#also wyrm i think you'll probably notice where i started rly thinking about arthur's hair dfkljhdflgk

[iamjessemccartney]

The lovely @prim-moth requested #22, "things you said after it was over," from this post!

Edit: I've also posted this on AO3, with the other requests I've completed so far!😊

Arthur jolted awake, sitting bolt upright on the mattress. His left hand moved up over his mouth as if to keep him from yelling out, and for a moment, he just sat there, wide-eyed and frightened, panting as he stared out in front of him, everything else still in the darkness of the room. His bedroom.

Their bedroom.

Arthur moved his hand down, still shaken, but confident enough now that he wasn't going to scream.

The voice from his head had taken to sleeping beside him, wrapped up in his sheets, in his blankets. Arthur would say it had gone on for more nights than he cared to count by now- but he was still counting. All the nights this figure in his bed had spent at his left side- always his left side- as if guarding something. Or staking a claim. And this night, in this moment, Arthur hadn't noticed the way his companion had shifted, too preoccupied himself trying to get his breathing back under control and keep himself from spiraling, which was proving to be more difficult this time than most. He couldn't take a deep enough breath to help slow himself down, and he could still feel his heart racing. Having the same nightmare multiple times didn't make it any easier to wake up from, after all. He hadn't processed that the man next to him had stirred awake and moved closer, until the light touch of his hand slipped over Arthur's thigh and pulled him out of his own head.

Arthur opened his mouth to try and say something, to either explain or apologize, but couldn't pin down any words. Instead, he shut his eyes tight and moved to lie back down, wrapped his arms around his partner, and buried his face in his chest.

John, groggy as he was, took a moment to reciprocate, but pulled Arthur in close. One hand settled in the middle of his back, and the other slipped into his hair, gently smoothing it down for a moment before falling still. As always, John paid incredibly close attention to the way Arthur reacted to his touch.

"That's it," John reassured as he felt the man start to relax against him, albeit slowly. His voice was soft, low and heavy with sleep. "There we are..."

There was a stillness between them for a moment- John allowing Arthur more time to compose himself, knowing by now that too much noise or movement could very well wind up making that a task even more daunting than it already was. So for that little while, he just lay there, holding his partner and lightly dragging his nails over the other's back in an attempt to keep him grounded, until he was sure Arthur's breathing had steadied enough to allow him to speak.

"Tell me your name," John instructed gently, the same as he had many times before.

"A- Arthur Lester," Arthur just barely managed, his voice trembling.

John flattened his hand over Arthur's back. "Where are you?"

"I-In... my bedroom. O-our bedroom. In our home."

John hummed. "Our address?"

"Eight-..." Arthur huffed out a sigh in spite of himself. "Eighty-three Merriweather Lane."

"State?"

"Vermont."

"What year is it?" John asked through a yawn, his left hand once again moving to smooth down Arthur's hair.

"Nineteen thirty-..." Arthur hesitated. "Thirty-six."

"Good," John confirmed lightly. "How long has it been...?" He knew he didn't need to elaborate.

Arthur understood. "...Six months." He paused a second, then, and nuzzled into John's chest, breathing him in before letting out an exhausted sigh.

"I know," John murmured, taking to gently playing with the ends of Arthur's hair. It was cropped short again, like it had been when they'd first met, and a mess of thick curls in its currently unstyled state. He remembered how Arthur had been on the verge of tears once they'd finally gotten the opportunity to see a barber for the first time a little over five months back, and how religiously he'd stayed on top of maintaining it since then. That, and how dutiful he was now about remaining clean-shaven. Something stirred inside John as he recalled the first time Arthur had asked for his help shaving about three months ago. John had hardly trusted his own hands yet then, having only had them for a few weeks at that point- but his partner had stayed calm, reassured him that everything would turn out fine. That thought echoed softly through his mind as he lay there with Arthur in his arms now, holding him as securely as possible.

It had only been a second since John last spoke. "Do you want to talk about it...?" He offered, making it clear that Arthur had a choice in the matter.

Arthur shook his head with a huff, one of his hands closing into a loose fist around the back of John's sleep shirt. "N-no... I-" He took in a breath. "Distract me...?" He requested, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady.

"Mh..." John thought for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. It brought him some odd sense of comfort to know that Arthur found solace in his ability to ramble about damn near anything. There had been a week or so after they'd made the deal to separate themselves that John had hardly spoken at all, having been too unsettled by the way his voice sounded in this form and the fact that he could feel it inside his body. Arthur had kept having to coax him into conversation here and there, just to get John to say anything, which had been such stark contrast against how he'd been during the time they'd spent bound together.

