Chapter Text
The safehouse underneath the Clayton Center of Art and Design was probably the least safe safehouse Arthur had ever been in. He could sleep there, yes, and he was grateful for that and everything, but there were so many people going in and out of the Fashion Institute at any given time that it was only a matter of time before something happened. He was coming back through the hatch from a particularly unfruitful bout of scavenging for food, and saw the instant he opened the door that he wasn't alone. Someone—two someones—were already in the bed trying to have sex, and they weren't pleased by Arthur's entrance.
“What in the hell?” demanded the man as the woman screeched and pulled the sheet over herself. The same sheet Arthur had been planning to sleep under. Looked like that wasn't happening. “The fuck are you doing skulking around in the basement?”
“Davy Hackney said I could sleep here,” protested Arthur meekly, but the man wouldn't have it.
“Get out! Get the hell out! You're making the lady all embarrassed!”
Arthur felt he must be equally as embarrassed as the naked woman, but he didn't argue, and instead turned back toward the hatch. The man seemed to think Arthur was trying to stay in the room and chased Arthur out the other way, and without holding back as to how he felt. The word “pervert” was used.
Well. Shit.
Where was he supposed to go now? It was past curfew and he was going to have to go all the way through the Parade to find somewhere safe, with the bobbies out. He was so focused on worrying that he almost walked directly into a woman dancing outside the Photo Room. She seemed high out of her mind and didn't notice, thankfully, but she wasn't alone. There were people everywhere.
Arthur could make out some Nick Lightbearer record playing and people were gathered around talking and dancing and drinking. Christ alive, they were having a party. Arthur remembered, when he worked in the Parade, that the Fashion Institute was always hosting wild parties that Arthur was never important enough to be invited to. Just like he wasn't invited to this one, either, and he wasn't going to stick around until someone—
“Oi, Glasses! What are you doing lurking on the outskirts over there?”
Arthur tensed, prepared to run, then someone’s arm slung around his shoulder. Arthur was much taller than whoever it was, and he was nearly knocked over when he was dragged down to their level so suddenly. “Aren’t you the shy one, mate,” said the man. His breath stank of alcohol and, judging by what Arthur had seen of the fashion scene, probably a variety of other drugs. “Come and join the party!”
“I-I’m so sorry, I was just leaving,” said Arthur, trying as politely as possible to extricate himself from the man’s grip. It wasn't working.
“Aww, come on, the party's just getting started! What are you gonna do all night alone at home?” said the man. “Take some more Joy. That'll loosen you up.”
“Just… just had some, actually.” This wasn't good. He'd had too many close cases with Joy lately and his tolerance was shot. He was worried about taking it somewhere he couldn't ride out an overdose by himself.
“Then have some more!” The intoxicated man's voice was loud and he was drawing attention to Arthur. What's more, he was dragging Arthur further into the mass of people and further from the exit. “Come on. No one likes a loner.”
The situation felt all too familiar. It was hard to remember, but even when he actually was taking Joy, people were always saying things like that to Arthur. If he couldn't even fit in on the happy pills, how was he supposed to do it now? He had a smile on his face as the drunk slurred in his ear about how much fun he could be having, but it was becoming increasingly frantic around the edges, and someone was bound to notice Arthur having a panic attack right in front of them.
He and the man both startled as a voice spoke behind them and a friendly hand laid itself on Arthur's back. “We might want to lay off hitting the bottle quite so hard tonight, don't you think, old man?”
The man whirled around with a drunken yell, pulling Arthur along with him. The hand retreated from his back as they turned and revealed its owner. He'd recognized the voice instantly, but it wasn't until he was face to face with him that Arthur's brain caught up and he realized who was talking.
Jack Worthing. Wellington Wells’ very own Uncle Jack. It was startling to see him in color, much less in person, and Arthur felt his mouth hang open stupidly, unable to do anything about it.
“Uncle Jack!” said the drunk, finally letting go of Arthur to rush toward Jack, hands spread out placatingly. “Good old Uncle Jack!” he repeated, seemingly unsure what else to say, and repeated it once more for good measure.
Uncle Jack laughed, and the other man hurried to laugh along with him. It seemed to Arthur like Jack was laughing at him, but he couldn't be sure. As the back of the drunk's head registered, Arthur snapped out of his daze and realized now was his chance to slip away. He hadn't taken two steps when that familiar voice said:
“Now, I know you must be all in a tizzy with excitement, but it's important to remember your manners. Why don't you introduce me to your friend here?”
Arthur froze, his heart sinking, and turned back around to smile at Jack. Jack's look was surprisingly calculating for someone on Joy. Arthur's skin prickled.
“Oh. ‘Course.” The man looked back at Arthur, the expression on his face making it quite plain that he'd forgotten about him. He grabbed Arthur's arm and shoved him forward like a sacrifice. “This is, uh…”
“Arthur,” said Arthur stupidly, realizing the second it was out of his mouth that he should have made something up. Nonetheless, the smile stayed plastered on his face. He could only hope that, hidden behind his grinning mask, it wouldn't be as obviously fake as it felt.
“Arthur,” repeated Jack, taking his hand and grasping it tight. “Jack Worthing.”
Everyone was looking at him now. Arthur didn't know how he didn't notice Jack earlier. The entire party seemed to ebb and flow around him, like the planets around the Sun. He was clearly the reason so many people were here tonight.
“Oh, er, I know,” said Arthur. He was completely overwhelmed. He needed to get out of here immediately. Arthur couldn't exactly yank his hand away from the most famous man in Wellington Wells without drawing attention to himself, though, and Jack wasn't letting go fast enough. He grasped his hand longer than Arthur thought was strictly necessary, even gently pulling Arthur a little closer to himself in the process. “I'm… um.”
“With a build like that, you must be a model here,” said Jack, finally letting go of Arthur's hand to take his shoulder instead. “I've never seen you on stage.”
“Oh, uh, well,” said Arthur, and that was it. He could not be acting more suspicious. He’d never been much good at small talk even when he wasn’t hiding anything. “I just fill in sometimes for the other fellows,” he managed, after a moment too long of silence. He'd done it once, and that technically made it true.
“Now that's a shame,” said Jack, with a chuckle and a smile of his own like he knew a secret. “Davy Hackney should be shot for hiding such a rare gem. If I'd seen you, I’d definitely remember that face.” Maybe he knew. No, he definitely knew. Who would believe someone with a nose like Arthur’s was a model?
