Chapter 118
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 117
Arthur barely remembers getting to bed. Just Darcy’s fur, feeling kind of at peace, and then voices and Quincy urging him to his feet, and towards his room, and feeling like he’d really rather stay cuddled up with Darcy, to feel with all senses that she’s back.
But that’s silly, of course, and he got himself to bed, goes through the motions of talking and washing and putting on pyjamas and all. It’s odd, because he can remember doing those things, but it’s almost like he’s watching himself do those things. Like he’s just a little disconnected from everything.
There’s a floating numbness in his chest, still, as he gets back up. He can’t remember any dreams. Shouldn’t he have had bad dreams, maybe?
He goes through the reverse motions in the morning, all so familiar. Everything about the castle is getting so familiar, he muses. Even though things have changed in a rather big way, haven’t they? What with meeting an actual, old and powerful vampire.
He knows this calm, floating feeling. It’s what happens after he’s had to deal with something truly scary. Like his emotions are lagging behind.
So, when he finds himself dropping his knife at breakfast, and looking at his own, trembling fingers in surprise, he thinks: “Oh. Here we go.”
He gets up, excuses himself, and walks out the door- can feel the trembling inside growing, and his feet turn towards the library on their own accord because it’s close and he can hide in it and fall apart where no one can see.
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‘Not so fast, I can smell that incoming meltdown a mile against the wind!’ Even while Quincy thinks it, he already gets out of his chair and uses his long legs to easily catch up with Arthur, slings his arm around his middle and smiles. “You shouldn’t be alone for this. Let me hold you, please. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
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Arthur blinks at Quincy in surprise- he didn’t hear him come up, and he thinks he should have. And also, that arm around him feels nice and warm and anchoring. Too nice and warm and anchoring, as it pulls him out of the last, dazed vestiges of calm and right down into his body, his body with the big, churning knot of emotion that’s sending trembles all through his limbs, and tears into his eyes, and that’s getting worse.
He sniffles, and tries to wipe at his eyes, but he’s starting to shake so much, and it’s really embarrassing. But also really nice for someone to be there. Is Quincy really not going to tell anyone?, he wonders.
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“Oh hush, hush, honey, no reason to feel embarrassed. Let your tears flow, they’ll chart a path back to feeling better for you.” Looking about, Quincy finds them a chair further in, gets Arthur settled in comfortably and kneels down in front of him to still be able to hug him around the middle. Men always have this idiotic thing about not wanting to seem less, and, well, he’s long learned that getting himself lower down than them helps with making them feel a bit less inhibited. Also, he finds the floor generally comfortable enough, so he doesn’t mind.
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Arthur vaguely appreciates the gesture of Quincy finding him a comfortable chair, but he feels exposed up there, even with Quincy in front of him- it’s in view of the door, and he doesn’t like it, so he scoots back down, to the floor with Quincy, and also where he can tuck his back behind the side of it, be hidden by upholstery.
It’s a nice thing for Quincy to say, very poetic, Quincy’s always that, but right now, Arthur’s tears just feel like a big, spiky, painful lump in his throat and in his chest that he can’t dislodge, even while he shakes and sobs, and it’s gross and messy and painful and he doesn’t like it. But there isn’t really anything he can do about it except tuck his head down and curl up against Quincy and wait for it to be over.
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That poor dear. Quincy asks the house to move one of the book shelves, it can surely do that, give Arthur some more privacy, (and really, if he hadn’t been so obviously running to the library, Quincy would have taken him to bed, no, not for that, for huddling him under the blanket so he can hide away.) As is, he uses his own size to cover over as much of Arthur as he can, hide him between the chair and himself and holds him tight, fingers brushing gently over his shoulders and hair as he hums to him.
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Arthur can’t remember anyone ever holding him like that through a break down. Well, Gregory did, when they were children, but he didn’t hum or rub Arthur’s shoulders, he was more freaking out with him or at him freaking out, didn’t know what to do.
Where is Gregory? Arthur doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know if he minds that it’s Quincy instead of his best friend here.
Is Gregory even still his best friend? He feels so far away… Ever since that day, he feels so far away. Arthur might’ve brought him back, but it didn’t put things back to the way they used to be, like he wanted.
What if doing this ritual also didn’t put things back the way they used to be? But, no, Darcy came to him, Darcy was there with him, she… she stopped being mad at him, right? He didn’t just imagine that? No, he can remember her fur and her head in his lap. She came for a cuddle, too. She’s still his friend. He really hopes she’s still his friend.
