lestercraft | TLV: IC Inbox

He won't ruin John's fun by pointing out that between growing up on rations and the lacklustre range available in most bakeries that it wasn't much of a competition.

"Mmhm. You could start your own bakery someday. Probably get a pretty big name for yourself. Doe's Dough or, or something," he chuckles.

Those are still people doing it professionally, Arthur! Which raises another question and his eyes are very very big as he looks at Arthur.

"I mean... would that work?"

He glances up at John's surprise, but it settles into an easy grin.

"Well, why not? It's certainly more stable than detective work. And since you don't sleep you'll be ahead of the curve getting up early enough to bake."

He considers it.

"So... I would run a bakery and provide a steady income and you would have the detective agency. And together we could get somewhere nice."

A nod.

"I like that. It sounds... good."

Together.

A not-insignificant part of his mind can't grasp onto the image of it, of there being a future outside of the Barge. He knows that John brought back Parker and- and Faroe, but that's... something about the image of it all that he can't find himself fitting into.

They deserved to be happy.

He just hums in answer, and gives John a light elbow. "Shall we go sit down, then? Or do you want to see how high you can stack that plate?"

That earns him a grunt and a nod as he picks it up to carry the plate over to the table.

"I like trying the different combinations."

"Of course."

Not surprised, just fond. Easily pushing past his moment of doubt to focus on what's in front of him.

"I am curious, though. Was there anything you were actually looking to talk about, or was it just a thin excuse to spend some time together?"

It's mostly just an out, if John happened to change his mind about wanting a heavier discussion.

He shakes his head. Firmly. Then he realizes that that might not answer the question.

"Everything. It seems like everything happens all the time and we haven't had a chance to... get our hands around it together."

He gives a small snort.

"If I wanted to spend time with you, I'd just say so."

There's a heavy sigh of agreement there. "You're not wrong there. I don't think we've really say down and just talked since the breach."

He knows whose fault that is. And it's not like he's not spending time with John, but it was never about that. It was just... companionship, soaking in each others' presence. Trying to keep himself present on the Barge.

The answer to that is a brief grunt and a nod.

"Or checked in to see... how we're doing. With everything. Or, um, anything."

He wonders briefly how fair it is to ask John to go first, and puts some bread and cheese in his mouth to cover the moment of thought.

...he's not sure why it feels like so much of an olive branch to go first. "When Edwin graduated, he, um. He came to find me in the wardrobe to let me know. We- spent some time finding some new clothes for him, things to- experiment with." His expression softens as he looks down at his tea. "It was... nice, actually. He... he's trying so hard to try and do right by me, and that... I'm glad that I get to do the same for him. That we get a second chance on- on even ground."

John immediately starts nodding, because that's the best news he's heard all week. He'd been more than a little worried about Edwin graduating, for plenty of reasons. This is one of the bigger ones.

"He... he cares about you. A lot. And not just because you matter to me."

"I know." And he does; even more strangely, he feels it, too. "We- we want to try and know each other on our own terms. It's, um." He huffs, an awkward little laugh. "Well, I'm going to try and help him learn tact, if that gives you an idea of how that's going."

Edited 2024-05-24 08:42 (UTC)

Some of his lingering jealousy pops up then, though he tries to reign it in a little.

"Is there a reason you never taught me?"

The question is caaaaaarefully curious.

The question makes him regard John carefully. But after a few seconds his gaze casts down again, a little clouded.

"Let me rephrase," he says gently. "You know how to not push."

...and leaving it there just feels cruel, all of a sudden, so he clears his throat quietly. "Edwin asked me why I knew so much about clothes, and- I told him. Because of Bella, s-she was a seamstress. But he didn't- get the hint, when I was done talking about her."

