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“What do we still need?” asks Jon, walking by Martin’s side on their way out of the green grocer.
Martin looks at the shopping list messily scrawled on the back of a receipt. “Not much. A few things from the chemist and I think we’ll be able to put off the rest ‘til tomorrow. It’d be difficult to carry back much, anyway.”
“Good, good.” Jon readjusts his grip on the shopping bags in his hands, sliding them up onto his forearms so they’re more hanging off of him than he’s holding on to them.
Martin takes in the dark circles under his partner’s eyes and the way he’s taking pains to hide his hands’ trembling. “Do you want me to take those? You look like you’re struggling a bit.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Jon shoots back by way of reply. He shakes his head and plasters on a wide smile. “You’ve already got yours. I can manage.”
“You sure? You’ve been looking a bit weak recently, so if you need me to--”
“I think I’ve just got a cold coming on, the cooler climate setting in and all,” cuts off Jon. “I can handle carrying shopping back home.”
Slowly, Martin nods. “Alright, if you say so.” It’s a small enough thing to let go for now. He can bring it up again at the house if he needs to. “Do you remember where the chemist is, or do I need to pull up the map again?”
Jon stops and looks around the streets branching off from the corner on which they’re stopped. “Left. I think I remember it being at the end of the street to the left.”
“Sounds right to me,” says Martin, hiding a grin.
“Was that--was that a pun?” Jon looks offended.
“Maybe.”
Jon scoffs. “Oh my God.”
They plod along the roughly bricked pavement for a few minutes, and Martin notices Jon starting to slow down. He doesn’t say anything and just alters his pace to stay on level. A few more seconds pass, and Jon clears his throat. His voice sounds strained. “What do we need from here, again?”
“Bits and bobs of toiletries. Toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, whatever. How come?”
They come to a full halt a few feet from the door, and Jon stares intently through the window, his stance tense. “Is there anywhere else we could go? Or could we come back tomorrow?”
“I mean, we could come back tomorrow, but it would be annoying to go another night with barely any soap.” He hears Jon's breathing starting to pick up. “Why?” he asks again.
“I, I, um, can we just not go in there right now? I’d really like to not go in. Can we go back home now, please?”
Martin furrows his brows. “Well, yeah, of course, if you really want to, but I’d like you to tell me why. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine,” Jon says quickly, eyes leveled downward and hands fiddling with the plastic bags.
“Obviously you’re not, something’s bothering you.” No reply. “C’mon, it’s alright. I’m not gonna suddenly decide we have to go in if you give a ‘wrong’ answer.”
“It’s, it’s, just, uh--” he laughs nervously and looks in the window again, then back to his feet. “I haven’t fed at all in two weeks, and I can usually handle it, but without even any of the written statements I’m getting weaker faster. Someone in there--” he jerks his head in the direction of the door-- “has a story to tell, I could feel it from halfway down the street, and, and I don’t, I can’t really trust myself to not do something really bad if I go in. I don’t want to chance it.”
“Oh, Jon,” says Martin, reaching out a hand, but Jon rolls onward.
“And, yes, I know, it’s really not my place to feel distressed about it when I’m the one whose fault it is. I could make the problem go away with a little bit of self control to just not do the bad thing. It’s doubly not my place to make you worry about my worrying about hurting people or getting sick from not hurting people, so really, really, just, just ignore me. Forget I said anything, it’s fine. I’ll keep it together, or if it looks like I’m not then you should just hit me or something and snap me out. Really, don’t give it another thought. If I’m upset about the idea that I might want to do something terrible then I really do deserve to be because--”
Martin puts his shopping bags on the ground and places his hands on Jon’s shoulders. “Hey, hey, hey. Jon, calm down. Take a few breaths.”
Jon snaps his mouth shut and inhales deeply through his nose. “I’m sorry, I just--”
“Nope, it’s alright, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Okay, I’ve got a few things to say. First--” he leans in and presses a light but long kiss to Jon’s lips, pulling away when he feels Jon relax under his hands. “You got that?”
Jon chuckles. “Yes, I do.”
“Second, we’re not doing any of that, for like, so many reasons. We’re going home right now, and I’m taking your bags.”
“I’m fine, really, I can--”
“You’re not fine, you’re starving.” He reaches down to the plastic handles around Jon’s wrists and transfers them to his own. “I’m sorry I haven’t noticed, I know suffering in silence isn’t fun.”
Jon’s face tenses and he looks like he wants to argue, but the expression drops as quickly as it rose. “I’m sorry for not saying until now, and for getting so worked up about it.”
“Again, you don’t need to say sorry for--”
“Please, just, let me finish. I’m trying to say something vulnerable and I’m going to lose my nerve if I can’t get through it quickly.”
Martin nods.
“I don’t, ugh… ” He heaves a sigh. “I don’t like talking about my whole, y’know, feeding situation. I feel visceral waves of guilt just thinking about it. My outlook tends to be ‘if I ignore it, it’s not happening,’ and I know that’s not good, that mindset has run me into trouble many times before, but I can’t easily just stop. But anyway, if you were wondering why I hadn’t told you the withdrawal was starting, it’s not because I don’t trust you or anything, it’s just my own issues. I didn't want to voluntarily start a conversation with you about, uh, my least favorite part of myself.” He sighs again, less weary and more satisfied. “Okay, I’m done now.”
“Then thank you for managing to get it out.” Martin shifts around the bags he’s holding and takes Jon’s hand as they start their walk back home. “Basira says the police are starting to wrap up at the Institute, so she should be able to send up a box of statements soon. You aren’t going to starve.”
“You’re really, really nice, you know that?”
“Only to people who I think it’s worth being nice to.”
Some seconds of the sound of shoes rhythmically hitting the ground. “Thank you for not being upset with me,” Jon says, looking up.
“Why would I be upset about something you can’t control and that’s hurting you?” He turns to look at Jon, and evidently it’s Jon’s turn to pull him down to kiss.
They break apart. “I can come back down here in a few hours to get those last things, if you want.”
“No, that’s alright. You look like you could use some sleep.”
“I really could, actually.” Jon smiles. “I love you, you know.”
Martin gives Jon’s hand a squeeze and smiles back, his grin a bit more smug. “I do know, yes.”