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The loft was quiet, cut off from the incessant hum of the city.
Harold and John were enjoying their first moment of respite between number since the Machine had set itself free.
Just the two of them.
They were sitting on the sofa.
John was lying down with his head resting on Harold’s lap, completely surrendering to the peaceful atmosphere as Harold gently ran his fingers through his hair. This soothing gesture dispelled John’s usual hypervigilance and he began to doze off, enveloped in a rare and profound sense of security.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a whisper from Harold.
"Have you really forgiven me?"
The gentle drowsiness that had enveloped John vanished instantly. However, he didn’t change position, keeping his cheek pressed against the warmth of Harold’s thigh and his gaze fixed on the interplay of sunlight on the living room floor.
"Forgiven what?" John asked softly.
"The impact that my actions regarding the Machine have had on your life," Harold whispered.
He paused his hand in John’s hair as he waited for his lover’s response.
John remained silent for a long moment, sensing how important the question was to Harold, and took his time answering.
After a while, John raised his hand and took Harold’s from his hair. He gently intertwined their fingers and pressed his palm against Harold’s. "As I told you," John said in a calm voice, devoid of any lingering bitterness. "My life changed when I kept my mouth shut at an airport terminal seven years ago. It’s not your fault. You lost a friend. You did what you had to do."
"I’m not sure I deserve such magnanimity." Harold replied, his voice tinged with self-deprecation as his thumb nervously brushed against John’s knuckles.
John didn’t let Harold sink any deeper. With a fluid, unhurried motion, he sat up and took a seat beside him on the couch. Once settled, he took Harold’s hands in his and turned fully toward him. He held his gaze, urging Harold to look at the absolute, unshakable truth that shone in his eyes.
"It's not a matter of magnanimity, Harold," John said gently. "As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing to forgive. You made mistakes and have been trying to make up for them ever since. But beyond that, it’s all a matter of personal responsibility. We’re adults, capable of making our own decisions. You don’t have to bear the weight of those choices. Everyone complains that I always want to save everyone, but the same goes for you. You’re trying to shoulder the weight of the world’s mistakes. You don’t have to do that, Harold. In my opinion, you’re fulfilling your responsibilities to the best of your ability and beyond."
He sensed Harold’s hesitation, the older man’s difficulty accepting a verdict that didn't involve self-flagellation. John softened his expression and leaned a little closer to Harold.
"From me, Harold, you'll receive nothing but understanding, gratitude, deep respect, and boundless affection," John whispered, his words sounding like an oath. "No resentment, no debt."
Harold scrutinized John’s face, searching for the slightest hint of doubt or resentment directed at him.
He found neither.
Only a deep and unconditional acceptance met his gaze.
A deep sigh escaped his chest. He knew, with a sadness tinged with serenity, that a lifetime would not be enough to truly forgive himself. The memory of Nathan’s lifeless body and Grace’s receding figure was etched too deeply in his soul. However, knowing that one of the people he cherished most in the world harbored no spite, bitterness, or resentment soothed the painful wound he had carried within him for years, if only a little.
John offered a gentle, understanding smile. He raised his hands to cup Harold’s face, his calloused palms brushing against his lover's cheekbones. Then he leaned in to press his lips against Harold’s.
That kiss was filled with so much devotion and silent respect that the world around them simply faded away. Harold had never lost himself so completely in a kiss before. A sudden, desperate wave of emotion overwhelmed him. His hands reached out to grasp the fabric of John’s jacket and pull him as close as possible. He was terrified that if he let go, the moment would vanish.
Feeling Harold’s body tremble, John gently pulled him back. With infinite tenderness, John raised his hand, removed Harold’s glasses, and set them safely on the coffee table. Then, he wrapped his arms around Harold and held him close to his chest. He held him firmly, being mindful of his fragile back.
John pressed his temple against Harold’s and whispered into his ear, "It’s okay, Harold. I’m here. I’ve got you. You did the right thing. You did what you had to do, and you did it well." Harold felt a huge, suffocating lump form in his throat. He tried to swallow but couldn't because of the overwhelming pressure building behind his eyes. He closed his eyelids tightly, fighting desperately against the tears threatening to spill over.
"You can let go," John whispered, repeating it over and over. "I'll catch you, Harold. All you have to do is let go. That’s all."
And there, in the protective sanctuary of John’s arms, Harold finally let go for the first time since his world had come crashing down so many years ago.
The dam broke.
The tears that followed were neither silent nor restrained. They were the choked, heart-wrenching sobs of a man who had been fighting alone for far too long. He cried like never before, his fingers clutching John’s shoulders frantically and his face pressed against his lover's chest.
John didn’t pull away or offer any platitudes. He simply held Harold even tighter. One hand supported the back of Harold’s neck while the other gently stroked his back in soothing, circular motions. John whispered words of encouragement and comfort, anchoring Harold in reality as the storm finally subsided. He kept this up as the violent sobs gave way to slight shivers.
John slowly adjusted their position so that he was leaning back against the sofa cushions while holding Harold tightly against him. The room was now almost completely dark as the sun set behind the city's rooftops.
Harold rested his cheek against John’s chest. After letting out one last trembling sigh, he whispered in a broken voice, "Thank you." John said nothing. He hummed softly and placed a tender kiss on the top of Harold’s head.
Harold surrendered completely, giving himself over to John’s physical and mental strength as John held him.
What he felt for John at that moment was beyond words, yet he knew its nature perfectly well. He treasured it deep within his heart. He wasn’t quite ready to say the words out loud yet, but he knew they were there, shining with a steady glow in the darkness, waiting for the right moment.