Run and Go

Title: Run and Go

Rating: T+ (16+)

Summary: Arthur gets possessed again. Revelations are made in the aftermath.

Warnings: Lewis Pepper/Vivi/Arthur Kingsman, mention of possession, minor body-horror, self-blame, mention of anxiety/panic attacks, kissing, angst, hurt/comfort, shmoop, song-fic (I think? maybe? it's such a small part, does it still count?), happy ending

A/N: For the purposes of this AU, Arthur writes and composes the song Run and Go, by Twenty One Pilots. I thought it fit Arthur beautifully, and I do use the lyrics in-fic… However, I did try to make it fit, so that it’s not awkward to read. I, of course, recommend listening to it as you read this.
Also, assume that when he’s skeletal, Lewis still ‘sounds’ normal, except that his voice is in the head of the one(s) he’s speaking to… Unless he gets vocal, in which case, listen to this for reference (by tumblr user summer-of-the-shinx)

It was supposed to have been an easy case.

The staff of some prestigious boarding school had called the Mystery Skulls in, quietly, because they had noticed strange, threatening things. In the basement of library – where no one but the janitorial staff was supposed to go – there had been… accidents.

At first, it had just been floating objects, the sounds of muffled fighting or crying, and abnormal cold spots. But it had mutated. Things left alone for a few minutes would be found broken, shattered, absolutely torn apart. Glass cracked without warning. Furrows, like claws, appeared in the stone walls, deep and jagged.

The Mystery Skulls had been called when the radiator began to bleed, because it had also heralded one of the men having his arm broken. They didn’t want anyone to be hurt worse, so they’d vacated the area until the ghost hunting group could show up, a few days after the call. Vivi figured it was probably a vengeful spirit that they would need to exorcize, and Lewis – uniquely entitled to handle ghosts, being one himself – agreed.

That was when Arthur had gotten nervous.

The research they’d done of the area before-hand had yielded what was probably the issue: a few decades ago, an entire group of boys had been found dead down there, surrounded by candles and smeared paint. So Lewis, Vivi, Arthur, and Mystery went down there ready and willing to try and talk the spirit (spirits?) down, but armed for the apocalypse anyway. Almost instantly, Lewis had gotten uneasy. Halfway down the steps, Mystery had snarled and, without warning, slipped into his larger, multi-tailed form.

Tense as strung wire, they’d investigated the room. What they found was horrific. Black lights, ghost residue, and the lingering traces of old magic built the picture for them: a dark cult had sacrificed one of its own in an attempt to summon a demon, years before. The sacrifice had thought he would die, not that the in-coming demon would eat his soul as an offering, and had struggled; the spell had been built and cast wrong, lines uneven and runes badly written, even before things started going downhill; the hole that the demon had tried to climb through was too small, tearing and warping reality when it tried to cross; the spell had trapped all the participants in their given positions… On and on the list went, all the earmarks of an inexperienced cult trying something too far out of its reach, with macabre undertones.

Then the thing showed its face, and Arthur left ‘nervous’ behind, entirely.

All of the members had died that night. That small wisp of demon had still managed to consume the sacrificial soul, giving it just enough power to move around. Over the last few decades, it had used that time and power to combine all of the trapped souls into itself. It was a spirit, yes, but also a demon. Just like the one in the Cave.

Just like the one that had possessed Arthur, and killed Lewis. Just like the one that Mystery had been forced to tear Arthur’s arm off to remove. Just like the one that had so warped Lewis’ perceptions that he’d tried to kill Arthur upon meeting again, thinking the blonde to be his willing murderer. Just like the one that had ruined Arthur’s natural defenses against possession, when it had hooked into him.

‘Blind terror’ was a more fitting a feeling for Arthur… And then nothing, as it seeped beneath his skin.

Lewis’s wide eyes were dark as spilled ink, spots of shining violet bright, vicious sparks in that night. He looked even more frightening than when he’d still believed Arthur was his killer.

