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"John."
Arthur's fingers slide into his own when he doesn't instantly respond, further getting his attention. They're walking along the path down… wherever - and whenever - the flying fuck Kayne dropped them. It's a simple dirt road, surrounded by waist-high grass on all sides. They had abandoned the tree line a couple hours ago and had been walking in relative silence. Really, the longest silence they had shared probably since the coma. Even Yorick didn't have much to say, not having been prompted for an answer anyways.
John shakes himself out of whatever thought was holding him hostage - honestly, he doesn't even remember now. Not with Arthur's warm, calloused hand in his own. Those strong, rough hands that somehow still have the grace of a piano prodigy, despite all the storms they weathered.
And what storms they were.
Sorry, sorry. Got distracted. Yes, Arthur? John says his name in that special way of his, the way that makes Arthur's heart thud just a touch harder than usual every time he hears it. Its that tone that caresses Arthur's skin, sends goosebumps up and down his body, a shiver down his spine, all of adoration and love. John wasn't just a voice, but at times, his voice was Arthur's favorite part.
"I have some thoughts about our... situation." He cringes slightly at how it's phrased. That's putting it lightly, to say the least.
Arthur feels John's movement - he was always moving, stirring, strumming with energy inside of him - come to a stand still in his head. His version of stopping or pausing to mull something over. The bleed over of their souls becomes a little more opaque instead of its usual soft, gradual gradient, evidence of his thoughts. Arthur could almost tell where he ended and John began. Almost.
What do you mean? Stone to the right - take half a step to the left.
The question was genuine, Arthur could tell. The slow cadence of a hesitant inquiry, one that could be interpreted in a negative light if not careful. He heeds John's instructions, gratefulness blooming in his chest, like always.
An inescapable smile graces Arthur's lips, purely at the sound of his friend's baritone. But it doesn't reach his eyes.
Arthur clears his throat. "Well, it's been not too long ago that we, you know. Uh-"
Got married?
The words make Arthur's smile want to grow, but it doesn't. There's something weighing on him, clipping his wings and refusing to let him fly. There isn't any point in hiding it from John, though. They've become so close, so bound and fused together by the soul that at this point in their journey, John can sense Arthur's emotions before he himself is aware of them. And vice versa. They are wholly one, or nearing the time when they would become so. Two equal halves, yet somehow not halved at all. Completely whole, because there was nothing separating them. One would be unable to survive without the other, past events be damned.
"I… yeah. Got married." Arthur echos, voice trailing behind despite his journey forward. He tries to sound happier, to show just how goddamn giddy that phrase makes him. For fucks sake, he feels like a school boy with his very first crush at times. But today, it doesn't reach.
John is confused, worry coloring his inquiry. Arthur can feel it more than hear it - christ, he can always feel it more than he hears it - when John speaks. You… don't sound very happy about it. Is something wrong?
"I-"
You aren't regretting it, are you?
That makes Arthur stop, halting in the middle of the path. The birdsong fills the space Arthur's footsteps had taken up, a cool breeze ruffling his hair and brushing his face. John's words are soft, scared, hesitant. There's true, intense feeling behind those 6 words, and Arthur can tell John has been worrying about it for a long time. The thought is a stab to his heart, a painful pang for his friend and husband.
"What? No. Absolutely not. John, why would I regret it?" Arthur is genuinely flabbergasted, almost offended at even the thought of regretting anything he and John had done together or altering any time spent with the other. He splutters for a second, before starting again. "I- I got married to my best friend. My dearest friend who saved me countless times, and who I feel will save me countless more. You pulled me back from the darkest and deepest bedrock. You are worth so much more than I could ever give you, and I will never regret marrying you."
John is quiet, real quiet, after Arthur finishes his little speech. He takes a deep breath, dousing his simmering anger with a cold bucket of remembrance at his original point. Arthur exhales slowly, and after a second of silence, finally voices his question. His own voice barely shakes, words sounding almost strained, as that previous weight re-settles on his shoulders and squeezes his airway.
"The question is… do you regret marrying me?"
John lets out a gasp, his presence stiffening in bewilderment and offense. Arthur can feel it himself; like a pressure in his head, making it heavier, almost. This whole thing is kind of ironic now, considering what Arthur just said and what John himself literally just asked. But he barrels on, refusing to let John talk, trying to get all the words out before John eventually agrees with him. That yes, he regretted it. Regretted being married to someone as… well, someone as 'Arthur' as Arthur.
"B-Because you should. I- yes, I know I'm the one that proposed, if you can call it that. I'm the one that brought it up and forced it upon you. I probably guilt tripped you into doing it-" Although those words don't make a lick of sense because when was the last time John was guilt tripped into anything? And yet Arthur feels them anyway. "-or pressured you-" Again, the same thing. "-and I've treated you terribly. I've belittled you, ignored you, yelled at you, fucking scolded you like you were a child. I've been a terrible, terrible partner to you-"
Arthur, what-?
Arthur's voice is strained, like the words are clawing his throat wide open on their way up. His chest hurts from the emotion, heart trying to gallop away from the oncoming rejection. "-and I've been a terrible partner to everyone else. Parker, Bella. A terrible husband. Good husbands don't do all that, John."
He wants to say that John should regret marrying him. John shouldn't be content with Arthur. John should want more, desire more, deserve more than Arthur can ever give him. His life a thousand times over would never be enough compared to how much John has done for him.
His knees feel weak, oh so fucking weak, at how strong the tempest of self hatred and desperation is swelling inside of him. Arthur's eyes and throat burn with emotion, and only now does Arthur realize he's on the verge of crying. A whimper escapes his throat, desperately trying not to just sob and sob and sob, and John sighs.
