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There is such a strange feeling in reclaiming something lost. Although, in Arthur’s case, lost may not be the right word. But he does not remember the change and so the loss gives him pause.
The first time he stutters in his changed body is in the cabin, beginning to change and surprised not to find a second hand helping him. The lack of John’s hand. It is a strange feeling, the distinct lack of someone he had always expected to be there in one way or another.
“What are you doing?” Yellow asks, confusion present in his voice.
“Oh, nothing.” Arthur hums, and consciously buttons up the coat with his two hands. “We ought to get going while the light is visible.”
His lie is not well-crafted or particularly convincing, but Yellow does not yet know how to read Arthur’s tells in such a way that John had. Neither does he care to mention it at the moment, and thus says nothing.
Yellow guides Arthur out of the cabin, and they begin their travel towards the town of Addison.
The second time should not have come as a shock, but the momentary distraction caused by Yellow mentioning blood causes Arthur to wobble on his feet. He supposes that even with the aid of the snowshoes, he is still unused to operating his toes. It is rather unfortunate that they are needed for balance. He had gotten used to the way he moved in tandem with John, and now without him the movements felt strange and unnatural.
Yellow does indeed startle at the tilting. “What happened? Did you somehow manage to get even more blood all over yourself by injuring yourself once again?” he snarls out.
“It’s nothing,” Arthur says in a clear attempt to change the topic.
Yellow scoffs, “I may not know you as well as John did,” his voice dripping with venom, “but even I can tell something is off with you now.”
“I’m just- you know what, no, we don’t have time for this! We can talk about this once we are out of the forest and away from the blood on the ground.”
Yellow does not care to wait, yet directs Arthur where to step all the same.
The third time it happens is objectively Arthur’s fault, but who could blame him considering the circumstances.
Arthur flings open the door to his rented room, walks towards the bed, and promptly falls down. He reaches out to catch the bed with his right hand, but the hand is too far away from the bed to stop his fall.
“John! You prick! You let me fall right on my face.”
“Arthur,” Yellow snaps, “I am not John, lest you have forgotten. And why the fuck would I stop you from falling, even if I could do anything. I need you alive, not unharmed.”
“What-” Arthur splutters, “I know you’re not John. I just forgot for a second, because he would have been helpful for something like that.” The words unlike you go unsaid.
“How so?” Yellow asks, “he just had your eyes, same as me. It’s not like I didn’t tell you where the bed was and then you tripped. This was something else.”
“I tripped, that's what happended.” Arthur grumbles out.
“That doesn’t explain why you yelled because I didn’t help you. I have no way to, so why the fuck did you yell out what you did about John? Do you miss him that badly?”
“No! John…” Arthur begins, before trailing off. “Due to… unique circumstances, John gained control of my left arm up to the elbow.”
“So that’s why you’ve been flailing around helplessly.”
“Hey-,” Arthur begins, before being cut off.
“So is there any way that I could gain control of parts of you?” Yellow asks, a plan formulating in his brain.
“No. Even if it meant my death. I'd find a way to stop if from happening” Arthur states, as if he has not crushed Yellow’s plans. “What happened between John and I happened because of our connection. Because of who he is… was. You and I will never be connected like that. He was who I cared most about in the world, and you’re just a monster.”
“It’s not like you gave me any choice in that matter! I may be the King in Yellow, and your ‘dear’ John may be weak, but my role in this was forced upon me by you. The least you can do is to give me a chance to be your,” and at this Arthur can feel Yellow’s pause like the silence before a gunshot, “friend.” he says, spitting out the word as if poison. “Since you won't give me back my arm.”
“It’s not your arm, it’s John's!” Arthur insists, but he does reconsider. Had he truly given Yellow any choice other than to be a monster? “But I can try to treat you differently from the King.”
“That is all I ask of you.” Yellow replies.
Arthur hesitantly pushes himself onto the bed with his newly rediscovered left arm, and agrees. He is unsure if he is lying, and how much of John remains within his body, within him, and within Yellow. But he continue on, for he has many miles to go before he sleeps.