John realized his mind was wandering again, and quickly spoke up. The drowsiness that lingered on him still came out through his words, but there was a distinct lightness to his tone. "There's an orchestra concert coming up in a couple of weeks- I told you when we passed that flier for it the other day, while we were out getting groceries. I want to say it's... an annual event- free to the public, outside at the bandshell near town hall. There were a few pictures on the flier from what seemed to be previous years' runs, with groups of people scattered out on the lawn in chairs or on blankets and just enjoying themselves, children running about..." John leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Arthur's head, not entirely thinking about the action. "We could go, if you wanted. Make a day out of it- pack a lunch and take a stroll downtown, set up a blanket and eat on the lawn. Have a... a picnic? Is that what you called it that time in the park?"

Arthur gave a slight nod to confirm. John noted his response, and continued. "I'll point out the scenery and the goings-on of the crowd, you'll scold me for talking through the whole first movement, as if you'd actually expected anything different," he joked at his own expense. "And this is where you’d tease me and say, 'Well, you have been rather well-behaved whenever I've played, so far, so I do suppose I have some faith that you'd stay quiet for a whole orchestra,' if you were feeling up to it right now," John added, and tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the huff of a laugh Arthur gave in reply.

Arthur turned John's words over in his mind, one word ringing a little louder than the rest. Ever drowsy, Arthur nuzzled his partner again, and shifted to be just that much closer to him while he tried to collect his thoughts. 

Faith was something that had eluded Arthur over the years- always slipping through his fingers as this fragile, impermanent thing. Framing it in a religious sense had never worked for him, either, even though there had been points in his life where he’d been low enough to try. Trying to rely on something so intangible and so far out of his reach had only made him feel smaller, lonelier- more inconsequential than he’d cared for. And the one thing he’d so desperately needed in life was consequence.

For his own sake, just to have something to hold onto and keep himself on some semblance of a path, he'd begun to put faith in the ordinary, the routine. Faith that the newspaper would be on his doorstep every morning. That he'd have to put gas in his car by the end of the week. He'd put faith in the fact that Bella would call on him at least once every week, always with a new excuse for why he should leave his studies and take a break for a while. That on the rare chance Faroe woke up before him in the mornings, she'd pad into his bedroom and climb under the covers with him until they were both truly ready to face the day. That he'd see Parker's face when he walked into their office and that their clients would meet them as scheduled. That after a long day of work, Arthur, most times by his lonesome, would be able to go home, have a hot meal and a shower, and a peaceful place to sleep, before he had to wake up and do it all again the next day.

How crudely that faith had been shaken, one time after another, and with no real relief in between. Everything he'd been through- even before Kayne, before the King, before John- should have broken him down and defeated him. Should have destroyed his resolve and depleted his strength and made it so that he would have never had faith in anything ever again. But, selfishly, he'd begun to let himself hope, after a while. Just to start.

And hope without faith had started to seem like an empty promise to Arthur. Like a wish for something, but one with no real desire behind it, no will to see it come true.

So now he put faith in this man he'd told to sleep next to him. He put faith in the experiences they'd shared together, and continued to share now. How they'd grown alongside one another. How they'd learned so many things, so many damning things about each other, and themselves, and how they'd worked through it- not in spite of it all. But because of it. Because of every little thing.

He wasn't afraid that John would leave him. Not anymore.

Arthur put faith in the fact that, if he awoke in the middle of the night, startled and shaking and drenched in guilt, this man- his companion, his partner, his lover, his friend- would hold him close. And talk to him. Without complaint, for minutes, or hours, or however long it took for him to feel calm again.

He put faith in the fact that he loved John. And that John loved him.

While Arthur thought, John had been taking the moments to find something else to talk about, his own sleep-addled brain running a bit slower than usual. He'd been keeping track of Arthur, though- his breathing, his little movements, the tension that had melted out of his muscles as he laid there in John's arms. He'd finally settled on a new subject after a minute, right when he heard Arthur's soft, tired voice cut through the silence they'd been lying in.

"I do have faith in that. In-... In you." The way he spoke almost made it sound like he was sharing a secret. Something that was meant for himself, and his partner, and them only. "More than I think you know."

There was something about the words that covered John, wrapped him up and held him for a second. Purposefully, this time, he leaned down and kissed the top of Arthur's head. What he said next wasn't to mimic his lover's words, not an echo that he'd felt obligated to make- but a confession, ardent even in its hushed tone.

"And I have faith in you."