“That's why I only fill in,” said Arthur weakly.
“I like it,” said Jack. “It's unique. We don't see a lot of unique these days, I'm afraid.”
“Unique” was a bad thing to be in Wellington Wells. Arthur’s barely-contained panic was threatening to bubble over into a scene. “Ah,” he said, instead of crying, like he wanted to. “That’s, um, kind of you to say, Mr. Worthing.”
“Please, call me Jack, my dear boy.” The man had such a perfect smile. It was probably more familiar to Arthur than his own. “Uncle Jack, if you prefer.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr—Jack,” said Arthur desperately, “but I really ought to be going. It's already past curfew.”
“My dear boy, you don't think you actually have to go to bed along with my program, do you?” He laughed again. His hand squeezed Arthur's shoulder. Arthur thought he might be sick.
“Well, no, but…” Arthur racked his brain for an excuse. “I-I've just remembered I've left the stove on. Have to go get it before I burn the place down.”
“You've got a touch of anxiety, I can see.” Jack gave him a pitying look, seeming every bit the paternal figure he was on the television. “A bit starstruck, I'd wager. Why don't you take some Joy and stop worrying so much?”
“Ah. Yes.” Arthur took a step back. “I'll just… go and get some…”
“No need,” said Jack. “I've got some right here.”
Jack produced from his breast pocket a capsule of strawberry Joy. The bright pink pill almost seemed to glow in the low light, drawing all the partygoers' eyes like a beacon. If Arthur didn't take it now, everyone would see.
“Thank you ever so much,” said Arthur, smiling, as his heart pounded in his ears. Long fingers delicately plucked the pill from Jack's and he brought it to his lips. He hesitated, and in that fraction of a second he saw Jack's eyes begin to narrow. Arthur hurried to swallow the pill.
For a moment he felt nothing but the slight discomfort of swallowing a pill dry. But Joy hit quickly, and soon Arthur found himself grinning, suddenly hit by the wonderful absurdity of the situation.
“It’s so unbelievable that it's you,” he said, and giggled, and felt just so perfectly pleased with it all. Jack made the world a stage, and it seemed now Arthur was his scene partner. At least his failure would be spectacular. “Of all the people it could have been, the world's best actor, and the man who’s—”
He managed to stop himself before he could say “The man who’s lying to everyone.” He couldn't even be bothered by the near slip-up when everything felt so great. The world was brighter. Arthur was so used to seeing Jack in black and white that he looked positively vivid in living color. His hair was the deepest shade of brown Arthur had ever seen, his eyes a shocking blue. Arthur could stare at him for hours. Even the stripes on his tie were arresting, like the bars of a rainbow.
Arthur wanted to touch him to make sure he was real, and even started to reach out before his last bit of sanity managed to call out and stop him. He could only stand there dumbly while—as if in one of Arthur's most humiliating dreams, the kind where he woke up feeling like his dad might find out and beat the idea out of him from the afterlife—Jack reached out and touched him. Arthur jumped, but Jack simply grasped his shoulder again. Arthur then realized, too late, he'd lost his opportunity for escape. It struck Arthur as funny, and he laughed.
“There, now, isn't that better,” said Jack, his thumb stroking Arthur's shoulder. His voice was starting to grow distant. “When all those bad thoughts start cropping up, isn't it such a relief to just take your Joy and forget?”
God, if only Arthur could be like them and take this shit all the time. He missed it so much. The rush of relief as all his anxieties melted away made Arthur dizzy, and he stumbled. He dimly heard someone speaking to him, but he couldn't make out the words. It didn't matter. He'd never felt better! He was so happy he could die, and he hoped he did. That way he never had to come down from this high. Maybe he should tell the bastards what he really thought of them and see what happened.
What was wrong with him? He was going to throw up, for real this time. He had to get out of here before he did something crazy, but Jack was still holding his shoulder, and Arthur certainly couldn't figure out what to do about it when he was like this. It felt too narratively appropriate for little old Arthur to be thrown to the wolves by the voice of Wellington Wells himself. It seemed hilariously flattering in this state. At least Arthur would be having the time of his life as these people tore him limb from limb.
Jack was looking at him. Talking to him. Arthur tried so hard to focus, but he couldn't understand. He could only wait for the other shoe to drop. Then someone else was talking—Arthur didn't know who it was or why, if they were going after him or even looking at him, but it didn't matter. In a burst of adrenaline Arthur ripped himself away and began to run.
He could hear people shouting after him, but all he cared about was the exhilaration of escape. He let his feet take him in a random direction, laughing from sheer mania. He was going to keel over, but he could get somewhere safe first. His increasingly tear-blurry eyes spotted white porcelain and made a beeline for the lavatory, just managing to get over the sink before he began to vomit.
The next little bit was a blur of misery and dry heaving. As soon as he got to the lavatory the wrong end of the overdose hit him like a lorry. There wasn't a lot in his stomach but the Joy, and soon there wasn't anything left at all, but his body still put up a valiant effort to rid itself of the toxins. Arthur didn't know long he sat there collapsed against the sink. By the time he stopped throwing up, he could think a little more clearly, but he still felt like he'd been been beaten half to death.
Arthur did his best to take deep breaths as his throat burned from bile and his cheeks ached from smiling. He wiped the tears of effort from his eyes and straightened up. He was wishing he could drink from the Joy-infused tap to wash the taste out of his mouth when he saw the face in the mirror behind him.
Arthur yelped and whipped around, but Jack was already so close to him that there was nowhere to run. Jack took a step forward, backing Arthur into the sink.
“Everything all right in here, Arthur?” Jack's gaze didn't waver. His eyes weren't as shockingly unreal of a blue now that the Joy was wearing off, but they were bright, and far too knowing. Too clear for somebody on Joy. “I came to have a look at you. It seemed like you were having trouble.”
“O-Oh. Yes. Right as rain.” Arthur's voice came out painfully weak. His shaking hands went to brace himself against the sink. He was having trouble staying upright without the help. He was taller than Jack was, but the way he’d backed himself into the sink, he was practically folded in half. “So… So good of you to check on me, Mr. Worthing. You really are as kind as they say.”
“I told you, please, call me Jack.” Suddenly Jack's finger tucked itself under Arthur's chin and gently tipped his face up from where it was tucked into his chest. Arthur flinched and blushed at the same time, and he didn't know which one would mark him out as more dangerous. “You look faint, Arthur,” said Jack. “Perhaps we ought to call a doctor.”
