Yes. To John, alone had come to mean without Arthur. It has been so very long since he walked among humans. In truth, he'd forgotten that other company existed: he would have scoffed to consider that it could matter at all.

There is still no comparison. There is no one in the world like Arthur Lester, and without him, John's mind and soul feel so very empty.

Even so. There is a familiar comfort to this: for months John kept vigil while Arthur slept, and measured time by the gentle rhythm of Arthur's breathing. John's breath has evened out into that same sleeping lull, but he lets his eyes rest half-lidded. Even when yellow light bleeds back into John's eyes, bathes their bed in a dim golden glow, he quietly studies the shapes of Serph's feathers and the dark lines of text on his arm. He can only keep the light at bay for so long, and it is nice to listen to the warm rhythm of someone else's breathing.