-RaG-

Arthur woke with a choked off scream, fighting to free himself of the heavy comforters. It was hard to do with one arm, and for a brief moment, he thought that he couldn’t feel it because he was still possessed. It was so cold.

His stomach rolled in terror before he caught sight of the scarred, old stump below his shoulder, the clean silver of the empty port drawing his gaze. He glanced up. He was in his room, in the mansion; it was always a bit cold in the mansion. Lewis couldn’t help it.

There was a fresh, white bandage on his side, a little large for peace-of-mind (had they truly had to fight against him? This body…?! Where were they; what had he done?!). His skin was littered with smaller injuries, too, and now he could recognize the faint haze of strong painkillers floating behind his eyes. He shook his head fiercely, trying to dispel the ebb and flow of panic before it got to be too much to handle.

… He couldn’t remember anything beyond walking down the boarding school’s basement steps.

The last time something like this had happened, he’d woken up to the news that his best friend was dead, and his other best friend couldn’t even remember pulling up to the Cave, let alone what had happened in it. Oh, and their dog turned out to be a six-tailed kitsune in disguise.

He had to find the others. He had to make sure they were okay.

Arthur stumbled out of bed… only to nearly brain himself on the floor, as his sense of balance – skewed by the drugs – further protested the lack of weight on his left side. Fingers fumbling with anxious, hurried movements, he snatched the prosthetic arm off of the nightstand table where it’d been left. He’d been wearing the damned thing for months, removed it every night before bed! It shouldn’t be this hard to put back on! It just—

He gagged on another scream, as the artificial nerves in the metal arm connected to the living nerves in his stump with a snap and wash of pain. He only managed because he’d been expecting it.

Leaving the familiar comfort of his room stole his breath from his lungs. Every creak and moan of the conjured home sounded ominous and foreboding: what if he had killed Vivi this time, and Lewis was angry again, but clear-headed enough this time to draw it out? Was that thing still inside of him, brushing up against his thoughts, as Mystery stalked him in the shadows, ready to tear into his flesh again? Arthur took great pains to breathe evenly, deeply, and silently, while deliberately placing his feet to make as little sound as possible.

Not that it would do much, when ghosts (according to an uncomfortable conversation with Lewis, once) could practically taste the approach of Arthur’s tattered, wide-open soul, but… Well, it made him feel more in control. Illusions being what they were, he would gladly take that little comfort.

His precautions meant that, when he finally found the trio, they didn’t notice him. They’d grouped in the sitting room, with a roaring fire in the grate, and the Deadbeats faint humming a soothing background noise. Mystery lay half-sprawled over Vivi’s lap, his back right leg and part of his hip bundled in bandages, and one amber lens of his glasses cracked. He was half-asleep, though every once in a while his ears would flicker back, and he’d whine in distress. Vivi was curled up on the couch and tucked protectively under one of Lewis’s giant arms. Her own face was creased with concern, and she murmured quietly to Lewis even as her fingers danced calmly over Mystery’s fur. Lewis wore his human shape, so it was easy to see the worry and guilt in his face, as well, though it would have been clear enough with how his hair kept agitatedly shifting between illusion and flame.

“—can’t handle it, if he wakes up scared of me again, Vi! H-he just kept—kept screaming!” Lewis gasped, voice passionate, but low, for Mystery’s sake.

Vivi leaned a little bit more into Lewis’ broad chest, and sighed, just as quietly, “I know, Lewlew. I know. It—It’ll be okay. We’ll show him we’re safe, none of us were hurt too bad this time; we’ll work it out. Somehow.”

“I hate this, Vivi!” Lewis snarled, sorrow and rage borne of helplessness, tears streaking his face. “Why did it have to be another, goddamned demonic spirit?! He only just stopped flinching if I touched him…!”