“Oh, nonsense,” pleaded Arthur. Would he have to get on his hands and knees for Jack to let this go? “I only… um, ate something a bit off. A good night's sleep and I'll be on top of the world again. Nothing to worry about.”
Before Arthur could react, Jack's hand was moving and he had gently pushed up Arthur's glasses. The mask was lifted up next, revealing Arthur’s face in its frowning, frightened entirety.
“There’s no need for such a cavalier approach to your well-being,” said Jack. He was so close that Arthur could make out his face even without his glasses, but the smile on the mask made it difficult to tell what was real. “After all, if you don't have your health, what do you have?”
Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but his voice dried up. Jack replaced Arthur's glasses and mask and his hand went down to wrap loosely around Arthur's throat. “But I do get the feeling that's not what you're worried about,” Jack said. “No, I think you're much more afraid of the possibility that I might have noticed.”
“N-noticed what?” asked Arthur, what little hope he had abandoning him for greener pastures.
“You know, of course.” Jack leaned in close. His breath was warm on Arthur's ear. “That you're a dirty, rotten little Downer.”
Arthur’s knees buckled out from under him, and it was only Jack catching him that kept Arthur from hitting the floor. It felt sort of ridiculous, like Arthur was a swooning heroine and Jack was his leading man. Arthur instantly tried to pull away, but Jack kept hold of him.
“I-I’m not a—don’t be ridiculous,” said Arthur, despite everything. “You just saw me take Joy.”
“I did,” said Jack, and once again, Arthur was struck by how sober he looked. “And the really peculiar thing is that you're extremely coherent for someone who should be raving about staring red eyes.”
Arthur checked Jack's eyes. The pupils were pinpricks, just like they should be. He could be on Sunshine, but Arthur doubted himself. “You know about the bad batches?”
“Intimately,” said Jack. “I know about more than a few of this place’s secrets.”
No, It couldn't be. Not him. “I don't believe it.” Arthur’s voice, already low, went down to a whisper. “You’re a Downer, too.”
Jack's smile didn't falter. That skill must be how he didn't get found out. That, and no one would believe their hero was off his Joy. Arthur found himself growing angry at Jack and his perfect, fake smile, the same one plastered all over Wellington Wells reassuring everyone nothing was wrong while the entire place fell apart.
“All that wonderful talk from you about how it's our duty to be a proper citizen and take our Joy, how we owe it to our neighbors,” Arthur spat. He managed to wrench himself out of Jack's grip, stumbling sideways into the wall. “How it will keep us all happy and comfortable and there’s nothing else to worry about. All that, and you’re not even on the damn stuff. Talk about worshiping false idols.”
Jack moved and Arthur regretted running his mouth. But Jack just put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. “I can't make up for what I've done,” Jack said. “But let a sinful man full of regrets do what he can to help a fellow Downer.”
“What do you mean?” Arthur eyed him suspiciously. Of all the people to trust, Uncle Jack wasn't the first who came to mind. That would be like trying to escape Hell and asking for help from the Devil. But the Devil was a fallen angel, wasn't he, and Arthur had found himself sympathizing with that lot lately. Jack had fallen off his Joy just as hard as Arthur had.
“Come with me to my home.” Jack's hand was heavy on Arthur's shoulder. “You'll be safe there until morning.”
It sounded much too good to be true. “And how do I know you won't take me straight to the police station, like a proper citizen should?”
“My boy,” and Jack had amusement in his voice that made Arthur self-conscious, “what other option do you have? It's past curfew. Would you sneak past every bobby in the Parade to find somewhere to sleep?”
“I've done it before,” said Arthur, but he didn't sound as sure as he wanted to. It would be nice not to have to.
“Come with me.” Jack held out his hand. “You can eat and bathe, and all those other lovely things one can do with a home of their own. And you have my word, you won't be safer anywhere else in Wellington Wells.”
Arthur hesitated a moment longer, but he'd already made up his mind. He would take any excuse he could to hold onto his faith in humanity out here, and if even Jack Worthing was a helpful and repentant Downer now, there might be hope for everyone. Arthur nodded against his better judgment. He took Jack's hand. “I… suppose there's no harm in taking a look.”
“Splendid! There's a good fellow.” Arthur was expecting a shake, but Jack grasped his wrist and pulled Arthur to his feet. His hands went to Arthur's waist, and Jack grinned so infectiously Arthur found himself smiling timidly back. “Now, it's a bit of a walk. Don't be afraid to lean on me if you need to.”
“I-I’m sure I can manage,” said Arthur, who was already red and only getting redder. Jack began to pull him along, sweeping towards the lavatory door with Arthur in tow.
“Come along, Arthur,” he said, walking briskly enough that Arthur had to focus on keeping up the pace. “You did give me your real name, didn't you?”
“Yes. It's… it's Arthur Hastings.” Was it a good idea to mention that? Jack already knew he was a Downer. Did giving his name carry any other risk?
“Good boy,” said Jack. “A proper English name, that. A king's name.”
“Oh, um, thanks,” said Arthur. Could anyone really be as perfect an Englishman as Jack acted, or was that a lie too? When he thought about the amount of lies Jack had to be telling, Arthur started to question his decision to trust him. He didn't have time to go back on his answer, though, not when Jack was taking him directly back into the party.
All eyes were on them again the moment they were out of the relative privacy of the lavatory. Arthur did his best to stand up straight and look happy, despite his nerves. He hadn't thought about how it looked to be leaving the party with Uncle Jack. If he didn't seem appropriately over the moon, everyone would know something was off. Jack smiled and waved and commented little friendly things to the Wellies as he passed by. They all fawned over Jack and gave Arthur a look like he'd spat in their tea. Jealousy, it took Arthur a minute to work out. He smiled and pretended not to notice and hoped they weren't thinking too terribly rude thoughts about him.
Someone called after them. “You aren't leaving, are you, Uncle Jack?”
“Yes, I am,” Jack said, and when the crowd vocalized their disappointment, he tutted at them. “Don't be too disappointed, friends. You can always pop a Joy and find me on the television.”
Arthur wasn't sure he liked this new perspective he had on Jack. What kind of person would make sure everyone else took their Joy while they spurned it themselves? At least when Uncle Jack was only a smile on TV Arthur could believe he was just as deluded as everyone else. Arthur slowed as they went out the door into the cold night, thinking he might run, when Jack took his arm.
