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Martin stands shyly between the threshold of the door, he knows he’s letting in too much of the cold winter air, but his feet feel too solid to move. He is met with the cluttering of pots and pans, and the distinct smell of artificial lavender dish soap. Tiredly breathing in a waft of fresh air he slowly closes the front door. Reaching down to kick off his still laced-up work shoes, brushing off the dirt they left behind on the wooden floorboards, and shuffling begrudgingly forwards with cold socked feet towards the warm glow of the kitchen.
Fitting his chin into the crook of Jon’s neck, he brings his arms forward to wrap around the small waist of his boyfriend. A silence in the stillness meets the soft sound of ruffling fabric, as a damp hand falls gently in place with his own.
“I didn’t expect you home so early” Jon exclaims as he turned his body within the snugly clasps of Martin’s arms, inching forward on his tippy toes to brush away the mellow red curls adorned on his forehead to deliver a soft kiss. “Something about the tube having a delay because of nearby construction, right?” he added, before turning around to plunge his hands back into the warm, soapy lavender water of the sink. Between the clinking of cutlery and the uneasy shifting from foot to foot, Martin hushed a small “I-I called in sick towards the end of my shift.” Into the crook of Jon’s neck, whilst tightening his steady clasp around the waist of his boyfriend, he continued “that’s why I didn’t get caught up in the erm- tube? Traffic? And also why I’m kinda… Home early.” Turning around once more, Jon wiped his damp hands on the front of his white buttoned shirt, before carefully placing the back of his hand onto Martins forehead, brushing away a few loose curls in the process. “You don’t feel like you have a fever” Jon commented wrapping his arms around the small of Martins back “does your stomach hurt” He considered as he gazed, brows knitted deep in concern.
“I- its-“ nervous fluttering of hands, clasped and unclasped from behind him, eyes looking tentatively around the room, never lingering on one place for too long as thoughts settled onto the canvas of his face. “It’s not- it’s not, that kind of… sick.”
“What do you mean Martin?”
The words get stuck in his throat, they sit uncomfortably under his tongue as he feebly shutters out strings of unintelligible whispers, swallowing down all the words he could never say, his mouth burns as he feels the hotness of them in his own throat. Martin looks down, the tears he brings fall inwardly, his cheeks are dry and he cannot bare to look into the eyes in front of him. Instead he nudges his head further into the warmth underneath Jon’s neck, having to bend a little to accommodate his height. Clasping his arms tighter around the back of his boyfriend, gripping tight balls of fabric from his shirt into his white knuckled fists. His body stiffens anxiously as he makes furtive attempts to hide the unsettling feeling residing within him. Its nerves, it’s always been nerves with him.
He worries if he should even say something at all, it’s not that bad, it could’ve been worse, plus it’ll probably go away in its own time, he can deal with it alone, he doesn’t need to bring anybody else into his own mess.
He can’t even explain it anyway, he knows he should, he knows he would be better off if he did, but he just can’t bring himself to form the letters in his mouth, an earth-heaviness sits in the sounds as they sink down into the pits of his stomach, his throat tenses and his tongue rests uncomfortably, making it hard to choke out the remaining letters. And he knows that if he spoke his voice would betray him, wavering and quiet, whispering words catching in his throat before he can manage to push them out abrasively, becoming the shell of what they once were.
“Are you alright?” Patient, thinking, stilling for a moment Jon rubs small circles onto Martins back. “Do you want me to run a bath?”
A nod, he feels it against his chest, where he can sense the crowning of red hair pressed against him. Jon had expected this, this wasn’t the only night where Martin had been like this. He worried for him, he wanted so desperately to know what was going on inside, he wanted to press on, ask questions, but he knew that would only make it worse. Martin would tell him when he’s ready, and Jon could wait, until then, he’ll run a bath.
“Come on” gently Jon unclasps the fists balled in the back of his shirt, pulling them forward he unfurls them loosely with his tender touch and slips his fingers in-between the gaps. “Let’s go” patting his head delicately he coaxes Martin to leave the safety of his chest, pulling him near to close the gap between them as he places another kiss on the freckles that decorate his forehead.
