Archive of Our Own ^beta

Safe and Sound

John looked around the room, feeling a wave of mortification flood through his body without fully understanding its origin. He knows it isn't because of the state of the room itself, as they had slept in far worse places when they could sleep at all; nor are they under threat from any cosmic horror, given that they had spent several months in relative calm, a calm that was suspicious and far more terrifying than a real threat based on past experiences, but calm, nonetheless. He frowns slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Was it perhaps because this was the first time he would sleep with Arthur while being in a new body? It's a plausible theory. They hadn't had the chance to rent a hotel room since they managed to separate, and he hadn't been able to fully grasp the concept of "sleeping," unable to just close his eyes and "let go" as Arthur suggested. He always woke up before falling completely asleep, feeling his new heart slow down, too scared to abandon Arthur in that way.

"John?" He turns to the sound of the man's voice, seeing him emerge from the bathroom half-dressed with a towel draped over his shoulders and oh.

Oh, he thinks, automatically moving towards the detective to take his hand, the left hand that until a few months ago had been his, squeezing it gently, feeling his heart quicken in its bony cage when he receives a smile in response to his gesture. The problem wasn't the room, or the flesh prison he chose which he still wasn't accustomed to; no, it's the fact that they only had one bed to share.

"Should I start worrying about a potential threat?" Arthur tilts his head in his general direction, trying to find his eyes subtly since he couldn't see him.

"No, no, we're as safe as we can be," John squeezes his hand again, looking around the room, ignoring the bed at its center.

He is starting to understand that mortification now. It isn't about sharing a bed; they had done it countless times when they were a single body. Arthur hadn't felt any apprehension about it, and John had been too busy ensuring they didn't get killed while the man slept. It's about sharing a single bed as two separate bodies, but more so about what he understood humans interpreted from that fact.

He had seen the way people looked at them when they walked side by side on the street. The way many people's body language changed every time John took Arthur's hand or touched his arm to guide him, combined with the scraps of memories and thoughts he had seen in the man's mind when he inhabited it, gave him a clear picture of what other humans thought when they saw them together. Their voices became harsh and reserved, their faces contorted in disgust, and the weight of their unfounded judgments slid off Arthur's shoulders as he couldn't see their reactions, but fell on John's as he understood better the world he had decided to live in.

"How late is it? We should rest, we have a long day tomorrow." Arthur pats his hand before releasing it, walking towards the bed with the confidence of a man who knew where he is, stumbling against the edge as he approaches too forcefully. He stood paralyzed for a few seconds, arms extended in front of him to avoid losing his balance as he leans his body, stopping his assured fall.

"John," he huffs, feigning annoyance, lowering his arms slowly to feel the edge of the bed, turning slowly before sitting on the edge. "A warning would have been appreciated."

"Ah, my apologies," John can't help the amusement in his voice, though his eyes kept darting from the bed to the nakedness of the rest of the room. "I thought you remembered I told you how many steps it was from the bathroom to the bed."

"Yes, yes, you did, I was just expecting…" Arthur shooks his head, sliding his hands over the sheets. "Anyway, let's sleep."

John stands where he is, wrapping his arms around himself, unsure of how to proceed, cursing in his mind the human emotions swirling in his chest for which he wasn't fully prepared. Should he mention the problem to Arthur? Does the man even want to share the bed with him?

"John, you're doing that thing again where your silence speaks louder than your voice," the man tilts his head curiously. "Remember, I can't hear you in my mind anymore."

"I was just… how many pillows do I need to sleep on the floor?" John unravels his arms, walking towards the bed to take the pillows.

"Why the hell would you sleep on the floor?" Arthur frowns in confusion.

"Just… there's only one bed, Arthur," he stops a few steps from his goal, avoiding a frustrated sigh.

"Okay?" The detective pats around him, stretching until he reaches the other edge of the bed, probably measuring how big it is. "I'm sure we can both fit comfortably, and you're surely tired of trying to sleep on the floor. Hey, maybe this time you might even dream of something."

"It's not… doesn't it bother you?" His voice comes out lower than he intends, vulnerable. Arthur's face shows surprise, his eyes moving slightly as they usually did when the man tried to figure out a puzzle, he was sure had the answer at the tip of his tongue. Finally, he lets out a sigh, patting the sheets beside him.

"It's not the first time we've slept together, John," he says softly before lifting his feet to the edge to push his body to the center of the bed, using his hands to measure how far he is from the headboard to avoid hitting it like he had with the edge a moment ago. "Unless you really want to sleep on the floor."

John watches him for a long time, nodding to himself as he concludes that, yes, like many other times, Arthur is right. They had done it before, though maybe not as two people, and no one else is there to judge them. Why he cares so much about what other imaginary humans might think of him is something he doesn't want to focus on now, so he simply climbs into the bed next to Arthur, helping him sit against the headboard, to which he smiles gratefully, patting his shoulder and then running his fingers through his hair, stroking gently.

Slowly, as if afraid to startle him, John rests his head against his thigh, curling his long legs slightly to fit on the bed, sighing softly as the strokes over his hair slides onto his scalp.

"Comfortable?" He can hear the contained laughter in the detective's voice, but as the tension drains from his body, he can't find the energy to be upset that he is being teased.

Instead of responding, he snuggles closer to him, closing his eyes. This time Arthur lets out a small chuckle that sounds like music to his ears, his heart quickening again with the joy and calm the man exudes. What a few weeks of peace, decent food, and proper rest had done, he thinks, amused. When he calms down, Arthur settles, slowly sliding down from the headboard until he is lying down, also moving John's head slowly, with his help, to rest it against his chest; once in a comfortable position, he slides one hand to John's back, drawing small circles there, the other raising to his shoulder to hold him against him. John, for his part, wraps his arms around his waist, moving his cheek from his chest to his shoulder to avoid his neck suffering the consequences of the position in the morning.

Once both men had found the perfect position for them, Arthur begin to softly hum a melody that John doesn't recognize, but which nonetheless helps his body fully relax as his consciousness slowly slips through his fingers.

Wrapped in each other's warmth, sure that no creature would slip through the cracks of the door or window, John feels safe and, above all, knows that Arthur is safe.

Finally, with that last thought, he falls into a deep sleep.