Chapter Text
John Doe was pretty sure he was about to die. His heart was beating so hard it hurt, a stabbing, pulsing, twisting against the fresh, tender muscles in his chest. His lungs burned, his joints hurt to move and hurt even more to hold still. His head spun and his hands shook so hard he was sure they were soon to fall off. He was quite certain he was going to die.
That, of course, did nothing to stop the trembling, agonizing, downright gleeful smile from spreading across his face as he steadily gathered his faculties enough to realize that it was his body that hurt. His body, his very own body!
His bare skin pressed uncomfortably against the cold concrete floor, doing nothing to dull the overwhelming ache threatening to tear him apart from the inside out. He should’ve asked Arthur to bring him a blanket.
“Arthur,” John gasped out, his voice shaking and cracking but distinctly his voice, distinctly projecting out into the world, audible to anyone that might be nearby. “Arthur?”
John heard a low groan bleeding into a breathy whimper beside him and he turned his head. Arthur lay on the floor a few feet to his right, his eyes slowly opening. He looked about as awful as John felt, his face pale and sweat-stricken, his hands trembling violently, but as John slowly reached out with an unsteady hand to touch Arthur’s face, he watched Arthur’s lips split into a smile, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Arthur,” John breathed again, taking his face in his hands. Arthur’s eyes had turned a pale greyish-yellow, unlike the deep brown speckled with small flecks of gold John had gotten used to seeing in the mirror. Arthur’s body shook as a sob racked him, tears flowing freely from his pale eyes as he reached out for John in turn, his hand finding his brand-new face.
“John,” he choked out. “Is it- is it really-?”
“Yes, Arthur,” John said, his own eyes suddenly feeling hot. “I’m- I’m here.”
“John,” Arthur whispered, his hands tracing John’s face, running lines along his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, gently swiping over his eyes, carding through his hair, running down his chest. “Oh, John.”
“Arthur.” John held Arthur’s face in his hands, Arthur’s hot tears falling into his palms. John thought for a moment to keep them, treasure them, and wear them around his neck like diamonds for the rest of his life.
“Can- can you move?” Arthur asked. “It- Christ-”
“Not… not really.”
“Okay,” Arthur breathed, panting heavily with each spoken word. “Is there any blood?”
“No. You… still can’t see, can you?”
Arthur frowned. “No.”
John ran his hand along Arthur’s jaw, carefully cupping his face as he had so many times with the one hand he’d been previously allotted. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled weakly. “Oh, John, I don’t even care. This is- this is already so much better than anything I ever hoped for, I-”
He cut himself off with a shuddering sob. John reached out with what little strength he could gather and pulled Arthur’s weak, trembling body into his own. He wrapped his arms around him, finding his own body to be much larger than Arthur’s. He could easily smother his friend’s entire being in his arms.
“I know,” John whispered, his own tears falling heavily onto Arthur’s head, bleeding together with his sweat. “We did it, Arthur. We fucking did it.”
Arthur’s body shook in John’s arm as he began to laugh, weary and exhausted and giddy, the sound caught somewhere between laughter, sobbing, and coughing. It was an ugly thing, choked and breathy and wet, but so fucking genuine John could do nothing but laugh with him, his own voice scratchy and odd, his fresh vocal chords operating about as well as untreated catgut strung into a violin.
“We did it,” Arthur echoed, wrapping his arms around John in turn. “Oh, John, we did it.”
John could do nothing but laugh and sob with his friend, lying there, naked on the cold floor of an abandoned warehouse, all but out of his mind with endorphins and adrenaline. He was sure he was going to die. He was sure it would all have been worth it.
By the time they’d gathered enough strength to stand, it was already evening. It was a struggle getting to their feet, and it was a greater struggle still getting John into the spare clothes they’d brought that turned out to be much too small for him. Still, they pushed on, forcing their way out of the warehouse and making their way back home, arm in arm.
They stumbled into their home, arms still tightly linked together, shaking horribly on brand-new feet and swaying with the lightest breeze. Still, they couldn’t stop laughing and grinning as they crossed the threshold into a house that suddenly felt brand-new to them.
On the kitchen table, between the flower vase and salt shaker, was a paper cup full of dirt. A small green shoot no taller than six inches poked out of it, brilliant green fan-shaped leaves blooming out on all sides of it.
“You’re still up for this?” John asked gently, reaching for the tiny ginkgo sapling.
“Of course,” Arthur breathed, leaning on him as much as he could without tipping the both of them over onto the hardwood floor.
