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Kayne had woken Asathoth. For just a moment, the world ceased to exist. For just a moment in his wakefulness, Asathoth learned of Nyarlathotep’s plan and when he fell back into a slumber and the dream continued, Nyarlathotep was no more. He simply ceased to exist. It was like in the blink of an eye anything related to him was…gone. Arthur didn’t see a thing, naturally. No human mind—even one as strong as his—could possibly begin to comprehend something like Asathoth, but John did. John saw everything. After hearing his distress, Arthur figured it was best not to ask. It was best to just be thankful that Kayne is no longer a problem and not worry about the logistics of it all.
Afterwards, they found John a body to inhabit. It took a lot of coercion from Arthur, a load of worry from the god’s partner. But eventually… They found a dark skinned man in a graveyard. An unmarked grave with no references to family, or friends. Someone without a story… they’d get him one. Arthur didn’t get his eyesight back when they separated, this was his decision.
Adjusting to a separate life was difficult, especially with Arthur's continued lack of vision. But just because John wasn’t in his head didn’t mean he wasn’t still a guide for his friend. Oftentimes, John found his fingers intertwined with Arthur's, their hands clasped in warmth. They didn’t need to do this, Arthur never had needed a physical guide before, but neither brought it up. They got a single bedroom apartment in England—current England, and worked as private investigators together under aliases. Arthur was still despite everything, a wanted man.
______
“Arthur, what do you make of this?” John murmurs, his voice hesitant as if in contemplation. He slides his chair over to Arthur’s desk, where the man was hunched over the possible weapons, feeling them. In John's hand, he had a photo involved in a case they were working on—a woman murdered, the main suspect being her mute son.
Arthur turns his chair towards John—or, where he thinks John is. He quirks his eyebrow, waiting for the man to explain. This is usually how things go between them. They split up the work, go through it, and consult one another as they do. Now, John held a photo of some of the woman's surface wounds.
“Look, don’t you think it’s odd… the woman's bruises, they're circular, and all the weapons we’ve been given for evidence are, well….. Thin, long.”
Arthur nods in response, gloved finger trailing over the metal pipe on his desk. John's shoulder brushed against his, and it felt good, warm. A reminder that he was actually alive, a good reminder. Arthur takes a second to fully take in what John is saying.
“Well.. I suppose you’re right. A pipe wouldn't cause a circular bruise. Or, maybe the victim was punched—or… something.” Arthur’s voice is tense, strained as he tries to suppress a yawn that’s creeping up into his throat. John of course (ever perceptive) noticed the attempt to hold back a yawn. He cups Arthur's hand on the desk with his own, and slowly slithers his fingers to mix with the others, effectively holding his hand. Arthur’s heart skips a beat, the touch was electric even through the gloves. He squeezes the hand back.
“Let's get to bed and think about it for the night. You’ve been up for two days, take a break or I'll make you.” The firmness in John’s voice was final, and Arthur knew he’d fulfill that promise.
In a few minutes, the pair are laying together in their full size mattress. Arthur's arms are folded under Johns, wedged under his back as John lays down. His head rests firmly on the man’s chest, letting himself be soothed by the gentle thrum of his heart, the sound of air entering his lungs. John had.. Stolen most of the blanket, aggravatingly.
John’s hands are planted both around Arthur's shoulders and holding his head down. Their legs are tangled together in a heap of limbs. Despite the creeping cold from outside, their apartment remained warm.
Arthur tries to shift a bit, his neck getting sore. He’s met with a firm grunt no, and a tightened grip.
“Come on, John…” Arthur whispers, shifting under his arms. He isn’t let go, and ends up falling asleep like that, uncomfortable and a tad bit annoyed. He knew John liked his personal space, but this was starting to grow…. A bit excessive. Arthur decided to confront him at breakfast the next morning.
“So… Uhm, John?” Arthur starts off as he pours himself a tall glass of apple juice, pouring one similar in lemon juice for John. The man had enjoyed the sharp flavor when he gained the ability of taste, firmly believing that lemons were simply the best ever. Arthur thinks it's because they’re yellow but… He pours it all the same. He had picked up on the skill of feeling for when the glass was full, the skill of listening for when it was the exact pitch to not overflow.