Jon leads the way, holding Martin close as he follows beside him.
Martin sits on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom, he cradles his face between his legs as his hands anxiously pull at the red curls of hair that rest on the crown of his head. Shaking dismissively he weakly attempts to rid himself of the painful memories that continue to resurface, pulling tighter on his hair, and pressing his face further between his legs, he mutters small empty pleas to the silence encased around him.
It’s the squeaking of the faucet that finally pulls him out of his trance, the bubbling of the water as it slopes into the bathtub, the old tap sputtering and whining as Jon adjusts and readjusts the temperature. A silent fog begins to settle in the room, although it’s delicate warmth, it clouds the mirror and floats through the open door.
Jon is crouched over the rim of the tub, his sleeves are rolled over his elbows, the folds bunch messily around his thin frame. Martin can’t help but think how cute he looks like that, a little unkempt, disheveled from his usual tidy self, and he knows Jon would beg to differ. Heat rises in his cheeks and he hides his face behind his hands, he knows that Jon can’t see him but he does it anyway, he blushes way too easily.
Light careful footsteps tread softly along the cool bathroom tiles, gentle slender fingers run through the curly red mess that is Martins hair. A few moments pass like this, Jon tangling his fingers through Martin’s locks, while he sits still on the closed toilet lid. It’s calm, it feels as though time has slowed down in this shared moment of intimacy, the only indication of passage from the rhythmic wrist watch that ticks quietly away softly, stowed carefully in a cupboard somewhere.
It is Jon’s voice that breaks the silence first, as always. “Come on, up you get, you don’t want the water to get cold.” As his hands leave Martins hair he is met with a small hum of disapproval, but it quickly fades when he presses his lips to the top of Martin’s head. Jon’s hands slide down to Martin’s back, rubbing small circles along the way onto the woolen fabric, tracing the diamond argyle pattern with his fingers once his hands reach his back, then they travel to the top button that peaks out over the woolen sweater, fiddling with it for a while he untucks the collar that snuck underneath the warmth of his sap green sweater.
“Would you like some help getting undressed?” Jon proposed, his voice soft and low, rumbling a little in his throat as he talks quietly. He plants one of his hands on Martin’s hip, giving it a light reassuring squeeze.
Martin nudges his head onto Jon’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist he gives a small hum and nod of approval, he’s too tired to talk right now.
Patting his head once more Jon glides his hands down to the hem of his sweater, pulling the woolen fabric over his back before sliding it over his head, ruffling his hair a little in the process as it brushes against the curls. The sweater rests in-between them, hanging on Martin’s arms that still remain loosely wrapped around his back. Reaching out behind him, he pulls Martin’s hands forward to the front of his chest, rubbing the knuckles of Martin’s fingers with his thumbs kindly, before placing them to rest safely on his lap. He then pulls the rest of the sweater over him, folding the green wool over his arm, Jon places it neatly on the counter beside the sink.
Rubbing his shoulders Jon asks again, “is this okay?” as he fiddles with the buttons on Martin’s tea stained shirt. Usually Jon would complain about how messy his button-down is, and that just because he can’t see the stains on his shirt doesn’t mean nobody else can, and how he should’ve put it in the wash yesterday, and how it desperately needed ironing out, and that if he really needed a clean shirt for work he could’ve just borrowed one of his spare larger ones. But not right now, Martin doesn’t need that right now.
Readjusting his red circular glasses, Martin rubs his tired eyes, grumbling a quiet “its okay.” Resting his head in the palms of his hands he nods sleepily whilst digging his socked toes into the plush of the carpet below him.
Jon kneels onto the floor beneath them, resting comfortably in the space between Martin’s legs, he reaches out to hold his unusually cold hands that remain pressed solid onto his face, gently he goes to pull them away, but is met with resistance.
Pausing for a moment, and taking in a deep breath, Jon thinks a little before emphasizing. “Look, Martin listen, if you don’t feel comfortable with me doing this you can tell me, you know that I’d be more than fine with letting you undress yourself.” He insists this firmly, although not harshly. Jon’s afraid that he has overstepped a boundary, he knows how hesitant Martin is with saying no. And he wouldn’t ever bear to place him in a situation that leaves space for that.
