lestercraft | TLV: IC Inbox

It's not that he didn't think Arthur would notice; there were a lot of factors to the party that would tip him off. The fact that he went with another person. The fact that he'd been wandering and a little listless during. The fact that he hadn't come home with Arthur.

He'd expected this to maybe happen later, the discussion, but he should have known better.

"Nothing useful," is what he decides on for an answer, which is the truth, in his eyes, but he's well aware that Arthur will delve. At least now he'll know that he's delving against the current.

"If it's something worrying you, John, it's not useless," he points out, moving to press against him again. Back to the counter and resting his head on John's shoulder so he doesn't have to force eye contact about it, holding his cup in both hands to warm his perpetually icy hands. "It's not helpful, sure, but no emotion is useless."

"It's not a worry," he says with only a little exasperation. He's leaning into the contact, into Arthur, and he lets himself rest there for a moment before he shifts the bacon to a rack. He breathes out.

"It's..." and his voice gets gruffer as he finally battens down the hatches and decides to sail through the storm, "it's just jealousy. I'll get through it."

"That everyone's making a big fuss about it for Edwin? The whole-" he rolls a wrist at the vague situation. "Naming party?"

There's no judgement in Arthur’s voice. There's just quiet compassion, easy understanding.

John stares out at nothing, towards the wall, like there might be an answer of how to explain.

"I don't like fuss about me."

That's not what it-

His voice lowers.

"I was given my name by mistake, in a tiny hospital room, trapped in the darkness, desperate to feel the warmth of the sun through a window on my arm so I could keep time, hoping that the only fucking person I'd ever cared about didn't stop breathing." A breath of his own out. "It's... a contrast that feels significant. And not in a... pleasant way."

His head shifts slightly as he looks down at his tea, but he doesn't stop leaning on John.

"You've had to... everything good you've gotten has come to you with blood, even in the best of outcomes. But Edwin... he's had everything handed to him. Not without pain, necessarily, but... with other people looking out for him." He sighs, quietly. "All you had was me."

It's not self-deprecating, for once. Just recognising that... well, he's not much, all on his own. Not compared to the total outpouring of community Edwin got.

Edited 2024-09-08 07:37 (UTC)

One of John's hands settles, not harsh, not squeezing, but implacable around Arthur's forearm.

"You are... all I need," he says quietly. There's no harsh edge, no defensiveness. It's obvious there a some kind of conflict still, some whirling maelstrom trying to find direction, but-

"I... worry. T-that I did it wrong. That I'm doing it wrong. That I- that I'm going to fail you, fail everyone when we go back, because I-" He swallows back something, a great heavy ball as he looks anywhere but Arthur.

"Because John Doe is no one to anyone."

The grip on his arm isn't warm, or painful, just... a reassurance.

Not one that he needs.

He shifts to put his mug down on the counter, and pushed off John a little to face him properly. Lifting his free hand to brush a stray lock behind John's ear.

"If you're not anything, then neither am I," he says, soft and simple. "Because I've gotten everything the same way you have."

John makes a sound, strangled and intense, that might be Arthur's name in a sob before Arthur is swept up into his arms and held, close and tight.

You're everything to me, Arthur. I didn't- I don't-

It was true, though, wasn't it? The two of them, born of tragedy and pain, struggling to make a life, happiness, learning through fucking up since there was no other way, really, not alone but now-

Oh, Arthur!

Arthur will feel it and hear it, the great rushing crescendo bursting forth, the swell of intense violin music that seems to be elegantly diving into the depths of Hell, determined to keep going until it's through.

There's a small noise of surprise from Arthur - there always is, when he's manhandled, purely reflex - but when he's swept half-off his feet, his arms wrap around John's neck, holding himself up as much as pressing as much love as he possesses into this physical form, and he doesn't protest or fight it.

Instead he breathes slowly through the tight squeeze, lets John's bolero of freshly rerealised pain wash over him, his own piano a gentle anchor beneath it. He is here, he is here and he will keep being here because he wants to.

