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If there were many things Arthur liked, one of them was daffodils, and the other, stars. Perhaps because of his daughter Faroe’s profound interest in astronomy, stars. Daffodils?
He didn’t know why he liked daffodils. Was it their smell? Not quite right. Or perhaps they matched the eyes of someone he knew. Someone he still knows. Someone sitting upon the grass and fields right beside him.
The person beside him had golden brown skin, a shade that shone gold under the sunlight and dimmed blue under the moon. Raven-black hair curled at the edges, framing the face and falling past the shoulders, soft bangs pushed aside. Perhaps what Arthur loved the most was the eyes.
Daffodils. Under the growing darkness, they shone in a soft yellow shade. It might have been an illusion, but it helped the irises frame the white, cat-like pupils. And they suddenly darted towards Arthur.
It was perhaps such a perfect contrast from his own appearance. He himself had pale skin, fed enough to be healthy. His hair was a genetic blond, and his eyes were amber. A single scar streaked from one side of his throat to another, others erased to nothing.
“You’re staring,” he said as Arthur quickly turned away. Arthur had almost forgotten about John’s excellent observation skills. The being didn’t need his main pair of eyes to know who or what was watching.
He was always the eyes.
“Y-yes, my apologies,” Arthur replied, looking back up at the night sky. “The constellations are clearer tonight,” he continued, trying to deflect his own embarrassment.
“They are,” John replied after a moment. He stared with a slightly awe-filled expression. Arthur noted that John’s eyes seemed to light up. “I’ve never seen them from this… human perspective before.”
Right. John wasn’t human, not in a mortal standing. But Arthur knew he was trying his best. “What do you think of it?” Arthur asked, looking back at John.
“I think…” A pause. “I think they look more beautiful from afar,” John finished, looking down at the grass and daffodils between his hands and fingers. “From up there, they were hot, chaotic, and unpredictable at best. Like… like bugs.” His eyes look back up. “But from afar…”
“Yeah, I get that,” Arthur replied, his eyes softening. Arthur know this was just a method of John trying to push him away, trying to warn Arthur that John, despite being on Earth in a human body, at least for now, was a being, or rather, a fragment of a being, meant to be up in the stars, to look upon humanity with cold hatred and calculated malice.
Despite that, Arthur had seen, firsthand, what John was doing here. He was changing, changing to become a better being than he once was, ever since John got stuck with Arthur.
That was stupid. Arthur himself was no longer human, not quite. He had, he was pretty sure, hatched (or sprouted, but he rather not to think himself a meat-plant) out from a tree in the Dreamlands. Sure, he acted and looked human, but being biologically human was a difficult thing to say. He was pretty sure his insides were replaced with soft, flesh-like wood that mimicked the human one, functioning only because it was copied off something that did so. None of them were human.
The silence continued as they looked back to the stars.
The silence was broken when John let out a tired sigh, falling backwards into the soft grass beneath. The slope propped him up slightly so he could still see the stars. Arthur didn’t follow, deciding that John needed a moment. It had been a long day.
“About what happened earlier…” John started, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”
Right. Earlier that day, they had been arguing about John’s abilities. The being had accidentally induced two people into psychosis while interrogating them, causing the two of them to babble of the King in Yellow and the cursed, beautifully written play, said to have been so beautiful it had driven people mad. Arthur had thought that John had done so on purpose. Now, Arthur knew it was not purposeful, but earlier…
It was a shame for both of them that such arguments happened so often.
“No, I was being very annoying too,” Arthur replied, looking at John. “You deserve this apology more than I do, John.”
“Do I?” John asked, finally looking at Arthur again, but still not meeting his eyes, as if looking for a change of expression. “Do you think I can change, Arthur?”
“I-” Arthur stopped himself. Did he think John could change? Or was he dragged under the same fantasy with John that he could change? Would he be lying if he said yes? Would he be cruel if he said no? “I…” Arthur trailed off.
“You can’t even answer me,” John scoffed, angrily looking back at the sky. Arthur noted that John’s hands tightened their grip on his arms.
“I… I think…” Arthur started carefully. He didn’t want to hurt John’s feelings, not any more than he already had so, so many times. “I think that… even though you don’t believe so,” A pause as Arthur took a breath, “you are changing. And that means that you are.”
“Am I?” John asked, staring at the stars that seemed to stare back. “Or do I look like I am when I’m not?”
“John…” Arthur muttered softly. He knew that feeling, self-doubt. Arthur sighed, taking John’s left hand, gently kneading the tension away. John finally turned to look at him in the eyes.
“It’s alright,” Arthur stated simply, lying down next to John. “We don’t have to talk about it today. Or tomorrow. Perhaps never, if you’d like.”
That earned a small chuckle as their eyes finally met fully. “I’d like to see you try holding out ‘never’.”
And so they both laughed, hands still linked to each other. A while of laughter later, John and Arthur got more comfortable, and they looked towards the stars, waiting for the inevitable never, in a field of stars and daffodils.