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[specifications]

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[specifications]

[ He breathes out something like a laugh even if the amusement is fleeting, ]

You could find someone a lot better for you in that time, you know.

[ He's trying to see the dark humor in it yet the pain in his chest feels sharp and crushing at the thought. ]

[congenitally]

Arthur, shut up. You have a concussion.

[ There's an eyeroll and a ghost of a laugh in it; it's astonishment more than actual amusement. What a ridiculous idea. ]

I don't even want to know what you think "better" looks like. I'm perfectly capable of understanding what I want [ well, that sure is a slip ], and "better" is not it.

[specifications]

[ He gives an indignant noise at being told to shut up - though god knows he needs to be told that more than a few times - but he ends up laughing in a more genuine way at that last part. ]

That makes literally no sense. I'm starting to think you didn't go to Oxford at all.

[congenitally]

[ He is not dignifying that, Arthur. He knows what the fuck he's about. ]

Let me put it this way: I'm here with you. Not anywhere else. Not with anyone else. Not looking at anything else.

And while we're at it, "better" is relative to everyone and frankly quite the bullshit barometer.

[specifications]

[ And because he can't help himself (and also not a mindreader): ]

Why?

[congenitally]

[ He looks taken aback by the question for a moment, and indeed he'd never actually considered it, he'd simply let it happen. Even if he wonders--moreso now that he doesn't have the advantage he's used to--the same thing about himself sometimes. It's strange, to have that staring him back in the face. ]

Feelings aren't a zero-sum game. Or they shouldn't be, at least, and I'd like to think I'm not a complete asshole. I don't go into every relationship I have with people considering what it benefits or how I can use it.

[ Of course, he has done that with people; telepathy makes the latter too easy. But he wouldn't call those relationships, platonic or otherwise. ]

[specifications]

But I want to know why you want a relationship with me at all.

And that's not the concussion talking.

[ Which he knows he probably does have. ]

you're welcome, bitch

[congenitally]

[ Charles finally does place his hand on Arthur's. It's not a thing he often has a reason to put to words--for anyone--and he has so many thoughts that finding the right ones gives him pause. ]

Well--if you mean aside from your being capable, and resourceful and accommodating, and kinder than you want to apparently admit you are, or...attractive, which is not a thing I'm used to admitting aloud, mind--I suppose...

[ And here he takes another pause to inhale slowly. ]

I suppose it's...because all of these little things make up a man I admire but could not ever hope to be.

rude af

[specifications]

[ His vision blurs slowly as he listens, not realizing he's tearing him in the one eye he can open. He remains silent for a long time before turning his hand over under Charles', his fingers moving to grip the other. ]

No one should want to be me.

[ For as confident as he holds himself, he has had moments in his life where even he didn't want to be him. Not when everyone else seemed... so full of life and affection. Mal had been that way. And now Charles is sitting here listing off traits he rarely considers in himself. He's good at his job and that's all that's really mattered for the past few years. Everything else was arbitrary.

He swallows the lump in his throat and the wetness leaks out onto his cheek. He barely feels it. ]

[congenitally]

[ He holds Arthur's hand there for a moment, attentively letting the words settle and pass. ]

I think we all have moments of wanting to be someone else. No matter what we've done or what we're trying to achieve.

[ Even Charles had spent years struggling to come to terms with himself: his abilities, his tendency to use them, the loneliness and neglect. He imagines, based upon this reaction, that Arthur's childhood--life, maybe--looks even worse than this, and thus the pull to it must be stronger. But he thinks he understands. Little by little. ]

Regardless, when we're...like this. You--make me feel complete in a way I frankly don't know what to do with. You question, you make me think, you see the world in a way I've...never had to.

I don't have to want to be you to admire you, or empathize, or--. But to be with you? Yes. I very much still want that. Is that enough of a why?

[specifications]

[ Arthur continues to look at him as he says this, vision clearing and blurring again as he listens. It hurts. It makes his chest hurt and he isn't sure how to process it, let alone vocalize it. He's rarely had to -- or chose to before now.

Thus, he falls back on the one thing he knows he can do: to act.

He removes his hand from Charles' and moves it then to grab the front of his tunic and pull him in closer. Once he can manage it, he pushes himself up on one elbow and closes the distance by pressing his lips to the other man's. ]

[congenitally]

[ He doesn't manage to get out the expression of confusion, strangled as the noise is by lips pressing into his. His heart leaps into his throat in the same moment, and he's surprised, and warm, and confused, and thrilled all in the same, strained breath.

As he's learned to do with Arthur, he lets the moment come as it arrives; he doesn't know how long this is going to last, if it's going to last, or if it's going to come again. Here and now is all he cares about in the here and now. Charles presses into that contact once he regains his balance against the mattress, insistent and more than a little impatient. As he finally pulls away, he's breathless and gasping for air. ]

I'm taking that as a yes.

[specifications]

[ Arthur lays back on the bed after they part, licks at his lips and breathing a little heavier, ]

Yeah.

[ A part of him knows he'll probably regret agreeing to this, not knowing what the future holds. But he also knows more than that, that he'll never find someone like this again. Certainly not in his world. ]

[congenitally]

[ On the other hand, Charles doesn't care. He's happy Arthur seems happy. He, personally, is thrilled. Which is obvious in every way but his speech--or perhaps too in the sudden onset lack of it--from the way he breathes to the way he still doesn't pull away quite that far. He stays where he is, propped above Arthur there on the bed, doing his damnedest not to aggravate any injury (at least those he knows about). ]

Good. Then I'm not all that sorry I woke you up.

[ Hell, with a concussion, he probably needs the monitoring, lest he end up in the Clinic, with--not a thought for right now. ]

[specifications]

[ Arthur snorts at that and then winces from it, ]

Please. I knew you weren't. Just like I knew you were going to try to find whatever excuse you could to stay.

[ A beat, ]

But now you don't have to.

[congenitally]

Good. [ Said matter-of-factly, as if this were already an obvious conclusion. The smile is small but no less present, as he leans in to kiss him again. It's softer this time, shorter. Sweet. ] Because I was going to run out of excuses eventually.