heyyyyyy uhh, feel free to ignore this but
could you write john and arthur going to a park together!.?? please??? if you do then ill have an excuse to finally draw it <333
okay, I couldn’t not do this. It’s too cute.
“It’s fascinating, really. She was quite the prolific poet but most of what we know of her work is in fragments so—“ Arthur says, cutting himself off to pause and listen for John’s footsteps. It takes him a moment to realize John is trailing behind.
“John?” He asks, stopping so John catch up, “are you alright?”
“Yes, I…” John says, hurrying to catch up to him, “got distracted”
“By what?”
“Nothing,” he says, “let’s go,”
“Tell me,” Arthur presses, his voice filled with amusement, “you are my eyes, after all,”
“It’s a park, Arthur. There’s a set of two swings with worn rubber seats. Beside it is a small structure with overlapping, multicoloured bars. Some of the colour has worn off in parts, giving the impression that they’re well used. There are beds of flowers running along the chain link fence, although I’m not sure what kind of flowers they are. The sun has nearly set, so only the street lamps and the moonlight illuminate it. Its…interesting”
“Interesting?” Arthur says, chuckling, “do you mean to say you want to play on the playground?”
“No,” John says, crossing his arms and huffing, “of course not,”
“Because we can do that, if you’d like. It’s cool enough that most people would rather stay indoors than walk outside and late enough that most children will be in for the night,”
John stares at the ground, trying to feign disinterest despite the smile tugging at his lips,
“okay,”
“Okay?” Arthur says, gently teasing him
“Yes, Arthur,” he says, already heading toward the swings.
Arthur follows the sound of his footsteps, the gravel noisily shifting underneath them.
The swing’s chain groans when they sit down. Arthur sways slightly, rocking on the tips of his feet.
“How…how do I make it go?”
“Oh, like this,” Arthur says, pushing himself back with his feet and then pulling himself forward. He leans back, pumping his legs to gain momentum, “you just move your legs,”
John tries to mimic the movement, nearly toppling over before catching himself at the last second.
Arthur laughs, the resounding growl from John more endearing than intimidating.
“Here,” Arthur says, moving to stand behind John, “hold on tightly to the chains, I’ll give you a push,”
John obliges, his knuckles white from his grip. He jolts forward when Arthur’s hands touch his back.
“Okay, now pump your legs like I showed you,” Arthur says, stepping back to avoid John as he swings back, “yes, like that! Good job,”
John quickly gains momentum, the wind rushing past his ears as he cuts through the air.
“Jesus,” Arthur says, jumping out of the way. John slams his feet into the ground, sending rocks flying haphazardly as he drags them through the stones.
“I don’t like it,” John says, scrunching his nose, “my stomachs feels…odd,”
Arthur laughs, “it’s called motion sickness. It happens sometimes,”
John grumbles at him, the disappointment written across his face.
Arthur wipes dirt off of his pants, dropping into the other swing unceremoniously.
“We can just sit here, if you’d like”
“Alright”
They fall into comfortable silence, the only sound between them the groan of the chain from Arthur’s slight swaying.
“I can feel you hesitating, John,” Arthur says, “what are you so loudly thinking about?”
“I… it doesn’t matter,”
Arthur sways sideways, bumping his shoulders against John, “just say it,”
“Did you ever bring Faroe to this sort of park?”
Arthur smiles sadly, recalling doing just that a hundred times. The memory is bittersweet, her smiling face and infectious laugh vivid in his mind.
“Yes, I—“ he says, sighing, “she loved the park, the swings especially. She was… well, she was a bit of a thrill seeker, if I’m being honest. Always demanding I push her higher and higher until I was too afraid she’d fall off ,”
“She was like you then,” John says,
“Yes,” Arthur says, chuckling, “I suppose so,”
John swings sideways, bumping his shoulder into Arthur’s and then moving away. He bounces back, digging his toes into the gravel to hold himself in place, unsure of what to say as he presses his shoulder against Arthur’s
Arthur leans his head on John’s shoulder, the memory still tugging at his heart
“Arthur, I’m—“ John’s says, after a moment.
Arthur moves away, taking a final second to feel the grief threatening to consume him. He allows himself to think of her fondly, for just a moment.
He clears his throat, and asks “shall we give it another go?”
He takes a few steps back, launching himself forward with as much force as he can muster. He’s airborne in a second, the swing creaking with each movement.
John breathes out a laugh, watching fondly as Arthur moves through the air, a look of boyish glee on his face as he gets higher and higher.
“C’mon, John!”
“No,” he says, gruffly.
“This was your idea!”
“That was before it made my stomach hurt,”
Arthur slows to a stop, tiling his head back and laughing, “fair enough,”
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