Mismatched gold-and-green eyes wide, Arthur quickly backpedaled. He was elated beyond belief that everyone was alive (for a value of ‘alive’, at any rate), but… This was a conversation that he did not want to show up in the middle of, not still faintly disoriented and buzzed on painkillers! He knew he had problems, and fears. He also knew that – especially when he was hurt, and alone – he had a tendency to flash back to his worst moments. It hurt that his unconscious reactions had, in turn, hurt Lewis so much.

It would have made everything easier if he’d woken up and they were there. He resolved to tell them that, once he had the courage to go back into that room and face that wall of emotion.

For now, though… He wasn’t going back to sleep, that was for sure. His fingers itched with the need to do something, but he also knew (thanks to experience, and a morning when the joint of his false elbow had been put back in backwards) working with his machines while on painkillers was also not an option. Briefly, he considered drawing, and nodded. That seemed like an acceptable activity.

However, fifteen minutes of turning his room upside down yielded no results. He had no idea where his sketchbook could have gone! It wasn’t like he was prone to misplacing things; Vivi was the material tornado of their group.

A cool tingle one his right shoulder, and a faint musical coo, caught his attention, and he turned. A Deadbeat – one of the tinier ones, with a distinctively sharp zig-zag pattern to it’s tail – had settled there. He smiled warmly at it, pleased that not everyone in the mansion was currently high-strung. It purred when he held out a hand for it to nuzzle.

“What’s up, Beatling?”

Upon hearing it’s name, it’s little yellow heart fluttered and swelled in delight as it chirped and crooned. He chuckled at the enthusiasm, and pressed, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my sketchbook anywhere, have you? I’m… bored, but I can’t find it.”

It took flight, circling his head excitedly, before lighting on his metal wrist and gently tugging him forward. He went, used to indulging this particular spirit. He’d started naming them all as he started to recognize them, but this one had been one of the first, as it had taken a shine to him.

Whenever he was in the mansion, or it was called by Lewis to come with them on a trip, Beatling seemed to hover by Arthur the most. Upon meeting him (after the initial debacle, of course) it had immediately begun to investigate him, holding none of the reservations its fellows seemed to have about him, from sensing Lewis’ own hesitation. It could often be found in his workshop, watching him put things together, and helping Galaham to hand him tools and pieces.

Eventually, Beatling led him to a familiar room, and Arthur found himself curious. It was, for all intents and purposes, a music room. Lewis had included it when he’d redesigned the mansion for all of them to live in, knowing how much all of them enjoyed music. That said, whenever he got the urge, Arthur usually just played on his trusty keytar – which he kept in his room. There was no reason for his sketchbook to be in this room, especially because he’d never actually used it before.

“Beatling, what…?” he started, even as the pink spirit led him straight to the piano in the middle of the room. It chirped cheerfully, and swooped around to gently head butt the space between his shoulder blades. He laughed softly, and sat, before craning his head to catch it’s eye. “This is not my sketchbook, you. Why are we here?”

It darted forward to press down an ivory key, before leaping back. It looked at him expectantly, and – when it’s excitement could no longer be contained – began to describe wild loops and twists in the air, cooing and sighing in musical scale. He snorted, the Deadbeat’s pure joy so much like a toddler’s uncomplicated emotion that it was infectious. It snapped forward and plunked on another key, vibrating eagerly in the air and holding out that same note.

“Alright, alright; give me a beat, then,” Arthur conceded, twisting to sit properly on the bench, fingers curling automatically in a loose hold his muscles still recalled. It had been a long time since he’d played the piano.

Beatling was too excited that Arthur was actually going to do something musical, though, and instead of a beat, it gave him a whole musical string, simple and repetitive, the same three notes dancing together: do do, do do, do do-do do. Do do, do do, do do-do do.

Playfully, he parroted the notes back at the Deadbeat, his voice an octave lower. It burbled, and repeated the sequence again. Carefully, he found the corresponding piano keys. When he shifted the tone half a step up, Beatling giggled in cascading chimes. Together, they messed around, singing and playing the same three notes, occasionally shifting to different tempos and rhythms, before returning to the original. One by one, other Deadbeats floated in, drawn to the music as moths drawn to flame, adding their own voices.

