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The soft, regular thumps of his feet hitting the ground again and again fell into the background after a time. In a world where he was constantly surrounded by screams of agony and terror, they were the one thing to keep his mind from wondering. Just as was Jon.
The awkward, sweet, lovable man held Martin's hand tight. There wasn't much to talk about, anymore; it might've been a month and it might've been an hour since they have exhausted the last topic. Not like small talk was appropriate in their situation, either.
"We're almost there," Jon's deep voice pulled him away from his musings. "If my prediction is right, Basira will be going through this exact spot soon."
"Alright," Martin acknowledged, even though the perspective of her joining them again set an unease in his stomach. The observant, pragmatical, competent Basira's overall nice to have on your side. It's not that Martin dislikes her. To the contrary, just having around someone other than Jon and occasionally Helen would be refreshing. The thing is, if she chooses to resolve Jon's situation the same way as Daisy's...
"You look troubled," Jon said. "What's on your mind?"
"It's Basira. It's just, we never really got around to explaining to her that the whole thing, the ritual, wasn't your fault, it was Jonah's. And you know how she is, always puttin things into an objective perspective and doing what she thinks is right. So..." He bit his lip.
"Do you think she'll try to hurt me?" Martin looked up to see Jon returning the gaze. The skin on his forehead creased around the eye located there. He then hummed and it smoothed out. "Yeah, I... Hm. I think I can see that."
"Do you think she can?"
The crease came back. "The Eye won't let me Know."
Martin's pulse spiked up and he took a deep breath to calm it.
"I'm worried about you," he murmured with a shaky voice and Jon squeezed his hand harder.
"I know. I'm worried about you, too." He stopped and took his backpack off. "Let's wait for Basira here."
And so they sat down, the silence unable to gift them with its calming embrace. With no footsteps nor conversation, it was easy for the shrieks to worm their way into their attention. Dull pangs of pain made their way through Martin's legs. He cringed internally. If only they didn't have to walk so much.
A particularly bone-chilling scream sounded nearby and Martin hugged himself. Still better than the alternative, he guessed, shutting off the images his imagination tried to produce.
"I've been thinking," Jon said, a welcomed distraction, "What would we be doing right now, if none this, the- the statement have never happened."
"It doesn't do good to mull over 'what if's, Jon," he cut in.
"Yes, I know, that's not what I-" Jon cut his grumbling off and promptly took a deep breath. "It's more of a... a fantasy, than anything."
"As long as you're not beating yourself up over it, sounds good to me."
"I don't- Ugh." He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was airy and he had a faraway look in his eyes. "We move together to our own place, sometimes, but most often, we never leave the cottage. Too many good cows around to do so." He broke a smile. "And we just... live, without worrying about the next thing that's out to get us. Quiet mornings, evenings spent knitting and reading books, stuff like that."
"Sounds pretty much like the month we've spent there after- you know."
"Yeah, except we're- nevermind. You, uh, you're a published author, sometimes. There's volumes of your poetry on the shelves."
Martin hummed, Jon's smile proving contagious. Had their shoulders been so close when they first sat down?
"What about you, Jon?"
"Most often, I'm a teacher." Martin snorted at that and Jon's forehead creased. "What's so funny about me being a teacher?"
"It's just- can you imagine yourself with twenty or-so kids, locked in a room all day? Sorry, love, but, well. They'd eat you alive."
"They would not!" An incredulous laugh escaped through Jon's lips. "Teenagers, then."
Martin broke into full giggles at that. "Would you bet on that, Jonathan Good-At-People Sims?"
That earned him a playful elbow to the ribs. "Shut up."
Martin's grin only got wider at that. "Make me," he challenged.
A muffled yelp escaped his throat as Jon pulled him into a kiss. He was pulling at the front of Martin's jumper with his left hand, while angling his jaw with the right. Martin wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.
Jon pulled away, much sooner than Martin would like. There was a barely visible blush in his dark-skinned cheeks and stars in his eyes, however the crease around his eye came back. Unease tugged at Martin's insides.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, visibly snapping Jon away from his thoughts.
"Wha- oh, no. Nothing's wrong. It's just, I've been meaning to, um - to ask you something." He tugged at a loose thread of the jumper's neckline.
"Okay." Martin swallowed hard under the intensity of his boyfriend's gaze. "Ask away."
Jon brought up a hand to his mouth, loudly clearing his thraot. He took a deep breath. "It's dangerous, what we're both walking into, and I think you know that not all of was may be walking out ali- walking out of the panopticon." Another deep breath. "And it's the last chance, so that if something happens you... you'll have something to remember me by. So..." Jon took Martin's hands in his and pulled him from the ground.
Martin opened his mouth, but closed it when the words of protest didn't make it through his throat. Jon was telling the truth. It's time he stopped lying to himself.
In the meantime, Jon had reached for his backpack and began to rummage through it. It took him what once would've been five minutes to also start cursing under his breath. A wave of fondness swept over Martin's heart at seeing Jon worked up like that. A small smile made itslef known on his face.
