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No matter how much time he spent in this form, John would always think the sheer amount humans were expected to sleep was bizarre. Eight hours a day were meant to be spent, laying exposed while their minds whirred subconsciously. Not that Arthur ever slept that much, between the danger and the nightmares that were never far behind.
Tonight was a good night, though.
The blinds were drawn so that the room was indistinguishable from the backs of Arthur’s eyelids. Its silence was broken only by Arthur’s soft snores and the occasional dreaming murmur. John listened closely for any sign of distress, but it seemed Arthur had been blessed with a safe sleep. That was so rare these days that John was content to lay there silently for as long as Arthur needed. They would enjoy the safety while it lasted, he figured.
He found himself oddly comfortable in this form. It was second nature now, despite being so far away from what he had been when Arthur opened his book. He was less than a god, but a far cry from human. John didn’t know what he was, but he was… content with whatever it may be. The lack of his own body had first been an inconvenience, but now he couldn’t dream of existing in another way.
So the entity would wait for Arthur to wake, and then he would painstakingly describe the world to him because it was the least he could do to make up for forcing the man’s already limited existence to have more restrictions. John was his eyes, his lifeline connecting him to the world he felt so disconnected from.
Subconsciously, John’s hand moved to rest on Arthur’s torso. So many wounds were hidden under this scrap of fabric. Hostile metal and gnashing teeth had reached into Arthur’s chest, his stomach, even his ears weren’t left unscathed. He had been torn apart and far too much of his blood spilt across this earth. John had felt him die , but he lived on nonetheless. It was almost as though his insatiable curiosity alone were keeping him alive. Despite the way Arthur shouldered the weight of his pain, John would give anything to keep Arthur from more suffering.
The body was warm under his palm, moving softly with deep breaths. Arthur was alive. He was alive. They were safe.
For now.
Who knew what tomorrow, or New York, or the next abomination would bring? Who knew what was yet to be suffered? Arthur wasn’t a large man, and experience showed that he was a danger magnet. John focused on Arthur’s rhythmic breathing and allowed it to soothe the troubled waters of his mind. Arthur was alive.
Hours or perhaps minutes later, Arthur began to stir and his unseeing eyes opened. Though the sun had risen by now, the dark curtains continued to block out its light. The room was small and the bed somewhat stiff, but it was clean and safe. Both of which were a rarity.
“Good morning, John.” Arthur reached his arm above him and stretched luxuriously before sitting up.
Good morning, Arthur. John tapped his fingers against the mattress, already missing the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest. How did you sleep?
“Quite good, actually!” He laughed. John wished he could hold that sound close to his chest forever. “I hope you weren't too bored.”
John quietly listened to the city awakening outside. After a moment he said, No. The night was quite pleasant, aside from your snoring.
There was a smile in Arthur's voice. “Well, I apologize for the inconvenience. It’s an involuntary thing.”
Yes, I suppose you need to breathe.
“Most people do, John. Shall we start our day?”
You don't want to rest a while longer? Concern crept into the edges of John's voice. He knew they weren’t just going to lay around all day, but he had been enjoying the quiet company so much.
“I'm famished. Perhaps we can hunt down a diner in this town. I want to spring for a proper meal.”
Sounds easy enough , John mused. It would be easier if someone hadn't lost the map though.
“I didn't lose anything, John.”
You think someone burgled it away, then?
“You have the eyes. You're the one supposed to keep track of these things. It's not my fault if I lose a tiny fucking map in a full train car.”
The bickering was a comfort to John. Arthur's sounds and movements further cemented the fact that they were safe enough to let their guards down. This was familiar and strange all at once.
Arthur let out a resigned sigh, though there wasn’t any hurt in it. “Let's just get dressed, John.”
They swung their legs over the side of the bed as John silently gloated over his petty victory. They stood and John directed Arthur to the closet where they'd hung up their outfit the night before. Arthur insisted that hanging up clothes prevented them from wrinkling and therefore they looked more presentable. It would be a fuss if Arthur knew the clothes were already creased, so he kept that observation to himself. And perhaps he didn't want to take this small joy from Arthur.
As they worked together to put their outfit back on, John's gaze traveled across the scars now open to air. His hand brushed against them as he worked to button the shirt. Old gashes and injuries, twisting and forming marks on the map of Arthur's skin. Some had healed better than others; the bullet wounds were faring well besides some stiffness, but the stab wound through their stomach was still yet to close. He traced the wound gently with his thumb.
“John, what are you doing?” Arthur's voice cut through his thoughts.
John stopped short at the question, dropping his hand back to the button. I was checking for infection , he said stiffly. We're okay.
“Hm. Well, get on with it then.”
They finished dressing without incident and headed to the bathroom. Arthur felt his way to the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. Stubble is already starting to break out across your jaw. Do you want to shave? The towel is on the counter to your left.
