"He?" Crichton prompts gently. The list is, well, short but significant based on what Arthur's said before. He can't afford to make any halfcocked assumptions.
The longer he looks at Arthur, the harder it gets not to cross the divide in their shared space and just... just hold him so he'll stop shaking like that. Like a pitiful dog left out in the streets.
Fuck it.
"I don't know. I've been asking myself that question for a whole goddamn year."
The mattress creaks as he gets up from it, his soft footsteps herald his slow movement across the room, and then the other half of the couch sinks under his weight.
He doesn't touch Arthur, but his voice is close. "I want you to think you're safe here with me. There's been a lot between us--good and bad--but I just... I can't stand to see you hurting like this. I want you to let me help. I want to take care of you like I used to."
no subject
The longer he looks at Arthur, the harder it gets not to cross the divide in their shared space and just... just hold him so he'll stop shaking like that. Like a pitiful dog left out in the streets.
Fuck it.
"I don't know. I've been asking myself that question for a whole goddamn year."
The mattress creaks as he gets up from it, his soft footsteps herald his slow movement across the room, and then the other half of the couch sinks under his weight.
He doesn't touch Arthur, but his voice is close. "I want you to think you're safe here with me. There's been a lot between us--good and bad--but I just... I can't stand to see you hurting like this. I want you to let me help. I want to take care of you like I used to."