“Alright.” John picked up the plant and, arm in arm with his best friend, began to walk to the backyard. Each step was agonizing, pins and needles shooting up his wobbling legs, but he persisted.
They made it out into the yard, the grass lush and full of small white and yellow flowers, a few daffodils cropping up beside the fence. They stumbled haphazardly into the corner of the yard, collapsing into the slightly damp grass, gasping and panting.
John groaned, his head spinning painfully as he tried to stay upright.
“Take a moment,” Arthur panted out, setting a hand on his chest. “Breathe.”
John nodded blearily, shutting his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his bearings. The small sapling was still in his hands, cradled as gently as he could with his brand-new, trembling large hands.
“I’m okay,” John said after a moment. Concern was heavy in Arthur’s face, but he nodded all the same. John set the sapling down on the grass, and slowly began to dig.
Arthur joined him, clawing at the dirt with their bare hands. It was a painful, arduous process, their arms weakened and trembling but working hard all the same. Both gasped and panted as they dug, and within seconds it became impossible to tell whose pained groans and whimpers were whose. Still, working together, it didn’t take long to produce a hole deep enough in the earth for a tiny sapling to sit.
Perhaps they should have done this another day, when they felt better, when they’d had time to settle into their separate bodies, but this was the way they’d planned it. It just wouldn’t feel the same otherwise, and how lovely it was to think that this little tree would be reborn just as they had been, all on the same day.
Gasping for breath still, John picked up the cup, tipping it upside down into his palm to free the plant of its prison, and he carefully laid it down in the hole. He held the little ginkgo shoot upright as Arthur carefully swept dirt back over it, taking caution not to bury the little tree in the process.
“Good, Arthur,” John murmured, feeling like he was about to pass out. Arthur stopped and John took his hands away, and the sapling remained upright. John’s lips split into a gentle smile.
“Well?” Arthur asked. “How does it look?”
“Perfect,” John breathed reverently, adoration thick in his voice. “It looks perfect.”
Arthur smiled, reaching for John. John put his hand in his. “We did it,” Arthur murmured again.
“Yes. We did it.”
“We should-” Arthur huffed out a laugh. “We should probably water it,” he murmured, not sounding the least bit enthused at the prospect of another task.
“Yes,” John agreed, equally excited about it. “We should.”
John groaned, trying to force himself to his feet. He was only halfway up when his knees buckled, giving way beneath him and sending him back down to the dirt with a heavy thump.
“Oh- Christ, that sounded like it hurt,” Arthur said sympathetically, reaching for John. “Are you okay?”
“I’m,” John cut himself off with a pained groan. “I’m fine. I just-”
“Stay down, John,” Arthur said, not unkindly. His hand found John’s face, tracing the curve of his jaw, the round slope of his nose, the gentle curve of his eyelids, and the soft swell of his bottom lip. John sighed heavily, leaning into the gentle touch to pull him out of the grinding, pulsating pain swelling in each cell of his body.
“Perhaps we… worry about watering it later,” John conceded.
“Yes, I think that would be wise.”
John chuckled, taking Arthur’s hand in his. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening,” he murmured. “Than lying here with you.”
Arthur smiled. “I think we have a lot more of that to look forward to, friend.”
John strained himself to close the gap between himself and Arthur just enough to press his trembling lips to his forehead. “I should hope so,” he said. “We put in the work.”
Arthur huffed wearily, turning to lie on his back, his empty eyes staring blankly up at the orange and purple sky. John wondered if he ought to describe it to him. “God, did we,” Arthur agreed. “I could sleep for weeks.”
“You’ve earned it, friend,” John said, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Let’s get some rest.”
Arthur laughed, a little incredulous. “Here?”
“Mmhm,” John affirmed sleepily. “It’s my first time sleeping, Arthur, I get to decide where we do it.”
Arthur chuckled, running a hand through John’s long hair. John wondered what he looked like. He’d have to find a mirror when he woke up. “Alright, John,” Arthur conceded. “Whatever you say.”
John hummed, low and content as he nuzzled his brand-new face into the grass. He lay there, one arm slung over his friend, out in the warm, gentle evening, and allowed himself to slowly drift off to sleep for the very first time, his eyes swaying between the blooming daffodils by the fence and the young ginkgo tree at his side.
Arthur and John slept there in the grass through the night, the next day, and another night, waning in and out of consciousness just enough to tell the time was passing before slipping back under. By the time they were both properly awake, it was afternoon again, and the warm sun was radiating kindly down upon them.
