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“Arthur, get up.”
Arthur groaned softly, rolling over and curling up with blankets strewn around him.
“Arthur.”
Arthur ignored John. He kept his eyes shut, humming softly for a moment before rolling over again and pulling his pillow in closer. John growled in his head.
“Arthur, stop ignoring me.”
Arthur took John’s hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles, before pulling it close to his chest and curling up around John’s arm, keeping his eyes firmly shut.
“Arthur, you can’t distract me that easily. Get up.”
Arthur let go of John’s hand, turning onto his back and finally opening his eyes, letting John stare at the ceiling.
“Why?” he mumbled, letting his own hand flop on the pillow behind him.
“It’s late, Arthur,” John said. “You’ve slept enough. It’s time to get up.”
“I’m tired , John.”
“You’ve slept through the entire night and well into the day. You’re fine.”
“Hm.”
“Arthur, for fuck’s sake, get out of bed.”
Arthur fumbled around for a pillow, grabbing hold of one and shoving it into his face. John let out an irritated grumble as Arthur sighed heavily into the downy fluff.
John grabbed at the pillow with his own hand, trying to pry it off of their face. Arthur resisted, keeping their face pressed firmly into the cushion.
“Arthur, I’m not asking for some mammoth task, I’m asking you to get up.”
Arthur released the pillow, letting John take it from him. He heard the soft thump of John tossing it back down onto the mattress.
“I don’t want to, John.”
“Why not?”
“ Because, I’m tired. Let me rest.”
“We can’t sleep the entire day away, Arthur.”
“I can bloody well try.”
“Arthur.”
“John.”
“Get out of bed.”
“Why should I?”
“We have things to do, Arthur. We have work to get done. We don’t have time to waste away in bed.”
“It’s fine,” Arthur mumbled. “It’ll be fine. Just let me sleep.”
“You’ve been awake for a while, Arthur, I don’t think you’re going back to sleep.”
“Fine, no, I just– I want to rest. Please.”
John sighed, his voice softening slightly. “Arthur, I don’t think this is good for you. You’ve slept plenty. It’s time to get up, friend.”
Arthur didn’t respond. He just rolled over again onto his side, fidgeting with the fitted sheet stretched poorly over the mattress.
John laid his hand over Arthur’s, squeezing gently. Arthur let out a short hum in the back of his throat but didn’t respond otherwise. John sighed.
“The sun is high in the sky, Arthur. You slept all night and morning, and now we’re well into the afternoon. I can see the sky outside through the window; it’s clear and blue today. It looks like a nice day for a walk.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Arthur.”
“John, please.”
“I don’t understand, Arthur. You’ve slept all night. Why are you still tired?”
Arthur groaned. “Sometimes the human body just needs a little extra time, alright? Just… just a little extra rest to get through it all. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Mhm.”
“Then why now? Why not when we’ve been in more stressful situations? We’ve had plenty of down time lately, and you’ve not been hurting for sleep. I… I’m just trying to understand, Arthur.”
“I…” Arthur sighed. “I don’t know, John. Alright? I just, I don’t know. I’m tired.”
“Maybe some sunlight would help.”
“If I could see it, sure.”
“Or some coffee.”
“Can’t be bothered to make any.”
“I can help you.”
“What? No, no I don’t need–”
“Arthur. Let me help you. Please, friend.”
Arthur sighed, softening a bit. “I… fine. I-I suppose so.”
“Thank you.”
John gently guided Arthur’s hand to the edge of the bed before using his own to carefully push Arthur up and out of the bed. He stood slowly and reluctantly, grumbling to himself as he allowed John to gently coax him to his feet.
“The kitchen, Arthur.”
Arthur nodded numbly and began slowly walking towards the kitchen. It was difficult, at first, navigating around their small apartment. John had to guide Arthur around corners and tables, stopping and starting as they went just to get around. Now, though, Arthur navigates easily on his own, almost never needing John’s input as long as they’re within the confines of their own home. John often found himself torn between proud and disappointed at that.