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“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. It’s perfectly fine to just sit and let yourself feel everything, but if you want to, I’m here for you to talk.” Doing this feels good, Quincy can take care of somebody else, he doesn’t have to focus on his own mind still circling around yesterday.
It was easy while he could just stare down at the bottles of blood, could avert his eyes from seeing Cycy being hurt, but the blood… Even as a dhampir, there was so much blood and she was sliced up and open and he couldn’t drown her voice out, that wet sound at her addressing Cobb.
And no, he doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t, he’s no good with violence, no good, no good. It’s like a taunt bouncing through his mind over and over again.
He flinched away from Cycy. It was Arthur who had to run after her.
It should have been him.
She took him into her dark wings and he couldn’t be there in the darkness for her. He feels like a coward and normally he doesn’t mind that, but he… felt useless and he hates that, so he keeps focusing on Arthur before his own discomfort mounts up into anything he can’t ignore.
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Talk? Arthur’s not even sure he can, but… but he still finds himself blurting out the question, wobbling and wet: “Am I a bad person?”
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It takes Quincy a tiny bit of effort not to snort, because frankly, he’s more used to that question coming from a naked guy in bed next to him after he finally gave in to that supposed sin of being with anything but a wife. Pfff, he has to say, Arthur has a bit more of a legitimate question there so he is honest. “I don’t believe you are either a good or a bad person. Good people do horrible things and bad people might be lovely to certain persons. Also, wouldn’t it rather be very convenient if you couldn’t change from one to the other? Absolves bad people from even trying, doesn’t it?”
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That’s… a much more complicated answer than Arthur expected, and it doesn’t stop him crying, but it makes his thoughts stop circling, it feels like, gives them a direction to flow in. “But… but I want to be a good person,” he says. “I want to be nice. But… but I hurt my friend, and I’d do it again.” He hiccups. “That’s awful, isn’t it? I couldn’t promise her that I’d never do it again…”
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Quincy knows full well that the answer that might be the most comforting would be to remind Arthur of his good intentions, but quite frankly, fuck good intentions. Good intentions to cleanse society of ‘evils’ like him loving men and the sin of being poor is what makes people throw stones at him and send people to the workhouse to be tortured. No, fuck good intentions with terrible outcomes paraded as virtue. He’s way too angry with the grey world to repeat that empty line, that excuse, so he asks instead. “What’s the outcome of you hurting your friend?”
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“…Her being free of the enthrallment? I hope?” He really, really hopes. Please let there be no side-effects, please let him not have screwed up.
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“There, that is a good outcome, a nice outcome. So that means you are doing something to follow your wish to be nice.” Leaning back a little bit, Quincy smiles at him. “You won’t ever just be good; you’ll have to keep at it. I’m sorry I can’t give you a comforting lie, I refuse to do that.”
Arthur shakes his head, scrubs a hand over his eyes- the talking is helping to calm down the crying. “I don’t want any comforting lies. I just… Just, how do I know I’m keeping on the right… path? I made a promise to myself and I broke it. How do I know when I’m just telling myself I’m doing something for the right reason, but it’s really just selfish?”
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Internally, Quincy swats at his immediate curiosity about that broken promise, he’s such a gossip whore, yes, yes, he’s aware, but no, Arthur asked for a genuine answer, so he thinks it over, because really, this is very philosophical and he’s a bit more on the drama side of things.
“I don’t think anybody who really is selfish worries so much about being selfish, but apart from that… Different people listen to different compasses to guide them. I follow my emotions, my father seems to have principles, many people think social rules are the most reliable. You have to decide for yourself, honey. Especially because there is far more than one path and I also don’t believe that your path is always going to go in only one direction. You might need to go in a few circles before you find which fork to even consider.”
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The last sentence makes Arthur chuckle between his sniffles, because… because he can just see himself turning in circles like a confused wolf or something sniffing for the right trail. Which isn’t a bad mental image. And yes, Quincy saying that worrying about being selfish means he’s probably not selfish is very reassuring, too. “Well, emotions are illogical and so are social rules. Also confusing…” He’s not so sure about principles. It sounds good in theory, but Mr Basarab’s seem a bit… inflexible? Or maybe that’s just because they have different priorities.
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Poking Arthur’s cheek with a fake stern scoff, Quincy winks. “Hey, judgemental much on what I trust? But there you go, your first response was to criticize them for being illogical, so maybe you need to have this conversation with Jack. He seems to be the kind for rational decisions over everything else.”
