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God, he hated moving.
Hauling all his things from one place to another wasn't particularly pleasant when he could see, but it seems he had only traded one set of problems for another, entirely new one.
"Arthur?"
In spite of how soft the voice was, he sighed gruffly.
"Sorry, John, could you say that all again? I was..." Sulking. He felt John's patient gaze in the weighted pause that followed which, for some reason, only bothered him more.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine," Arthur huffed again, instantly forgetting his answer, "Jesus, I forgot how frustrating it is to move. Your apartment was so small it was easy to get used to but this-- an entire house..." He rubbed his temples, waving his other hand in front of him to find---some sort of table, it seemed---to brace himself on. "It takes so long to-- we've been sorting clothes for hours, John; it would've taken me one if I could just fucking see them. And you've described this room---this house---to me so many times but I still can't..."
He melted when John rubbed his back affectionately, and dragged his complaints back into the present.
"And honestly, John, I can feel the sweat in my clothes, but the thought of even attempting to find my way around the washroom is..."
"I could help," John offered.
Arthur froze. Was that an innuendo? He considered it only for a moment before a smile pinched his eyes. Nope, just John.
"That would be wonderful," he sighed, taking John's offered arm.
"Another left, then a right here," John narrated, guiding Arthur's free hand to the doorknob, "This is the one in our bedroom. I brought some things in here earlier, so we should already have everything you need."
"Lovely," Arthur praised, feeling his way across the wall to kick off his shoes, "Would you mind putting these--"
"Of course, Arthur," John answered, leaving his side to place his shoes just under the bed, where neither of them would trip over them.. He turned back to find Arthur unceremoniously shucking his top onto the floor, wholly uninterested in feeling for a wall hanger. John chuckled, and Arthur's head turned up.
"Oh, come off it. I'll find it later, I'm sure."
"I've got it," John assured him, hanging it over the sink basin. "Do you want a shower? Or a bath?" he asked as he spread a towel on the floor to serve as a bath mat.
"Mm, bath," Arthur said, starting on his belt, "It will be easier for both of us, after all the standing around we've done today."
"Okay," John smiled, kneeling down to draw the water and pull some soap and shampoo from one of the boxes by the door. "Do you want bubbles?"
"Sure," Arthur laughed, turning toward the sound of John's voice, "Could you..."
His words faltered around the sound of the gushing water, shivering with him out in the open air. John's arms were around him before the moment ended. He kept his hold on him snug so Arthur didn't have to grip so tightly, and watched him push his cheek into his chest. John knew well enough that hearing the water from another room would only bring him more discomfort. So, he pushed his own cheek to his forehead and hummed.
Arthur pressed his ear to the rumbling in his chest and let himself be taken by its richness. John's fingers chased a shudder up his spine. He was so warm, Arthur found himself thinking. Even if finally gaining enough weight to cover his bones made him run a little less cold, it was still only a small candle compared to John's hearth. He swore the temperature in the room raised by tens of degrees when he was in it with him.
When the song had finished, so had the water, and Arthur turned to John at the basin.
"Here," John offered his arm before Arthur could get far, "This way, just a few more steps---ah, here. The lip of the basin is about two feet off the ground."
With John's guidance, Arthur stepped into the water, soon sinking into the bubbles and groaning as its warmth soothed his aching bones. He blew the bubbles from his face with a chuckle.
"Christ, John, how much soap did you use?"
"I might have underestimated the amount I put in."
"'Might have'?" Arthur mused, leaning his head on the basin's back edge and enjoying the moment to breathe. Behind him, fabric brushed onto tile and hands brushed through his hair. His eyes sank closed. "Your hands are heavenly, John," he murmured, leaning into the thumb that stroked the space in front of his ear. It traced down his jaw. "It's been so long since I've seen your face."
John snorted, softly, his touch reaching the back of his neck.
"I held you this morning, Arthur," John said with a smile in his voice.
"Ancient history," Arthur dismissed, and turned his chin up towards John's voice, "It's hardly fair that you get to see me all the time." His own smile widened when John's breath tickled his nose.
"Hm," John agreed without complaint, observing how Arthur's wet hair coiled over his forehead in gentle, winding rivulets like branching streams. Like the piece he just finished, in branching waves of cold grey and green and gold, the blues in spirals like mist; like if sun-kissed rain were a song. He brushed them back with a gentle hand, and leaned over him to press an even gentler kiss to his lips.