They made it through the hall into the kitchen and Arthur sat down at the table, sighing heavily.
“Alright, John, I’m out of bed, are you happy?”
“Yes. Do you want coffee?”
“I don’t know, John, it sounds–”
“Tiring, I know. But I promised to help you. We’ll eat the elephant.”
“Alright. I suppose that’s fine.”
“Good. Stand up. The bag of coffee is on the counter to your left.”
Arthur reluctantly stood, feeling around for the paper bag of coffee beans on the counter. He grabbed it and leaned against the counter as he slowly opened it, ripping the paper slightly as he did.
“Good, Arthur. The coffee grinder is a few inches to your right.”
Arthur reached for it, knocking it over onto its side before he hastily picked it up and popped off the lid.
“Pour in the coffee beans, Arthur. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Arthur nodded numbly, tipping the bag up, John reaching a hand up to support it from the bottom as the sound of tiny beans hitting metal filled the air.
“Stop.”
Arthur tipped the bag back up and set it down on the counter. He put the lid back on the coffee grinder and let his hand drop to the countertop beneath it.
“Good. Hold it still for me, Arthur.”
Arthur let his body fall into autopilot, nodding along and mindlessly following John’s instructions as he guided him through the steps that usually felt so much shorter . He held the grinder still against the counter as John began to turn the handle, crunching and reducing the beans to coarse grounds. Arthur fought the urge to let his eyes close as John worked, bracing his side against the countertop.
“Stay awake, Arthur,” John murmured. “You’re alright.”
“Right,” Arthur mumbled thoughtlessly, blinking rapidly to try to force his eyes to stay open. The last thing he wanted to do was obscure John’s vision.
“You’re doing well, Arthur. We can sit in a moment, just hang on a few more minutes.”
Arthur nodded again, only half listening. John stopped grinding the coffee and set it down.
“The kettle is on the stove behind you and to your right, Arthur,” John said. “Walk up to it. I’ll light it.”
Arthur walked slowly over to the stove, extending a hand to find exactly where it was, and true to his word, John lit the stove and set the kettle over the flame. Arthur felt the small heat radiating from the stove and lingered for a moment, enjoying the warmth, before his desire to sit back down overtook him.
Arthur returned to the table unprompted and John didn’t stop him. Arthur sat down, exhaling heavily as he did so, and John raised his hand up to support Arthur’s face. Arthur hummed softly and leaned into him, allowing John to carefully hold him.
“How are you feeling, Arthur?”
“Mm, tired.”
“I can tell. You’re doing good, Arthur.”
“You’re being awfully kind today.”
John pressed his hand tighter to Arthur’s face. “You seemed like you might need it.”
Arthur hummed softly before huffing out a half-laugh. “I suppose I can’t argue that.” He sighed, placing his own hand on top of John’s. “I-I suppose thanks are in order.”
“There’s no need, Arthur. It’s alright.”
“Still, I– thank you, my friend.”
“You’re welcome, Arthur.” John’s voice was deep and slow, a gentle murmur in Arthur’s ear keeping him grounded and warm and safe. He wondered when exactly his voice had started to feel comforting to him.
The kettle began to whistle. John took his hand from Arthur’s face and helped to push him to his feet. Arthur reluctantly stood, following the sound of the kettle to take it off the heat.
“Coffee press is on the other side of the stove, to your left,” John said. “Pour the coffee grounds in first.”
Arthur nodded slowly, finding the coffee grinder where they’d left it and opening it to shake out the grounds into the press. John hummed in approval.
“Good, Arthur. Now pour in the water. Carefully.”
Arthur picked up the kettle with John’s help, checking to make sure he actually was over the press before he began to pour the water, slowly, waiting for John to tell him when.
“Stop. Very good. Mugs are to your right, Arthur,” John said. Arthur reached, instinctively reaching for two before hastily setting one back down and bringing the other down to the countertop. If John noticed his slip-up, he didn’t comment on it.
