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“You alright?” John asked him, his voice low. It had been a few days since Arthur had been resting; he had been the one who changed his bandages every day to avoid infection. Today he waited around to see when Arthur would get the strength to wake up; by the time he did, it was dark and cold — probably around midnight.
He pulled over the small oak wooden chair, sitting down beside him. The lantern lit up the tent dimly, and it only showed his wounds more — the purple bruises against his pale skin.
“Tell me if it...” John paused as he took off the bandage on his shoulder. Revealing the flesh. “Hurts.” It was healing well, the wound, but he knew that Arthur would still need a lot more rest before he could start doing things, so for now, he was the one that had to help. Not like he didn't want to.
“It’s fine,” he groaned a little when John put the cloth over him. John was trying to be gentle as he covered the wound back up with a clean bandage but sometimes he really did fail at that.
“So…”
“Do you wanna discuss it or anything?”
“Ain’t nothing much to say.” Arthur tried to redirect the conversation, he wasn’t really looking forward to being reminded about the torture he had to go through during his time when he was captured by the O’driscolls.
But the entire thing felt like some weird fever dream, with the adrenaline in him only managing to fuel him enough that he could escape them.
Still, he appreciated the fact that John would be willing to sit down and listen to him about it. He was thankful for that.
They sat in silence for a while, just John tending to his wound. And while Arthur didn’t say much about it, and John could only assume what he went through, but he knew it wasn’t anything you could just walk off. Especially since it was Colm.
“Thank you,” Arthur said when John finished, pulling the blanket up a little so it was just covering under his chest.
“M’grateful, you know.”
The sight of him like this was enough to make his stomach twist in anger. He wanted to go out and kill every single one of them himself if it weren't for Arthur telling him not to and having to tend to him. “I hate seeing you like this.”
He put his hand on his chest, over his heart, "And y'don't need to thank me. You know.”
“You need anything?” John asked him as he gently wandered his hands down over the blanket, over his ribs — where he said it hurt. Not touching, but just ghosting his fingertips over them.
Arthur shook his head, giving him a lighthearted half-smile as he did.
“I’ll let ya rest,” he started to get up, looking him in the eyes and then away. “Don’t want me annoyin’ y—” Arthur’s voice overlapped his not long after.
“Stay.” he brushed his hand over John’s hand — not pulling him back but watching as he regained John’s attention. “Ain’t annoying me.”
“Alright.”
“How long do you want me to stay for?” John asked him as he pulled the chair closer now. So he was sitting beside him as close as he could.
“Just ‘til you want to leave."
If he had to go by that and not until he got tired or Arthur fell asleep, he would probably be sitting here forever. “Looks like m’gonna be here for a while, then?”