Chapter Text
Mind manipulation has never been an exact science. You can usually figure out what to do to get the same result for each person, but at heart, most mind manipulation abilities are guesswork.
When John had heard that Arlo had become an EMBER agent, he expected someone tormented like Blyke or someone confident and cruel like Arlo had been before they met. He thought the EMBER agent calling himself “Arson” was just that, confident, smug, and in desperate need of being knocked down a few pegs. He began the confrontation. Not exactly wanting to harm his partner, but the situation called for it.
…or it had called for it.
That was until John's mask was torn and burned by a stray swipe. That was until Arlo's eyes widened in recognition, his voice calling out a confused, “John?”
Maybe it was naive to assume that seeing his face would be enough to snap Arlo out of whatever trance he’d been put under, but John's always followed his emotions. Arlo strode towards him, his eyes still glowing as he healed himself. He cupped John's face with his bloodied hand.
Part of John wanted to cringe away from the hand. Something about it was off, different in a way he can't describe, but most of him was screaming. Arlo is back. John can feel it in the softness of his hand, the gentle way he said his name(John chooses to ignore the look in the EMBER agent's eyes, the look that says that John is nothing but prey).
Against his will tears well up in his eyes, and John can feel Arlo's hand shift like he wants to wipe them away, but he also notices the short glance towards the blood coating his fingertips.
Rather than the guilt-filled gaze of someone who had just attacked their partner, or perhaps the shocking realization that the blonde had joined the organization that killed his pseudo-brother, John saw a smug sense of satisfaction. A look that reeked of the same moral justifications John saw behind every punch and kick he received as a cripple.
John looks closer at the blonde before him. He looks the same as always, but the way he holds himself, the expression upon his face, they're almost unfamiliar.
Arson must not have forgotten how to read John. He can tell because the hand cupping his jaw tenses, tilting John's chin up. John still follows along, still hopes that his boyfriend is back, but there's something there.
Something sickeningly familiar fills the back of John's mind. It's from a time when Arlo had taken John to the turf field to put him in his place. When John had ignored some red flags in favor of making a new friend.
“No I-”
“...You?”
“You're not… we can't.”
“I'm the same Arlo. I'm still yours.You're still mine.,” Arson gestures between them before continuing, “I remember what we were. That should be enough.”
At the hesitation on John's face, Arson tilted his head.
“Or do you not want it anymore?”
The fear and desperation that flickers across John's face is not unnoticed by Arson.
“You're not him.” John says, lacking the language, the articulation, to say what he means.
“This is me,” the blonde replies, pulling John closer.
“It's not. You're acting weird.”
“This is how I've always been, you know that.”
Arson huffs and glances away. John can't help the pang of anxiety, the quiet voice screaming that he's annoying Arlo, that he's pushing away his boyfriend. It's been so long, he must be remembering wrong.
Arlo turns back, his hand gentle again.
“I've missed you, I've missed us.”
There's something pleading in Arlo's eyes and John can't help but hope.