LANCASTER AND MAXWELL ( ✔ )

chapter thirty-four.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

ONE MONTH LATER. 

AS it turns out, Sullivan looks much better in a suit and tie than he recalls. 

He observes himself in the vanity, clad in his blue two-piece suit that Aziza picked out for him, and he can hardly recognize himself. Notorious for his black t-shirts, dark ensembles, and Doc Martens, Sully looks at himself in the mirror and can barely make out who the person staring back at him is. Maxwells aren't classy people, and he's nowhere near a classy man. Even despite the cast on his arm that sticks out like a sore thumb, the brunette feels out of place, like a stray jigsaw piece that does not belong in this puzzle. 

Still. 

This isn't about him — though, it hardly ever is. He considers this suit his armor, and he's about to march into war for his love. 

Turning his head, he glances over at Arthur struggling to tie his tie in the full length mirror beside his bed. Even with a fading bruises and a black eye, he's still a piece of art that belongs in the Louvre. He lets out an airy laugh and takes two steps, reaching out and pushing his hands away from the narrow fabric. "Your hands are shaking, couldn't hold a spoon steady with those things," he murmurs and starts over with his good hand. 

 The blonde lets out a small sigh then bites down on the inside of his cheek as he searches for words. "You callin' me heavy-handed, Maxwell?" It's meant to be playful, but his heart just isn't in it. Not right now. 

"Just makin' an observation, mon amore. Nothing more." His eyes focus more with each movement he makes, hands fragile as he takes the smaller half and folding it over the other. Sully's eyes flicker up at Arthur whose head is turned towards the window, eyes and mind a mile away. He adds, "A penny for your thoughts?" 

Arthur replies, "You'll need a dollar for all of them." He stays silent for a moment, and eventually gives out a breathless laugh that indicates that nothing at all is funny about the situation that they're in. "I'm ... really scared, Sully." 

"Hey, hey," he coos. He straightens out the finished product and moves his hands to cup the blonde's angled jaw, gently turning it to where he's looking at Sully again. He waits until Arthur is really looking at him to speak. "There's no need to be scared anymore, ya hear me? Not anymore. Artie, we're getting him — today is the day that we're bringing the devil back his disciple. He'll never be able to get to you again." 

"I know that but..." He trails off, trying to swallow words down before they come back up. "That's my fucking dad, man," he says softly. The blonde hangs his head and shakes it once, then twice. Once Sully hears the small hiccup in his voice, the barrier to his heart cracks just a little. 

"All I ever wanted to d-do was make him proud." Then, Arthur asks with nothing but heartbreak, "Why couldn't my father love me for who I was, Sully?" 

"Oh, Arthur." Snaking his arms around his back, Sully pulls him into a tight embrace. Arthur can't get out of it, and he makes no moves to. He only loops his arms around Sullivan's neck and pulls him in closer, so close that no atom of matter could get in between them. "I don't know why, but he's the biggest fool ever put on this earth." 

"Look at me." Pulling away ever so slightly, he tilts his head up to look at the glassy blue eyes that seem so broken, so torn. "You are a beacon of light for so many fucking people on this planet, but you have given up your life jacket on a sinking ship and have been drowning for too long. Arthur Brooks Lancaster, I'm never letting you hurt again. Not anymore, not on my watch. I love you too fucking much to be succumbed to this."