If Arthur looks up, he'll get to watch an absolute face journey going on on John: first up is pleasure (wait, you think I know how not to push? you noticed I'm trying?!) followed by dawning realization (oh no, Edwin doesn't know not to push?) by concern (how badly did it go?) and then it settles (Arthur would have said something if it went bad enough or he wouldn't have been able to find Edwin for a few days and that hasn't happened) before immediately zooming into empathy (sorry, Arthur, he's sorry someone poked that open wound) and then a wince (goddammit, no, Edwin doesn't know not to push) which heads into a cringe (oh that probably still wasn't fun) and then his lips pressed tight (I'm a little glad to know Arthur did say no but I don't love that about myself but I also won't pretend it's not true). He tries to push past it.

"He... yeah. I've, um... I've noticed that." Then, because if there's one person he doesn't have to hide from, it's Arthur- "Sometimes, I'm jealous of him for that. It used to bother me a little."

Okay, no, real-

"...it still bothers me a little. It shouldn't, though. I know."

Edited 2024-05-24 12:42 (UTC)

He misses the face journey, unfortunately, but for the flicker of conflicting emotions it brings to their bond, but he looks up when John talks, still.

"You're allowed to, you know. Be... conflicted, or jealous. Being here has given him a lot of chances that... that I never gave either of you." He picks up a piece of hard cheese to turn in his fingers. "A lot of leniency, I suppose. The ability to make mistakes and not risk life or limb about it."

"It also means that the people he killed didn't stay that way," because Arthur didn't give him that leniency for a reason. He'd had to use his deal to fix the deaths he'd brought about. Edwin just had to apologize.

Which is differently hard, he won't ignore that. He's already dreading the moment he meets Parker.

He considers if he wants to say what he feels, or rather what he'd felt, before deciding that yes, he'll say so.

"I have... fears. Sometimes. Of people liking him better. Of people seeing me as... the broken one. Of being broken, somewhere, by what the King did, or my time in the Dark World again. Some crack deep inside that can't be seen until something hits me and it... shatters me."

He huffs and shakes like a dog before moving along.

"It's stupid. I know it's stupid."

"It's not."

His voice is quiet, but certain, a steadiness that comes with a hand on John's arm and a tight squeeze. "It's not stupid." His gaze is intense and earnest as he looks up at John. "John, I'm not sure you realise how- fucking brave it is. To have that fear so close to your heart and still wears yours on your sleeve."

John always leans into touch with Arthur, and now is no different, but he also leans into less physical connection. That intense gaze is like a flame that he cannot help but connect with, immediately, hungrily, even as he has absolutely no fucking idea what to do with... all of that.

"I... don't." He looks back. "It doesn't feel brave."

"Bravery is doing something no matter how much the risks terrify you," he says quietly. "That doesn't mean that the results will always work in your favour, but. You aren't at fault for trying. For- putting yourself out there and trying to connect to people sincerely."

He watches Arthur for a long moment before he admits-

"...I don't know what could be worth more than connecting to people."

"It's something that can be easy to take for granted."

He squeezes John's arm as his gaze turns away again. "And... sometimes when you've been burned enough times, it's difficult to let yourself make those connections again."

John won't stop him from turning away, but he will reach a hand over and gently cup his cheek, stroke with the side of his thumb. He won't look at him, and he won't make him face any way. It's just a touch, just

a connection.

I know how much I forced. But I also know how lucky I am that you chose to make that connection more than necessity. I don't know if you know how thankful I am that you did.

That you let yourself for me.

John's hand is warm, in more ways than just physical, and he melts into that touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the thick thumb strays over his cheekbone.

"I know I can be... difficult." And there's a wry edge to it, at the obvious understatement of who he is as a person.

(And even now he's worried about how his next temporary warden is going to take it, worried about being assaulted or restricted for it because he doesn't know any other way to be than unapologetically himself, warts and all.)

"But I... I hope you know. How much I appreciate you. Even through the hardest times. I don't know who I would be without you."

Re: somewhere before the port

greatoldjohn - 2024-05-25 13:27 (UTC) - Expand