“Don't wander too far now,” said Jack. He was fairly average in height and build. It was possible Arthur could take him in a fight, but he didn't like to fight, and it was easier to let Jack lead him along, wasn't it? Maybe he still wanted to believe in him. Arthur had spent so many Joy-blurry nights in need of comfort with no one to turn to but his imaginary friend on the TV. Maybe it was some childish desire not to give up a hero that made Arthur obediently follow Jack through the dark streets, or maybe he was just stupid. Either way, he did it.
Jack kept hold of Arthur's arm the whole time. His grip was gentle but firm, that of a gentleman practiced at the art of strolling with a lady. He was even standing on the proper side, between Arthur and the street, as if all the cars hadn't run out of gas years ago. Arthur felt light-headed. He could almost pretend they were friends, despite the reality. Two fellow Downers sneaking through the streets, united in secret against a world that hated them. That fantasy came to a screeching halt when a light beamed into their faces and a voice shouted, “Oi! Who goes there?”
Arthur nearly yanked his arm out of its socket when he tried to bolt and Jack held on. The bobby finished coming around the corner already raising his truncheon. His eyes widened behind his mask as he came close enough to recognize Jack.
“Cor!” he gasped. “Is that Uncle Jack?”
“In the flesh,” said Jack with a practiced smile, still holding onto Arthur. “What can I help you with, Constable?”
“It's a dream of mine to meet you, sir,” said the police officer, coming still closer. “But if I may ask, what is your esteemed personage doing out so late at night? And who's this with you?” He pointed his light at Arthur in an accusatory fashion. “He's not bothering you, is he?”
Jack laughed and Arthur stared at the bobby, frozen in terror. “No, not at all. This is a dear friend of mine. I'm afraid we got so caught up talking that we didn't notice the time had flown by. Quite a silly mistake.”
“You shouldn't be out on the streets at night, sir. It's dangerous and all. You don't know what kind of people what are lurking around in the dark.”
“Of course. You've caught me with a red face, Constable. The last thing I want is to break the law.”
“Well, that's all right,” said the constable. If Arthur were rich and famous, he'd obviously get away with a lot more. “We all forget things now and then, especially with the Joy. Still and all, I think we'd all feel better if I were to escort you to your home. Wouldn't want anything to happen to Wellington Wells’ favorite uncle.”
Arthur kept his eyes on Jack. In the beam of the policeman's torch, his grinning white mask looked ghoulish. “Very well then, if you insist. You're a credit to the Constabulary, my good man.”
“You're too kind, sir.”
It was like that the whole walk. They even passed by a few other bobbies, and they all reacted much the same, albeit looking at the one who got to walk Jack home with obvious envy. Jack rewarded them with conversation and the policemen bent over backwards to please him. Arthur followed along quietly and thought it must be nice with more bitterness than he’d feel comfortable admitting out loud.
Unsurprisingly, Jack's house was the biggest one on the street. The bobby insisted on walking them all the way to the door and seeing Jack inside. He didn't even question why Arthur went inside with him. Arthur suspected he'd forgotten Arthur was there at all.
Jack hadn't, though. “Alone at last,” he said, and put his hand on Arthur's back to guide him through the luxurious hallway. “Surely you'll want a shower. I don't know what a Downer is doing in the Parade, but we don't want you walking around smelling like the Garden District, do we?”
“Oh, um, probably not,” said Arthur, embarrassed. He hadn't managed a real shower since he came through the gate to Maidenholm. “Um. Sorry about that.”
“There, now. You've done nothing wrong.” Jack's hand was warm on the small of Arthur's back. “And how about while you're in the shower, I rustle you up something to eat, hm?”
They were alone now. If Jack was going to do something to Arthur, he'd do it now, wouldn't he? Maybe Arthur really could let his guard down. Maybe there really was still human kindness left in the world.
“I don't know what to say.” Arthur took off his mask and gave a sheepish, but genuine, smile with his real face. “Thank you, Mr. Worthing. I-I mean Jack. This is all very kind of you.”
Jack's gaze was intensely focused on Arthur once he took the mask off. He was almost staring. Arthur felt self-conscious and started to put the mask back on.
“No.” Jack took Arthur's wrist. Arthur was startled and dropped the mask. It clattered on the wood flooring loudly. “I like you without it.”
“Oh,” said Arthur, and he backed up. Jack let go of his wrist and Arthur picked the mask off the floor without putting it back on. “Um. Very good, then.”
Jack didn't take his mask off. He just smiled at Arthur and took him upstairs to the bathroom. “Use anything you need,” he said. “I can spare a bit of soap. And do try not to rush. You'll have to wait for me to finish supper even if you hurry, so you may as well take your time.”
“Thank you,” said Arthur. “I don't know how to thank you enough. I was in an awfully tight spot. I usually stay at the old shelters beneath Wellington Wells—there's one in the basement of the Fashion Institute, but there were people there because of the party. I was stranded in the Parade.”
“No need to mention it, my boy.” Jack gave Arthur a paternal smile and ushered him inside the bathroom. “Now go and enjoy your shower. When you come out there will be a nice hot meal waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” said Arthur again, overwhelmed, and the door was closed behind him.
The bathroom was large and well-decorated, with a big claw-footed antique bathtub that had been converted into a combination shower in the past couple of decades. Arthur used to work in the Parade too, but he felt completely out of place in such an opulent setting. He was rather plain and ordinary. Not the kind of person famous actors usually asked over to their homes.
It was difficult, too, to feel secure enough to undress. He knew, intellectually, that no one was going to come in and interrupt, but he spent so much time worrying about being caught that it was difficult to turn off. Arthur’s hands shook slightly as he undid the buttons of his suit. Nothing happened. He remained safe even as he peeled off his last layer, then his glasses, and stood there with the world blurry and in the buff. He was completely vulnerable and no one was going to hurt him. Arthur suspected he was going to wake up any minute now from some sort of vivid mushroom dream.
But he never woke up. He was careful not to slip as he stepped into the bathtub. He turned on the bath tap first, testing it. The water warmed up quickly as it ran over his hand. Hot water.
Arthur showered slowly and carefully, taking his time, like Jack had told him to. It felt so good to get clean. He hadn't realized how much his poor body needed soothing until he was standing there with hot water running over every aching inch. He'd pulled a muscle in his shoulder at some point—to be honest, he'd probably pulled several muscles all across his body at some point—and he literally gasped when the water first hit it, reaching around to try to massage the pained spot. A tiny groan of relief escaped him. He thought he heard something shuffle outside the shower and he froze, going instantly silent.
