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."

Text | Audio | Video | Spam

[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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"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."

"Arthur..."

The word holds so much affection and warmth and closes soft around the connection between them like curled fingers. Arthur is Arthur. Part of that is being a difficult son of a bitch.

"That's... I feel the same, Arthur.

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