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The bags under his eyes are softer. Jonathan runs a hand over his jaw, spares a brief thought to long for the feeling of stubble beneath his fingertips before leaning in closer to the mirror. Well. That was surprising. It was a subtle difference really, dark circles now a shade lighter. He gently thumbs over the undersides of his eyelids and idly wonders when they got to be this way.
He’s interrupted from his musings by a rap against the door. “Hurry up in there, your tea’s going to get cold!”
“Oh dear lord.” mutters Jonathan, turning away from the mirror. Apparently he wasn’t quite enough in his complaint as an affronted gasp comes from outside the door.
“C’mon now! It’s the black tea, you like the black tea!”
Jonathan suppresses a wince. While he does like black tea he doesn’t like black tea boiled into oblivion. He does, however, like the look on Barnabas’s face when he drinks it.
The door creaks as it opens and there’s Barnabas standing in the doorway, checking in on him.
“You alright in here, Doc?” He glances over to where Jonathan still stood in front of the mirror. “Appreciating your age?”
Jonathan lets out a small laugh. He’s only five years older than Barnabas, although to hear the other man speak it was more like fifty.
“No. If anything I’m looking younger lately.”
Barnabas quirks his head to the side and walks over to Jonathan, leaning up to rest his head on Jonathan’s shoulder. Jonathan points mutely to his eyebags and Barnabas lets out a low whistle.
“Well I’ll be. You never learned anything in your studies about someone deaging?”
Jonathan finds his eyes drawn to the creases of his forehead, the smile lines on his face. “I still look plenty old.”
“Well lucky for you, pumpkin, I’d be hard pressed to find a situation or time where I don’t find you utterly charming, wrinkles and all.”
Barnabas leans up to kiss him then, and Jonathan indulges him, the press of Barnabas’s lips against his own an old and familiar comfort. Barnabas pulls away sooner than Jonathan would like, breaking away with a gasp about the state of the kettle, but that's alright. He’d have plenty more time to kiss him over the coming day.
Jonathan wonders when he’d become so happy.
Jonathan had worried at first over how well they would adapt to things out in the countryside. Their flight from London had been quick and careless, less attention paid to what they took and more to what they left behind. Jonathan was used to it of course, his own childhood more than preparing him for the mundanities of maintaining a household. Besides, he had found the experience of having a maid rather unnerving during his tenure in London. The freedom of being able to move around their house free of thought and worry is worth much more than that of having someone else cook and clean for them.
It’s less than either man was ever used to having, but they make do. Jonathan knows those in the village whisper sometimes about the two of them, the peculiarity of two bachelors living together alone up on their hill. But Barnabas’s sunny disposition and Jonathan's skill as a doctor do much to smooth over any such whisperings before any malice could ever take shape. They settle in quicker than Jonathan would’ve thought possible.
Barnabas takes up sewing. It’s something he’d always wanted to try, he explains, arms full of different colorful fabrics. There's an edge of shame to the excitement in his voice and Jonathan can’t help but wonder what exactly had been said to him in the past. Jonathan had seen him fidget with his own cravat, seen the ways his fingers craved softness. It’s a useful thing, knowing how to sew, and Jonathan offers what help he can. It’s not something that Jonathan is fond of himself but he offers his own suggestions here and there, recollecting a skill he had long since transferred over from cloth to flesh.
It’s something that engrosses Barnabas, taking up his days in a flurry of productivity. He takes to it surprisingly quickly, graduating from fixing tears in clothing to making the clothing itself. More than that, it provides Barnabas with a connection to the village, a way and place for him to form colleagues and friends. It’s nice for Jonathan too, being able to carry a little piece of Barnabas with him throughout his work day in the form of his tie or cravat.
Barnabas has nightmares sometimes. Jonathan wakes up to whimpers and to the feeling of Barnabas’s arms clutched tight around him in his sleep. He doesn’t have to ask what they’re of. Rolling fog and a shadow London. Being completely alone with only the certainty of how little you matter and stuck wandering those lonely streets. The knowledge that the one you love more than anything has abandoned you, keeping and eating away at everything you are as much as the choking fog itself.
Jonathan awakens Barnabas as gently as he can with soft words and gentle touches, cradling Barnabas close as he slowly comes back into himself with the morning sun. There's an insubstantiality to him that worries Jonathan, something deeply wrong in the pallor of his face and the distance of his eyes. Jonathan never goes into town the next day, always stays home and close to him. They don’t talk about it, not really. All that could be said was better told in the way Jonathan's hand slotted into Barnabas’s.