But no other noises came, so he elected to ignore it. It was just his anxieties getting the better of him. He wanted to enjoy every second of comfort he could get.
He washed his body with Jack's soap and his hair with Jack's shampoo, but he didn't want to get out when he was finished. Jack had said Arthur could take a long shower, hadn't he? So Arthur decided to sit down under the faucet for a little while, just enjoying it. The sound scattered his thoughts and eased the pervading nervousness that was Arthur's constant companion. He spent so long sitting there hugging his legs and spacing out that the water was going cold by the time he reluctantly finished up. He hoped Jack wouldn't mind. At least Arthur had given him plenty of time to cook.
As he came out of the shower, Arthur was feeling pretty good. He was getting cold quickly and starting to shiver. He had a terrible shock as he reached for his clothes and realized they weren't there.
His glasses were there, and Arthur quickly put them on to inspect the bathroom and make sure his clothes hadn't fallen somewhere, or he'd misremembered where he placed them. No. They were categorically not here. Someone—and there was only one candidate for who it could be—had stolen into the bathroom while he was in the shower and taken his clothes.
Arthur was at a loss. He couldn't go anywhere without his clothes. He'd be arrested for public indecency. He'd be killed by an angry mob as a sex pervert in twenty minutes. But if Jack had taken them… what exactly did he have planned for Arthur?
Arthur suddenly very much wanted to make himself scarce. There was a dressing gown hanging on a hook, monogrammed with J.W. It felt uncomfortably intimate to put on another man's dressing gown, but what choice did Arthur have? He had to find his clothes and get out of here.
Arthur felt like a perfect creep, naked except for a dressing gown in someone else's house, as he quietly opened the door, intending to sneak down the hall. He was stopped almost immediately by Jack calling up the stairs, “Arthur? Is that you?" Arthur froze, and Jack continued, "If you've finished in the shower, come down and eat. You're just in time. It's just come out of the oven.”
Jack was going to wonder where he went if Arthur didn't listen. Arthur came down the stairs, hesitating at the threshold, when Jack came out of the kitchen in shirtsleeves and a pink apron and he lit up upon seeing Arthur.
“Arthur, my boy! You look as refreshed as Adam in the Garden of Eden.” He went back into the kitchen. “Come along, come along. I've made roasted vegetables.”
Why was Jack still putting up the act of being Arthur's friend? He had to know Arthur had seen his missing clothes. Maybe it would be best to keep playing along until Arthur spotted an escape. Or it became too late. Hopefully the former happened before the latter.
As Arthur entered the kitchen, the smell of food hit him and his stomach grumbled loudly. He could smell roasted parsnips and other things like his mother used to make during the War. Apparently the food was real. If he could eat a good meal before he left, that would be great for him, but he couldn't just ignore the obvious.
“It smells delicious, but why did you take my clothes?” said Arthur. His arms crossed in front of himself protectively when Jack turned from the oven to face him. “They were missing when I got out of the shower. You came in.”
“Ah, yes. So sorry to intrude on your privacy, but I realized after you'd gone in that I should give your clothes a wash before you put them back on. I didn't want to interrupt you, so I just took them. I left you my dressing gown, though.” Did Arthur imagine Jack's eyes flicking down the length of his body? “It suits you.”
Arthur felt entirely too naked under Jack's gaze. The dressing gown was made of silk and felt smooth on Arthur's bare skin every time he moved, reminding him he was nude under it, just like Jack must have been when he wore it. “I do wish you would have said something,” said Arthur, but he didn't want to push the issue further. Jack was trying to be kind to him, even if Arthur was quickly starting to realize he could be a bit overbearing.
“Of course. My apologies. Now, eat. You’re as thin as a rail.”
Jack sat Arthur down and placed a plate and a cup of tea in front of him. Just as Jack promised, it was filled to the brim with roasted vegetables, more than Arthur would be able to eat if he weren't starving. Arthur wasted no time in taking a bite.
“It’s so good,” he said with his mouth full, before remembering his manners and swallowing his food before he spoke. “Sorry. Thank you so much. I can't remember the last time someone cooked me supper.” Had it really been before his mother died? He was only the most basic of cooks himself, so what had he been eating all those years?
“Oh, think nothing of it,” said Jack. “I'm only sorry I couldn't give you the traditional meat and two veg, but you know how prized meat is these days.”
“Please, this is more than enough.” It was hard for Arthur to keep his manners and not shovel the food into his mouth as fast as he could. It made him feel like a stray dog that was still afraid even after it got taken in. No one was going to take the food away at Jack's dinner table.
“So tell me, Arthur…” Jack wasn't eating himself, he was only sitting back watching Arthur. Of course, he wasn't scavenging for food, so he'd probably already eaten at actual suppertime. “Ease a fellow Downer’s curiosity. How did you happen to come off your Joy?”
It felt personal, but Jack had already done so much for Arthur that he felt he deserved an answer. “I saw a picture of my brother.”
Jack was still wearing the mask. Arthur wished he'd take it off. It felt weird to be in private with that thing smiling at him. Like he was a guest on Jack's show or something, and all this was going to be broadcasted to an unsympathetic audience. “And what happened to your brother?”
“He was… taken away.” Arthur looked at his plate, avoiding eye contact. “On the train.”
The table became silent. Arthur dared to look up and still couldn't read his expression. The smile on the mask stayed perfectly in place, even as Jack’s lips pursed together and he went quiet. “Oh,” said Jack, finally.
“I'm trying to get out so I can find him.” Arthur pushed his food around on his plate without eating it. “Maybe he's still out there somewhere. In Germany, or maybe Russia. I'm going to find him.”
“It's been a long time since the train, lad,” Jack said gently. Arthur bristled slightly. He didn't like to think about how incredibly unlikely it all was.
“I have to look,” he said stubbornly. “I owe it to him.”
“Yes, but, be realistic, Arthur. The odds of a English child all alone in Germany—”
“You don't understand!” Arthur’s voice got loud and he winced and lowered it. “I was supposed to take care of him and I didn't. It's my fault he's gone, so now I have to find him. He's my brother.”
Jack didn't respond. He just looked at Arthur, his expression indecipherable. Arthur felt self-conscious and went back to his food, though his appetite was mostly gone now.