Martin cautiously lowers his hands, resting them slowly onto his lap as he presses his nose into his shoulder.
“Its okay”
“Martin, if you feel like that’s the only answer I want to hear, then you’re wrong” Jon continues, “if you want me to leave then I can and I will.’ Pausing for a moment he tries to look into Martins eyes, breathing in Jon whispered “I won’t think of you any differently for saying no.” His voice drops, low and careful, the familiar rumble in his throat settling to the sounds accompanying each letter.
“N-no, I- its okay, really.” Martin says shaking his head and waving his hands dismissively.
They both wait in the stillness, nobody moves for a while, just the steady sound of Jon’s breathing outweighing Martins own wobbly pace.
After what seems like ages, Martin turns his face over to meet Jon’s gaze for the first time since he arrived home a little over an hour ago. He lifts his arm to rub at his running nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Usually Jon would be appalled, but right now, Martin doesn’t need his smart remarks.
Jon turns his gaze to what he assumes is Martins face for a while longer, before leaning forward, his hands supported on Martins knees as he tilts his head to gradually shorten the gap between them, before finally closing his eyes and fitting his warm lips onto Martins as he kisses him slowly, meaningfully. Martin reaches his hands into Jon’s locks, running his fingers over his cheek before finding them home wrapped close in his graying hair. Jon’s arms find themselves to the front of Martin’s chest, before sliding them over his blushed ears to hold his reddening face in his hands, rubbing his cheeks delicately with his thumbs as he continues passionately kissing Martin. They stay like this for a while, before Jon pulls away, giving one small parting kiss, like the soft imprint of a wax sealed envelope.
Martin can feel his heart beating in his chest, his breathing unsteady, he doesn’t need to run his hands over his face to know that he’s blushing, the thought of Jon feeling the heat of his flushed skin makes him blush even more. Shyly his rosy lips turn into a wobbly smile.
Jon’s breathing is uneven, his face restless as his lips part in the familiar way that they do when he thinks. Reaching forward he places his hands delicately between the face of his lover. “I love you, don’t ever forgot that, okay.” He says it so surely, holding Martins warm cheeks as he says each word with careful intention.
Martin stutters a few words, unintelligible, but Jon knows what he means.
Sliding his hands down from his face and onto his collar, Jon presses down on the folds so that they lay flat against his shirt. “So you’re sure, that is this alright, helping you unbutton your shirt?”
“Yes its okay” Martin laughs, “it’s kinda comforting, in a way” he mumbles, as he looks down and fidgets with the hands that lay in his lap.
Jon begins to unbutton his shirt, fingers working delicately as they find their way down Martin’s stained top, faintly touching his bare freckled skin as they brush the material over his shoulders and arms, before neatly joining the wash basket standing quietly beside the frame of the bathroom door.
If it isn’t Jon’s feeble fleeting touch that soothes him, it’s the warm soapy bath water. The soap is old, it’s a vanilla bean and honey scented one that Martin made a while back, in a soap making class that he took with Sasha for her birthday. Its aroma floats in throughout the bathroom and settles gently onto the counters and the floor. The room is misted from its steamy fragrance and the heat of the water, the mirrors are fogged with cozy condensation and Martin’s glasses that lay nestled within the comforts of his woolen sweater on the counter, are also clouded from it. The bathroom window is slightly jammed open, as it always is, allowing the sound from the rain outside to pitter-patter through the walls of the snug bathroom.
Martin runs his hands idly through the bathtubs soapy bubbles. The heat starts to unwind something in him, making his head muted and unspooled. The sounds from the outside become muffled, as the light hums of rain and sloshing of over-bubbled water surround the atmosphere of the steam-clouded bathroom he sits in. The all too familiar scent of vanilla and honey wafts through the air, and settles into the bathtub.