Jonathan has nightmares sometimes too. He dreams about the smell of chloroform and deals made when no other option presented itself. The terrifying gut-wrenching fear that nothing he offered would be enough for Mordechai, that Barnabas would be lost to him forever. The horrible knowledge that the man you loved had turned into a monster, that he cared naught for trying to rescue someone you thought you both loved more than anything. He thinks of the patient he gave away, the lies and explanations he had to give to the man's family. Jonathan doesn’t regret what he did, not really. Trading away one man's life for Barnabas’s was the easiest decision in the world. In a way that's what bothers him the most.
Barnabas awakens him with soft calls of his name, his gentle hands cupping over Jonathan’s face, his hands, his heart. There's no need to ask what the nightmares are about. Some things are better left unsaid. Jonathan goes to work the next day, always against Barnabas's protests, and drowns himself in the monotony of his patients. He needs the false pretense that the work he’s doing absolves him of what he’s done, needs the idea that morality is a scale and that if you do enough good deeds you can balance out the wrong. Barnabas is always there when he comes home and doesn’t leave his side all evening.
Barnabas has dozens of nicknames for him. Good doctor,honey, pumpkin, peach. The man seemed incapable of uttering a single sentence without peppering in some terms of endearment. Jonathan had found it a little ridiculous at first in all honesty, stifling his tongue at each foolish little nickname. Barnabas was boisterous, sure, and to call out the man's fondness for Jonah would be the pot calling the kettle black. But really. Angel, of all the things to call Jonah?
It changes once they get closer, once Barnabas picks up his own nicknames for Jonathan. By then any lingering feelings of tension had fallen away between them, and Jonathan was loathe to admit the way such nicknames caused his heart to flutter. Jonathan was a doctor, a rational man, a reasonable one. He wasn’t a man who was supposed to flush at being called ‘sweet pea’ of all things.
It happens one day in June, Jonathan stumbling on Barnabas hunched over and engrossed in one of his sketches.
“What’re you working on dear?“Jonathan asks absently, craning his head over to stare down at the sketchbook.
It takes Jonathan a moment of Barnabas not responding for him to realize his mistake. The words are an instinctual thing and he feels a sharp stab of regret shoot through him before he notices the look on Barnabas’s upturned face. The man looks absolutely smitten, mouth broken into a wide gap-toothed grin. Jonathan had grinned back at him as Barnabas rushed forward, pressing kiss after kiss onto his face and neck.
Jonathan has his own nicknames for Barnabas now, sweetheart, love, mopsy and poppet all falling easy from his lips. Sometimes he thinks about Mr. Fanshaw. He wouldn’t be surprised if Barnabas thought of the same.
Jonathan still finds himself worrying sometimes about Jonah. He thinks of those he left behind, Smirke and Albrecht, and even to a lesser extent Simon and Mordechai. There's a guilt there, the idea that maybe if he pushed harder, noticed more, tried more, he could’ve stopped Jonah before he lost too much of himself to whatever thing holds sway over him. Jonathan thinks of Jonah’s fiery temper, the way he looked and knew and saw Jonathan in a way that no one else ever could. He thinks of the quiet weight of Barnabas sleeping besides him and the ease with which Jonah had left him to rot. He thinks and he hopes and he prays that whatever Jonah is doing with his institute has left him too busy to seek revenge. On those nights sleep doesn’t come easy.
To deny Barnabas anything was something Jonathan couldn’t even think of doing. Jonathan thinks of Jonah sometimes and what was demanded of him. Jonah wanted worship, devotion, adoration and attention in equal measure. There was a hunger to Jonah, the sense that he wanted to consume Jonathan in his entirety. Barnabas’s demands, if he can call them that, are softer, simpler. Morning kisses, silly jokes, holding hands, the right to tell Jonathan how much he loved him. Easy needs of a man in love and Jonathan finds his own needs of Barnabas much the same.
Barnabas’s primary need is that of physical affection, however. Jonathan quickly learnt that Barnabas was much like a favored hound, needing attention as much as he needed food or water. After everything the man had endured Jonathan couldn’t really blame him.
It had started in earnest when he’d been reading a Harlequin Novel, something he’d be rather embarrassed to be caught with in most circumstances. But, well. It had been a tough week at his practice, and sinking his teeth into some depraved and silly literature was exactly what he needed in order to take the edge off. He does his best to not recall many a fond evening spent carousing with Jonah, discussing whatever piece of literature had struck their fancies. Regardless, this particular novel had proven to be quite entertaining, some titillating story about a young lord’s ‘encounter’ with the supernatural, Jonathan quickly finds himself getting lost in its pages. He’s roused by the feeling of a gentle tap against his shoulder.
“Whatcha reading there, honey?”
It’s Barnabas, apparently having entered the room unnoticed. He opens his mouth to respond, practically slamming the book cover down onto his lap, but it’s too late. Barnabas had already noticed the cover and its obscene depiction of the lord and his ghostly ‘friends’.
