Chapter Text
Jon’s narrow fingers don’t quite close around Martin’s wrist, but that doesn’t stop him from trying as he tugs him along through the door of his flat, quick and insistent. It’s warmer inside, but not by much. He doesn’t have time to bemoan his flat’s constant frigid state, though, because as soon as the door is closed, Martin’s arm is around Jon’s waist, pulling him in close so he can bury his soft, snuffling giggles into Jon’s hair. Jon’s cane clatters to the floor. He barely spares a thought for it despite his swaying; he has Martin to cling to and Martin would never let him fall.
“You’re drunk,” Jon observes, smiling against the cable knit of Martin’s sweater.
“Am not,” Martin says. He pauses. “Well, no more’n you are.”
That’s fair, Jon decides. He stretches up on tiptoes, trying to rub his face against that particular spot between Martin’s shoulder and cheek, but he can’t quite manage it when Martin is standing upright. “Why’re you so tall?” he mutters.
The main room’s light flicks on suddenly. Jon squints and wiggles his way around in Martin’s arms, looking for the culprit.
“I suddenly am filled with much more sympathy for my mother all those years ago,” Georgie says drily. Behind her, Melanie shuffles out of Georgie’s bedroom in a pair of pajama bottoms Jon vaguely remembers buying for Georgie years ago. “Where have you been? The party ended hours ago.”
Jon refuses to feel chastised. After all the times he’d spent mothering a drunk Georgie as a student, he thinks he’s earned this.
“Tim,” Martin offers by way of explanation, sounding only slightly more subdued than Jon.
It was true. Jon had been only one drink in, tidying the breakroom after most of the library staff had left their annual holiday party, when Tim had spun Sasha in a circle, draped himself fondly over Gerry’s shoulder, and begged Jon and Martin to join the three of them for what he called “a real celebration.” Usually Jon would have hesitated, worried about dragging down the mood when he inevitably couldn’t join the others on a dance floor somewhere, but Martin’s eyes had glinted with excitement over the invitation and Sasha had promised they’d find somewhere with plenty of seating. They’d ended up at a quiet pub, Jon cuddled happily into Martin’s side across from the other three all crammed into a bench together. And it had been fun, spending time away from work, hearing his friends’ plans for the holidays. No one so much as hinted that choosing a place that wouldn’t drain Jon’s energy or overwhelm Martin was any sort of inconvenience, and it was that effortless, smiling inclusion that made Jon feel safe enough to indulge in the series of drinks that have left his head buzzing pleasantly.
“... ‘s so nice,” Martin is saying, holding Jon close against himself. His voice has turned dreamy. “Do you think we’re friends, me and - and them?” he asks, suddenly trying to look down into Jon’s eyes despite Jon’s half-twisted position between his arms.
“Of course,” Jon says, reaching up to cup Martin’s cheek in his palm. His arm feels a bit like it’s floating. It’s nice.
“Oh God, and here I thought I’d escaped sappy drunks for the night,” Melanie says.
Georgie huffs out a soft laugh. “I think the two of you ought to go to bed.”
“Mm. Yes.” Jon nods. Suddenly he wants nothing more than to fall into his soft mattress and burrow under his favorite blanket, made warmer by the coziness of Martin’s presence alongside him.
Martin adjusts his grip on Jon, looping their arms together so he has a free hand in case he needs to support himself against the wall. They make it to Jon’s bedroom easily enough and close the door on Georgie’s continued laughter.
Martin deposits Jon on the bed before turning to the drawer where he’s left a few articles of his own clothing for nights when he stays over. He tosses his jumper over his shoulder and exchanges it for a hoodie and joggers. Jon, for his part, wastes no time shimmying out of his work clothes and into the jumper Martin discarded. With any luck, Martin will leave without it and he’ll be able to add it to his growing collection of what Georgie has lovingly begun to call ‘boyfriend couture.’
Once Martin has joined Jon under the blanket, Jon wiggles in close, throwing his arms around him and burying his face in his shirt. The buzzing in his mind has faded into a gentle fog that presses in around the corners of his vision, luring him toward sleep.
Quiet settles around them, broken only by the sound of their shivery breaths. Then, “Christ, why is your flat so cold ?” from Martin, the words punctuated with a fond giggle.