He pulled away to brush their noses together, and Arthur giggled, tilting his head back to draw their lips together again. John hummed.
"Don't you want me to wash your hair?"
"Mm..." Arthur hummed, "Eventually. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For asking, John,"
"But...you always have to ask about hair--"
"I know, I know," Arthur dismissed, nudging his head back into his hands. "It's nice that you care to." John, taking the hint, took the shampoo in his hands and scrubbed it into his hair.
He washed it in a gentle silence and rinsed until the soap was clean from his scalp. Arthur sighed when his hands rubbed the back of his neck.
"I got your robe for you," John said softly, "and your clothes, if you want them."
"Thank you," Arthur smiled, craning his neck when John brushed their noses together again. "I suppose it is getting rather cold." He shifted, "John, darling, would you--?"
He gasped when his arms were swept out from under him, but it quickly turned to laughter when he felt a towel and John's arms wrap around him.
"Sorry! Should I have--?"
"No," Arthur chuckled, leaning his head on his broad (and warm) shoulder, "Well, maybe. It only startled me a little."
"I'll warn you next time," John promised, setting him down, "Watch your step; you're on a towel and the tile is wet beyond it. It's longways, with the short edge against the counter. You've got roughly a foot on either side. Your clothes are here, on the countertop," he said, lifting Arthur's hand and guiding it as he spoke, "Here's the robe, laid out right-side up. To the right of it, here," he continued, "are your clothes, folded in order. I've already undone the buttons for you."
"Thank you," Arthur sighed with relief that he didn't have to ask, feeling for the waistband of his pants, "Which way?"
"The front is here,"
"Ah, thank you,"
When Arthur dried and dressed he took John's offered arm.
"The bedroom is here," he said, bringing Arthur's hand to the sheets so he could sit down, "and the bed is here. The sun is setting out the window in front of us, bathing the room in a rich, golden hue..." Arthur hummed, sinking his head into the pillows.
"Beautiful, John," he murmured, "Thank God you insisted on making the bed right after you and Jack brought it in." He reached out his hand, and John took it. "Come here..."
"Arthur, I'm filthy--"
"Take off your shirt, then," Arthur said with a sly grin. He shivered with John's deep, mirthful chuckle.
"Alright," John caved, and his voice came closer, "but we're washing the sheets again tomorrow."
"Done," Arthur agreed, tugging him down by the collar of his shirt. "Can I--?" he asked between kisses, his hand grazing his cheek. He felt John's smile on his lips.
"Yes," John answered, warmth blooming in his chest. Arthur's hands through his long, dark hair sent a shudder down his back. He murmured something Arthur couldn't parse (on account of it being mostly said into his mouth, and also not in English), but he recalled what it meant. He had felt it here many times before.
"I love you too."
He was wildly out of breath when he spoke again over the shifting of bedsheets, shivering in the breeze of John's warmth suddenly leaving him.
"Where are you--?"
"Taking my shirt off, Arthur," John chuckled. Arthur scoffed.
"Well, I could've done that."
"Hm."
John was suddenly much closer, and Arthur giggled in delight when his lips met his neck.
"John!" he scolded, but with no real bite, "Come on, let me see you!"
"In a minute," John mumbled under his ear. Arthur fell into a fit of giddy laughter when he bowed lower to kiss beneath his chin. But, with Arthur's steady hands in his hair, it wasn't long before he lagged.
Arthur hummed when he came up for air and pushed his head into his hands, bringing his fingers to the ridges of his cheekbones. They traced delicately under the skin beneath his eyes while John's rubbed soft circles into his shoulder. And as Arthur traced over every feature, he realized it had been months since he had a day where he didn't smile.
"I see you," he crooned, sending a chill down John's spine with the lines through his scalp. He felt the corners of John's mouth pull back in a smile, then tugged him forward by the back of his neck to meet his lips again.
Arthur pulled John down, perfectly content with being smushed by his weight. His drowsy smile grew when John nuzzled his nose under his ear and hummed the same song. Arthur swore he could feel the resonance in his bones.
When Arthur started to snore, John held him more closely and rolled them to his side so it was easier to keep his full weight off him. The fading light and the oncoming twilight now bathed them in rich, deep oranges and golden reds while the shadows rested in cold, comfortable blues; and John watched the hues dance across Arthur's face like a kaleidoscope, the sunset reflected perfectly in his damp auburn hair.
He settled into the covers with a smile and touched their noses together.