Work Text:
Arthur had tried getting glasses, but every doctor told him that his eyes were damaged in a way they'd never seen before, and there was nothing that could be done.
Now, he sat on the sofa, squinting at some suspense novel. Even with the almost ridiculously large print, he had trouble reading it. John walked over to where Arthur sat, dropping onto the sofa next to him. After a moment, he shifted, laying down, and putting his head in Arthur's lap.
"John, I'm trying to read," Arthur said, pretending to be annoyed, but his smile betrayed him.
"I'm not stopping you," John responded, matter-of-factly. He stared up at Arthur.
Back when they'd shared a body, he'd never really paid attention to Arthur's face. But now, it was the most beautiful thing he could think of.
His nose, slightly crooked from one too many breaks.
His eyes, rich brown scattered with gold, crinkled at the corners from smiling, but with shadows underneath them.
His lips, currently curved up in a fond smile.
The spray of freckles across his cheeks and nose, like constellations.
His hair, deer-brown and streaked with gray.
John reached up and traced the faded scar that ran from Arthur's jawline to his cheekbone, from way back in their time in the Dreamlands. Arthur gently grasped John's wrist, absentmindedly kissing his knuckles. The tiny gesture caused his pulse to flutter wildly.
Arthur hummed, returning to his book. As he read, he ran his hand through John's hair. His fingers gently teased out the tangles that a day at the windy park had left.
John closed his eyes. He sighed contentedly.
"Now, don't go falling asleep on me," Arthur murmured. "How will I get up then?"
"You won't," John replied.
Arthur chuckled, twirling a strand of John's hair between two fingers. He made a small noise as Arthur's fingernails grazed his temple.
They settled into a comfortable silence, and John thought he actually might fall asleep. The rays of sunset cast long shadows and bathed the apartment in golden light.
Arthur closed his book.
"Well, I'd better make dinner now," he said.
John didn't budge.
"Oh, come on now. Let me go."
"I don't feel like it."
"John."
"Arthur."
Arthur leaned down, pressing a kiss to John's forehead.
"I'm enjoying this as much as you are, but Daniel is bringing Faroe back this evening, and I'd like to have dinner ready for her."
"Okay, fine. Do you need help?"
John sat up, stretching.
"No, that's all right," Arthur said quickly. "Remember what happened last time?"
John recalled the flaming frying pan and the tomato sauce explosion.
"That was once."
"I think it's best if you wash dishes afterwards."
John grumbled but satisfied himself with taking some plates and forks and placing them on the table.
Arthur turned on the radio, twisting the dial until it landed on a cheerful, sunny tune. He swayed by the stove, waving a wooden spoon as if conducting an orchestra.
John was mesmerized by his movements. The joy seemed to bubble out of him, his feet tapping a happy beat on the wooden floor.
He set a pot on the stove and covered it.
"Will you dance with me, John?" Arthur asked, turning to John and extending a hand.
John adamantly shook his head.
"Absolutely not."
"Come onnn," Arthur cajoled, taking John's hand and pulling him up from the chair.
"I have no idea how!" John protested.
"No better time to learn, then!"
John cursed under his breath. Arthur hummed along with the song, placing John's left hand on his own waist and clasping his right hand.
John's feet shuffled clumsily.
"How do I-"
"Just follow me. Step in, to the right, out, to the left," Arthur said.
John tried to copy him.
"No, don't step all the way back, just a little bit. There you go, you're getting the hang of it!"
John found himself moving to the rhythm of the song, his steps more confident after a few seconds.
He smiled in spite of himself.
"See, I bet you didn't know you could do that, did you?"
"I swear to god, Arthur, if I trip and fall over because of you, you're not getting out of here alive," John said, but his words held no venom.
Arthur's laugh, bright and melodic, filled John's ears.
He leaned closer to John, his nose brushing John's neck.
John's arm curled tighter around Arthur's waist. He hadn't even noticed until his foot caught Arthur's because of the proximity.
He stumbled, but Arthur caught him with surprising ease.
"Whoa, there," Arthur said, nudging John playfully. "I just saw my life flash before my eyes!"
"You got lucky this time," John huffed.
"Whatever you say, my dear," Arthur murmured, sending a delicious shiver down John's spine.
"What?"
"My dear. Why, you don't like it?"
"No, I... it's nice," John admitted, looking away. His cheeks burned, a not unfamiliar feeling.