As Arthur patted his face dry, he said, “Why not? Let’s go ahead while we have the chance.”
The razor is higher up on the counter, the shaving cream to its right. Are you expecting to be unable to shave soon?
He turned on the tap. “Danger always rises up in the most unpredictable situations.” Arthur began rubbing shaving cream across his face.
That is true. We should enjoy it while it lasts, then.
“Exactly.” He began to shave. John’s sharp eyes followed his every move. “I was thinking we should go to the barber soon.”
Today?
“No, it can wait. I just thought we might try something different.” He tapped the razor against the edge of the sink.
Like what?
“I don’t know, John. The barber can decide. Or you, since you’re the one who can actually see us.”
Some things are better left to the experts, Arthur.
They fell back into a comfortable silence as Arthur made quick work of his scruff. The razor dropped a bit, targeting stubble under his jaw. John made a sound similar to a gasp as he watched it touch their throat. The skin was so delicate, Arthur’s blood pumping so close to the surface. A simple movement, a mistake, could end them in that moment. He thought of blood, and he was relieved when the razor left their skin. Arthur reached for the towel and wiped his face again.
“How do I look, John?”
He ran a hand carefully through Arthur’s hair, straightening up a few wayward strands. They really did need a haircut. You look less gaunt than usual, though that’s not saying much. Perhaps the sleep really did help—
“John.”
Yes, Arthur?
“I meant, did I get it all?”
Oh. Yes. It’s perfect.
“We should be on our way, then, don’t you think? I bet the reception desk has a map of the city.”
John let his eyes trail over Arthur’s features one last time before they turned and left the room. They made for the door, Arthur humming a tune John didn’t know the name of.
The stairs are towards your left, about twenty paces. Stop here, turn left again. And down.
John allowed Arthur’s humming to sooth him as they walked in good company. It took effort not to describe every single step to him. The man could walk down a flight of stairs on his own, for fuck’s sake.
“It's June in January,” Arthur sang, barely audible, as they approached the end of the stairwell. “Because I'm in love—”
Careful on the last step, Arthur, John warned softly. If he had breath to hold, he would have released it at that moment. He didn’t realize how anxious he’d been until they were safely on even ground.
“ —But only because I’m in love with you. ”
Now on the first floor, they made their way towards the front desk.
Everything looks largely the same as last night: wooden walls, a few windows with heavy green drapes, a few large potted plants and paintings. It’s empty, aside from the receptionist and a few men talking by the door. They seem engrossed in conversation. I don’t think they’ve even noticed us.
Arthur’s pace stalled, and John skipped to the directions.
The reception desk is to your right. A blond woman in glasses sits behind it. Wave back at her. “Hello miss.” The maps are displayed on the far end of the desk. “Can I have one of these?” Further. There. Open it and let me see. There's a diner a few blocks over. We can walk. The door is just ahead.
“Perfect,” Arthur murmured. He folded the map back up and they left.
Turn left, Arthur. The sky is blue and the roads are busy, but the street isn't too crowded yet. This town is big enough to have taxis, but not so urban as to have no trees. There's a crosswalk ahead. You'll have to wait for the light to turn.
When they stopped, Arthur said, “Tell me about the trees, John.”
It's far from a forest, but trees line the street intermittently. It's a nice pop of nature against the town's brickwork and pavement. Most of them are still barren, but the faintest hint of leaves are sprouting on a chosen few, pink and yellow-green.
“Nature’s first green is gold,” Arthur murmured. He spoke softly to avoid being overheard by the others waiting to cross the street.
What is that? The light turned.
Arthur walked forward, unknowingly almost bumping into the woman in front of him. “It's part of a poem. Robert Frost.”
You've mentioned him before. You'll have to tell me more about it. Watch the curb. Turn right.
“This is your first spring, isn't it, John? You'll be seeing the leaves change color and the world spring to life soon. The poem is about that, in a way, but also about the passage of time.”
Will you recite it for me? A prick of excitement grew in John at the prospect of learning more poems. On their own, they were beautiful, but Arthur’s voice transformed them into something almost otherworldly. It was addictive.
Arthur cleared his throat, then spoke a bit louder than he normally would in public.
“ Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay .”
Nothing gold can stay, John echoed. In order for something to be beautiful, it must be finite. John subconsciously curled inward, as though he could protect Arthur with just his arm. It was pointless, of course; he knew the world was too dangerous for him to be of any use.
“I wouldn't say it's a requirement, but it does play a part. Gold is nearly useless on its own, but its rarity makes it worth more. In that way, moments are rare, and we covet them so time doesn’t slip through our fingers. It always does anyway, though. No matter how hard you hold on.”
As they walked, John’s eyes traveled upwards. Things were different for humans. The brightest stars burnt out the fastest, and Arthur was brighter than the sun with an even stronger pull, keeping John in orbit.