Martin hears the accustomed groan of the bathroom door, opening and closing again with a silent click. Slowly treading come the beckoning silent steps, a comfort in the otherwise still of the evening. Had Jon left the bathroom? Martin didn’t even realize. Jon moves to sit on the short ledge of the bathtub, positioning his legs in the bath so that Martin’s head can rest comfortably in-between them. Unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them past his elbows in uneven bunches, Jon asks a very drowsy looking Martin if he is, “enjoying yourself?” The suddenness of his question cuts Martin out of his sleepy trance, meeting his loving gaze he quietly mumbles a “you look silly upside down.” Jon’s breathy laugh fills the small of the bathroom, tussling through the red coils of Martins hair he responds with a hushed “of course I do” love laced in each small increment of the sound, smooth and delicate like gentle calligraphy.
“Alright then, let’s wash your hair funny man” Jon whispered into the silence, and then, no more was said.
The bathroom was filled with the soft scent of vanilla and honey, albeit a little duller then before. As the clouds of steam settled all around them, the hushed sounds from the rain outside grew louder, floating through the jammed window to echo along the walls, before quietly fading away. Jon worked his fine fingers through Martin’s sleepy head, massaging in the lathers of the dollar store shampoo they had brought together the other week because it was on clearance. The cheap floral perfume did not match with the fragment sweetness that tumbled throughout the room, although its aged petal undertones fit gently into the soaps older physique. Smoothly washing out the suds from his head, martin held his freckled hands over his face, shielding them from the steady stream of foam. Eyes fluttering heavily, Martin closed them as he relaxed into the safety of sleep. Rubbing conditioner into his hair, Jon kneaded in the lather into each small curled locket, running his hands through his head longer than necessary, before pouring a small river of warm water over Martin’s crown again.
It’s quiet now, without the distraction of running water they could hear the muffled sounds of the busy streets down below. The traffic hummed softly on the intersection, accompanying the muted rain from outside. Their steady breathing filled the small of the bathroom, it was a calm silence in the late evening. The atmosphere clouded like the mirrors and Martin’s glasses on the counter. His too long legs barely fit in the bathtub, but it was alright, it was all alright.
Slowly Jon placed a faint touch onto Martin’s shoulder blades, freckles dotted his skin like rising soap bubbles, his back warm and blushed had felt just as red as Martin’s face had when he kissed him before. Sliding cool hands over his back, and onto his chest he massaged the skin beneath his careful padded fingers. Usually Martin would protest to being so kindly looked after, frowning a little Jon feels as though the guilt Martin felt whenever he received care will never completely go away. Settling in this position Jon leaned down, before fitting his face between Martins neck brushing a short kiss onto a sun-kissed check. Stubble grazing against his skin Martin laughed before pushing Jon’s face away proclaiming how itchy he was, which Jon responded to by brushing his chin against Martin’s check even more, teasing about how ticklish he was and how it was a cute look on him.
A pouting Martin sat in front of him, it didn’t last too long as Jon promised that he’d shave tomorrow if he helped him, kissing the nape of his neck and draping long arms over warm shoulders Jon whispered sweet nothings until sleep finally came.
The water was still warm, although it had lost most of its heat and majority of the bubbles. Now all that was left was Martin’s awkwardly bent legs, to accommodate for the bathtubs small size. Stretching out as far as they could go in the tight comfort of the tub, Martin sighed a heavy breath of relief as he closed his eyes and lent backwards into the security of the water. Eyes fluttering and heavy, Jon began to massage his head once more, tussling through Martin’s hair and running his calloused fingers through the wet mess covering his face. Until finally, bending down and laying a delicate kiss to the back of his head. “Are you feeling any better?”
The soft pitter patter of rain fell quietly on top of the windowpane, streaks of water falling into small streams against the glass, before sliding down onto the busy streets below. Nobody moved for a while, just the hushed breaths that muffled in the still of the night. “I guess I had a bit? Of a headache earlier, but it’s gone now, I think?” Martin hummed, head foggy from slumber, speech slurred from sleep.
Thoughtfully ruffling his hair once more, Jon softly mumbles in response a quiet “that’s good to hear.” Before cautiously delivering a careful “But, how are you really feeling?” In-between the gentle gaps of the rain and tuffling of curls.