Eventually, all of the excitement broke the tune up into a line of singular, throbbing beats, before everyone petered out. Chimes in various tones sounded out around Arthur, and he ducked his face, staring at the black and white keys, grinning indulgently. At least he could make some beings in this house happy, without first causing them grief.

When a higher-voiced Deadbeat began to chime softly, a slower plod than they’d taken up as the rhythm of their ‘song’, Arthur was still lamenting. It caught him up, and before he knew it, his fingers were finding keys, and words were spilling out of his mouth.

“Cold nights, un-der, siege from ac-cu-sa-tion… Cere-bral, thun-der, and one-way con-ver-sa-tions…!”

Nightmares at least weekly. Visions of possession – hell, recent events accounting: even actual possession – brought with a chill he couldn’t shake. The knowledge that he was, at least in part, responsible for Lewis’ death, because it had been his loneliness, his negative emotions, which had made an opening for the demon – in both cases. Fighting, ‘til his brain pounded with the effort, in his own head, round and round in circles about could-have’s and should-have’s and never-will-be’s.

Behind him, the Deadbeats, sensing his sudden melancholy, began a haunting chorus of moaning sighs. Arthur took their cue, and drew the sound higher and higher, until it, too, trailed off. As much as it hurt to relieve these feelings… it had felt good to express them, too. And he was no stranger to this form of stress relief; he’d been singing and composing songs (that no one heard) since he was a kid.

Perhaps…? Would the Deadbeats mind a little more melancholy? He glanced carefully at Beatling, who had taken it’s place on his shoulder when others began appearing, and winced. The tiny curl atop it’s head was drooping, and it’s yellow heart was beating a slow, worried dirge.

Turning his attention back to the keys, he flexed his fingers experimentally. The room remained quiet, waiting to see what he would do. On the one hand, that was why he had wanted his sketchbook – he wanted something to do, an outlet for the tumult of emotions inside him. But on the other, the Deadbeats had come looking for fun, while their master was cuddling gloomily with his girlfriend.

Mind made up, Arthur chose a deep note, and began pressing it, providing a tempo. Slowly, the Deadbeats picked it up, curious. He would sing what he meant, yes… But he would play a tune for them. Not like there’d never been depressing lyrics to cheerful songs before, anyway.

“I can’t take them on my own, my own. Oh, I’m not the one you know, you know.”

He struggled to find words that would fit the tune, and also his fears, repeating himself, but it felt right. Without his friends, he’d be nothing… Even with them, there were things he kept hidden.

“I have killed a man and all I know: Is I am on the run and go.”

Even seeing it every day, in a hollow-eyed skull and an exposed heart as large as his hand, Arthur avoided the fact that Lewis was dead because of him with a religious sort of intensity. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his friends worse with the reminder… The last thing he wanted to do was drive them away again.

“Don’t wanna call you in the nighttime. Don’t wanna give you all my pieces. Don’t wanna hand you all my troubles.”

It had hurt when he was the third wheel of a pairing. He had missed them, and (though he’d never say it) had loved them both all the more fiercely for their ‘absence’. He wasn’t supposed to love more than one person – not an already established couple, and certainly not his best friends! It was wrong (wasn’t it?)! It would tear them apart just as it was tearing him.

“Don’t wanna give you all my demons.”

No. Last time he’d done that, one of them had died. Just no.

“You’ll have to watch me struggle, from several rooms away.”

Tonight hadn’t been the first of its kind, Arthur was painfully sure, even if he wasn’t actively aware of them. He knew Lewis and Vivi cared about him, and worried about him, and fussed over him – how could he not? He just… There was only so much of the same thing, over and over and over, that someone could take. He feared…

“But tonight I need you to stay.”

