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=Arthur=
The man stirs, groaning. He has no idea where they were, but it's at least safe enough for John, so who was he to question it?
...Of course, he's very aware that that's literally all he does but...shush.
Judging by the lack of panic in his friends voice, he must not need to fret -too- much. "Good-...what time is it?"
=Midnight, best I can tell.=
"Oh. John, it's only been-"
=An hour, I know.=
..."So, why are we up? Is there something to be worried about?"
=No...=
His cagey responses were really starting to grate on Arthur's-
=You're grabbing me.= The voice cut into his train of thought. =I mean-, you're gripping your left hand. Tightly.=
Arthur let's go immediately, his right drawing away before-
He's snagged back. Fingers he knows belong to himself seizing his wrist with a strange sort of desperation before letting go like they'd been burned. =Sorry.=
"For what?"
He's silent. But not quiet. Often when pressed, the entity made a subtle hum. Often drowned out by the din of life. But here, the world often had no such things.
It means he was thinking very hard.
"John-"
=Humans are...strange. About hands.= He takes a breath with lungs he doesn't have. =Touching is fine. Expected.=
"Not in every culture." Arthur reminds him.
A dismissive sound, but acknowledgment nonetheless. =Holding though...is only for those close to you. Family, friends, and lovers.=
"You're allowed to hold my hand, if that's what you're fretting about." The man chuckled reaching out to him again.
But once more denied. =Are we close, Arthur?=
"In a liter-"
=Don't fucking tease me!= John snapped, voice ringing in his ears.
"Ow, alright! Yes, we're close. At least I think we are. You're very-..." Now it's his turn to wrestle with what they were.
Arthur didn't exactly...fully do things like this. He obviously cares for people, has love for them, but he had always had a bit of a struggle with the more...romantic endeavors of life.
He understands sex. That's easy. Hot, quick, and generally a good way to bond.
Romance was different. Thin, misty, and nigh impossible to fully understand.
A bit like-
"...You're a good f-" He halts again. Damnable tongue, refusing to cooperate. He wants to say friend. He knows what friends do. He gets that, it'll be easier for him. And yet. It slips out once more. "I do love you John. You know that."
=Like Faroe?=
Oh that's a sore spot. There's a tiny bloom of pain in the entities voice. Like he didn't want to admit it's been eating at him.
"No." The reply came as easy as breathing. "Not like Faroe."
Arthur finally found his left hand again. He ran his fingertips up to find a pulse he knew to be his. But felt so different. Quickens upon contact.
John.
"You shouldn't learn this from me. I don't understand it myself. Love-, romantic love, isn't my forte. It's why I think I struggled with my marriage. She understood it. And I think you do as well." He sighed deeply. "I hope I haven't skewed your view on it."
=Arthur, you love me?= Tone hesitant, as if afraid it was all a dream. =Love me like the radio play?=
Ah, that. It's been ages since then, but John adored radio plays. Since Arthur was actually willing to sit through them unlike films. He's not sure which one he meant. John would occasionally listen to them when Arthur was sleeping.
"I think so. Like I said, this isn't my strong suit-"
John pressed the hand he controls to the man's mouth. Fingers sinking into the barely there softness of his cheeks.
=I love you too, Arthur. I don't want to lose you. You're my friend. Mine.= John whispers all of this like he's in a confessional booth. =I want to hold hands. With mine, not yours. Fuck-, Arthur. It's not fair!=
Once he's able to free his mouth, the man sighed. Long and full of melancholy. "Life rarely is...but for what it's worth, I feel that too. For me it's more...instinctual. Possessive. Like a beast with a meal."
=Like me.=
Arthur chuckled. He takes John's hand and gently kisses his knuckles. (Which rewards him with a very satisfying strangled sound. Short as it was.) "Yes, John. Like you."