“You're brave,” said Jack, after a long while. “I'll give you that.”
Arthur laughed, a little more derisively than he intended. “I'm not. I'm doing all this for him. If it were up to me I'd take my Joy like I'm supposed to and smile through the end of the world.”
Jack didn't say anything. He just watched, eyes focused on Arthur the whole time, as Arthur finished the remainder of his meal in silence.
After Arthur had eaten the last bite and drank the last sip of tea, Jack stood up and took the dishes away. “Good boy, eating up your vegetables.” He reached over and ruffled Arthur's hair, making Arthur turn bright red. “You need your Vitamin C. We don't want you catching scurvy.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” Arthur watched Jack wash the dish and put it away, still not completely sure this wasn't some kind of strange dream. He used to have a lot of dreams like that, when he'd fall asleep listening to Nighty Night with Uncle Jack, mind foggy with Joy and pretending he had a kind, fatherly friend in his life to guide him.
“It’s getting quite late,” said Jack. He took off the apron and hung it on a little hook. “Stay in the guest room tonight, eh? Then, tomorrow, you can take off into the unknown with a full belly and a good night’s sleep.”
Arthur stood up. “Thank you again, Mr—Jack.” It was so difficult to use his given name. Sally never had trouble dropping the “Mr. or Mrs.” such-and-such. Not that Arthur was a child speaking to an adult anymore.
Jack was there in an instant to lead him to the bedroom, his hand on the small of Arthur's back again. A real smile played at Arthur's lips. He was clean and his stomach was full and he was safe. He was thinking that he wished he could make it up to Jack when they entered the bedroom and Arthur noticed something odd.
“Er, why… Why is there a tarp on the bed?”
“Ah, my dear Arthur.” Jack closed the door behind them, and the lock clicked. “You’ve been so good, but I'm afraid we've come to the end of our time.”
Then Arthur was tackled and wrestled to the bed. The dressing gown was yanked off of him and tossed somewhere on the floor. Arthur fought as hard as he could, but Jack, average-sized and well-fed and healthy, managed to overpower him and get Arthur pinned underneath him. Arthur’s naked skin brushed up against the bulge in Jack's trousers. A new fear, one Arthur had never even considered before, gripped Arthur and he froze in a panic.
“Stay there and be good.” Jack reached over to the nightstand and picked up a coil of rope that waited there. Is this why he wanted Arthur to take a long shower? “It will hurt less if you struggle.”
“W-what the fuck is this?” Arthur’s voice went high. He shoved at Jack, who grabbed his wrists. “L-let me go! Get off me!”
Jack pulled Arthur's arms up to the headboard and tied them there. The rope scratched at the inside of Arthur's wrists. “You know, I didn't think you were going to fall for it. Tricking the idiots on Joy is one thing, but you can actually think. I got the feeling you just really, really wanted to believe me.”
“What are you doing?” Arthur demanded, though it came out sounding terrified. “W-Why go through all this if you just wanted—” Arthur couldn't say it. The nakedness, the distinct feeling of something hard against his middle… “What are you even after?”
Jack hummed a quiet laugh and got up from the bed. Arthur watched him reach inside the nightstand and pull something out. He turned and Arthur could see a cleaver, silver in the light.
“You've heard of Foggy Jack, I presume?” said Jack, and everything made sense. The serial killer rumored to haunt the toxic fog, said to look “very familiar” by everyone who’d spotted him… Jack had reassured Wellington Wells that Foggy Jack wasn't real on his very own show. Arthur felt sick.
“You're a monster,” said Arthur. “You tell them everything is okay and you slaughter them.”
“My dear boy, as if they even know the difference.” Jack sat down beside Arthur on the bed. The cleaver trailed over Arthur’s skinny chest, just gently enough not to cut. “I've been dabbling in the hobby ever since the Joy stopped working. It's the only way to stay sane in these trying times. Surely you're not so innocent yourself, are you?”
“Well, no, but…” Arthur tried to avoid it as much as he could, but he had killed people. Did he have room to talk? He had blood on his hands, too. “I-I didn't want to. It was in self-defense.”
“It's self-defense for me, too. If I don't kill one every once in a while, I'll hate them so much that I'll go mad. They're so damned stupid, Arthur, and what's worse, they act like it never happened. All of them. They have their parties and their Simon Says, and they just move on like nothing ever—”
Jack stopped, gathering himself. He meant the train, of course. Had Jack lost someone, too?
“I don't usually take my victims into my home,” said Jack. The cleaver was still in one hand, but the other hand went to run along Arthur’s leg. “But when I saw you at the party I thought of an idea. I knew you were a Downer right away. Nervous. Thinking too much for your own good. I bet no one was surprised when you went off your Joy, were they?”
Arthur didn't respond. They probably hadn't been. It was impossible to count the amount of times his coworkers had reminded Arthur to take his Joy every day. He wondered if any of them even remembered him at all. Probably just Clive Bertwhistle, because he could gloat that he got the office with the view.
“It is a shame to kill you,” said Jack. He cupped Arthur's face. “You’re not like them. You chose to remember.”
“Then don't kill me?” suggested Arthur helpfully.
“But it's a mercy, I think.” Jack took his hand away and replaced it with the cleaver, pressing the flat end against Arthur's cheek. “You were never going to escape without getting killed, so at least you’re going to die in comfort.”
“Oh, that makes it all right, then, doesn't it?” said Arthur. Maybe he shouldn't be so sarcastic to the man holding the cleaver. “You may be hacking me to pieces, but at least my stomach was full when you did.”
“You'll understand someday. Well, I suppose you won’t.” Jack pressed the blade into join between Arthur’s neck and shoulder. Arthur whimpered and felt blood dribble down his chest. “You'll be with your younger brother soon, Arthur.”
“Older,” blurted Arthur, too scared to think.
“What?”
“Percy is my older brother.” Arthur didn't know why he was arguing the point. There were more important things to worry about. It was habit, really. People always used to assume Arthur was older, even though Percy was taller and bigger. “You said younger.”
“That's impossible,” Jack spat, his tone growing dark. His eyes blazed behind his mask. “If you were his younger brother, you'd be dead too.”
“He's not—”
“So all that rot about doing this for your brother was a lie?” Jack raised the cleaver. Arthur’s eyes widened. “You only wanted to make yourself sound good. You went off your Joy because it stopped working, just like everyone else.”