He feared the day they decided they couldn’t handle him and his mess, anymore. Even if they couldn’t – even if he wouldn’t dare ask it of them – love him, he prayed they wouldn’t stop being his friends.

Without meaning to, when Beatling – it’s voice tinged with a concern, conveyed somehow without fracturing it’s song – turned the song into their first playful rendition, Arthur followed along. It drew some of the poison off of the wound, some of the sting out of the room, and he sighed, relieved. This was why he sang.

“I am up against the wall, the wall: For I hear them coming down the hall.”

Every time they went on an investigation, he twitched at every shadow and jumped at every sound. That demon had left more of it’s mark on him than a missing arm, a mis-colored eye, and a dead friend. It had left a guilt-complex the size of Texas and a wrecked fight-or-flight response.

“I have killed a man and all I know: Is I am on the run and go.”

This most recent possession had done none of them any favors, as far as Arthur was concerned.

“Don’t wanna call you in the nighttime. Don’t wanna give you all my pieces. Don’t wanna hand you all my troubles. Don’t wanna give you all my demons.”

Really, it had torn him wide-open, again. Thankfully, this time he didn’t have to adjust to life with another missing limb… But he’d probably be all kinds of a wreck for a while. Nightmares galore, and all that; not like Vivi and Lewis weren’t already worried enough, right?

“You’ll have to watch me struggle, from several rooms away. But tonight I need you to stay.”

He would do what he could not to burden them further. And he would pray.

Following the flow that Beatling had set earlier, he slid easily into the refrain. The (strangely warm) pulses of the Deadbeats at his back powered the cheerful noise, and it was like alcohol in a wound: painful, but in a healing way. The noise started to trail off again, but Arthur wasn’t done; the song wasn’t done.

The pause was tiny, but deliberate. The Deadbeats were good – even without prompting, they seemed to know where he was going, pulling out the higher notes almost before began playing.

“Cold night under siege from accusations. Cerebral thunder in one-way conversations.”

It wasn’t about Vivi and Lewis. Oh no, it was about how messed up Arthur was.

“Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh.”

Arthur flinched, because it was also about the Deadbeats, and Mystery. It was about Lewis living without a heartbeat in his chest, and Vivi waking up with her own nightmares and plagued on occasion by migraines that had only started after the Cave. It was about a kitsune who had willing bound himself to their group, and whose guilt was strong enough to pierce even the wordless state of his smaller dog-form, because he’d failed to save one of them and had to mutilate another. It was the Deadbeats, creatures of simple life and mind who loved Lewis and – first through him, then on their own – Arthur and Vivi, and who merely sought companionship, a singing partner, or a new way to make their humans smile.

“Don’t wanna call you in the nighttime. Don’t wanna give you all my pieces. Don’t wanna hand you all my troubles. Don’t wanna give you all my demons. You’ll have to watch me struggle, from several rooms away. But tonight I need you to stay.”

Arthur knew it wasn’t just him who was affected. But that didn’t stop him wishing, sometimes (most times), that he was.

He ramped up the song, playing harder and louder, fighting to pop the last of this (temporary, always temporary) bad mood. He poured himself into the words, meaning all six of them.

“Tonight I need you to stay.”

God, he loved them. His voice began to crack, so he sang louder, nearly shouting.

“Tonight I need you to stay.”

He wished they didn’t have to hurt – on their own, or for him.

“Tonight I need you to stay.”

In fact, there were only three other words he’d like to say to Lewis and Vivi more, besides these. He didn’t have the courage for the ones coming out of his mouth now, though, so he really doubted they’d ever hear the others (even if he was able to couch it in friends-only terms, should he be ever more a coward).

“Tonight I need you to stay!”

His fingers rounded out the end of the song, and the Deadbeats followed his cue. For a brief moment, everything in the room was still. Then all the weight fell from Arthur’s shoulders, and he sagged in his seat with a huff of breath.

A warm wetness on the back of his hand made his gasp, twitching backwards before he got a good look at it: a drop of water. Idly, already knowing what he’d find, he brought his fingers to his cheek.