“Well what do we have here?”
Jonathan flushes, caught in the act and goes to snatch the book away only to have it yanked out of his hand.
“Wait, Barnabas, do-” He’s cut off by a sharp gasp from Barnabas and God, if he wants nothing more than to bury his face in his hands.
“ Why, Dr.Fanshawe, I didn’t take you to be a fan of such literature!” Barnabas crows, flipping through the pages of the novel.
“Oh shush. Let a man have his indulgences, Barnabas.” Jonathan snaps, trying and failing to snatch the book back from Barnabas’s hands.
Barnabas lets out another bark of laughter as he reads what must be a particularly salacious bit. “Why, I wasn’t aware of that particular fact about ghost refractory periods! What a fascinating piece of writing! Fancy a gander over to the cemetery later, then?“
“And with three strapping ghosts well. I do feel rather bad for our dear lord. “ He wiggles his eyebrows. “ Absolutely depraved, my good doctor.”
Jonathan could respond, could call out the litany of ways that that particular insult was hypocritical, especially coming from Barnabas. But Jonathan is tired and he finds himself craving that particular type of banter. Instead he gets up, interrupting Barnabas’s guffawing.
“Wait, where are you going?” asks Barnabas.
“Out to the garden where I can have some peace and quiet, Barnabas!’
Barnabas’s face immediately falls, the man's usual quick wit abandoning him as he lets the pages of his book close shut. “Right then. I’m sorry. “
Normally Barnabas would respond to such a comment in jest. Jonathan thinks about the long hours of the previous week and the fact that it wasn’t only he who suffered under his tight schedule. It slowly dawns on him what Barnabas must’ve actually wanted.
“If you wanted to sit with me you could just ask, Barnabas. No need for such theatrics” Jonathan sighs, sitting back down on the chair.
Barnabas blinks down at him for a moment before responding.
“Let a man have his indulgences Doctor,” he says, parroting back Jonathan’s words from earlier. Still he hesitates, standing by the edge of Jonathan’s chair.
“Barnabas, come here, stop being silly,” says Jonathan, pressing himself up against the other side of the chair, beckoning for Barnabas to come closer. Still Barnabas hesitates, and Jonathan grabs his wrist and yanks him down into the chair and onto his lap.
It’s an awkward fit, the chair meant more for one person than two. Barnabas’s large frame dwarfs his own smaller one, but the ache of his joints would be a small price to pay. Barnabas pauses for a moment and then nestles in close, cuddling right up against Jonathan with a contented sigh. “Do you want me to start over from the beginning?” asks Jonathan, relishing in the warmth and pressure of Barnabas against his side.
“No, that's alright. Tell me about it later?” Barnabas says, closing his eyes, and Jonathan finds himself wrapped up in the book once more.
They ended up having to switch to the couch sooner than Jonathan would’ve preferred, the groaning of the chair enough concern to spur him to motion. But after that it was like a floodgate had opened. Whatever odd sense of decorum that had restrained Barnabas before was gone and Jonathan soon found it as impossible as it was unwanted to sit alone.
Jonathan learns quickly to balance his readings on the arm of the couch, lap kept open and free. Once Barnabas meanders his way in he always makes a beeline for where Jonathan is sitting. He’d plop dramatically onto the couch, resting his head on Jonathan’s thighs. Sometimes he asks what Jonathan is reading, smiling up at him while he listens to Jonathan rant. Sometimes Barnabas just simply wants to lie there with him, Jonathan’s hand slowly stroking his hair as lazy afternoons transition into evening.
Jonathan is no better. Barnabas quickly learns to read with one hand as well, the other reserved for holding Jonathans on the rare occasion when it’s Jonathan who finds Barnabas reading. Barnabas’s hands are warm and soft, and Jonathan finds no reason to deny himself the pleasure of holding them whenever he can. Barnabas certainly isn’t one to complain.
It’s a surprisingly easy thing to settle into it, to have one life become two.
They argue sometimes. Barnabas is prone to dramatics whilst Jonathan prefers the simple and clear cut. Jonathan is used to making things and taking care of himself while Barnabas had grown up in the lap of luxury. While they had known each other for some time there was a strong difference between whatever their relationship in London had been and what they had ecked out together here. They don’t talk about what happened, why they left. There’s no need to mention Jonah or the pangs of loss they both still feel. It’s harder at first, Barnabas still partially lost in his own abandonment and Jonathan in his guilt. There's arguments, pitfalls, and tense conversations about what had to be done and how best to do it.
