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“It's dark outside, Arthur.” even though he really should have been used to it by now, John's voice still came as a surprise, startling him out of his thoughts. It also meant John had been staring out the window, rather than reading what little information they had on any possible separation rituals that didn't involve a minor slaughterhouse, as he was supposed to be doing.
“It's only three in the afternoon.” he continued, apparently more fixated on that than helping.
“Yes, well, it's winter.”
“Is it?” genuine surprise there. Arthur angled his head to where they'd tossed the newspaper earlier, after some bickering over the crossword.
“What date is it?”
“Date?” John echoed, and he caught some mumbling about how “the fucking papers are upside down” before getting a response:
“Twenty first. Of December.”
“Longest night of the year, friend. So we should-” Arthur tried to get them back on track.
“Longest night?” John hesitated. Arthur could feel his left hand tugging at the book before them, gripping it far stronger than something so old - leave alone stolen from the library - should be handled.
Oh. Right. The eons old being that had once upon a time inflicted unknowable suffering and thrived off madness was scared of the dark. Which was partly his fault.
“The winter solstice. It’s part of the changing of the seasons, John. Used to be celebrated. Still is. I think.”
“Why?” bite followed the words, a mix of curiosity and concern. Arthur sighed, tugging at the book to shut it. John got the clue, but not before a ridiculous tug of war with his own body.
“Because.” Arthur paused, searching for words that wouldn't make him have to explain mythologies and religions.
“Because?” Come on, how would he explain it to a child? He used to know how to do that, right?
“Because farmers.” he blurted out.
“ Farmers? ” at least John didn't sound afraid anymore. Instead, he sounded vaguely pissed off, like Arthur was playing a joke.
“Yes. Farmers. You couldn't really work the fields in winter, so - so you'd stay at home. With family. There were other things to do, of course, and winter meant scarcity and… but, but the point is, most of the hard work was done!” he honestly didn't know if half of what he was saying was even true . Well. They could fact check that when they went to the library to return the book before someone thought to call the police. Drop by the history section quickly. Nevermind that John wasn't fond of history at all.
“Hm.” was all that John gave in response, and Arthur thought the matter was concluded. But as he went to reach for the book again, John piped up:
“What would they… do? With their family.”
“Prepare for spring, probably. There were still things that needed doing. Um, spend time together? Sing, cook - look, I don't know. You were around then, right?”
“Hopefully not.” the remorseful tone of John's voice let him know just how shit this conversation was going. Somehow he managed to steer it from John's fears to his regretful self-loathing, a behaviour he was half sure he'd also learned from him.
“They probably played too. Not the piano, but…” he decisively got up, nearly tripping over his left leg as John struggled to catch up to his movement. He ignored it as he confidently strode towards the piano, placing his hand on the keys.
And sat.
Fuck.
“Arthur?” John sounded as confused as he felt. He knew at least half a dozen songs he could play by memory. He'd been forced to sit through year after year of recitals. Surely, he could remember at least one song he could play one handed.
“Arthur!” urgency and panic crept into John's voice as he accidentally slammed on one of the pedals. Arthur flinched at the sound.
“I'm fine. Just… thinking.”
“Arthur, what the fuck ?” a reasonable enough question, considering he'd just slammed their book shut and proceeded to sit at the piano like a fucking idiot. He tried to rummage through his brain to recall at least one piece that would be a passable excuse.
“Do we need to go to the doctor? Again?” an experience both he and John hated, so a certain sign of concern. Arthur pressed a few keys, trying to clumsily remember the start.
“Arthur, for fuck's sake-”
There! He got it.
John kept quiet for all of three seconds as Arthur continued more confidently, recalling the sung melody more so than played.
“What is that?”
“It's a song, John. Not an American one.” he quickly added.
“From your home. What's it called?” Arthur decided not to retort that the States were his home now. Arkham particularly.
“ Auld Lang Syne . It's Scottish.” did John even know what Scotland was?
“ Auld Lang Syne. ” John echoed, trying to mimic the likely incorrect pronounciation.
“What does it mean?”
“Old long since, or something like that. It's usually played for New Year's Eve, or graduations, funerals - beginnings and endings.” Arthur pressed a few more notes, humming the lyrics to keep on track. John caught on.
“It has words?” there was a kind of breathless excitement to his voice - not that he wasn't literally breathless at all times.
“It does. It's about two friends, catching up over a drink.” Arthur clarified, but was met with an expectant silence.
Of course. John wanted to know the words. He usually shared poems with him, it was only natural he wanted to hear the song too.
Arthur just really hated singing.