Martin can feel the cave slowly creeping in his chest, flooding his stomach with endless amounts of worry. He waits in the silence, curling in on himself in hopes that the gathering mass weighing down inside him will fade away like the soapsuds in the bath. Slowly the small of the bathroom becomes suffocating. Jon’s hands are laced with caution as they carefully run through Martin’s damp locks, they travel warily through his head, as though if they moved any faster he wouldn’t be able to hear him over the quiet of the night. The room falls stagnant and the steam begins to settle abruptly.
“Look Martin, you’re not, how do I say this? You’re not exactly hard to read, I’ve noticed that you haven’t been acting like yourself for a while and I just wanted to let you know that whatever you’re going through right now, you don’t have to do it alone, I’m here for you, always will and always have been.” Martin could feel Jon’s warm breath on the back of his head as he talked, his hands becoming still on his head through his occasional pauses. Thinking out loud, Jon persisted to fiddle unrhythmically with the soft coils of his hair, before continuing with another sharp intake. “And I understand if you don’t feel comfortable telling me right now, you can take as much time as you need, but when you do need me, don’t be afraid to ask, I’ll be right here.”
Rushed, Martin stammers “I-I want to tell you, I really do, but It’s hard, I-it’s difficult getting the words out, I really don’t like talking about what happened, it- it makes me... uncomfortable.” Pausing indefinitely between the words as he struggles them out through clenched teeth.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk right now” an unfixed pause lingers still between them “but I really do think that it would help”
The room falls silent, only the soft humdrum of the rain and the cars outside can be heard through the open gap of the window.
“I don’t know if I… can” Martin replies, he sounds burnt out, hollow somehow.
Jon’s hands slide down from the comfy confines of the red curls that they were absorbed in, before moving down the nape of his neck, resting gently on the sides of Martin’s freckled shoulders. Giving them a light reassuring squeeze. He realizes that Jon would keep waiting, patient, even if he never said the words out loud into the open space nestled between their shared breaths. “I’m fine, really, it’s not even- I’ll manage, I’ll be fine”
Martin can hear a deep sigh from behind him “if you really don’t want to talk about it, I won’t force you too. I’d like to understand what’s going on, but I also want you to feel like you can tell me anything when you’re ready too.” Jon says this carefully, the familiar rumble returning in-between the hushed sounds of the words. A voice of old books, seaweed and soap.
Martin begins to loosen a little, relaxing into the small space of the bathtub, wiggling his legs and arms in the now, lukewarm water surrounding him. “Are you sure?” He questions hesitantly, knitting his brows loosely together.
“I’m sure” Jon responds softly. Martin can almost feel the tenderness behind the words as they echo throughout the room like the rain outside, and somehow he can hear the faint encouraging smile that’s settled onto the canvas of his face.
The room falls back into the dull silence that it was incased in not too long ago, although quiet, it is not empty. The call of sleep still holds its heavy grasp as Martin struggles to lift his eyes through the slumber that seeps through his ever so tired body.
“I- I’ve been” Martin tries, sighing worriedly in-between the gaps of the harsh sounds that clench tightly behind his teeth. He can feel the stones beginning to gather in his chest once more. “I- I... can’t.” Pulling his legs closer, trying to cocoon himself within the distant fleeting tinges of warm left from his body heat and the slowly cooling lukewarm bath water. Suddenly he feels all so alone. Martin shrinks in on himself as the thoughts begin to submerge, drowning him. “I’m- I.” fumbling with his hands Martin clasps his hair tightly, pulling at the strands caught in his fists harshly. Breathing heavily he tries to stumble out a few words. But they stay stuck in the pits of his stomach, sitting like stones as they struggle through his throat. They come out much quieter than he had anticipated, almost a whisper.
A tense silence settles in the stagnant air. He can feel Jon’s hands begin to slowly pull away from his shoulders, leaving them cold and bare. Martin wants to reach back, lean closer, because Jon’s too far away, because he doesn’t want to be alone. But it’s already too late, Jon’s close, but he won’t touch him and Martin knows why. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, it’s loud and unsteady.