“Good. While we wait, let’s get some cream and sugar.”
“I– that’s alright, John, I usually drink my coffee black.”
“Absolutely not, Arthur. We’re not running for our lives anymore so we are going to indulge. You’ll be drinking it plain over my dead body.”
“You don’t have a body,” Arthur grumbled.
“Well then, I suppose that means you won’t be having black coffee any time soon,” John said primly, entirely too pleased with himself. Arthur huffed.
“Fine. We can have sugar,” Arthur agreed. “I don’t keep cream, though.”
“We’ll fix that the next time we go to the store,” John decided. “For now milk will do just fine.”
“When did you get so snobbish about coffee? You can’t even taste it.”
“Humor me, Arthur.”
Arthur sighed. “Fine, John. Where’s the sugar?”
“Upper cabinet to the far left, Arthur.”
Arthur huffed and reached for it, swinging the cabinet doors open and feeling around among the various jars and sealed bags kept in there.
“Stop! That one, yes, that– you got it, Arthur.”
Arthur pulled the short jar of sugar from the cabinet and pulled a spoon from the drawer beneath. He set them down on the table.
“Now the fridge. For the milk.”
Arthur nodded and made his way over. He wondered when exactly he’d gotten so comfortable following John's instructions. At first, he’d been grated, irritated by the way he ordered him around like a dog, and somewhere along the line that must have changed, if now it felt so comfortable, so easy, to just turn his brain off and trust the voice in his head to guide him, to take care of him, to love him.
Arthur opened the fridge, feeling about for the milk, not needing John’s input to find the milk jug despite how ready he was to give it. He pulled it out and set it on the table beside the rest of the supplies. Arthur wondered when exactly making coffee became such a process.
“It’s probably ready by now,” John said. “The press is to your right, Arthur, and the mug is just beside it. Go ahead and pour it out, now.”
“Okay,” Arthur murmured. He took the lid, pressing it down over the coffee before he picked it up and began to cautiously pour the piping hot liquid into their mug. He finished pouring and set the coffee press back down on the table.
“Sugar now, Arthur.”
Arthur opened up the jar with John’s help and picked up the spoon. His hand shook slightly as he lowered the spoon into the jar, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He filled the spoon with sugar and raised it back out of the jar, dropping it into the hot cup of coffee and stirring slowly as John closed the jar once more.
“You’re almost done, Arthur,” John said softly. “Just a splash of milk, now.”
Arthur nodded again. He was tired. He was so tired and he just wanted to lie back down. He barely even cared about drinking the coffee anymore, he just wanted to sleep. But John told him he was almost done. He told him he was doing well. So Arthur picked up the jug and slowly poured in the milk.
“Stop,” John said, and Arthur quickly tipped the jug back up, spilling slightly, before capping it once more. “Very good, Arthur. You’ve done it. Now just put the milk and sugar away, and we can rest. Don’t worry about washing anything, we can handle that later, when you’re feeling better.”
“Right,” Arthur mumbled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He picked up the jar of sugar and the milk. He walked slowly to the fridge, returning the milk to its place. He shut the fridge and crossed the kitchen back to the cabinet, swinging it open and feeling around for an empty space to leave the sugar. He set it down and closed the cabinet with a weary sigh.
“Good, Arthur. That’s everything. You did it. Now go get your coffee and we can lie back down. You’ve earned it.”
Arthur nodded and returned to the table, carefully feeling for the coffee before picking it up, taking care not to burn either of their hands. John supported the mug with his hand, too, as Arthur slowly turned to return to their bedroom.
They made their way down the hall and into their room, and Arthur immediately went to sit on the edge of their bed, sighing heavily as he sank down into the firm cushion of the mattress.
He leaned against the headboard, sitting up in bed, and began to slowly sip at the coffee. John had been right about adding milk and sugar; it was much nicer than the way he usually drank it. Arthur exhaled wearily, leaning his head back on the wall.
“Do you like it?” John asked softly.
“Yes,” Arthur said. “It’s– it’s nice. Thank you, John.”
