Work Text:
Jon’s not good at noticing things, ironically enough. Which is probably why he only realizes that Martin’s agitated pacing and shifting eyes mean that he’s looking for something at seven in the evening. He doesn’t say anything at first, just observes Martin flipping over couch cushion while Jon makes tea in the kitchenette, listens to him rifle through the bedroom, before hearing the telltale squeak only the bathroom door gives when it opens. Finally, Martin flops down on the couch next to him, looking defeated.
Jon cautiously takes a sip of tea.
“Looking for something?”
“No,” Martin says easily.
It’s terrifying how good of a liar he is.
“Hm.”
Martin glances at him.
“What?”
“For some reason, I’m not completely convinced.”
“It’s nothing important, really.”
Martin accords him a smile, although a tighter one than usual. His fingers tap away at his thigh. Jon sets his mug on the table, resting his hands against Martin’s arm instead, making him jolt slightly. Okay. Something is definitely off.
“Your hands are cold,” Martin says, catching his expression.
“I was just holding a mug, Martin.”
“Oh. I meant hot?”
Jon leans against him.
“You’re digging yourself into a hole. Did you lose something?” Martin bites his lip. He stays quiet. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s- it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Jon swallows a huff. Convenient how he didn’t answer the first question.
“Well, let me know if I can help,” he says, trying not to sound too disgruntled.
Martin raises an eyebrow, a more sincere smile playing at the edge of his lips, indicating that he failed. Jon lets himself huff this time before making a much less dignified noise, as Martin shifts him onto his lap.
“What-“
“There,” Martin says, sounding all too happy of himself. “Now you’re helping.” He rests his face in the crook of Jon’s neck. “Satisfied?”
“Not as much as you are, it seems.”
“Mm, yeah, probably not.”
And just like that, Jon drops it.
- - -
It takes a few days, this time, to realize that Martin hasn’t stopped. But once he does, Jon can’t stop noticing. It starts wearing on his nerves. Not just because of frustration, it worries him too. At some point Martin leans down to look under the kitchen counter (which he has already done five times, Jon counted) and Jon shuts his book with a snap before snapping himself.
“I can see you, you know,” he says, with a vague hint of the spite he used to be able to manifest so many years ago.
Still, Martin straightens so quickly, he almost loses his balances, looking flushed and slightly hurt, which immediately makes Jon cringe with guilt.
“I- um- sorry Jon-“
“No, no, I should apologize, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just- I’m worried.”
“Jon, really, I promise it’s no big deal.”
“Martin.”
Martin sighs.
“Well, okay, it’s kind of important, but it’s not- it’s fine. It’s nothing bad.”
“Well, isn’t that reassuring.”
“Jon. Oh my god. It’s just- it’s just a thing I lost.”
Jon gets up, turns toward Martin to face him properly.
“I could…“ He swallows. “I could Look into it, if- if you want.”
“… like… ?”
“Like, capital-L-Look, Martin, yes.”
“I- um. Could you, like, give me a hint? About where it is?”
“That’s-“ Jon finds himself laughing despite himself. “That’s not exactly how it works, love.”
“Mm. Yeah. Thought as much. Then, uh- no, I’d rather you don’t Jon, sorry. It’s just- i-it’s embarassing, that’s all.”
“Embarassing. Yet, I’ve read your poetry.”
Martin crosses his arms.
“Behind my back! While you suspected me of murder!”
Jon winces.
“I- alright, that’s fair. I won’t Look. Really.”
Martin takes a few steps forward, breaching the distance with a kiss to Jon’s head.
“I know. I trust you.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Jon.”
- - -
The days roll on and Martin’s mysterious search hasn’t been successfull. He’ll give an irritated sigh occasionally, sitting down next to Jon and burying his face in his neck.
“‘M recharging,” he’d mumble.
“I see,” Jon would reply, his heart very full.
Then one day, Jon wakes up from a nap, a faint familiar ache in his teeth and a buzz of static at the back of his head.
It’s silver.
He’s too groggy to fully realize what’s going on and he unwittingly finds himself pressing on.
