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“That’s it! I’m not going. I’m not going! They hardly even know me, they won’t miss me there.” Jon’s been going back and forth on the same dilemma for the past three hours, ever since getting home from work. Martin sighs, loudly. He’s had to hear Jon going back and forth on the same dilemma for the past three hours.
“You have to go, you already said you’d be there.” Martin sounds tired. He probably is. The response is an exact repeat of the same one he’s already given about twenty times since he has arrived home from work.
Jon turns around to look at Martin where he is on the couch, pointing a finger in his direction. “Okay, but technically I didn’t. I just said it ‘sounded great,’ that could mean anything.”
Martin flops backwards against the cushions, throwing one arm over his eyes. He’s too used to Jon by now to get properly frustrated by his argumentative side anymore, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t exhausting. “It means you’re going, Jon. That’s literally always what that means.”
“Come with me then?” Jon mostly suggests it just to see the way Martin bristles at the idea. He’s not disappointed.
“What?” The question is nearly a shout. Jon tries not to laugh. “No! You’ve already told me your boss is meant to be there, he sounds like a creep.”
“See! You think so, too! I’m not going.”
“Jon, you can’t just say you’re going and then not show up, that’s rude.” Martin’s voice has that tired quality to it that it gets whenever he has to explain normal human etiquette to him. It sounds like that more often than Jon cares to admit. There’s always an undercurrent of amusement to it, though, and now is no different, despite the fact that he’s been saying the same thing for three hours. Jon has to wonder how Martin ever puts up with living with him, good friends since undergrad or no.
“Okay,” Jon responds, “but I keep telling you, I didn’t say I was going, I said--”
“It sounded great,” Martin finishes, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I know. And what did they say to you after that?”
Jon winces, just a bit. This part is a little harder to loophole his way around. He pretends not to hear the question and turns into the little kitchenette. “You know what, is it cold in here? Do you want any tea?”
Martin doesn’t even have the decency to not sound smug when he presses on. “Jon?”
Jon gives it a few more seconds of dogged avoidance as he sets up the kettle before finally sighing in defeat. “Okay, fine, they said ‘excellent’ and told me the party started at nine, so I can see how it might sound like I’d be showing up.”
When he turns to look at Martin, he’s got his arms crossed in front of him as he leans against an end table. “Yeah, I think you’re going.”
And Jon knows he’s already asked and Martin’s already said no, but if he’s going to be stuck going anyway it’s at least worth another shot. “I’ll go if you do?” He really doesn’t want to go alone. Tim and Sasha are fine enough, sure, maybe a little too familiar, but that’s not really that uncomfortable. If he gets pulled into any sort of conversation with Elias, though, and he doesn’t have someone there he trusts to make excuses for him and get him out of there, he might actually go insane.
It doesn’t work the second time, either. “Absolutely not Jon, I’ve heard your work stories and they’re terrifying.” God, you mention the time you got stuck in storage with a bunch of creepy looking mannequins once and suddenly your place of work is an irredeemable horrorshow.
Never let it be said that Jon isn’t good at digging his heels in, though. “Well I’m not going to go without you, so.” It’s a lie. Martin probably knows that. Jon will go, regardless, because he doesn’t want to deal with the mild look of disappointment that Martin always throws his way when he refuses to do something that Martin considers to be the decent thing to do. It’s worth a shot anyway.
Martin stares him down for a minute. Jon tries not to look like the attention makes his skin go all itchy. He’s not sure how much time passes before Martin rolls his eyes and says, “fine.”
Jon’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, fine, I’ll go.” A small, almost imperceptible smile starts playing at the corner of Martin’s lips. “Or are you going to wait for me to change my mind?”
I wasn’t sure I’d get this far, actually, Jon thinks. He says as much. “I thought it was going to take much more convincing on your end.”
Martin uncrosses his arms, finally, shakes his head with an almost fond sigh. “When has it ever taken you long to convince me of anything?”
*
The institute’s new year’s party isn’t actually that bad. Jon’s not ever going to admit it, not unless under very dire circumstances, but it’s actually kind of fun. Elias has been MIA all night, which Jon knows better than to question, and Tim and Sasha are actually rather nice once he gets over his issues with opening up to people. He’s well aware, however, that it wouldn’t be half so enjoyable if Martin wasn’t there.
Martin has this uncanny ability to make absolutely anyone in a room want to be his friend near immediately. And it’s not that none of Jon’s coworkers like him, they’ve never done anything but express that he’s someone they actively want to be around, but they really like Martin. He appreciates the attention it takes off of him.
Jon’s getting more comfortable talking to them as friends, sure, but he still gets a little squirmy at the prospect of all the undivided attention that comes with it. Martin’s good at noticing when it gets to be too much. He sticks close, always offers a reassuring touch to his elbow or the small of his back before interjecting with his own anecdote when Jon finds a line of conversation to be too personal.