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“Um…” With the wink, Arthur’s rather sure Quincy is joking and that he doesn’t need to apologize. “Dr Seward is usually really sensible, yes,” he agrees. Though… he’s not sure he could just… talk to him about how to… he’s not even sure, how to live his life? Make important decisions? That’s… he feels weird considering talking about something like that with an adult.
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“And you told him that it wasn’t his fault when he made a mistake based on what at the time seemed sensible, didn’t you? So if he isn’t a bad person, how would you be?” Much as Quincy doesn’t mind the floor generally, he needs to change position or something is going to fall asleep soon, so he shifts but tries not to let go of Arthur any more than he has to, keeps smiling and really, this is helping. Yes, Arthur might be shy and adorable, but he’s not bad to talk to.
“Okay, that’s a good point,” Arthur concedes, leans away a bit so Quincy can shift position.
“That means you might need to re-examine the promise you made yourself. Decide if you need to make it again, change it, or that you’ve outgrown it. Just fretting over having broken it doesn’t make any of your decisions good.” There, better, and comfier to put his legs over Arthur’s lap, lean sideways into the chair, and leave his arms around his shoulders.
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Arthur looks down, at his knees, and, therefore, now Quincy’s legs across his. “I suppose,” he agrees. Has he outgrown it? He’s already decided that he won’t make it again, hasn’t he? Since he didn’t promise Darcy he wouldn’t do it again. But change it? To what? “I just…” He rubs his wrists. “I just don’t want to become like my father…”
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Ah, so that’s what this is about, and Quincy can’t help himself this time, the snort just happens and he leans his head against Arthur’s. “I know that feeling only too well, honey. Want to talk about them?”
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“Them?” Arthur asks, and… does he? Want to talk about it? Usually, he doesn’t, but Quincy is easy to talk to…
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“Our fathers… Well, I guess I sort of get to claim two troublesome ones now, yay me.” Rolling his eyes, Quincy snarks to make himself feel better before he realises that he isn’t sure if that’s somehow past the boundary with Arthur’s shyness. “Not how I ever wanted to call another older man ‘daddy’… uh, was that too far as a joke?”
“Um. I don’t quite get it and I have a feeling that’s for the best?” Arthur admits.
“It’s a term of endearment for an older molly who provides for and coddles his lover.” Leaning his head backwards against the chair and closing his eyes with a sigh, Quincy ends up shaking his head. “Not that I’ll ever be that lucky… or happy.”
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“Oh. Okay, that sounds… I guess like a nice lover to have?” Arthur tilts his head at Quincy, and yes, maybe he’s avoiding thinking about his father. “Um… why not?”
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Really? Really now, heart? You traitor! Quincy feels tears at the edges of his eyes. “Because my mother stole the only man I ever even had a crush on and if all that was is dhampir family attraction, then I’ll never manage to fall in love!” And there, now they’re spilling free and he feels like a hypocrite that he told Arthur earlier to let them go when he right now just wants to shriek through them and pretend he’s not caving in to all the emotional stress.
He’s looked after everybody, for days now, but he still, still can’t even look at Basarab without it hurting so bloody much. And all he has to maybe push against it is Cycy with that same idiotic family attraction, but she’s a woman and what else than a band-aid would it even be?
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“Er,” says Arthur, leans a bit more against Quincy. The way he’s sitting sideways to him and holding on to him, he can’t really wrap his own arms around him in return. “…I mean, I’ve never been in love?” he offers. “Just, I figured it’d be something that’d happen later, maybe? One day? We’re… I mean, we’re pretty young, right?” It seems a little early to declare it’ll never happen just because it hasn’t happened yet, right? And also not very diplomatic to point out that, well, technically, Quincy’s mother was there first, so it’s not really stealing as such…
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“I’m a few years older than you. I’m a legal adult, if I was noble like Cycy I’d be married already, too. Not that I could marry.” And Quincy is not at the point of admitting to anybody that he’s dreamed of it, that he has specific ideas about what he’d like to wear, or what he’d like his husband to wear and say and all those things you are never allowed to dream about if you aren’t a girl, and he bloody hates that. Just another thing society throws at him together with its stones and disdain.
“I’ve been with many men and nothing, no matter what I try, what they try, it never felt even close to Basarab and I want that romance that the world tells me I can’t have, but all evidence points to me being aromantic and I don’t want to be!”
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“…What’s ‘aromantic’?” Arthur asks. He’s never heard that word before.