What is?
The ring.
That doesn’t help, Jon thinks grouchily to himself. He shifts on the couch trying to find a more comfortable position to drift back to sleep.
Martin’s ring. It’s silver, with a tiny amethyst engraved on the top.
“What?”
This time the word tumbles out of his mouth in surprise, which, of course, is much more effective.
The ring is silver, almost plain at first glance. The tiny amethyst on top wouldn’t be visible if it didn’t catch the light in such a way. Martin had agonised about it for days. Should he go for gold? That’s the standard isn’t it? But Jon would find gold tacky, right? Plain. He should get a plain, silver ring, names engraved on the inside. Oh, but the amethyst is so nice. Maybe he should choose a gem with meaning? Or would Jon call him corny? Jon would definitely call him corny. Fuck it, go for the amethyst.
He’d guessed at Jon’s ring size, telling himself that it could be modified anyways. Then he carried it for months, always in his pocket in the little box. Waiting for a good moment. And there were a few but Martin had always felt too jiterry, actually forgotten he was carrying the ring a few times. He’d called Melanie for advice, and sometimes just to whine and complain while she sighed and called him hopeless, very affectionately. Then the ring went missing.
It didn’t, actually, Martin had just changed coats with Spring starting and the ring had stayed in the left front pocket of his winter jacket, gathering dust in it’s little black box.
“Enough,” Jon says weakly. He’s on the floor now, somehow. “Stop.”
The static dies out in a slow trickles. Jon shudders, swallows as he finds his mouth dry with a metallic taste. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against the cool of the floor.
“Shit,” he says quietly.
“Jon? Is everything okay? I heard- Jon!”
“Shit,” Jon says again, because he really doesn’t think he could meet Martin’s eyes right now. Yet he has to, as Martin helps him back up onto the couch.
“Are you okay? Was it the anemia thing?”
“Mm.”
“What? Do you have a migraine?”
“Hmmm.”
“Jon?” Martin’s eyes widen. “Oh god, you don’t have a concussion do you? Can you raise both arms for me?”
“You do that when you think someone has a stroke, not a concussion,” Jon mumbles.
Martin sighs, sitting next to him.
“So you are fine.”Martin looks him over, so obviously concerned that Jon has to bury his face in a pillow. “Right?”
“Just rolled over in my sleep, that’s all.”
“I keep telling you not to sleep on the couch. It’s horrible for your back as well. Did you- …bad dream?”
Martin’s hands are combing through his hair now and Jon relaxes despite himself.
“I- kind of?” Martin digs his fingers into his scalp. It’s heavenly.“Oooh.” Martin snorts behind him.
“Care to elaborate?”
“I- hold on, I cannot focus while you massage my head.” Martin laughs again as Jon hoists himself to a sitting position. He finds himself smiling despite himself.
“We don’t have to talk about it, it’s okay.”
Here comes the guilt again. Jon puts his face in his hands and sighs deeply, his way of collecting his thoughts. There’s a pause.
“… Jon?”
“It’s in your coat pocket. The blue one. Left pocket,” he blurts out, still not looking up.
“What-“
“I-I didn’t mean to Know- it just sprung up on me- like-like a casual fact- though obviously, it isn’t- But I didn’t want- oh, Martin.” He’d finally lifted his head and to say that Martin looked crestfallen would be an understatement. “I’m so sorry. I really am.”
“It’s- it’s alright, you didn’t mean to.” He huffs. “I couldn’t figure out how to do it anyways, so maybe this is a blessing in disguise, you know?”
“If- if you say so.”
Silence had not been an awkward thing between them in a long time. And yet.
“…I can’t believe you said it was ‘no big deal’,” Jon finds himself mumbling.
“Well I-“ Martin throws his hands in the air. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t want you twigging anything!’ He pauses, crossing his arms, eyes glued to the floor. “Should I-“ Martin’s cheeks grow pink-ish. “Should I go get it?”
“The- now?”
“Well…. No time like the present right?”
“Well- I-I suppose, sure, okay.”