John perks up out of the daily newspaper at the sound of his name, humming a simple “...yes, Arthur?” His voice was somewhat suspicious. Arguments weren’t uncommon for them, no.. far from it. They almost enjoyed fighting on every little thing. Just yesterday they had declared themselves mortal enemies for John's preference on Chocolate Ice cream, and Arthur's on Vanilla. But more serious arguments seemed to always start like this, a confrontation in their kitchen.
“You–- I…….. Why are you… Why are you so.. clingy, John? How do you find a way to.. to latch onto me every moment of every day.” Arthur speaks slowly, forcing the words out through teeth gritted in an uncomfortable manner. Arthur hated confrontation, but knew it was necessary, confrontation is.. Human.
John’s heart felt like it was just torn from his chest, stepped on, and thrown into a meat grinder to put it… dramatically. He hesitantly looks between his hands and Arthur’s, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallowed the nervousness on his tongue. “I… Arthur you.. Does it make you uncomfortable- when I cling to you? Is that what this is about?”
Arthur sits in the seat next to John’s, humming gently in reply. “Don’t turn this onto me John, you know better. Why-What aren’t you telling me?” He crosses his arms in a firm patience, allowing John to take his time to respond to the very direct question
Take his time John does, they sit in a collective silence for almost two full minutes before he finds it in him to claw the words up and out of his maw.
“I’m… scared, Arthur.”
The answer surprises the man to a small extent, Arthur knew John would never be fully alright, neither would he himself be. No amount of love and care would erase the deaths they've both suffered, the torture their minds had faced, it didn’t matter that one was a being as old as time. That eldritch being would still wake at night screaming. But at the same time, it would never be easy to get used to the man's occasional vulnerability. Arthur stays silent, waiting for him to continue.
“I'm scared of… losing you—a-again.” John mumbles out slowly, cringing at how hesitant he sounded. “I know Kayne is gone, I know Lilith is no longer a threat but… the first time I held you was right before you died—or I thought you did anyhow… I'm worried that if I let go, you’ll….”
He pauses mid sentence, feeling embarrassment rise as his cheeks heat up a bit. He’d just shared a heavy secret, yet it feels like he’s a child being forced to admit what they'd broke. “I- sorry, it’s.. Stupid-”
Arthur was out of his seat in a single moment, wrapping his arms around his god. His grip isn’t tight, just firm. His breath gently caresses the side of his neck as Arthur lets his head fall to his shoulder. “It's not… stupid, John. Not even in the smallest amount.” He whispers, words partially melted by the fabric of John’s pajama shirt. John’s confession hurt, and suddenly he was ready to ignore every single sleepless night, every single morning led with annoyance.
He pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against Johns in a tender, intimate way. Their air combines between them. Arthur closes his eyes, John stares at his face with a not visible look of adoration. The moment is silent by ear, but they don't need to speak verbally to understand each other in a way that only two souls bound by fate, bound by one body could ever be. It’s Arthur who breaks the silence first.
“I will never give up on us. No matter what, alright? I can’t promise security, there are still so.. So many evils that plague our world—monsters and humans alike— and we may always have a target on us, but… I can promise that no matter what John, I will fight tooth and nail to stay by your side. To separate us they’ll have to remove my arms so I can’t hold you, remove my ears so I can’t hear you, remove my tongue so I can't taste you in the air, remove my legs… so that I cannot run back to you.” He whispers into the space between them, letting a sigh of exhaustion out before continuing.
“And even then, John? They would have to take my soul. Because no matter where I am, no matter what planes we walk or our relationship, my soul will always yearn for you, always. I will chase you until the end of this world-and then when we fall off, chase you through the next one. You're stuck with me, and that's a threat.” Arthur grins a bit cheesily, forcing his laugh as he hears a sniff.
John doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know why this human body’s tear ducts fill so quickly, he has no idea why every syllable Arthur speaks causes a shot of pain through his heart like a good bourbon. He sniffs and wipes his tears quickly, not liking how they burn at his skin. He laughs a soft laugh, the sound filling the kitchen like whispy smoke.
“... does this mean…” his laugh breaks through his words for a moment before he breathes back to calmness. “…I'm forgiven for stealing the blankets…?”
A smile.
“John Doe, I forgive you.”
And even though in the next weeks, Arthur has to deal with even more touches, more affection, more puppy dog love from such a powerful man.. He doesn’t dare complain again. Because even if his arms grow sore from holding him, at least he can hold him.
(P.s -John does try his best to not crush Arthur at night, he’s just a rough sleeper)