"Aha!" sounded a cry of triumph. "Take that, you cluttered fucker," mumbled Jon, getting back up and kicking the backpack. Only then did he look up to find Martin suppressing giggles. He averted his gaze, blush rising in his cheeks once more. He cleared his throat, straightened his back and folded his arms behind himself.
An image came unprompted to Martin's mind, one from their first year in the archives, and oh, it seemed lifetimes ago. The differences were obvious, though. There were the scars, yes. But then there was the absolutely besotted smile on his face and, most importantly, excitement boiling in Martin's gut instead of fear.
Then Jon fell on his knee and all Martin could do was stare like an idiot with his mouth gaping open, suddenly unable to move a muscle.
"When we're out and safe," said Jon, gazing up to Martin with hope shining in his eyes. "Martin Blackwood, will you marry me?"
Martin only noticed that he'd stopped breathing as his lungs ached. The breath he took in was just as shaky as his hands, which he cluthed into fists so hard it hurt. The ring wasn't anything fancy by far. It sat in a little box, its velvet the same colour as the small gem's placed upon the golden girdle.
There's this image in Martin's mind that had been nurtured for so long that up until then, when it clashed with the reality before him, he's never realized even was there. There's his mother in it. This love and friendship you have? she huffs, It's all their whim, and you're lucky to be along for the ride while it lasts before you're left alone just like I was. It's what you deserve. It's not real, came her vicious whisper from somewhere in his mind. It's a lie.
I love you, said the hopeful look in Jon's eyes.
Jon's grin almost split his face in half, pulling at the scars. He picked up the ring and gently enveloping Martin's right hand in his, he took it away from his face. Finally, in what must've been slow motion, he put the band on Martin's ring finger. A shiver went through his whole arm as his skin touched the cool metal.
With the ring secured in place, Jon stood up. He put his hands on Martin's face, the burn catching on stubble and wiped away the tears. When have Martin started crying, again?
"I love you, Martin," he almost-whispered. Martin didn't bother stifling his sobs, his breath shook with each one. He sniffed once, twice, until Jon put a stop to it by kissing each one of his boyfrie- fiancé’s many freckles.
"Jon," he chuckled. "What are you doing?"
Jon stopped right then, staring incredulously into Martin's eyes, as if he's the one acting weird. "Kissing you, of course." He pulled away, looking troubled. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Wha- no, no! It's- alright." Martin brushed the grey-streaked bangs from Jon's face. "You've just never done it before. It's... nice." The fond smile once again found itself on his fiancé’s face.
"Well, then I'll make sure to do it more often," he said and locked him in a kiss.
It didn't last long, both of them grinning too hard to deepen it without getting awkward. They put their foreheads together, instead, to draw in the closeness.
"The ring is beautiful, Jon. Where did you get it?"
Jon shifted uncomfortably at the question and it was enough for the anxiety to poison Martin's thoughts with a particular person's voice once again. He probably took it from one of the victims when you weren't looking, it said. You did that a lot, didn't you? Every time he was venting to the tape recorder, you walked out of hearing distance. The sinking feeling made him want to gag. He was suddenly conscious of every single place where his skin met with Jon's. His muscles spasmed, itching to push Jon away, to take off the damn ring. From whom did he take it from, I wonder. Maybe someone from The Lonely, seeing as they'll never meet their partner again, anywa-
Jon took a deep breath and the string of words spilled from his mouth. "Iboughtitwhenwewerelivingatthecabin."
Martin blinked, the bitter voice cut off by the beloved one. "Wh-what?"
"I said," Jon took in another deep breath, all the while blushing profusely, "that I bought it when we were still living at the cabin. I mean, uh, before the world... you know. Ended."
A wave of relief swept over Martin, followed right after by one of guilt. How could he think that his Jon- his awkward, sweet, lovable Jon - would ever do something like that? Jon was not a monster. Jon was not a monster, no matter what Basira or Jonah, or even Jon himself might say.
Apparently misinterpreting the lack of an answer, Jon averted his gaze. He blushed crimson while starting one of his rambles. "I-I know it may sound... weird, it probably was, you, know, after only a month of a proper, healthy relationship, but- we're not anymore. New to each other, I mean. And anyway, I was just passing by an exposition and I looked at it, didn't even mean to, and I Knew that they had your size on hand, and that it fits in my price range, and you'd like to settle down with someone one day. And I knew, lowercase k, that you fear abandonment, what with The Lonely and your mother, and I- I just thought that if I gave it to you, then you'd know that I'll never leave you."
Tears welled up in Martin's eyes again. He lunged at Jon, closing his arms around the small man whom he loved and who loved him in return and brayed into his hair. Only seconds later, Jon hugged Martin back, rubbing soothing circles into his back and making shushing noises. He didn't speak again until his fiancé’s breath evened out.
"Did I say something wrong?" whispered Jon, worry marring his face.
"N-no it-it's just-" Martin's bottom lip was just wobbly enough for him to stutter. "It was al-all right. It's happy t-tears, pro- omise." His voice broke and he gave himself a second to take a few deep breaths. "I love you, Jon."
Jon's eyes lit up like stars. "I love you, too," he responded and pulled his fiancé into a kiss once more.