lestercraft | TLV: IC Inbox

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TLV: IC Inbox

"This is Arthur Lester. I'm not available right now, but do leave a message and I'll find the time. A-a voice message, please."

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[OOC: Please note Arthur is blind, so audio format is strongly ICly preferred, but by God don't let that stop you]

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O-of course.

[But he stays standing, feeling awkward and embarrassed and useless as Sheehan leaves, and it's only when the footsteps stop echoing in the lounge that he finally gives in to the weakness in his knees and sits back on the couch again, curling in on himself and resting his head on his knees as he just. Hates himself.]

[ John will wait until Sheehan has left (and like hell does he speak to him after that because- well, it's a mix of having no idea of what to say and knowing that if anyone spoke to him after a moment like that, he might not want it and bite their head of.

But once that outer door is closed, he's going to float towards the door to the sitting room. A part of him wants to stop there, in the doorway, give Arthur room... but he's not sure if that's what he needs.

He's not sure anyone else is what he needs either. But he will at least offer. Arthur biting his head off is just...

Well, he's certainly used to it. ]

...Arthur?

[The voice makes Arthur jolt upright, distracted as he is.]

John-- [He can't help the wet sniff as he lifts his hand to hastily scrub his face again, but he's determinedly not looking at John.] Fuck, I-I forgot you were still here-- W-what is it?

[ Do not point out that is a stupid fucking question. Do not point out that is a stupid fucking question. Do not point out that is a stupid fucking question...

Okay. You got this, John. ]

Dinner is... it can wait. Should I-

[ And he'll tap lightly on his own mask. ]

No, n-no, that's-- it- it's alright, John.

[And yet his hand is reaching out to find his drink, and after a second to pick it up in his trembling grip, downs the lot in one confident hit.]

I'm- I'm not hungry, right now.

I figured.

[ And after he watches him down the whole of the drink, he's going to head over to put his spectral hand over Arthur's with a murmured 'It's me, don't startle'. ]

What do you need?

[ He's not going to dick around playing games and pretend that Arthur looks okay right now. ]

[His grip tightens on the glass a little, still, but not enough to threaten anything. And his mouth presses into a line briefly, when John calls him out, but after a moment the tension goes slack in his shoulders and he lets go of the glass to rub his eyes in a pinching motion.]

I don't know. How much did you hear?

More than I meant to. I really was cooking dinner.

...but the door was open.

[He takes a deep breath, trying to settle the roiling in his stomach under the burn of alcohol. He's not going to drink more, he doesn't need to, but. The urge is tempting.

Instead, he holds his hand out for John's mask.]

[ The mask is in his hand in seconds and John is slipping into place right after that, coiling around him gently.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he focuses on steadying Arthur out a little, like an internal weighted blanket. ]

[And Arthur does the same, hugging the mask against his chest with a grip he's trying not to make too tight.

But the steadiness from John is deeply appreciated, and soon his breathing starts to finally even out properly, relaxing instead of controlled. And after another minute of quiet, he gives a soft, even sigh.]

I don't know what I'm doing, John.

[You're not alone in that.]

The hand under his control is going to reach out and curl gently over Arthur's on his chest.

[We'll figure it out. We always do.]

That gets a soft huff from Arthur, but he hugs the mask a little tighter.

"I'm not so sure this one's a we problem, John." But it's still fond, appreciative as to the intent. "Look, Sheehan didn't-- h-he hasn't done anything wrong here, this is..." He sighs again, letting his head flop back to rest on the couch. "This is all just... me."

[It's called 'emotional support', Arthur.]

The voice then is just a bit wry but he'll let Arthur flop back.

[So what are 'you' having trouble with?]

John's wry comment gets an amused hum in response, but the actual question takes a bit longer to come back to.

"I don't know," he admits quietly. "Maybe just the idea of someone... loving me, at all."

John doesn't often hide his emotions from Arthur. Usually, it's a relief to let them hang open and free between them so someone at least understands where he's coming from. Right now, he keeps things matter-of-fact.

[Why?]

"Maybe something to do with my shitty sense of self worth, according to the doctor," he comments with sudden acidity.

This is a little more familiar.

[Are you angry at him for saying it for... something else?]

"I'm angry at him for saying it at all," he shoots back sharply. Anger is a much easier emotion to handle than his own distress, much as neither one feels any better than the other. "That's-- i-it's not true, for one, and it's a fucking insulting aspersion."

John has his own opinions on the accuracy of the comment, but like hell is he going to say anything on that. Instead-

[Do you think he was trying to insult you?]

"Sure. Maybe." But that's- ungenerous, and he knows it. "I don't know. I told him he deserved better. Better than someone who's inevitably going to get him killed, or worse."

Arthur will feel a little bit of internal debate from John bubble to the surface before he finally offers-

[How?

The Butcher?]

But he will at least add-

[This place is dangerous, Arthur, even outside of anything we might bring into his life.]

"I know." Through gritted teeth, as he lifts his hand to knead the heel of his palm into an eye, and feeling a sudden burst of frustration that he doesn't even get that small relief, of being able to rub tear-sore eyes until he could pretend the ache was something else.

So he just sighs heavily, and lets his hand flop, letting it catch on his loose tie and spontaneously pulling it even more so, half-unravelling it. "I know," he repeats more softly. "I just... I don't know. I don't even know if I want people in my life, half the time. There's a... there's a duty to them, that- th-that I don't know if I can live up to."

[That's the most important thing, isn't it?] This seems like the point to follow. They can argue all day about safety and worth. But this-

[Whether you want this or not. Do you? ]

Edited 2023-10-26 04:38 (UTC)

The silence from Arthur probably goes on worryingly long, with how heavy that old emotional weight is sitting unmoving on his chest.

But finally, it shifts, buoyed by that tiny flicker of hope, a golden note in the dark. "...I don't want to lose him. Especially from my own actions. I don't... I don't want to make him leave, any more than I want him hurt because of me."

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greatoldjohn - 2023-10-26 05:19 (UTC) - Expand

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