He felt John impatiently tap his leg, and sighed. Well, he'd wanted to cheer him up, didn't he? Maybe this'd make him laugh enough. Arthur cleared his throat.
“ Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind -” singing and playing at the same time tripped him up, and he pressed the wrong keys, making them both recoil.
“ Should old acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne. ” he continued, giving up on harmonies of any sort.
“That's fucking depressing.” yes, that would be why he’d never pursued a performer route.
“You said it was about two friends. It sounds like it's about forgetting them.”
“That's… not what the song means. It's a question. Is it right to forget friends, and traditions?” Arthur tried to clarify, with his own half forgotten childhood answers.
“Have you… ever played this with Parker?” the words knocked the air out of his chest. Ice ran down his spine, seeping through his bone marrow and into his blood. His fingers went numb, and he couldn’t even spare a thought to whether John had taken anything else.
He hadn’t forgotten Parker. Even if his face was blurrier to recall each day. Even if he heard John’s voice more often than his when he tried to remember it. He hadn’t forgotten his friend - his best friend. He just… had a new one now. That wasn’t forgetting.
“Arthur?”
“Sometimes.” he weakly replied. There was a burn in his throat, like salt pressed to a wound. A few clumsy notes sounded, but they weren’t his. He whipped his head around, as though someone might have entered unnoticed - with their luck, the place was likely haunted, and they’d be getting three visits that night or something - before hearing John’s irritated hiss.
“Sorry, Arthur. I didn’t think I was doing so badly.” it dripped with sarcasm so thick Arthur was certain John would be storming out of the room if he could. It only then clocked John had been trying to repeat the melody.
“Sorry. I - I thought-”
“What, that Kayne had shown up for an impromptu piano lesson?” there was a brief pause as they both considered how likely he’d be to do that.
“Well. How about I teach you first? It’s… C, F - you know what, just repeat after me.” Arthur pressed the keys to show, before continuing the lyrics. John, to his credit, made an effort for full three notes before trailing off to listen.
“ For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne .”
“We could use some.” John quietly mused - so quietly Arthur wasn’t certain he realised he’d spoken out loud.
“We could do with a whole pitcher.” he softly replied, earning a small laugh in return.
“That was the chorus, anyway. Uh, what’s the… right.” Arthur winced, recalling the next verse.
“ And surely you’ll buy your pint cup, and surely I’ll buy mine! And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne .” Briefly, he thought of a bar where he’d done just that.
“For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne.” John had evidently taken the short break as the correct place to jump in with the chorus, and he warmly stumbled through the tune.
“We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.” Arthur helped, voices weaving together. One, light and melodic - other, deep and awkward, almost like a teacher helping a child who’d forgotten their lines.
“ We two have run about the hills -”
“Below them.” Arthur laughed through the next line:
“ And picked the daisies fine. But we’ve wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne .” miles to go before they slept. Weary hardly began to describe the web of scars on Arthur’s skin, or the horrors John had seen.
“For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.” John’s abilities heartily improved with Arthur to keep him on track, as they always did. He managed to keep on top of the tune this time, and his earnest attempts drowned out any mistakes.
“ We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine. But seas between us broad have roared since auld lang syne .” Arthur paused.
“Not seas.”
“No.” a fucking coal mine. A poison. A deal. A different Entity.
“Barely a few days. For auld lang syne-” Arthur nodded, shakily pressing the notes
“My dear, for auld lang syne. We will take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.” Arthur’s voice grew bolder as he approached the final verse:
“ And here’s a hand, my trusty friend! And give me a hand o’ thine! And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne! ” he clasped John’s hand, having long lost the sensation of oddity at not being able to feel a part of his own limb. John squeezed back, wood of his pinky scratching the tender inside of Arthur’s palm.
“For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne. We will take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne!” they finished, with Arthur pressing an entirely unnecessary chord to punctuate the last note.
They sat in silence for a brief moment.
“Arthur… it’s still dark outside.”
“We can draw the curtains. Get back to the-” John interrupted him before he could bring up the book.
“No. I don’t mind it. I… get the point. Of staying inside with family.” family. Oh. Oh. He… supposed he was the closest John had to one, the King in Yellow notwithstanding.
“We could… play something else.” he offered, the book be damned. He doubted anyone was keeping the records well enough to notice for an extra day, leave alone with the holiday season. They must be swarmed with last minute school readings.
“I like this one.”
“Okay. Okay, let’s see if we can get some harmonies in this time.” Arthur chuckled, feeling John’s annoyed eye roll. Maybe they would see if John could catch up to any chords, just for that.
There’d be more wanderings. More seas broad too. But maybe there’d be some daisies to pick. More songs to light up their longest nights too.