Arthur smiled up at him. He rose up on his tiptoes, his lips meeting John's, playful and sweet. It felt so natural, John didn't even hesitate. He kissed Arthur back, their bodies still swaying in time to the song.
He could feel the smile on Arthur's face as he reached up to grasp his collar.
Despite the relative peacefulness of their new life, John still hated sleeping.
Sleep meant that he didn't know what horrors waited for him within his own mind, trapped and unable to do anything other than rewatch the most terrible scenes in his life. They were usually memories twisted and warped to be even worse than what had actually happened.
Many a night had found him shaking, jolted awake, the sheets twisted and tangled between his legs. The first few months, he'd avoid sleeping unless he absolutely could not stay up any longer, until Arthur had convinced him to go to bed at a healthier hour. The nightmares didn't occur as often anymore these days, when John's mind wasn't on high alert all the time and every creak or thud in the apartment didn't send him into a hyperaware panic.
Arthur had mostly the same problem. Since he hadn't seen most of the more horrific ordeals he and John had endured, his nightmares usually involved either pitch darkness and sounds, or his mind's renditions of the events. Sometimes, he dreamt of Faroe, of that tragic day so many years ago, and he'd wake with trembling hands and tear slicked cheeks, only relaxing once he checked her room and found her peacefully slumbering.
Other times, he'd recall the town of Addison, when he thought he'd never hear John's voice again.
John's voice, that was one thing that always seemed to permeate his dreams. Usually, it was John uselessly telling him to run faster, or describing whatever beast happened to be hunting them. Before John got his own body, he would help Arthur come back to himself after a nightmare.
Now, all that greeted him was cold silence.
He slept dreamlessly tonight. He must've been particularly tired, because as soon as he fell into bed, the warm, cottony haze of rest enveloped him. At sometime in the middle of the night, a light tapping woke him up, so quiet he might've missed it if he'd been sleeping any deeper. He propped himself up on his elbows, squinting into the darkness. He reached over and flipped on the lamp on his bedside table.
To his surprise, John stood in the doorway, tapping on the door.
"John? What on earth are you doing here?"
The shake in John's voice when he spoke was so scared, so vulnerable, it broke Arthur's heart.
"I- I had a nightmare," he said, almost whispering. "I don't want- I can't be alone right now."
Arthur sat up. He scooted over on his bed, so his back was against the headboard.
"Come here," he murmured, patting the space beside him.
John didn't object, just sank onto the mattress.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Arthur was careful to keep his voice low, to avoid waking Faroe.
John sighed, rubbing his face, and tucked his knees up to his chest.
"We were back in the Dreamlands. It was right after we- after the prison pits."
He paused.
"John-"
"No, I- I want to tell you."
Arthur leaned back against the headboard, gazing at his partner.
"You were saying goodbye," John began, his voice shaky. "And then- and then you raised the knife- and I thought you were gone- and I tried to stop you, but then you fell, and your blood was everywhere-"
By now, tears burned at his eyes.
"I keep thinking- what if the King hadn't- what if he had just let you die?"
John buried his face in his hands. He had probably fucked it all the way up now. He'd barged into Arthur's room, waking him up from much-needed rest, and was now breaking down right in front of him.
"John. Look at me," Arthur said, unbearably gentle.
When John didn't, he pried his hands away from his face.
"I'm here. I'm here now, with you. I'm not going anywhere."
Arthur's voice was low and soft, which only made John feel even worse. What had he done to deserve this, to be worthy of kindness? Hadn't he been a curse on Arthur since the moment they'd met? He started saying some of this, but he was interrupted by strong arms encircling him, drawing him in, telling him he was safe, he was cared for, he was loved.
Arthur's heart beat comfortingly against John's ear.
After a few minutes, Arthur shifted, pulling John with him, so they were lying side by side in the bed. John hadn't said a word, happy to be tucked so close to Arthur.
Sometimes, he wished he could pry Arthur's ribcage open and crawl in, to be once again curled up in Arthur's mind, watching from his eyes.
Sometimes, any distance felt like too far from his friend.
John slid his arm under Arthur, pulling him even closer by his waist.
He was so struck by the sheer rightness of it, how their bodies fit together like they recalled being one and the same, he almost started crying again.
"Are you feeling better now?" Arthur asked, his fingers mindlessly combing through John's hair.
John just made a noise of confirmation, inhaling Arthur's deeply familiar scent.
As he dozed off, he knew nothing bad awaited him in his dreams.