“It wasn't a lie!” Arthur yanked his arms against his binds, but he couldn't get free. “Percy wasn't supposed to go on the train with me, but we were going to sneak him on. I told him… I told him that everything would be okay if we were together in Germany.”
And somehow Percy had ended up on the train and Arthur off it. Arthur had told some kind of lie. Percy had already snuck on when… no, that didn't sound right. The details wouldn't quite come together. Arthur felt like he was forgetting something terrible.
“Then why didn't you both go on the train?” sneered Jack, the cleaver still in his hand. Arthur was too preoccupied to be scared of him. Not when he had the past to fear. Somehow, Percy and Arthur had switched places, and Arthur had a horrible feeling it was all his fault.
“We planned to… to sneak him onto the train with me,” he said haltingly. “But I was the one who was supposed to go. He was fourteen and I was only twelve, but I always looked after him. He needed me. He… he had trouble talking to people—i-if he had been left without me, he wouldn't have…”
Arthur trailed off, shaking his head. It hurt to remember. How had Percy managed all these years, all alone without Arthur to talk for him? “I was supposed to be on the train and he wasn't,” said Arthur. “And I remember… I was so scared… I didn't want to go to Germany, even with Percy… and I thought—I thought if I told them Percy was me—”
A terrible, aching, choking horror dawned over Arthur, and stopped breathing. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “I lied. I told them Percy was me so they'd take him instead.”
It was so much, between the situation and the memories, that he couldn't keep a brave face. Hot tears began to well up and run down his cheeks. “It really is my fault. How could I betray him like that? H-How could I—”
Arthur tried to cover his face with his hands, but he only tugged against the rope. When the sobs hit him, he could do nothing but cry openly in front of Jack, humiliation and shame and self-hatred burning in him so hot that he thought it would eat him up from the inside. Soon Arthur’s glasses were so fogged up with tears he couldn't see Jack anymore, but he wanted the cleaver to come. Arthur deserved for Jack to kill him. He saw Jack's blurry form move and Arthur braced himself for the end.
And then a pair of arms were holding him, pulling him into their embrace. A strong hand rubbed his back. “There, there. Let it all out.”
“W-what are you doing?” Arthur tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, and he sniffled, confused and somewhat offended. Arthur had just confessed his most horrible sin, and this wasn't the reaction he should be receiving in response. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”
“You came back from the train. The only one.” Jack's hand came near Arthur's face and Arthur flinched, but Jack just removed his glasses and set them carefully to the side. “You should have been dead that day. I'm not going to be the one to finish the job.”
“I don't deserve sympathy,” Arthur insisted. “I betrayed my only brother to be here.” Jack shushed him and took him back into his arms, but Arthur jerked, trying to turn away. His shoulders shook with a barely-suppressed sob. “T-Then I lied to myself so I wouldn't have to feel guilty.” His sins were too numerous not to list. He couldn't stop thinking of more. “I just moved on like he never existed. Went to school, then work, like nothing happened, and the whole time he was out there, all alone, because of me. I took my Joy for years, just like everyone else, and I forgot.” Arthur shut his eyes, breathing too fast and still not getting enough air. His chest felt constricted. Maybe God was smiting him down for what he'd done. “I'm just as bad as all the others. I deserve to die in an alley just like them, chopped to pieces—”
“Arthur.” Jack's voice was gentle, measured. His hands cupped Arthur's wet face. “You were a child.”
“It doesn't matter,” said Arthur bitterly. “I knew better.”
“You were a scared child who ran.” Jack thumbed a tear from Arthur's eye. “Breathe,” he ordered. Arthur did. Jack held him and counted out his breaths for him, one by one, until Arthur’s sobs began to slow.
“Adults failed you when you needed them most,” said Jack, voice soft, hand in Arthur's hair. “And then when you grew up, too, we pumped you full of Joy and told you to forget what we did to you.” Arthur could feel it against himself as Jack sighed. “How old were you when they brought out the damn stuff?”
The touch was surreal. No one had ever held Arthur like this except for his mother. “N-nineteen, I think.”
“You never even lived an adult life without it. You were the last child and no one even remembers.”
Arthur didn't understand why Jack was talking about him like he was an innocent victim. Hadn't he just told him the horrible thing he'd done? “It wasn't just me who didn't go.” At least he could reject that part of what Jack said. “There were other kids. Sally Boyle, for one. I remember hearing something about a girl named Margaret, but—” Jack tensed him against him so suddenly Arthur jumped. “Sorry?”
“Go on,” said Jack stiffly. His fingers were digging into Arthur, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably.
“Well… I remember the adults talking about one of our classmates, Margaret… something. No one would tell us what happened, but she never came back to school, so I… I suppose me and Sally were it. They bumped us up to the next grade because there was no one left in ours.”
Arthur felt Jack relax slightly, and then he pulled away from Arthur to kneel over him again. “Isn't Sally Boyle the child whose mother…” Jack trailed off.
“...Who poisoned her whole family, yes,” Arthur finished bluntly. “Sally was the only one left.”
“I remember hearing about her,” said Jack. “When people still talked about these things. I never knew there was another.”
“I suppose I wasn't very memorable,” said Arthur dismissively. “Anyway, if you want to feel sorry for anyone, feel sorry for her.”
There was a long silence. Jack looked at Arthur for a long time, then took Arthur’s face in his hands again, holding him still. “I can't change what we did to you.” His face was so close to Arthur’s that, even without his glasses, Arthur could make out the fine lines around his eyes through the holes in his mask. “You're an adult now, so I can give you an adult form of comfort. You grew up well, Arthur, in more ways than one. And you did it without our help.”
Arthur turned his face away. “I grew up, but I'm still me.”
Jack shook his head and tilted Arthur’s face back, so they were making eye contact. “Yes, you are. You're the only person in this godforsaken place who doesn't deserve to die.”
And he kissed Arthur. The mask was cold against Arthur's lips. Arthur tried to pull away, and his head hit the headboard. Jack followed him and kissed him again. Arthur's head swam.
Jack's hand reached down to grasp Arthur’s penis. Arthur yelped in surprise, and Jack groaned into his mouth and stroked Arthur's cock.
Arthur made an embarrassing noise, mostly out of shock. “I-I don't understand what you're doing,” he said desperately, twisting his hips to try and angle them away from Jack. “W-What is this? What's going on?”
“My dear boy, I may be sparing you,” said Jack, taking Arthur's hip and holding him still, “But you can't ask me to give up all my vices. Such a dashing young man, all grown up. You don't expect me to look and not touch forever, do you?”