Yup, he was crying.

However, his mildly-bitter, half-amused chuckle was interrupted by a large pair of arms, cloaked in living-illusion, wrapping – slowly, cautiously – around his shoulders from behind. He went rigid in shock, before melting against a familiar barrel chest, the form half-warmth and half-electric buzz against his skin.

“Oh, Arthur,” Lewis’ deep voice sounded like a base line in his ear, mournful and aching. It hitched there, and Arthur was ashamed to feel dry static-warmth creep down the side of his neck where Lewis had buried his face. It was one thing to make himself cry; it was another entirely to make someone else cry (even if the tears weren’t made of water, but flame, it was the same principle).

A heavy head dropped onto his feet, pressing down on the piano’s pedals. Mystery looked up at him from his familiar place at their feet. His eyes were wide, worried embers in his pale face, and he snuffled carefully with a wet, black nose at Arthur’s ankles. His ears were laid against his skull, tail tucked between his legs, and the ruff of fur at his cheeks had a distinctly somber downturn.

Hands only slightly smaller than his own caught his flesh limb up, a thumb smoothing small circles over his skin. He wasn’t really surprised to see Vivi there, or to see tears shimmering in her eyes, either.

“We will always,” and here she paused, catching his eye meaningfully, “always be here if you need us, Arthur. You only have to ask.”

He could think of only one response to that. “…H-how much did you hear, exactly?”

“From ‘I can’t take them on my own’,” Lewis responded. “I could sense the Deadbeats getting excited; I wanted to make sure they hadn’t gotten up to mischief.”

“I—I’m sorry; I ne-never wanted to burden you with… all that. I’m j-just being stu-upid!” Arthur stuttered, wincing, and verbally backpedalling as far as he could. This was what he had been trying to avoid! Now they were going to know just how much of a mess he really was. They were well within their rights to leave him, because he’d been careless and (let It in) let them hear.

From behind, the warmth dimmed just a hair and the static turned up a notch. A glance down confirmed that Lewis’ hands were dark, bone-crowned things, so it didn’t startle Arthur when Lewis’ voice was suddenly in his head instead of in his ears. It was one of the quirks Lewis had taken on since dying: when he wanted to be serious, he reverted to ghost-form. Arthur struggled to pay attention.

//You are not, nor could you ever be, a burden, Arthur Kingsman. Do you understand? We take care of our own, and you are part of that.// Bony fingers gently curled around the front of his shoulders, drawing him even tighter against Lewis’ chest. Lewis’ heart slipped between Arthur’s side and arm, beating firmly against the skin of his chest and pulsing in mingling shades of orange-blue-purple.

Arthur found himself mesmerized by it, and brought trembling, flesh fingers up to touch it, as though in a dream. Behind him, Lewis shuddered, and let loose a sigh like crackling flames, the echoes of the void clinging to every sound. Vivi’s voice – aimed at Lewis though it was – distracted Arthur.

“We should tell him, Lewlew. We were planning on it, but then the… everything… got in the way. Then you came back, but you had to learn to redirect your anger. Then we were waiting for the group’s rhythm to return. Then we were waiting for Arthur to seem comfortable… We’re always going to be waiting for the right time, at this rate, and it’s not fair to Arthur.”

//You’re right, cariña, as always. And I’ve been the main reason we keep stopping. For that,// he pulled away, just enough to catch Arthur’s chin and meet his eyes, //I am sincerely sorry, Arthur. I’ve hurt you.//

Concerned and not a little worried, now, Arthur edged further out of Lewis’ grasp, so that he could take in both of his friends at once. He didn’t miss the way that Lewis curled a little bit in on himself at the apparent rejection, though. Wide-eyed and earnest, he caught Lewis’ closest hand with his own, and snagged Vivi’s in the same way.

“I’m not running away,” he insisted immediately, and watched the tiny licks of flame settle more firmly into pompadour-shape. “I just—I don’t know what’s going on. You two are scaring me.”

