By the hands of the Gods, you have been plucked from your time and from your world, dropped into the box.
Only the box is a world of its own.
We are a mass crossover based on the concept of Pandora's Box. Characters from nearly any fandom can be played here. Because of the endless character possibilities, we are canon only here at Pandora. Take a peek at our rules and plot information before starting your new life in Pandora.
If Aaron had seemed distracted all morning to John, it was because it was true. Where the man normally poured all of his attention into the people around him, into everything that he did, he had spent that morning trapped inside his own head, replaying his conversation over the phone with Eric in his head over and over again. It all felt just a little bit like a dream, but he knew in his heart that it wasn't. On the off chance that he couldn't convince himself of that, he checked his text messages with Daryl, he checked his call history. He saw Daryl's name there, only it hadn't been Daryl at all. It was really him, he was really here in Pandora, and ... and he had to talk to John. He knew he had to, he just didn't know how to bring it up.
Usually, he was busying himself in the kitchen or cleaning something up in the house or lounging around reading a book, but instead, he was sat there at the kitchen table, hands clasped together in front of him, looking a little bit as though somebody had just died. It was the opposite of that, if anything, and he realized that there was plenty to be thrilled about. And he was. Eric was alive and Aaron couldn't have asked for anything else, but he had also broken his heart. Not because he didn't love him anymore, because Aaron didn't think a day would ever go by where he did not love Eric. He had planned to spend the rest of his life with him, he really had, and if things had to end, they would deal with it.
But not like this. This wasn't how anything had been meant to go.
The sound of movement across the room caught his attention and Aaron glanced over, swallowing thickly. "John, is that you?" he called. He didn't know that this was a conversation he was ready to have when Eddie was around, however older his son may have been. But then, hell, maybe life experiences would have left him with some good advice, too.
Prying was something John was rather skilled at doing - about as skilled at as he was at getting someone to hit him in the face.
But perhaps he's learned his fair deal from Aaron, too.
It had been an odd morning, and it hadn't taken the sailor much time at all to sense that something was off. The tension in Aaron's shoulders just wouldn't ease off, and somehow the man didn't seem to be able to really busy himself with anything at all - he seemed lost; like he was drifting on a distant shore, listening to something calling to him from beneath the waves.
John had swallowed down the urge to ask his boyfriend about what was going on about 20 times, but he knew he needed to give the other time and approach this on his own terms once he was ready.
So instead John's busied himself with books and phonecalls to work and a few other things that hadn't really been relevant in the first place, but he's never been one to sit still.
He's taken half a shift off a colleague who's asked him to, even though he didn't like the thought of leaving Aaron alone in the house - but something made him think that was exactly what the other needed.
Because when John returned home a few hours later, keys still in hand, he heard his partner calling out to him with voice too unsteady to be cheerful.
The sailor peeked around the corner of the doorframe, casting a glance towards the kitchen where Aaron was sat at the table, hands crossed, like a man waiting on his confession.
"Yeah, it's me."
Carelessly kicking off his shoes (Aaron constantly stumbled over them, and John constantly forgot to actually place them where they belonged), he dropped the keys into the bowl where the other keys were, too, and made his way over to his lover while slowly shrugging out of his jacket. He was still in his work clothes - black bowtie and waistcoat over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up elbow-high and showing off his tattoos.
Pulling up a chair opposite the other man, John tossed his coat over the back of it before sinking down with right leg crossed beneath left knee. Immediately he reached out for Aaron's tensely crossed hands, gently covering them with his own. The man's fingers were ice cold, and John couldn't entirely hide the concerned frown as he gave Aaron's hands a soft squeeze.
"Anything I can do for you?"
He's lowered his voice into something warmer, gentler than before; ocean blue eyes never leaving Aaron's face.
There was no way knowing what this would be about, but regardless of what it was, John wanted to listen and make sure Aaron was alright - perhaps he hadn't fully outgrown the lad who ran away at the slightest glimpse of a possible problem, but Aaron would always be his exception.
If there was anything that Aaron was, it certainly was not a liar. He had never been very good at lying, he had never been very good at hiding things in general, and if there was anybody at all in Pandora who would have been able to see right through every word he spoke and every move that he made, it was John Silver. He knew that, which was why he knew that he wasn't being subtle in any way, shape, or form. John was kind. He wasn't questioning him, he wasn't bringing it up, demanding to know what was going through his head. He supposed it had to be his turn to start acting strange at some point, but John was patient with him and gave him all the time he needed to think everything through before the moment he finally brought it up himself.
Because he would. He knew he would, and he hoped that John trusted that he would as well.
As the man in question sank himself into a chair across from Aaron, a faint smile twitched at the corners of his lips as he felt the gentle way in which his hand was taken. He didn't pull away, just let his hand sink into the warmth of the touch. The support made all of this more bearable, but in a way, he was afraid what came out of his mouth next would make it all crumble. It was a complicated situation and there was one question in particular that he was afraid of the answer to. Because he already knew the answer, and he didn't know how John would have taken it. Aaron didn't even know how he was taking it.
"I got a phone call," he eventually started, his eyes drifting away from John because the closer he got to the subject, the harder it was to look at him. "... Eric." There was so much conflict in him over how he should have felt about it all. He was alive and that was incredible, but he had come here to find his heart shattered by Aaron's hand. And they were okay. In some way, they were okay because Eric only ever wanted his happiness, but none of it was right. None of it was ...