John slowly sat up, finding Arthur already up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and scratching at skin irritated by over thirty-six hours sleeping in the grass.
“Good morning, Arthur,” John murmured sleepily, wiping his eyes and combing leaves from his long hair with his hands.
“Oh- good morning, John.” Arthur smiled at him, an overwhelming warmth to him that John wanted to hold in his eyes and heart as long as he lived. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, I…” John considered for a moment. The pain had subsided in his sleep. His hands still shook as he moved and it all felt very… unsteady, but he was okay. He was okay. “Yes. Are you?”
“Yes, much.” Arthur stretched and slowly rose to his feet, extending a hand for John to take. John tentatively took his hand and pushed off the ground with his other, struggling up to his feet as his knees wobbled beneath him.
He managed to get to his feet, but his knees buckled again and he nearly fell if not for Arthur catching him with a heavy grunt.
“Careful!” he said, setting John back on his feet. “You’re heavy.”
John chuckled. “Sorry, Arthur. Still getting used to… all of this.”
“Of course,” Arthur said, wrapping an arm around John’s waist. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
Their first order of business was sitting John down in front of the bathroom mirror, his shirt pulled off and discarded in the corner of the room. Arthur stood behind him, his warm hands resting on his shoulders.
“Describe yourself for me?” Arthur asked, leaning down, his voice soft against John’s ear.
John met his own eyes in the mirror, allowing his gaze to trace over every inch of himself from his hips to the top of his head. It was a lot to take in.
“I am…” he drew in a shuddering breath, trying to steel himself. “I am much larger than you are. My shoulders and chest are broad, and my body is well over a foot taller than yours.”
“Yes, I- I noticed you’re unnervingly tall.” Arthur laughed.
“Yes. Hopefully, it doesn’t attract me any unwanted attention.”
Arthur hummed softly and nodded, and John took it as a signal to continue. “My skin is several shades darker than yours, with a few freckles here and there. I have-”
“Where?” Arthur interrupted, his hand trailing along John’s back.
“Hm?”
“Where are your freckles?”
“They’re–” John cleared his throat. “They’re all over me, in small clusters. Most of them are concentrated on my throat and beneath my right eye.” Arthur carefully ran his fingertips over John’s throat, then moved to trace his cheekbone. John suppressed a shudder as he continued. “There are several on both of my hands and arms. I have a few larger dots on my chest, and another large cluster of freckles on my stomach.”
Arthur touched each place John mentioned, carefully tracing constellations between John’s freckles as his touch ghosted along his skin, gentle and careful as if he thought his touch might burn.
“My hair is long and black,” John continued, feeling a little self-conscious. “It falls just a bit above my waist. My eyes are a brilliant, if rather inhuman gold, rimmed in brown, not unlike yours were when I inhabited your body. It’s… nice. Familiar, in a way.”
“Hmm…” Arthur hummed thoughtfully as his hands ran through John’s long hair, twirling a lock between his fingers and feeling the gentle waves running through it. His hands scratched gently at John’s scalp as he carded his fingers through his hair, and it was all John could do to not preen and arch into the touch like an attention-starved housecat.
“I am… more muscular than you are,” John continued, earning himself a playful flick on the temple. “I’m not as thin, either.”
Arthur’s hands trailed down from John’s head to his neck, then methodically began to trace lines across John’s chest and stomach, mapping out his entire being in his mind. John exhaled softly and allowed his friend to do as he pleased, carefully and gently trailing warm fingertips along his skin. He leaned slightly into the touch, enjoying the sensation for himself just as much as he allowed it for the sake of Arthur’s mental image of him.
“My nose is rounded, and my lips are dark, almost purple in this light. My cheekbones are pronounced, though not as much as yours, and the skin there catches the light just a bit and almost seems to glow. I… I do not look anything at all like you, Arthur, nor do I look much like the King. I… I’m not sure what to make of it all. It’s very…new.”
“You sound beautiful,” Arthur breathed, reverence hot in his voice. His lips grazed John’s cheek, his breath coming in warm plumes against his skin.
“Perhaps to some, yes.”
“To me,” Arthur insisted. “I don’t need to see to know.”
John smiled, tilting his head to allow Arthur’s lips to press into his cheek properly, and Arthur happily obliged him with a gentle kiss.
John couldn’t help but tease a bit. “You find me attractive, Arthur?”
Arthur chuckled. “Can’t a man appreciate his best friend’s beauty?”
“I should hope so,” John said with a smile, tilting his head back to touch Arthur’s chest. “It would be a shame to go through all of that work getting me a body for nothing.”