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The boy standing in front of him doesn't realise.
He doesn't realize all of the memories that have been torn away from him. He doesn't realize that the dark-haired boy in front of him held access to some small part of himself.
His golden hair disheveled, tumbling across his hair in loose waves. The way the sun hits individual strands and makes them glow from the inside, small specks of sunlight glowing from each blonde twist.
Even with blood dripping from his nose, all John can think about is the way his blue eyes shine in the light.
He hides it behind banter- the only way he knows he can talk to the blonde without breaking down.
"You got a little something here," he says, smirking. His middle finger rises, pointing to the crimson streak running down from Arlo's nose. The blonde glares, the blue eyes that once showed begrudging love for him withered away. It's hollowed out, replaced by cold irritation.
John can't do anything else but smile.
Smile because they never had anything between them.
It was just stolen moments, hands grasping each other's collars, and the pretense that neither of them were slowly suffocating to the tension that lay unresolved between them.
Days where John would do nothing but exist, waiting for Arlo to show up. So he could pretend to be angry and grab at his collar. Maybe snap at him a few times so it doesn't feel forced.
Even when the blonde looked irritated beyond belief, John knew that his attention was on him. That he had snared the rope around the blonde, forcefully yanking him into his orbit.
Days spent at Wellston, going out of each others way to annoy each other. Mainly on John's behalf. He wouldn't have a reason at all. John would always tell himself that it was because he hated Arlo. But that excuse grew weak and withered away. Hate couldn't excuse the reason why Arlo was the only thing on his mind.
There was a thin line between love and hate, apparently.
"Hey, Asslo," he grinned, burnt gold eyes always holding a challenge to the blonde. Arlo sighs, stopping in place to turn to John. He could never ignore him. He could never pull away from the raven even when he thought he wanted to. His body knew what he wanted before his mind could make the decision for himself.
"What is it, John?" Arlo asks, crossing his arms tiredly. His mind was wearing down as well, holding onto the final fraying strings of the metal net thrown around him to keep John away.
He could only resist for so long before letting the tide pull him under.
"Mm, nothing," John says, not offering an excuse to reach out. Arlo could pretend to be irritated, but he wasn't. "If you don't have a reason to bother me, don't do it at all," Arlo says. The bite of his words doesn't match his tone. His words hold no fight behind them, a weakly thrown up glass wall. It's only there to act as a barrier, not as something to keep someone out.
It's why John can easily send it crumbling.
His golden eyes burn through the glass, sending the shards spraying out in all directions.
"Don't pretend that you don't enjoy it," John replies, taking a step closer. Arlo doesn't stop him, taking neither a step forward nor backwards. He stays where he is, body rooted down by a chain to the floor. His legs stay grounded, the leather soles pressed against the hard tiles of the hallway. He stares down slightly at the shorter boy, the frost remaining in his blue eyes beginning to thaw.
Would they ever look at him the same way again?
"What are you getting out of this?" Arlo asks, trying to turn himself away from the tension that's suddenly stretched between them. John just leans forward. Another centimeter. Barely noticeable. But to him it is.
"Do I have to be getting anything out of it?" John asks, golden eyes meeting his blue ones. They're flecked with shades of amber, gold and a deep brown. Even under the artificial lighting, hues of gold sparkle back at him, the burning challenge in his eyes a too dangerously tantalizing force.
Arlo takes a step forward, refusing to let himself be cornered.
"I suppose not," he says, not realizing that his voice had dropped to be barely above a whisper.
And now there was nothing at all.
There was nothing there, John reminds himself again.
He hopes the blonde doesn't notice how broken he is behind the smirk.
If the magenta haired girl next to him notices, she doesn't say anything. Probably for his sake.
"Tsk," Arlo mutters, wiping at his nose with the cuff of his suit. The black material wipes away the red, the dark fabric hiding away any trace of it. John finds his eyes linger on it for longer than necessary.
His fingers drum against his legs, a poor substitute for conversation.
He's itching for something- anything- to say.
Anything that could bring the blonde back to him.
"How did you get away scot free-"
John's cut off by a warm hand pressing against his mouth.
"Quiet," the blonde hisses, looking over nervously at the members of the Bureau behind him.
John doesn't resist, weakly throwing on an irritated expression he hopes is convincing enough. He doesn't want Arlo to take his hands off of him. Just the feeling of his warm hands pressed against his mouth is enough. It's enough to make up for the hollow feeling that's been eating away at his flesh, slowly picking away at the skin, muscles and tissue until all that remains are his bones.
He would offer all of it to Arlo.
He knows he would.
But the blonde wouldn't care for it.
Following Arlo's eyes dart to the Bureau, John knows.
Arlo was always looking for that approval.
John could and would easily cast aside everything. He already had.
But Arlo couldn't. Or maybe he wouldn't.
The Arlo here didn't even care enough for him to do that.
And John loved him too much to burden him with his emotions.
So all he does is stand there quietly, hoping that he can keep up his facade well enough that he doesn't appear to already be fracturing from the inside.
"Let go," he says, shoving Arlo's hand off of him.
He feels the weight of Arlo's hand slip off of him. As if an anchor slips away from a boat, leaving the wooden craft hovering listlessly away from the shore.
John had been traveling away from that shore for a while, searching for a new island. But Arlo was stuck on the land.
Was he truly stuck?
John's burnt gold eyes make their way to the blonde. He's here on his own free will.
He chose to be a part of the Bureau. Despite everything.
Because he loved Arlo, he wouldn't drag him away from the land he refuses to part with. He won't be selfish for once. He won't be.
Maybe he'll break down tonight like he almost did all of the other nights.
Finally let that string snap, pulled taught and stretched until there was no more room for it to go without splintering off and hitting the hands pulling at both ends.
It's hard to swim back to the surface when you're slowly sinking towards the bottom.