When Martin leaves his side for the first time all night to answer a phone call, he leans in close to tell Jon he’ll be right back, apology evident in his voice. Jon waves him off. He should be fine, he thinks. As a precaution, he grabs a bottle of water from one of the tables scattered around the room, figures if he feels weird about a topic he’ll just take a drink or two to avoid talking. It’s worked for him before.
Everything’s fine for about ten whole seconds.
“I didn’t know you’d be bringing anyone,” Sasha says.
Jon hums, unsure of how else to answer. He brings the bottle of water to his lips to distract from the lack of verbal answer.
“Yeah,” Tim says, “your boyfriend is nice.”
Jon promptly starts choking. “I’m sorry,” he says through all the coughing, “I’m sorry, what are you--?”
Before he can get the rest out, can properly correct them, Martin walks back over to their little group, reaching a hand out to rest on Jon’s shoulder. “Sorry about that, I--Jon are you okay?”
The gentle touch on his shoulder gets a little firmer, concern evident as Jon stands there trying to catch his breath, and oh, he thinks. Yeah, that’ll do it.
He can see why Tim and Sasha have made the assumption they did. It’s not like Jon is a very casual person at work; he doesn’t talk a lot, doesn’t laugh very freely around the rest of them, tends to shy away from any sort of contact. Seeing the way he acts around Martin must be a tad startling. The way he leans into the small touches, the way his shoulders don’t immediately hunch up to his ears whenever he’s talked to directly, the smile that he’s pretty sure hasn’t left his face since they’d both arrived and Martin had made some stupid joke about being kidnapped by mannequins in the basement to get him to loosen up. Maybe they look a little bit like a couple. Maybe.
Martin is still staring at him with increasing worry, so Jon shakes himself out of it, tries clearing his throat a couple times until he can take a deep breath without coughing. “Fine, I’m fine,” he says. “Sorry, think I must have swallowed wrong.” He very resolutely decides he’s not going to mention to Martin that his coworkers think they’re dating.
The corners of Martin’s lips turn up just slightly at the edges--he knows Jon’s trick of compulsively drinking anything in range in order to avoid talking--and Jon has the sudden, debilitating thought that he might like to kiss him there.
Okay. That’s weird. It’s Martin. But it’s really not that weird at all when he thinks about it, not in the slightest, because, well...it’s Martin.
And this is really a revelation he should be having somewhere else, where his coworkers aren’t staring at him and Martin just isn’t. He can’t think straight, suddenly.
“Sorry,” he says, capping the bottle in his hands and setting it down. “I think I’m going to, um, go outside for a minute. Fresh air, you know.” Jon doesn’t wait to see how anyone responds, doesn’t spare a glance at Martin to see if he follows. He hopes he doesn’t. He hopes he does.
He hasn’t been sitting on the steps to the institute for long when someone comes up behind him and settles a heavy coat around his shoulders. Oh, right. He’s shivering. Without looking, he knows it’s Martin who smooths down the fabric and sits next to him, too close and not close enough all at once.
“So your friends tell me we’re dating,” he mentions after a bit of silence. Jon wishes he could tell how Martin felt about that. He wishes he could tell how he felt about that. He’s only just known he wouldn’t be opposed to kissing his best friend for about five minutes.
Jon lets the comment go unanswered; he isn’t so sure he could get the words out right now, anyway.
“Wish you would’ve told me,” Martin continues. “Then I wouldn’t have had to worry about how to ask you on a date for the past two years.” His voice cracks a little at the end, and Jon has to look over at him, then. What he sees would knock him on his ass if he weren’t already sitting down.
Martin’s brow is furrowed, eyes hooded like he’s afraid. But Martin’s always been more brave than Jon and the love in his eyes is unguarded as he says, “you don’t know how many times I’ve worked myself up over asking you to dinner only to order takeout and tell myself I’ll try again next week.”
“We live together?” So far as jokes go, it’s not a good one. He knows Martin can tell it’s supposed to be one, though. Martin always knows.
It does the trick of breaking the tension. “You’re an idiot, Jon,” Martin says, but there’s a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice and Jon thinks that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever called him.
“Yes, well.” Jon turns his head to hide the flush rising to his cheeks, rubs a thumb across his palm fretfully.
Martin bumps his shoulder against Jon’s. “I like you, though.” He reaches over to grab Jon’s hand, replaces the thumb in his palm with his own, traces circles into the skin there a little more gently than Jon had.
It’s kind of ridiculous that the fireworks decide to start just then. They make Jon nearly jump out of his skin and Martin laughs at him, tightening the grip on his hand and pulling him closer. Jon hesitates before leaning his head against Martin’s shoulder. And then, so light he almost misses it, he feels the warm press of Martin’s lips against his temple.