Because John Doe is everything to him.

When he'd said 'John Doe was no one to anyone', he hadn't been trying to isolate himself. He'd been talking about the name, the concept. How the freedom of being John Doe, unknown, unconnected, tied to no one and nothing by its very nature had its drawbacks, wondering if he'd set himself up for failure by clinging so fiercely to the name.

But Arthur isn't anyone else. Arthur is his other half. Arthur is who he chose, who has chosen him time and time again. More sobs follow the first as he sways a little, back and forth, clinging to him, swallowing as he tries to find the bottom of this pent up emotional response.

And slowly, the sobs turn from release to response, from letting out to drawing in. Love, golden and molten and overwhelming, flows out from the vacuum to wrap around Arthur, fierce and close.

Love you.

The weight of John's love, the intensity of a god that only knew the meaning of holding back because he'd learned what going too far looked like, always always knocked the breath out of Arthur, and he suspected it always would.

(And a part of him suspected if it didn't, that it would be because some part of him had become something beyond human, just to be able to contain it.)

He clings tighter, a chokehold on something that might have needed to breathe as he just... lets it wash through him, piano stuttering to a halt as he shuts his eyes and a shiver rolls down his spine from the intensity.

John finds his equilibrium eventually, wrapped around and within Arthur, each entwined coil limned in gold as it is. He settles and he withdraws slowly, the warmth remaining like the impression of a hug or the touch of a hand, and he turns his head to kiss Arthur's temple as punctuation to it all.

And of course, once he can handle himself, once he's worked through all the huge, overwhelming emotions-

Does it- does it hurt you too sometimes?

He's still a little dazed from it, when John shelves the weight of his love back in his heart, but the soft press of a kiss helps him settle into his own body again with a soft purr of piano keys.

His grip loosens, lighter, but he doesn't let go. His toes are only just scraping the ground.

You might have to be more specific. But there's a warm fondness in his voice.

John is going to abandon breakfast for the moment to bring them back to Arthur's bed. The conversation pit would have been his usual destination but he'd spent his fair share of time laying with Arthur here too.

Remembering how you had to do everything alone. Seeing other people who had more support.

"Mmn." A thought and a soft hum, as he feels the world shift gently, the press of the bed frame against his ankles, and he releases to drop safely onto the bed.

"It did, at... those times, most keenly," he admits softly. "Being a boy, seeing some of the others get adopted, o-or, um. Or walking the streets, seeing others my age being spoiled by their parents." His smile turns tight, painful. "When Bella was pregnant, all of our friends- all of her friends, flocking to her side to congratulate her and offer to help. When..."

He swallows, and continues. "When Faroe was born, when it was... bad. I'd be jealous of... of other couples, that could- that had each other, had steady incomes despite the times. That didn't have to rely on anyone else."

Edited 2024-09-08 14:04 (UTC)

John won't let him just be on the bed. He's getting arms around him again in a soft cuddle soon enough.

"Faroe will have so many people to look after her when we get back to her," he says with quiet intensity. It's a side thought but one he had immediately in concern for her.

He's not sure where Justine will fit, but there was Parker, Sheehan, and himself very much settled.

Coming back-

"I didn't like feeling it at the party. I wanted to be completely happy for Edwin."

And he leans into the cuddle immediately, resting a hand on John's wrist in a loose, implacable grip.

"You don't have to, you know. Be happy all the time for him. I know- I know you love him, and want the best for him, but that's- those aren't mutually exclusive. And the more you try and force that happiness, the more the resentment grows."

He gives a soft chuckle. "You're allowed to love him and also want to give him a few solid whacks with a pillow when he's being daft. I've heard it's rather typical in your situation, actually."

Arthur will feel the conflicted feelings inside of John, some seemingly discordant notes that nonetheless make a coherent melody. Some wounds did not get addressed back when they had their tiff, and John's kept it to himself because Edwin and Arthur had had their own difficulties. But now that he's airing it-

"...I'm still kind of pissed at him. About how things went a while ago. Not-" ugh "not as much the big thing. The fact that he didn't trust me enough to talk to me. Again." There's a low rumble. "It's not technically related, it just..."