“You made it,” John said simply. “It’s not me you have to thank.”
“Hm.” Arthur took another sip of his coffee. “Well. I’m uh– I’m sorry, John.”
“What? What are you saying sorry for?”
Arthur lowered the mug, holding it carefully in his lap. “I never meant to be so– so dependent on you, John. Not that I don’t need or– or want your help, of course, I do, but I just– I never intended to put so much of my own life in your hands. I’m sure it’s– rather quite exhausting.”
John tugged on the mug, coaxing Arthur to take another sip. He obliged, raising it to his lips and drinking down another mouthful of the warm beverage.
“I like helping you,” John said as Arthur drank. “And I may not– I may not entirely understand why you need the things you need some days, but I do enjoy being able to… to do something for you. To make a difference, I suppose. To be able to do something that actually has an impact on something else, even if it’s as little as helping you get out of bed, or make a cup of coffee. It feels… it feels good, Arthur.”
“Oh,” Arthur said, a little stupidly. “Well. Then, in that case. Good. I’m glad.”
“Yes,” John said. “Drink your coffee, Arthur.”
Arthur nodded. The coffee was warm, radiating out into his hands, his mouth, his stomach, warming him from the inside out. It was nice, he decided.
John’s hand covered Arthur’s atop the mug, loosely holding his hand and dragging his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles. Arthur sighed softly, contentedly giving in to the softness of the moment as he sipped his coffee.
“Maybe you’ll feel better after this,” John said. Arthur hummed noncommittally. “You said you were tired. Coffee should help.”
“It’s not–” Arthur stopped himself. He sighed. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He finished the rest of the warm, sweet drink in silence with John, savoring every sip of it. How nice it was to finally be able to enjoy a gentle, slow moment with his friend. How easy it was to give himself over, mind body, and soul, to this voice inside his head.
Arthur had to chuckle a bit to himself; to anyone else he’d look mad. What would Oscar think– what would Daniel think– what would Parker think– of him sitting here, barely capable of doing the most basic tasks for himself if not for the help, if not for the love of the voice inside his head? He had no choice but to chuckle; if he didn’t laugh he’d have to cry, and he didn’t have the energy for that.
“What’s funny?” John asked.
Arthur chuckled again, but softer this time. “I love you, John.”
“I know,” John said. “I love you, too, Arthur. But what’s funny?”
“That, John,” Arthur said. “It’s– it’s funny, isn’t it? I’d look insane to anyone else, now.”
John hummed, a low rumble that nearly shook Arthur’s chest. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe it doesn’t matter, Arthur.”
Arthur sighed contentedly, setting the empty mug and the few remaining dregs of warm coffee grounds down on the bedside table. “Yes,” he agreed. “Maybe it doesn’t.”
John laid his hand across Arthur’s stomach, a small, protective movement. Bordering on possessive. There was certainly a time not so long ago that Arthur would have recoiled, rejecting the touch and any implications that came with it.
Now, though, Arthur leaned into it, allowing himself to melt into John’s arm curled around him. Protecting him. From what, he neither knew nor cared.
“You’ve done well today, Arthur,” John murmured. “You can relax for a while now. You’ve earned it.”
Arthur nodded slowly, though it seemed even to him that the motion was far less numb, far less detached than it had been previously.
“Thank you, John,” Arthur murmured, beginning to lie down once more.
“Of course.”
John gently reached his hand up to Arthur’s face as Arthur settled his head back down on his pillow. Maybe in a few hours, he’d be more awake. Maybe after a good nap, he’d be energetic and ready to start the day. Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.
John’s palm settled on the side of Arthur’s face, carefully cupping his cheek in his palm. Arthur sighed and leaned against his hand.
“Rest well, my friend,” John said softly, the easy, low cadence of his voice almost enough to lull Arthur back to sleep. He held John’s hand closer to his cheek, feeling where he’d cradled the coffee cup just moments before swapping it for Arthur.
His skin was still warm.