“W-what?”
“Lie back and relax,” and Jack kissed the corner of Arthur's mouth, “And let your dear old Uncle Jack take care of you.”
Arthur tried to protest, but Jack just kissed him, taking advantage of Arthur's open mouth to slip his tongue inside. Arthur made a little surprised gasp and Jack deepened the kiss further, kissing him hard again and again until Arthur was left panting. Jack nipped Arthur's kiss-swollen lip as he pulled away.
“You're such a pretty little thing,” murmured Jack, taking Arthur’s thigh in his hand and stroking his thumb along the inside. “Delicate. You don't look as if you could survive as a Downer.”
Arthur's cheeks burned. Jack was talking to him as if he were a girl. Jack spread Arthur's legs apart and came between them to kiss Arthur's thighs. Arthur squirmed, a tiny squeak escaping him, and Jack let out a long shuddering breath.
“Reactive,” he commented. “How many times have you been touched here before?”
“I-I haven't,” admitted Arthur. It didn't even occur to him to lie. “I've never… at least, I don't remember ever…”
“Oh, you're in for a treat,” said Jack with a smile, nuzzling against Arthur's cock. “I’m very good.”
And he took Arthur’s penis into his mouth. Arthur gasped, his hips shuddering in an attempt to get away. He stared down the length of his body in shock at the sight of Jack Worthing himself with Arthur's cock in his mouth. At least, for as long as he could before Jack did something with his tongue that made Arthur's head tilt back in a moan.
“Fuck,” he breathed. He'd never felt anything like this before. Jack's mouth was hot and wet and completely overwhelming. Jack sucked, hollowing out his cheeks, and Arthur whimpered, tears springing to his eyes. “Fuck,” he said again. “Stop. Please stop. This is too much.”
Jack hummed around Arthur's cock and Arthur made a startled moan. Jack pulled away with a pop and the cool air hit Arthur’s wet cock, making him shiver. “Don't be afraid, Arthur, dear. Perhaps it's scary at first, but if you can get past that, you'll find you'll start to enjoy it.”
“I don't want to enjoy it,” said Arthur. “I want to leave. Y-You said you weren't going to kill me. Please, just let me go.”
“You’re not going anywhere after this,” Jack said severely, and Arthur felt the bars of the cage closing in around him. “You think I'm letting you back out into that cold, evil world so you can get yourself bravely killed? No. I'm not going to be responsible for that. Not twice.”
“B-But I told you, I need to find Percy,” protested Arthur thickly. “He's out there, all alone, and it's my fault—”
“You’ve chased fantasies long enough. You'll stay here.” Jack's tone booked no argument. His eyes followed the long line of Arthur’s body, all the way up to his face. “But, well, I'm not getting nothing out of it,” he said with a cheeky smirk. Arthur wished he would take that fucking mask off. The false grin stayed in place even when his lips stretched around Arthur's cock again.
“Don't,” Arthur whimpered, his legs trying to close around Jack's head. “Please, please…”
His begging only seemed to encourage Jack. He seemed practiced at this, like he’d done it a lot of times. Arthur wondered exactly how many more secrets Wellington Wells’ picture-perfect uncle was hiding.
Then Jack sucked just right and Arthur's thoughts were scattered in every direction. Arthur was humiliatingly hard now, and it was getting increasingly difficult to think. Arthur’s mind usually raced with thoughts, but the sensations were so much, it was all Arthur could do to simply react. Jack’s tongue kept touching this spot, and startled, odd noises escaped Arthur, stars crowding his vision.
“J-Jack—please—” Arthur's voice wasn't working right. It sounded like someone else's voice was coming out of his mouth, someone whiny and mortifying. “Please, I-I don't— ah—I want—ahh—ngh, shit, please it's too—”
It all became too much and Arthur's hips bucked, his back arching. “Shit—” His mind went white as he came, no thoughts at all but a potent mixture of humiliation and pleasure. Arthur shuddered, breathing hard, and he returned to himself just in time to watch Jack’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
Jack pulled away with a grin. “Good boy,” he said, giving Arthur’s limp cock a fond kiss. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”
Arthur didn't respond. He looked up at Jack with wet eyes. Jack sighed and stroked his face. “Well, I could tell you enjoyed it.”
He straightened up and undid the button on his trousers. Arthur watched as if from outside of his body. Jack's hard cock sprang out and he took it in hand.
“I’ll just take care of myself,” he said, and let out a little huff of breath as he began to stroke himself. “You were so good, Arthur. You're something special.”
Arthur didn't understand what Jack was talking about. He hadn't done anything but lie there whimpering. He wasn't doing anything now, but Jack was stroking himself hard and fast, eyes fixed on Arthur with naked lust like Arthur was a pin-up girl on a poster. He began to pant. Arthur had heard Jack's voice a million, billion times. He'd never heard it sound like that.
“Fuck,” groaned Jack, and he certainly never said that on TV. He lay himself down on top of Arthur, so his cock was between them, and began to grind himself against him. He only got more forceful as he got going. Soon Arthur’s entire body was jerking along with every thrust.
When Jack moaned, Arthur could tell he was close. He pulled away with another loud moan and a split second later something warm and sticky and wet landed on Arthur. It took a second for his brain to catch up and register cum.
Arthur stared up at Jack, embarrassed. Jack stared back, eating Arthur up with his eyes.
Cum dripped down Arthur's bare chest. “You'll let me go now,” he said in a tiny voice.
Jack only kissed him. He tasted like Arthur’s cum. Arthur felt too boneless to really fight, and still too tired from orgasm to really think. He could do nothing to fight back.
“Chin up,” Jack said when he broke the kiss, chucking Arthur under his chin. The cum was starting to dry in Arthur's chest hair. “You can't tell me you've never once thought about your old Uncle Jack touching you just like this.”
Arthur wasn't going to answer that. “You can't keep me here.”
“It won't be difficult. Where else are you going to go?”
And he was right. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to pretend that things were different, that he was with someone who loved him, but Jack was so all-encompassing that even in his imagination Arthur could only picture him.
“I don't suppose it's supposed to make you this tired,” said Arthur.
Jack smoothed back his hair. “Rest. You're safe here.”
“Safe with a serial killer,” said Arthur, and Jack laughed.
“Safer than it is out there,” he replied. Arthur couldn't think of an argument, so he didn't say anything at all.