“I don’t know,” Jon whines, but he can’t bite back a tired smile as he nuzzles impossibly closer and arches his back lightly against Martin’s arms. “That’s why you have to hold me. For warmth.”
“What, like a hot water bottle?” Martin squeezes him gently.
“Mm, precisely,” Jon says around a yawn. “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” Martin promises. Jon murmurs wordlessly, heavy eyelids slowly fluttering shut. Before he can fully succumb to sleep, though, Martin stirs beside him again. “Jon?”
Jon grunts back at him, barely conscious enough to process his name.
“Do you really think…” Martin trails off. Jon hopes he finishes his thought soon. He makes what he thinks is an encouraging hum. “Do you really think we’re friends? Tim and Sasha and Gerry and m-me?” His voice is hushed, wondering.
Jon opens his eyes again with some difficulty. “Yes, I do think so.”
“Cool,” Martin whispers.
Jon hums again and tightens his arm around Martin. He’s shivering slightly. Jon gropes for the blanket with one hand, pulling it further over Martin’s shoulders.
“I’ve never had friends before,” Martin says after another moment.
Jon knows. “But you do now,” he says, the alcohol in his system making it simple, clear. “Tim, Georgie, the others… they all like you. They care about you.” He presses a kiss against Martin’s chest and adds, “I care about you.”
Martin sniffs. “Cool,” he says again.
Is he - oh, is he crying? Jon squirms, alarm chasing away some of his drowsiness, until he can see Martin’s face a bit better. “Martin,” he says in dismay.
“No, I’m, it’s okay,” Martin says. He hiccups. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m really happy, you know?”
Oh. Jon touches their foreheads together. “Yeah?”
Martin nods. After a moment of silence, he says, “I just didn’t think I’d get this.”
“This..?” Jon prompts.
“You. A future I want to live in. A… a now I want to live in.” Martin shifts, though he doesn’t break any point of contact with Jon. “I mean, so many things I used to hope for, before…” He trails off, and Jon guesses he’s thinking about his mother, about coming back to a flat that was never home and leaving his dreams behind. Jon is quiet, patient, until Martin rouses himself and continues reverently, “Well, I thought they would only ever be a fantasy. But now they’re… real.” His thumb brushes over Jon’s hip bone. “Maybe it’s not so silly to think I can have friends too.”
“I don’t think it’s silly at all,” Jon says. He hides his face against Martin’s shirt again. Tipsy as he is, collected thoughts feel beyond his reach, but his love for Martin is clearer than ever. “I think it’s just the start of all the nice things in store for you.”
Martin’s breath puffs into Jon’s hair - a laugh or a sob, Jon can’t be sure. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Jon murmurs into his chest. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, sleep’s tempting fog curling close once more, the movement of Martin’s breathing soothing and safe in the darkness. The quiet settles back around them like an embrace.
When Jon opens his eyes next, there’s a flicker of sunlight coming in through his window. He doesn’t remember moving or falling asleep, but somehow in the night he’s managed to drape himself atop Martin, lying front down on his chest like he’d tried to cover as much of Martin’s body as he could reach with his own. Martin has one hand on the back of Jon’s head, fingers curled into his hair, and another spread between his shoulder blades. He’s snoring quietly. Jon’s cheeks ache with the force of the grin that spreads across his face, and he hides it in the soft dip of Martin’s clavicle.
Martin shifts at the movement. “Don’t get up,” he mumbles. “Warm.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Jon closes his eyes again, still smiling as he sinks back into the comfortable haze of half-sleep.
Later, they’ll stumble out of bed and make breakfast together, maybe go for a walk if Jon is up to it, or stop by the shops to enjoy the holiday displays. After dinner, Martin will work on a paper for his Romantics course, and he’ll look up to see Jon watching him with unfiltered adoration. He’ll flutter his hands when the joy becomes too much, and then Jon will kiss his fingertips, and they’ll fall into another embrace that turns to snuggling, and they will fill each other with enough warmth to chase away every chill of the past’s loneliness and bask in the glow of the radiant future they are building together. The cold won’t matter anymore.
It hasn’t mattered for some time.