Vivi squeezed his prosthetic, and Arthur was glad it had pressure sensors, however rudimentary; his attention leapt to the bluenette. She eyed him sternly over the rims of her rose-shaded glasses, and sighed.

“We’ve been together, Lewis and I, since before… Well, before. And we both love each other. But…”

//But we realized that we both also love you, Arthur. Vivi and I make a great pair; there’s no ignoring that. But we are – and have always been – better together when we have you to balance us out. You remind me that I’m not the only one: the only one defending myself, the only one chasing after dangerous things, the only one who needs to help others, the only one whose heart aches to see either of you hurt.//

Arthur stared at the solemn skull wreathed in purple flames, hardly daring to believe his own ears.

“You make me see more than just what’s in front of me. That it’s not just the scary house that might be haunted, but the ‘normal’ things, too; that one ghost-sighting doesn’t mean there can’t be more at our backs, waiting; that the words ‘I’m fine’ don’t always mean that at face-value; that a day or two of rest, that doing something enjoyable outside of the Mystery Skulls, is worthwhile and rejuvenating.”

Tears were gathering in his eyes again, and he fought them back with a half-hearted sniffle. They had been good for him, too. “You both keep me grounded, you know. Otherwise, I would be too anxious to do anything, after everything that’s happened, except maybe be a mechanic for Uncle Lance. You are the incredible ones. Not me.”

Lewis grumbled under his breath, the same faint echoes that clung like spider-silk to every spoken word hissing and crackling in Arthur’s ears. He lifted a hand and gently placed a finger over Arthur’s mouth. //It’s our turn, now. Hush. I love to watch you work. You get so intense, so focused. It’s one of the few times you’re confident in what we do, and it’s wonderful to see. I love to see you interact with my sisters – you were always there for them, even when I was still alive; you just care about people. I love listening to your corny jokes, and watching you wrap like an octopus around Vivi, or Mystery, or even me, in your sleep.//

Arthur wondered, dimly, if one could spontaneous combust because of too much affection. If that was a thing, it was certainly about to happen to him.

“I love how when you laugh hard enough, it’s soundless. I love the little sticky notes you leave around, with those little doddles, when you feel like it… or see that it’s needed. I love the way that you see everything around you as a puzzle that – given the right tools – can be solved. I love the passion you have for machinery that rivals my own for ghosts, and Lew’s for cooking.”

Every once in a while, Lewis or Vivi would glance at each other, smiling softly. Mostly, though, they both focused on a steadily-heating Arthur. He felt his face heat, the blush turning him bright red, traveling down his throat and passed his collar. He couldn’t allow himself to think that this was, maybe, what it sounded like. They were just being… friendly, that was all.

That was all! He looked down, defensively.

Right? (If it was anything else… He didn’t know how his heart would handle rejection.)

Lewis saw it first, and scoffed lightly, with a human voice this time. The hand that entered his vision was cloaked in skin, and it cupped his cheek lightly, instead of gripping his chin.

“L-Lewis?!” Arthur squeaked, voice cracking like he was a teenager again. The neon ring of purple suspended in the blackness of Lewis’ eyes were thinner than usual, and much brighter. More focused.

“Arthur,” he mimicked, voice thready and nervous.

Arthur swallowed thickly, nearly choking on his own answering, wavering, “Yes?”

“What I’m trying to say is: will you be my boyfriend, Arthur Kingsman?”

The purple-haired man was so close. Arthur held his breath, and knew irony when he felt Lewis’ own, unneeded, gasps gust over his skin. He opened his mouth… And nothing came out. At a loss, he nodded, unable to avoid Lewis’ piercing gaze.