“Right. Okay. Um.” Martin gets up. “See you soon?”
“Um. Yeah. See you?”
This was ridiculous. They were both acting ridiculous. Jon felt like he was on the brink of tears and simultaneously experiencing feelings for the first time. But it’s not until Martin reappears with a familiar black box that the situation really hits him.
“Jon? Oh, Jon, don’t cry. Jon-“Martin starts making a noise that suspiciously sounded like a giggle. “Jon-“
“You’re laughing!” He feels so indignant that he almost stops crying. Almost. “You’re proposing to me and you’re laughing!” He sniffs. “Get me a tissue, you idiot.” Martin wheezes, actually bending over. “Martin! This is supposed to be serious.”
“This is the worst proposal.” He hands a box of tissues to Jon. “This couldn’t go more wrong.”“Yet, you seem to be having a grand old time,” he mumbles as he wipes his face. “And you haven’t even done it yet.”
“Don’t you dare rush me.”
“I’m not!” Martin raises an eyebrow at him. “Okay, maybe I did, but that was an accident.”
“I know, Jon. “ And he gets on one knee. “So.”
“Don’t start your proposal with ‘so’!”
“Jon! Just who is proposing here?”
Jon huffs.
“…you.”
“Exactly. So! As I was saying! I love you, Jon. I’ve- we’ve been through so much together, so much that I really can’t imagine a future without you next to me. And I’m so nervous forgot the rest of my speech- anyways- marry me?”
The ring is beautiful. Only slightly loose around his finger, which makes Martin frown but Jon almost doesn’t process it. He can’t stop crying.
“Aw, Jon, come on, you’ll make me cry if you don’t stop.”
“You’re asking me to marry you, of course I’m going to-” Then he remembers. “I need to make a call!”
“Now? Seriously?”
“Yes! I-“ He dips his hand between the couch cushions and unsurprisingly finds his phone. “Just- give me a minute!”
“Jon!”
“It’s important!”
“I thought we were having a moment!” But he’s laughing again.
“We will resume the moment!” He doesn’t even go to the contact list, instead typing the number immediately. He holds it up to his ear, waiting for it to be picked up.
“Hello?”
“Georgie!”
“Georgie?” Martin asks, amusement morphing to confusion.
“Hey Jon, how’s it going?”
“Um. Things are okay.” He puts a hand on the receiving end. “Martin, please stop laughing.” He returns to the call shoving a hand into Martin’s grinning face. “Anyways, I was calling you to ask you if you still wanted to be my best man? Best woman? You understand what I mean.”
A pause.
“Georgie?”
“Jonathan, are you getting married?!”
“Um. Yes!”
A muffled few words come from Georgie’s end. Then:
“What do you mean ‘finally’? You knew?!” A high laugh, one that could only be Melanie’s. “Martin told you?! And he didn’t tell me?”
“Whoops,” Martin says. Jon shushes him again.
“Anyways, Georgie could I get your answer?”
“Yes, of course! Are you kidding? I’d love to.”
“Great, I’ll talk to you some other time then.”
“Jon, you can’t just-“
“Bye!”
As soon as he hangs up, he mutes his phone in preparation for the onslaught of text messages from Georgie. Martin looks at him, all tender eyes and the most satisfied of smiles.
“You’re horrible,” he says, exceedingly fond. “Absolutely horrible.”
“It’s not very nice to insult your fiancé, Martin.”
“Oh, my fiancé, wow , okay.” He laughs, kisses Jon hard and quick. “I love you. I hope that wasn’t too much of a trainwreck.”
“It absolutely was,” Jon replies as Martin groans. “But I honestly could not imagine it any other way.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“You know what I mean! This wouldn’t happen to anyone else. It’s special. Don’t you roll your eyes at me!” Martin grins, gives him another kiss on his neck this time and lingers there. “What I’m trying to say is I love you, I love you so much.”
“I know,” Martin says softly against his skin. Jon cards his fingers through his white hair, making Martin tilt his head to look at him with warm, brown eyes, “I love you too."