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"Detective," he mutters gently, sliding fingers along his arm. "I don't know who Larson is or - anything about him."

It very intentionally is not a question. Simply a statement of ignorance.

Arthur tenses under the touch, only a little but still noticeably. He'd been avoiding thinking about Larson where he could, if only because he can always feel himself freezing over when he does.

"Wallace Larson is the man who hired Collins," he mutters. "He owns Addison, he started the mine on Hoosuc over a hundred years ago - made contact with gods like the King in Yellow, made deals with them. Sacrificed in their name for- fucking power."

He lets him talk, keeping close without pulling back. "So you think he might be working with Larson?" he wonders.

"I know that Larson wants me dead," he says flatly.

I know that I want him dead more.

"And I'm aware that there's apparently no depths he'll stoop to to make that happen."

"But would he be here as a warden if that was the case?" he wonders. It doesn't seem likely, but it certainly isn't impossible. This sort of paranoia, born from piles and piles of trauma, isn't so easily swayed, but he isn't going to validate them easily, either.

Arthur's quiet for a few moments as his jaw works; but of all things, really, in the moment it's one of the more compelling arguments for rationality.

"I know." And he lets a heavy sigh go, leaning into Sheehan's touch a little as he slumps against the door. "I know, doctor, I'm just... I don't want John to get hurt."

"I know you don't, but also consider that, if Charlie is telling the truth about that, about John, then neither does he. So at least there is some common ground."

He squeezes him gently.

"Either way, good luck with dinner."

That gets a quiet chuckle.

"Yeah, John's planning on going all-out for it, I'm sure. We'll be eating like kings for a few days."

He lifts a hand and puts it on Sheehan's, giving him a soft squeeze. "Sorry. For- getting too in my own head about that."

"You don't ever have to apologize for that. Everything you're feeling right now makes sense with what you've been through. I just - apprecuate it. For telling me about what happened."

He presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth.

His cheeks go warm with the gentle kiss, and he turns to press one to Sheehan's lips properly in return.

"You already met him yourself, then?" he asks, a bit facetiously but it's still an easier topic than straying back into the dark with Larson.

"I did. Up on deck. That's why I was home. Offered him some help but he bolted."

He smiles. "Part of why I thought he might be from your world."

He huffs, but he won't deny it. "Well he let me get him into a new outfit, at least, so there's one improvement in the day for him."

"It might also have something to do with the bloody cult robes straight out of a comic combined with a New England detective," he teases.

"How are you feeling now?"

And Arthur chuckles, his smile finally more at ease.

"Better now that it's out of my own head, I think," he admits. "Thank you, Les."

"You're welcome. You know my door always opens for you."

He does, though, give him another kiss, this one from sheer indulgence.

"I'll bring your jacket by later once it's clean. I think you might have another in the closet."

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