By that logic, time has less value to immortals.
“Do you disagree?” His voice was light, curious.
No. It makes sense. Being immortal dulls the feeling of time passing, so all things lose meaning. Either they’re fleeting and not worth the attention, or they’re permanent and the novelty quickly wears off. I would value this moment less if it would never fade.
“You understand, then.”
The diner is right up ahead.
As they pushed the door open, bells jingled above. A wave of food smells crashed over them, and John could have sworn Arthur’s stomach audibly growled.
There are a few other people here, but not too many. A few men dressed in white are standing behind the counter. I see an open booth at the back. Here. There’s a menu in the basket near the wall. What will you order?
“I don't know, John. Sausage, eggs, bacon, toast.”
Are you naming every breakfast item you know?
Arthur chuckled. “Perhaps.”
If you get a waffle, you can order bacon and toast as a side.
“Sounds divine.”
A waiter approached a few minutes later and took their order, leaving Arthur with a coffee to drink while they waited for food. He returned minutes later, a small feast in tow.
“Thank God,” he said, reaching for the silverware. “I’ve never been so grateful for food.”
John thought the contrary but didn’t mention it. Arthur stuffed his face messily, so fast John was almost afraid he’d choke on it. He waited patiently, looking around idly and turning the poem from before over in his head. That sinking feeling was falling onto him again. They were gold now, but who knew how long it would last? Once again, John’s thoughts filled with blood and horrors Arthur had the fortune of never glimpsing.
He would have taken a breath if he had a body, but he didn't, so he focused on the quiet thrum of movement around them. It calmed him, and he came back to himself.
After Arthur finished eating in record speed, he fished the map back out of his pocket. “What should we do today?”
You decide. Let’s do something self-indulgent, something to make you happy. You deserve it after all you’ve been through.
“You do too. Where would I be without you, John? Everything we’ve been through, we’ve done together, and I’d be lost without you, friend.”
He felt himself shy away from the compliment, in an emotion that felt almost like a grimace. You give me too much credit. I could be replaced with anything else that has a voice and you’d fare just as well. It was said lightly, almost jokingly, in an effort to disguise the bitterness in his voice.
Arthur sounded almost… hurt when he spoke again. “After everything we’ve been through, you should know that’s not true. I had the opportunity to leave this behind, to give everything up, and I chose to bring you back. Don’t say such things about yourself.”
Rather than give a real response, John just made a sound of acknowledgement. The words didn’t do much to soothe the roiling of his mind, but he didn’t voice that either.
He sighed, then spoke softly. “Pick out a location.” Arthur laughed, and the tone returned to a casual lightness. “Anywhere besides the fucking movie theater.”
Fucking hell, Arthur—
“Ah, ah, ah. You have a map to read.”
John grumbled but his eyes flicked across the map nonetheless. Restaurants and malls, names he didn’t recognize.
“There are plenty of free public services around, I'm sure. Would you like to do something indoors or would you prefer to spend some time outside?”
He thought about the greenery outside, and he remembered something about sunlight being good for the body. Outdoors.
“Do you see a park, perhaps?”
His eyes flicked to the middle of the page. Yes, I see one! It’s south of us.
“I’d like to walk, if it’s not too far. Let’s be on our way.” Arthur dug a few bills out of his pocket and tossed them onto the table. As they left, he started talking again, “There are a lot of changes with spring.”
I can see that, Arthur. His eyes strayed up and around, taking in the sights of the city and the delightful bundles of greenery that were unfolding around them. He hardly even noticed he was describing it aloud; it was so second nature to him at this point. We’ll just continue straight down this street.
“The birds, for example. Did you know they migrate? Not all of them, but the geese, ducks, swallows, robbins, those birds. They leave for the winter to find better conditions in the south, where it’s warmer. Then, when the seasons change again, they return home.”
And you think the birds are migrating back now?
“Yes. Haven’t you heard the geese calling above?”
I suppose I haven’t been paying much attention.
“You should learn to stop and smell the roses, John.”
He looked around, confused. Arthur, there are no roses here.
“It’s— It’s a part of speech. It means you should enjoy the little things more.”
Do you think the park will have roses?
Arthur hummed. “No, I think it’s too early in the year for that, but there may be other flowers. You don’t have to actually smell flowers—”
I want to. Maybe you’re right that we should make the most of today. Crossing again, but the light’s already on.
“Would you like to feed the birds?” Arthur asked as they continued down the street.
Don’t they eat insects? A faint layer of disgust colored his voice.
“City birds will eat anything from chocolate to a dirty sock if it’s left out for too long. Bread or seeds is more the norm, though.”
John paused as a curious excitement dusted the edges of his mind. He didn’t know anything about birds. There’s a bakery stand to our right. They’re selling fresh bread. Can we get some?