“Martin, are you saying that?” Jon begins taking in a deep breath “you’ve been, how do I say this lightly” His voice has dropped soft from his exhale, gentle and low as Martin can hear careful mumbling from behind him.
They both sit in silence now. The soft scent of honey and vanilla long gone, only its faded undertones remain clouded in the mist of the little room of their shared apartment. Their breaths level and slow, almost in rhythm to the gentle rain outside that started to shimmer about half an hour ago. None of them speak, but the quiet incased around them remained lethargic in atmosphere. Martin could hear Jon’s low reassuring hum from beside him, a habit he continued whenever a room fell below an audible range. The comforting warmth of Jon’s breath sat steady against his neck, the smell of old newspaper and sandalwood laced delicately within its gentle grasp.
Letting go of a tense breath he was holding in, Jon curves his posture to lean the weight of his back on his elbows, stilling for a moment before parting his lips. “If you want I can, make us some tea?” The words sound odd in his mouth, questioning, unsure. “If you’re up for it that is” voice becoming low, quiet with worry.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes Martin hums slowly in approval.
Martin can feel the rush of water from behind him as Jon moves his legs to step out of the bath, the light calculating footsteps as they meet with the carpeted mat beside him. The familiar groan of the cupboard, and ruffling of well-loved bath towels as careful hands shuffle through their folds. The gentle trod of the floor as small steps plod against the cool tiled floor, before reaching quietly with a steady pause beside him.
“Would you like a hand?” Jon proposes hand outstretched into the empty space between them. Damp fingers grasp with his own, after a brief moment Jon’s stable grip rests on his forearm, pulling Martin forwards and out of the bath onto the cream plush of the carpet below. Wrapping the worn-out towel over Martin’s shoulders, Jon pulls him near to close the gap between them, smoothing out the folds in the fabric before resting his hands on the small of Martin’s back. Chests pressed snugly together, heads leaning on each other’s shoulders.
Quietly through the hush of their shared breath Martin whispers through the silence of the bathroom “I got your clothes all wet… I’m sorry.” He makes a small hesitant effort to move away but Jon grips his forearms instinctively before ushering “Don’t be, needed a wash anyways.” They stay like that for a while before Jon moves his hands from the sanctuary of Martins arms, lifting them to ruffle the old towel through Martins hair. “I’ll be back soon” Jon affirms with a faint peck on the forehead and a light squeeze on his waist, “just getting pajamas.”
They make tea mostly in silence, dressed in pajamas heated on the radiator and huddled close together in the warmest part of the kitchen. The sink of lavender scented dishes sit idly forgotten in the corner.
Martin is pressed up against Jon’s back, head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck, cold hands sliding under the safety of Jon’s shirt, splayed over the small space of his stomach. Jon absent mindedly hums a short tune in the quiet of the kitchen, reaching over the counter to feel for the kettle that sits next to Martins jar of honey. Shuffling slowly to the side so not to startle him, Jon places the lip of the kettle under the tap and fills until the teapot feels decently heavy. Hobbling back towards the corner of the counter to place the pot back onto the home of its heating pad, listening for the soft click and beep before turning it on to a boil.
“What mug would you like?” Jon asks, finding Martin’s hands on his chest and fitting his fingers in-between his. He is met with a soft muffle from behind him, rumbling against his neck. “Large mug it is then” faintly smiling as he reaches for the cabinet above him.
The brush of soft fur presses against his legs, accompanied with the ring of a bell and content purring. The admiral, Jon and Martin had both agreed to look after him while Melanie and Georgie flew overseas to France during the holidays. It was Martin’s idea to give their companion a bell collar, after one too many trip ups from Jon’s end.
Placing two mugs on the counter Jon scoots backwards a little to open the draw in front of him, reaching in to touch the cardboard packaging until he finds the earl grey and chamomile tea. With a faint beep and a click of the kettle, Jon asks if Martin can pour the water after he places the bags in the cups.
Jon takes his tea with a little milk, and Martin with a generous spoonful of honey.