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Right, of course the shy one has no clue at all about human… uh, he supposes in his case, dhampir sexuality and bonding. But what does it even matter? He can explain it, he can explain and care for most every bloody woe people can have there, but he can never solve his own issues.
“Some people are built differently. Up here.” Quincy gestures at his head. “Perfectly fine and good people, just, they bond differently. Kind of like, well, I only like men, and women leave me just… let’s call it, unimpressed. Some people don’t get impressed by anybody. And then some don’t fall in love. It’s different kinds of attraction and different people have it for different kinds of people. My, um, physical attraction is just fine, for guys at least, but I’m starting to think that my romantic attraction isn’t there.”
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“Oh,” Arthur says, tilts his head. “It doesn’t work the same for everyone?” That feels like a revelation. He should be focusing on Quincy being upset, but he’s a bit distracted by this notion.
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Seeing that expression Quincy throws himself on it with everything he has, if he can get his bloody heart off of himself, he might be able to stop being a crying mess.
“You know how they always go that… Well, they call it sodomy, thanks for making it seem as if we have one option only… Anyway, how that’s a vice that can befall anybody? Maybe for a fling or two, sure, but… I’ve never found a woman attractive. Not to me personally at least. I can tell when she is beautiful, but she just as well could be a painting to me. And I’ve heard from others at the molly houses who pretty much feel that way about everybody. Or everybody but the person they love. It’s complicated. People are complicated; that’s what makes them so wonderful.”
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“Oh,” Arthur says again, blinks. “Um, ’cause… I mean… I kind of don’t get why people are so obsessed with doing…” He waves a hand. “I mean, uh, the… physical being together thing? Like you say, with the looking at people and maybe thinking they look nice, but…” He shrugs. “But that’s it? You mean that’s something that happens to people? And it’s not just a… being-too-young thing?”
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“Oh! And there I thought you were just shy to a fault!” Yes, this is so much better! With these things he can be in control, no constant wondering which way the world is going to spin next and how the Divine is going to mock him. No, Quincy feels on safe ground, so he looks back fully at Arthur, smiles.
“And you know what, even if it’s right now because you’re young and it changes later, that’s okay, too. Nobody gets to decide that you can never be different from how you are right this moment. Remember from earlier? Just like you don’t just get to be either good or bad.”
Maybe he shouldn’t poke, but he so likes poking gently. Lifting up one of Arthur’s hands, he gently strokes his fingers over the scars. “So it’s okay to do things that you might regret as long as you keep trying.”
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“Uh.” Arthur twitches for a moment- he can’t remember anyone ever touching the scars, not on purpose. But Quincy’s hands are really gentle. “I… Thanks? I don’t even know whether I regret it… I mean, some of it I do…”
Like that poor cat. He’s so sorry for how he hurt the poor cat. But otherwise, there wouldn’t be Gregory, and… and wouldn’t Darcy be unhappy, then? If she couldn’t have met Gregory? And Quincy likes him, too… doesn’t he? They’re together, after all… But Quincy just said that he never really fell in love with anyone. So Arthur doesn’t know how that works, then.
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“It’s also okay to not regret it. Remember, outcomes, that’s the important part. Sometimes bad things lead to good things.” Okay, really, brain, did you just go that darkly sarcastic? Quincy thinks he’ll keep the thought of ‘well, an insane vampire murdering Harker means I get to stay at a castle now and my mother finally has the perfect husband who she actually loves, so all is well that ends well, right?’ to himself.
“I guess I wouldn’t have met Darcy,” Arthur allows, finds himself smiling a little. “And John. And you. Also not worrying about starving or freezing to death this winter is nice,” he admits.
“Tell me about it,” Quincy agrees with a shudder, then leans in and puts a kiss on Arthur’s forehead. “So there’s your reward kiss for well done, you learned and you stand by your consequences.”
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Arthur looks at Quincy in confusion, because… because has anyone ever done that? He can’t remember. And he has no idea what one does with a reward kiss to the forehead. “…Thank you?” he tries.
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That one couldn’t be more precious if he tried, aw, that look of utter confusion for a little bit of physical affection and affirmation. Ugh, be still, stray instincts, one at a time! But he knows just what might get both of them to feel a bit more themselves: him showing off and Arthur getting to take notes. “You are very welcome, honey. Now, what would you think of us finding out what this minstrel here can do?”
Arthur can actually feel himself perking up, sitting up straighter. “That sounds like fun!”
Quincy gives him a wide grin as he gets up and offers his hand to help him up, too. “Thought so, honey!”