John is still wheezing on the floor, winded twice over by Arthur's outburst. It's the only thing stifling his white hot fury at Arthur's words and actions, spit in his face after he thought he'd taken everything from Arthur, that he rejected what he was too late to save Arthur's consciousness, that the choice he made meant nothing at all - and still doesn't matter.

Yes, he wanted to become whole again, but he refused when the cost became clear. Did that mean nothing? How little Arthur understood - and to blame John when he was the idiot who listened at the auditorium, who bound himself to that table? Who followed what the damn folio said and who didn't use the light when John told him to? He rejected John's advice and still blamed him for their misfortune?

He wants to hurt him back, to tell him that he did indeed take it all from Arthur, and he would never get it back, not even his fucking eyes, that he would do it all again with no thought, over and over again and that Arthur means nothing, just to shut him up for this outburst, so he can feel the same pain John is and more. But his mouth doesn't seem to want to work in sync with what air he can draw in, not as fast as the tension in his body and anger in his chest demands.

Instead, he lunges forward into Arthur's legs.