But Barnabas listens, learns to avoid looking Jonathan directly in his eyes and to make his intentions clear and unshrouded. He tries to cook and clean, and while the first is an utter failure he proves himself to be rather competent at the latter. Jonathan listens as well, learns that the lack of focus that overtakes Barnabas sometimes isn’t from a lack of trying, learns the particulars of Barnabas’s language of love. It's not easy, and on some days it's enough for him to want to tear his hair out, but it's theirs.
Most days Jonathan awakens earlier than Barnabas. It’s not exactly hard. Barnabas is a night owl and will sleep until noon unless Jonathan drags him up and out of bed. Still, Jonathan’s schedule is tight enough where he usually has to rush out of bed anyways, abandoning the warmth of his sheets for the frantic arrangement of his bindings and clothes. On the rare occasion when Jonathan wakes up early enough to justify a lie-in he likes to rest there a while, just watching Barnabas.
Today was one such occasion. Jonathan wakes up slowly, held down by a familiar weight against his chest. He opens his eyes to find that Barnabas is nestled up against him, head resting right below his sternum. The sunlight trickling in through the window curtains falls against his mess of hair, turning it from a dark brown to a golden auburn. Barnabas’s soft face is relaxed, his sleep unburdened and his mouth parted just enough that Jonathan can see the hint of his tooth gap. Jonathan watches the slow rise and fall of Barnabas’s back for a while, composing notes for poems he may or may not write. Try as he might, he could never capture mornings like this in words.
The past week had been busy, his small practice surprisingly packed with patients. For a small farming town it was surprising how many mishaps there could be. The harvest season was upon them, and Jonathan had reason to suspect that such incidents would only grow until the season ended. Thankfully there hadn’t been anything too serious yet, but the stress of the work day had followed him back home.
He’s bone-tired, and the warm weight of Barnabas against his chest does nothing to quell the impulse to simply sink back under the covers and into sleep. Jonathan can’t help but reach a hand out to fondly thumb at the marks he had left on his lover's neck the night before, gently pulling the collar of Barnabas’s sleep shirt aside. It was a silly, foolish thing to do but Barnabas indulged him, as he did with many things. Barnabas lets out a soft sigh at that, sleepily pressing his face further up against him.
It overwhelms Jonathan sometimes, the way he’s allowed to just be without thought or worry around Barnabas. Jonathan is able to sleep next to and with him without his bindings, breathing easy and unrestricted. He has no lingering fear of what Barnabas thinks of him, no tension or disgust in Barnabas’s eyes when he gazes upon Jonathan. Barnabas has only ever looked at him with adoration. No part of him makes him any lessor to Barnabas, the parts he loathes more than anything not making him any less of a man. Jonathan is loved for what he is, not for what he could be.
They lay there for some time, tangled together underneath the sheets. It’s a lovely thing but Jonathan simply can’t afford to ignore the responsibilities he has. He needs to make tea and tend the garden, having his own harvesting to do before the cold winter months set in. Jonathan gets up slowly, ignoring the uncomfortable crack of his back as he tries his best to not disturb barnabas. His efforts are in vain as Barnabas is jostled, and strong arms quickly wrap around Jonathan’s waist, pulling him back towards the bed.
“Morning, love” says Jonathan, moving his hand up to gently run through Barnabas’s hair. “Mind letting me go?”
“Don’t go yet.” Barnabas murmurs, voice soft and still clouded with sleep. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, only bury his face further into Jonathan’s chest.
“Barnabas, sweetheart, I really do need to get up,” says Jonathan, fond exasperation clear in his voice.
“Noooooooooo.” Barnabas groans, tightening his grip around Jonathan’s waist.
“Yes! C'mon now. We need to have breakfast and you promised to help me in the garden today. Don’t think I forgot about that.”
Pulling back from his chest, Barnabas winces against the morning sun as he finally opens his eyes. His squint quickly falls away as he draws his face into a pout, eyes bright and earnest. He looks comically put out, and Jonathan almost lets out a chuckle when Barnabas starts wobbling his lip. They stay there for a moment, caught in a tense war as Jonathan does his very best to remember how important it was he get up out of bed. The foolish man knew exactly what he’s doing acting like this. Hell. Jonathan is more foolish, because he falls for it every time.
“Alright, Alright,” Jonathan finally concedes, settling back down into the blankets. “Five more minutes and then I do have to get back up.”
“Mmhmm.” Barnabas nuzzles into his chest, and Jonathan can feel Barnabas’s smile where his face is pressed against his shirt.
“I mean it Barnabas. Five more minutes, and then we're getting up.”
Barnabas lets out another contented sigh against him, and Jonathan lets his eyes drift back shut against the morning light, hand still lazily stroking through Barnabas’s hair.
It’s only a few minutes before he falls back asleep.