He sounds tired. So tired. Which doesn't make much sense, considering his current state. When he speaks, John is not impatient, or angry, or offended, or bewildered. Instead he speaks slowly, calmly, gently, the words molasses on his incorporeal tongue.
There is a fallen log, just off the path. It's near a small grove of trees, to your right about five steps over. Go over to it and sit down.
It's easiest to do as he's told, to just fucking listen for once. So he does. Arthur ignores the weakness in his knees, the urge to just collapse then and there and curl into a ball and cry and beg for forgiveness. John's tone is so gentle, so patient and caring. Arthur deserves none of it.
Once he's seated on the log, Arthur leans down and drapes himself over his knees, hugging them close. His stomach wound twinges, but he ignores it.
Good. Good job, Arthur. Now, I want you to listen to me very, very closely. Can you do that for me?
Arthur swallows hard, and it hurts because of how dry and tight his throat is with unshed tears and hardening emotions. The praise itself even huts. Everything hurts.
He nods, and that's all he can do.
First off. I want you to tell that voice in your head - the one telling you all this self-hatred bullshit, not me, because I know you will split hairs - that it doesn't know what it is talking about. And also to fuck off.
Arthur's breath catches at the words, at the tone John uses with them. His voice is hard, steady, yet not unkind. It's slow and patient and loving underneath all that steel and Arthur doesn't deserve any of it.
How you could possibly think I regret marrying you, I have no fucking clue. Arthur opens his mouth to, you guessed it, split hairs, but John corrects himself before he gets the chance to. No, correction. I do. You have it wired into every fiber of your being that you are not good enough, that you do not deserve the slightest decency or humanity. I've seen it again and again and again. Ever since I first met you. And it continues to drive me damn near insane when such a beautiful creature as yourself denies such things.
Arthur shudders. He could be crying.
I don't think you understand how much I love you. How devoted I am to you. When I said 'yes, I will marry you' I meant all of you. Every single inch of flawed, imperfect perfection that calls himself Arthur Lester. I married humanity on that train. And I don't plan to divorce. Period.
Yep, Arthur is crying. Gods, that has been weighing on him since the idea that his belittling caused John to fade occurred to him. That theory has long since been disproved, but deep down, it stuck. It wormed its way into his bones and made a nest for itself to fester and ravage Arthur' s scarce self love and appreciation. It turned anything close to being content with himself and what he has done into dust, like termites to a rotting woods.
He shudders in another breath, and it shudders out in a gut wrenching sob. The tears burn tracks down his cheeks, and Arthur tries to hide them behind his hand, trying to hide them from the world. No matter how hard it was to believe it, John's reassurance made Arthur near nauseous with relief.
John's voice softens, and Arthur swears he can physically feel it wrapping around him, soothing him inside and out. You have given me so much, Arthur. So, so fucking much. Your life, again and again, was gifted to me. Dare I say an even more precious gift than your eyes. You were the star of humanity I clung to in the Dark World, illuminating the way for me. Do not credit yourself with so little when you deserve more than I could ever give you. It is an honor to call you my husband
He could be lying, of course. John has lied before. His lies have wrecked Arthur's trust, tore through him with claws sharper than the dagger that just missed his jugular.
But, by fucking god did Arthur want to believe him.
So he shudders out some more sobs and leans hard into the hand that cups his face, the thumb that wipes those tears away, the cool press of a golden band that matches his own. Arthur grips that hand and brings it to his chest, pressing the palm over his heart, and refuses to let go long past when his tears run dry. The only adjustment he makes is letting John's palm move to his right shoulder, so his arm drapes across Arthur's chest - the closest approximation of a hug the two can get to. John lets him cry, lets him bawl his eyes out and release all those frustrations and emotions and dirty, messy human things he had yet to fully understand.
When Arthur slowly comes back to himself, John is still there. He's humming softly, Arthur realizes, his deep baritone rumbling a soothing melody. Almost like melodic purring. The song is identified and it brings a watery smile to Arthur's face. He lets out a shaky breath, blinking open his sticky eyes.
The humming stops. Feel better?
Arthur laughs wetly, bringing his hand up and wiping the tears away. His voice is thick with shed emotion when he speaks. "Yeah, ah- I-I think I needed that."
John hums again, this time in agreement. I'm glad I could help.
"Yes. Thank you for letting me do all… that. Break down into tears. Sob uncontrollably. Telling me that maybe you weren't going to leave me the first chance you get." Arthur shrugs. "You know, the usual."
Well, that's what husbands are for, no?
Arthur barks out a laugh and John's deep chuckle follows. His hand moves up to the cup Arthur's cheek again, and Arthur holds it there, keeping it in place. He's struck by a sudden thought, a remembrance of his first wedding, a false statement and hollow reassurance. Arthur says it before he can convince himself otherwise.
"Till death do us part, hmm?"
John scoffs, but his words are not unkind. Don't be ridiculous. Not even death could keep me from you. I'd tear the Dark World to pieces before I let you out of my sight. Knowing you, I'll probably have to.
Arthur grins and sniffs, affectionate warmth blossoming deep in his chest. He presses a soft kiss to each of those knuckles, long fingers curling in his palm. He exhales slowly and ends the display of affection with a kiss planted on that golden band, signifying that John was his. John wasn't going to leave. "Don't be an ass. Just say the damn thing."
The eye roll is audible, and so is John's own matching fond, endeared smile. Fine. Till death do us part.