Arthur laughed and fished more bills out of his pocket. He grabbed one of the smaller bills on top of the stack and approached the vendor. John directed him to the piece he wanted and they bought a few slices. The baker wrapped them in cloth and John grabbed it quickly, careful not to squish the bread. Arthur thanked the man and off they went.
Arthur began humming again, the same song from before.
What is that? The song, I mean.
“It came on the radio last night. Don’t you remember?”
Oh. Yes. He did not remember.
Their conversation died off, but John was content to take in the sights of the city. The volume had risen considerably since they left the hotel as the city sprung to life. It was less comfortable now, and maybe Arthur felt the same way, judging by their brisk pace. He hugged the outer edge of the sidewalk in an attempt to avoid other pedestrians.
There's a cluster of people ahead. Careful—Arthur!
A man knocked into John's arm roughly, sending them off balance without apology. Arthur nearly tripped over the sidewalk’s edge and into traffic. They both swore profusely and thankfully didn’t stumble into the busy street. The bundle fell open and one of their slices of bread tumbled onto the filthy street.
John rolled his fingers across their remaining slice of bread, struggling not to crush it in his fist. If he had a body, his heart would be pounding. For now, he’d suffice to feel Arthur’s pulse thrumming in his wrist. Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur! Be more careful next time.
“You should have warned me sooner,” Arthur spat back. “That wasn’t my fault.”
You could have died , John hissed.
How ironic would it be for a motor accident to kill them after all they’d been through? But one day something was going to end them, whether that be some monster or straying into traffic. Nothing gold can stay . The inevitability of loss hung around him like a dense fog. He couldn’t see ahead and he couldn’t swat it away.
I can’t fucking lose you.
He paused. Had he said that out loud?
I mean—we need to keep going. The park is close by.
Arthur started walking again. He was quiet for so long John thought he might be blessed with dropping the topic but then, “You’re not going to lose me.”
Pain swelled and rushed through John’s consciousness. Fear rose, absolutely unprompted by their situation but rather by some vague future they were steadily marching towards. His existence was a lonely one, not that he had anything else to compare it to. Arthur was his only friend in the world, the golden lifeline he clung to.
Our road is uncertain, Arthur. Experience has shown you could die at any time. You can’t promise me in good faith that you won’t leave or—or get taken from me.
“ Experience has shown that we are very hard to kill. Death will have to drag me away kicking and screaming, John.”
You’re mortal. You don’t live forever.
Arthur sighed. “Mortality, while an unfamiliar concept to you, is something all humans have to come to terms with. If you get your own body, you’ll be mortal, too. I assume, anyway.”
His head spun with the finality of it all. They had seen far more death in the past months than most would see in a lifetime, and yet the idea of them being the ones to end…
It left quite a bitter taste in his mouth.
His mind returned to the poem, turning it over in his mind. How do you cope with the fact that you, your life, your existence, is finite?
Arthur made a gesture, as though he were reaching for the words. “I don’t know, John. I guess— death is a fact of life, and we must live in spite of it. Even if this moment, this life, doesn’t stay forever, it’s here now. We’ll be together for as long as possible. We’ll enjoy these small moments, when we’re not running for our lives. We can’t get caught up in the loss.”
They had another quiet moment, then, There is a short brick wall ahead. I can see trees within. That must be the park. Follow it until you find the gate. I’ll tell you when we’re there.
Arthur nodded. Another quiet moment passed before he spoke haltingly. “You do understand what I’m saying, though, don’t you?”
I think so.
“We’re safe here, John. You can relax.”
For now. Nothing gold can stay, Arthur. Perhaps Frost was right.
He shook his head with a bitter laugh. “Fuck that. I’m here for the long run, John. I’m with you. We’ll burn so fucking bright, the universe will turn on its head. And when the time comes, we’ll go into that good night together. Not apart for a moment. Can you accept that much?”
A spark of warmth lit up inside him. If he was corporeal, he wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off his face. He tried to keep his voice as reserved as possible when he said, I suppose so. The gate is ahead.
“Excellent. Let’s feed the ducks.”
John’s eyes darted around, taking in every last detail of the blooming park and describing it the best he could. He wished he were separate from Arthur, that they could both see spring unfold at the same time. One day.
The park was blissfully empty and they found a bench within, near a fountain. Soon after they settled in, listening to the cheerful bubbling of the water, city birds began to peck around their feet for scraps of food.
Together, Arthur and John tore off scraps of bread from their bundle and tossed them down to the swarming birds. Their coos and squabbles served as an odd comfort to him and Arthur as well. John’s fingers ghosted over Arthur’s knuckles, leaning into the touch as best he could. They sat together like that for a few moments.
Though the world was larger than they knew and doubly as scary, today they were safe. Today they were together. Despite everything, he had been right. It was going to be a good day.