A warm mouth, lacking wetness and made mostly of static and pressure, met his – like his eyes, one of the few things a human form couldn’t match for living, Arthur supposed. No need for saliva glands. Fingers drew a buzzing trail on his skin as they slid from his cheek, to cradle the back of his head. When Lewis began to pull away, Arthur leaned forward, reclaiming his mouth with a faint whine. He felt Lewis smile before a wash of cool air spilled over his face, when the ghost pulled away.

The human-illusion faded again, and those same glowing, purple eyes flickered, joyfully, to the side. Arthur followed his gaze, confused, and remembered Vivi with shocking clarity. His blush returned full-force, first in embarrassment, and then in response to the absolutely filthy grin that adorned her face.

“So, Artie: what’cha say? Can I be your girlfriend?” she purred, eyes half-lidded.

As she spoke, she sauntered closer, until her lips brushed his with every word. Automatically, his hand found her waist, while she lazily draped her arms around his neck. Again, struck dumb by their tag-team efforts, Arthur nodded. Vivi leaned in.

Her lips were hot, in comparison, and so wet – tainted, too, with the artificial-bright sweetness of strawberry lip gloss. Unlike Lewis, who’d taken Arthur’s shock into consideration, Vivi was honestly herself: she plundered. She sucked on his bottom lip until he gasped, and her tongue stole, quick and talented, into his mouth, tasting him from the inside out. He was making noises – he knew he was, and couldn’t control it – and the only reason he stayed on his feet was because of his grip on Vivi’s hips, and her fingers tangled in his hair. She let him go slow and smooth, breaking away in gasps and sighs until he could reasonably stand on his own.

He stepped back, trying to get a little distance so he could think. He took in Lewis – undeniably dead, but still here (and that would be something else they would have to talk about), and so quietly elated, happier than Arthur had seen him since the Cave – and Vivi – a shivering ball of delighted energy, grinning from ear to ear, and so very pleased – and a knot deep in his chest disappeared without fanfare.

“I love you, both of you,” he announced, firm and resolute. He hadn’t felt this confident in… geeze, days? He grinned in relief as they both froze, shocked. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who’d been thrown off by this… this indescribable thing they had all grown between them. “I have for years. I love the way you sing in the shower, Vivi; and the way you attract kittens like a magnet, Lew. I love the way your passion for ghost hunting make you shine, Vi; and the way making the perfect meal brings an indescribable peace to you, Lew. I love how Vivi’s hand fits in mine, and how Lewis can cover me like a blanket. I just… I-I saw you two together, and figured you were better off than w-with a mess l-like me.”

That seemed to shake both Lewis and Vivi free of their stupor; it was with his face buried in Lewis’ shoulder, and his fingers tangled in Vivi’s scarf, that he muttered, “’M glad you—I’m glad I was wrong.”

With her tiny chin digging into his shoulder with every word she spoke, Vivi staunchly declared, “Damn right, you were! Without you, I’d be off chasing, well: chasing ghosts, all alone, and Lewis probably wouldn’t have even left Pepper Paradiso, let alone the town! You are our lynchpin, and don’t you forget it! I love you, too.”

Above him (all around him) Lewis hummed in agreement, //That’s right. You are what allows us to keep going, and keep doing what we do, mi rey. You are our heart and our soul. Without you, we would be lost, no doubt.// His voice, deep and honest, echoing in stuff that was the space between the stars, insisted, “I love you, too.”

A cold nose nudged his thigh, and Arthur blinked and looked down. Mystery had finally deigned to come out from beneath the piano, and now his ears – instead of pressed back with concerned – were pricked up in cautious hope. The very tip of his tail wagged faintly, and Arthur huffed out a laugh, dropping his hand down to stroke pale fur. No sooner had he done this, than the Deadbeats swarmed, boneless aerial acrobats with neon-purple glows. Beatling settled once more on his shoulder (the one not still occupied by Vivi) and cooed happily into his ear. He laughed again, warmth bubbling up in his chest.

Comfortably, Arthur melted into the embrace of his family. There would still be bad days (and nights). They all still had many more issues to work out. But they had also come together, and together they could conquer anything.