d remembered to close the curtains. Arthur is grumbling.
His, their, eyes scrunching at the rays of sunlight escaping the window. It’s odd, how despite losing his eyesight, Arthur still feels, or perceives at the very least, the sunlight.
The room they’re staying in is by no means luxurious, but after the days they’d spent at Larson’s estate, John can’t help but cherish the quiet moments he gets to have with Arthur.
Not right now, though.
‘’Arthur,’’John tries not to sound annoyed, he really does. But he’s been unable to see for the past several hours, forgive him for being bored. ‘’Arthur, come on, you’ve slept in enough and we have things to do.’’
Arthur grumbles in response. John sighs and shifts his arm, away from under Arthur’s side where it had curled up. Arthur whines at this, but finally, finally, opens his eyes and John can go back to appreciating the world he’s grown so attached to.
‘’God, John, can you not do this?’’ Arthur says, sitting up on the cheap mattress. ‘’I’m still recovering after all, you should be more considerate’’ he mumbles, in a somewhat teasing tone. John tries not to think about how much he’d love to stay here forever, so instead he reminds Arthur that they were still on the run from that crazed piano-wire wielding hitman.
Arthur chuckles. ‘’You worry too much, but perhaps that’s why you’ve remained undefeated.’’ he finishes with a smile. John frowns, or well, he would’ve, had he had a physical form. He can’t stop thinking about it, about how much he hates this.
No, no, he doesn’t hate this at all, he could never hate being with Arthur, but lying to Arthur. Again at that, after all they’ve been through, it does so much more than hurt him. Arthur had died, slit his throat for him, to save him and John had made another bad decision, another deal that would ruin him and make Arthur hate him all over again.
He knows he doesn’t deserve the quiet, so he wakes Arthur.
‘’John? Are you alright?’’ Arthur is, for once, the one to snap him out of his head. ‘’Yes, everything’s fine. Just thinking about how to find that cult, is all.’’ he hastily replies, voice steady.
‘’Well, I’m not sure who exactly to ask in a city this big about a cult without sounding mental, but I’m afraid our track-record shows the cult might find us first.’’ says Arthur. And he’s right, John knows that too, because Kayne quite literally told him that that’s exactly what will happen, but at least this way John can prepare Arthur accordingly.
‘’Well, either way, let’s head out, Arthur. I can practically feel your stomach growling’’
‘’Wait, you can feel my stomach? Don’t tell me I’ll lose that too.’’
───────────────── my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand ─────────────────
The day was long, and quite frankly a little bit underwhelming. The past six months (Had it been six months? How long ago was Arkham? How do humans even record time?) have been exhaustingly tiring and full of action, that the bland day they spend at Central Library trying not to look suspicious while simultaneously searching through the fucking occult section. But still John dreaded their inevitable return to the apartment and the drawn out night that followed.
He used to like the nights, quite a lot actually. It gave him time to let his mind wander, maybe even lower his guard, if only a little. He liked thinking about humans a lot, a habit he’d gained during Arthur’s coma. He especially liked thinking about how it would be, to have a normal life, to have a job and hobbies and eating, and how much he would still hate it.
‘’John’’ Arthur says, a little annoyed. ‘’What’s up with you today, you’re remarkably lost.’’
‘’Well Arthur, we still haven't seen a movie, have we?’’John was grumbling, being petty; really he knew better than anyone, but especially better than Arthur,that they had absolutely no time for watching movies (or fancy dinners or for going dancing or visiting old bars or-), “Give it a rest, John. The more we work now, the sooner we’ll find The Order, right whatever wrongs they’ve made and then we’ll watch as many movies as your heart desires,” Arthur remarks.
“Hopefully with you out of my head and in a body of your own” he adds, thoughtful.
John just hummed. It isn’t that he doesn’t want a body, it’s more like he doesn't want to leave Arthur. He can’t put a finger on it, but just the thought of Arthur not needing him anymore, gives him the faintest idea that he would leave.
John isn’t stupid, he knows it’s beyond ridiculous, the circumstances they’ve fallen into. He’s well aware that as human as he might feel, he’s a god, ignorant to human customs and malevolent to those he despises. Still, he hopes that maybe things will turn out differently.
“What about you?” he asks Arthur, deflecting his own thoughts.
“Well, it has been a long day and there’s much I’d like to do as well, especially here in New York.” He yawned, “You don’t mind if we retire early today, do you? I’m afraid if you tried to read, I’d fall asleep on the book” he says.
John would have smiled, “Go to sleep Arthur, I’ll keep an ear out for intruders.”
───────────────── oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland ─────────────────
John stared at the ceiling, or well, he stared at what he saw of the ceiling through Arthur's half-closed eyelids.
Once again, the window and its curtains lay open, the moonlight filtered through the window hitting a particular spot on the roof making a shadow that looked a bit like a flower.
Slowly, he moves his hand from where it lay, under the pillow with Arthur’s head on it. Arthur hadn’t ever asked about it, and John was glad, he didn’t want to express the comfort he felt keeping there.
Careful as to not wake Arthur, he placed it on his chest. He did this, checking on Arthur’s heartbeat, most times he slept. This was far from comfort, though; most times he was panting, frantic, always being chased by some sort of feverish nightmare. His heartbeat was never steady, nor relaxed.
It was a kind of self-torture, to remind himself that though Arthur’s life wasn’t stellar before him, he had caused him so much more and useless agony.
Even now, even if Arthur lay still, he could feel the dread making its way in his veins, rushing all the way to his head. He sighed. He wished he could help, even if it meant more lying, even if it meant leaving indefinitely. He wished he hadn’t been so cruel, maybe then Arthur would be better. He wished Arthur didn’t know he loved him, whatever that meant.
God, I always get too sentimental at night, John thought. Being alone with one’s thoughts never ends well at night. Still, basking here in the moonlight in the rickety apartment they’d rented, even with Arthur’s uneasiness making itself known, even knowing whatever creatures or murderers or god were still after them, John felt at peace. In conflict sure, but ultimately content.
He clutched Arthur’s shirt, and on any other night, though this one was no different, he might’ve moved it away, back to where it lay at the start of the night, so that Arthur would be none the wiser in the morning. Yet he let himself have this, this one thing. He could pretend that when Arthur’s fits lulled, he had been the one to provide that comfort, the same way Arthur had changed him so.
Their heart in his hand, John’s grip loosened as he drifted off into the closest thing to sleep he could ever dream of.