Edwin took something that made him so happy, a connection with Charlie, trust and building something with someone, and made it something that almost broke him. Edwin yelled at him about 'choosing' and got upset about it and then there was a big party about him being chosen.

He wants to be happy for him, is happy for him, but he can't get rid of the petty little part of him that-

"...makes it harder."

He knows he's being a sullen teenager about this, that he should be better, that he has to be better. It's just not happening. And if he's going to be ugly and stupid and small, he knows he can be that with with Arthur.

Arthur might yell at him, but he'll still be there.

Arthur doesn't doubt John's happiness, not one inch. But he doesn't talk about those darker, pettier urges as much, so they deserved some proper weight and respect when he did.

"You know," he hums, rubbing his thumb along the pulse point on John's wrist. "One of the very first stories, the very first chapter, even, in the Bible - it's of two brothers, the sons of Adam and Eve, God's first humans. Both of them offer up the products of their labour - Cain, the elder, he was a farmer, and offered God his wheat - Abel was a shepherd, and offered him a lamb. God chose Abel's offer, and Cain, in a fit of furious jealousy, killed his brother for it."

He rests his head on John's shoulder. "So, really, being mad at your sibling for something is one of the most normal, human things in the world."

The head on his shoulder and the hands on his wrist and hand are both so lovely, but he can't help that the story has him turning a little bit with a wry little twist of notes.

"...you're referencing the Bible? Shit."

But another little wave of fondness filters through right after, soft little notes in a flowing melody that's straightened out from before.

Then something else hits him.

"Wait. They're brothers?"

"Yeah, that's how you know it's bad," he chuckles at John's wry surprise.

The point stands, however. Even in one of the sources of Arthur's own pain, he can see the valid point occasionally being made, and pass on what little wisdom it has to offer.

John's surprise is interesting, though. "Yes, er- quite famously, actually, they're the original brothers. Nearly everyone who's from an Earth that has Christianity knows the story, even obliquely."

John's going to make a grumbly noise and curl up around Arthur like the man is his personal teddy bear. Yeah, yeah, he's the worst.

...at least he's not making it Edwin's problem. Or he's trying really hard not to. Okay, less petty, less petty! He can be less petty!

It's hard, but he can.

"As a note, the Cain and Abel on board are not brothers. Or brotherly. Just... in case it comes up."

He harumphs a little and burrows closer to Arthur.

"...I don't like being upset with Edwin. It seems like it'll just make things worse."

"Noted." Cain and Abel was only a sidebar, anyway - easy to put the topic aside and return to the point.

As he's snuggled like a teddy bear, half-pulled into John's lap, he shifts slightly to drape his legs over John's.

"It might if you act it to his face," Arthur admits softly, letting his free hand trace one of the tattoos on John's forearm. "But you can't push it down, John, or it'll explode in a way that hurts both of you even more. That's how this all started, you realise? Because Edwin did just that, in not telling you things."

"But I told him," is grumbled back. It's different! He said. He said! "And he can't handle me being mad at him. Not really." He looks to Arthur. "Not like... we are."

When John actually lets himself be mean. He hasn't let himself be mean in...

Yeah, it's been a while. Thankfully, on the flip side, it's been a while since he's really felt the urge to. Things have been good. Pretty good. Even this is-

Honestly, if they were being chased by something with a million teeth or dealing with Kayne, it wouldn't even register. But here, now, with the time and space for it, it can breathe enough for John to feel it on his neck uncomfortably.

He lets his head rest against Arthur's shoulder, content with his partner in his lap. He breathes in and out a couple of times himself, trying to find a way around the problem.

"I'm trying to process it. I'm trying... to work through it. Not push it down. Yesterday was just... fresh."

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party

Re: Morning after Edwin's Party