#larson's evil plan to lull arthur into being gay with him works

[cypresswood3]

Stay in Addison au. Arthur's stay in the estate, part 2 to this.

It’s probably late. There’s an antique clock in his room – its ticking ever-present, yet perfectly useless. Arthur swallows the irritation that starts to bubble within his chest. He contemplates asking Yellow. Would that make him the bigger person? Point out how immature Yellow’s being for no reason, or –

Or give him attention for acting out. God knows what ideas Yellow could get from Arthur still reaching out for him despite his behavior. That Arthur’s a pushover? Yeah, no.

It’s probably late, but Arthur can’t sleep. Which is weird: insomnia was hardly something he struggled with for the last few days. Perhaps he has overslept.

Him and Andrew usually parted early on in the evening. Andrew had an extensive self-care routine to attend to – another thing Arthur would've raised an eyebrow at before. Now though, he could almost say he got it.

All that to say, he had no idea whether Andrew was asleep or not by now. All he knew was it wouldn't hurt to check.

He makes his way through the halls with surprising familiarity. He barely stumbles over the rug as he walks forward, then left, then forward again, until he should be by Andrew's bedroom door. Arthur thinks how he got here without a word from Yellow and hums, pleased with himself for a short moment – until he remembers it was his desperation for company that brought him here to begin with.

He stands there, considering. He wouldn’t barge into his host's bedroom without a good reason, and neither did knocking and possibly waking him up feel right. An unpleasant feeling of wrongness rises up Arthur's chest as he leans in towards the door, ear pressed against the polished wood. He's met with silence, and despite his best efforts, he can't pick up a sound. He was expecting to hear Andrew snore, shift or move around if he was not in bed yet. It's too quiet for a room with a person inside, perhaps he did have the wrong door after all  –

"Arthur," Andrew's voice calls behind him, and Arthur jolts, feeling the tips of his ears burn crimson. Larson's voice lacks any accusation – if anything, he sounds amused, but it serves no purpose to calm Arthur's rapidly beating heart.

"Andrew! I was just... Just, uh..." He hasn’t quite thought this through, has he? Sure, Andrew caught him off guard, but what would Arthur even say if he hadn’t? ‘I can’t sleep’? And what, pray tell, was Andrew Larson supposed to do about it?

“You wanted to see me? Please,” Andrew says, walking past him and pushing the bedroom door open. Arthur blinks, despite his blindness, once again baffled by just how easy Larson was all the time. Arthur couldn’t list all the times he knew he was acting weird, and even Andrew’s knowledge of the otherworldly shouldn’t have made him immune to surprise, or… well, awkwardness. Nothing has ever seemed awkward for Andrew Larson.

He realizes Andrew is waiting for him and makes a hesitant step forward. The door shuts softly behind him. Arthur’s skin prickles at the way the air shifts as Larson moves past him.

And then he starts to talk. Unprovoked, without making Arthur go through the agony of asking.

He immediately feels better, the sound of Andrew’s voice filling the aching emptiness in his skull. He’s simply thinking out loud, and Arthur relishes it, allowing Andrew’s thoughts overwrite his own, ever unpleasant.

Rustling of sheets startles him. He assumes Andrew is getting in bed, which should be a clear indication for Arthur to wish him sweet dreams and leave. He hopes disappointment doesn’t show on his face as he sucks in some air to speak –

"Would you rather sit down?" Andrew suddenly asks him, matter-of-factly and courteous as always. Arthur hesitates, not sure where in the room he could find a place to sit – until he hears what sounds awfully like Larson moving aside to make space for him.

Arthur lowers himself on the sheets, tense and hesitant, already planning how he'd explain himself if he got that implication horribly wrong.

Andrew simply continues to talk, and Arthur assumes he didn't.

Arthur awakes to warmth coating his body like melted chocolate, clinging to every inch of his skin. The blanket weighs on him in a way that creates illusion of a companion: Arthur allows himself to enjoy the thought before he’s awake enough to feel embarrassed about it. It’s the first morning in quite a while when everything feels right, from his pleasantly empty head to –

…deep, even breathing beside him. Arthur instinctively turns his head to look, seeing nothing, of course, but memories of last night still come flooding into his head. He had fallen asleep in Andrew's presence before, but his bed…

How could he let this happen? He should’ve known to leave when he started feeling drowsy, and how did he even end up under the blanket at all? Did he seriously invade Andrew’s room and then his resting place, leaving him no choice but to put up with it? Exploiting his welcome so shamelessly? Just how needy has he become?

Arthur considers whether he can slip away unnoticed, experimentally squirming towards the edge of the bed. Andrew hums in his sleep beside him and Arthur stills, sucking his breath in as he feels Larson’s arm grip him tighter, – god, that was his arm weighing on Arthur’s chest, – until he relaxes again.

Athur’s mind is torn between shame and euphoria. More warmth seep into him where their skin touches, and Arthur finds himself yearning for each new breath Andrew lets out, feeling it prickle at his neck and cheek. The weight of another body beside him is enough to make his eyelids flutter shut again.

Arthur slows his own breathing until it matches the other’s, sinking back down into the soft bedding. Nothing was ever awkward for Andrew Larson, he thinks, and somehow it works wonders to calm him down.