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It starts with a ring.
A small ring, nothing special - a little thin gold band contrasted against Jon’s dark brown skin, with a small purple stone set in it, an amethyst. Martin doesn’t notice it until he’s, well, not dying or walking through fear dimensions, and once he does, he notices Jon doesn’t wear it all the time. He’d assume it was a sort of thing to wear with his clothing, to match it, but it doesn’t match all the time. It’s a random thing - sometimes Martin feels the warm metal bump against his hand for days at a time, sometimes Jon’s hands are bare for weeks before he wears it again. Martin doesn’t say anything, obviously - it’s not a huge deal, it’s nothing really, and if Jon wants to wear it, then he can wear it. It’s not Martin’s place to stop him in something like this.
And then it’s eyeliner.
Again, not a lot, nothing special, just a little bit lining the eyes. Martin thinks he sees the slightest bit of glitter one day, in a faint dusting of the lightest violet eyeshadow across Jon’s eyelids. He doesn’t say anything. Martin thinks he couldn’t care less.
Well… he does care. He thinks… it looks pretty, on Jon, the little line of narrow black along his eyes and the glitter flashing in the light occasionally. He almost wants to ask him to wear more, but ends up simply tallying up the days, admiring the ring and the eyeliner and eyeshadow on the few days Jon does wear it, sort of cherishing the days when Jon makes that decision. Or… whatever it is. Martin thinks he knows, because he’d been to several Pride parades before the world ended, but if that is the case, then it’s Jon’s place to come out to him. Martin definitely won’t push him into it.
It goes on like this for a few months, nearing half a year. Martin never says anything, but he does notice that when Jon does wear the eyeshadow and eyeliner, he goes a little bit heavier and more noticeable, and when he wears rings, he starts wearing necklaces too. One time, Martin finds Jon laying on the couch, head leaned back against the armrest, dressed in one of Martin’s oversized sweaters and jeans. His eyes are closed, the light of the lamp catching on the faintest glitter on his eyelids and reflecting off the gold of small rings on at least three of his long, thin fingers. There’s even an earring in one ear, a simple stud glittering gold, and his hair is fanned out against the couch. Martin can’t help but smile, adoring the sheer beauty of his boyfriend (who may not be his boy friend, he considers) before leaving and letting Jon relax in whatever clothes and jewelry he wishes.
The third thing Martin sees is... well, he really didn’t mean to see the skirts. He’d been doing laundry, which he usually didn’t do - Jon didn’t like going out into town alone, so usually Jon did laundry and at-home chores while Martin went out for the shopping and such.
Except, this time, Martin’s doing laundry while Jon’s gone out for his own errands in town, and he’s holding a hanger covered in plastic, unzipped to reveal several long skirts hanging from it. There’s one that’s black and pleated, one that’s a light beige with a gold pattern shimmering across it, and a few in other colors that poke out from beneath. There’s only around five total, not a huge amount, but Martin feels like he’s stumbled onto something sacred. He’s been playing with the idea of Jon being something other than a man for months, but he didn’t want to figure it out by anyone other than Jon himself. If Jon doesn’t feel comfortable telling him himself, Martin shouldn’t know at all, as much as he wishes Jon would tell him, that he’d feel comfortable enough with Martin to do so.
He stares at the skirts for a second, taking a moment to process that his suspicions are more likely to be true than he thought, and then the door clicks.
Martin spins to see Jon walk in, staring down at a book in his hand apparently reading the summary. He looks up, mouth opening to say something, and freezes at the hanger still held in Martin’s hand, unzipped partway.
There’s a long, tense silence. Martin makes a snap decision. “Jon,” he says, and gives a warm smile. He hangs the skirts back up and walks over - the light from the window glitters on Jon’s eyeshadow. “I made biscuits, if you’d like them.” He starts to walk past Jon, ignoring the slight frown on his face, keeping his expression and body language nothing more than neutral and as warm as he’s ever been with Jon.
“They’re chocolate chip,” he continues. Jon follows him, quiet. Martin can almost imagine the studying look he’s getting behind his back, sharp brown eyes flicking over him. He keeps walking.
Finally he turns to Jon, with the exact studying look he was imagining, and offers a biscuit from the tray he’s stood beside. “They’re fresh from about twenty minutes ago. I did them while the laundry was in.”
Jon is quiet, still studying Martin. Martin gives a returning smile, sees Jon glance down at the biscuit, and then concede. His mouth tilts in a slight smile, he takes the biscuit, and meets Martin’s eyes with warmth now as he takes a bite. “Thank you.”
Martin smiles more. “Thought you’d like them.”
-0-0-0-
The peace lasts four hours.
Martin stands in the kitchen making tea. He’d thought that Jon had let it go, had seen that Martin wasn’t going to push him to talk about it and had decided not to talk about it. Maybe he’d even figured out that Martin knew full well what the skirts meant and that he’d accepted it, but Martin also knew how much trauma Jon had been through and that he wasn’t going to come to that conclusion easily.
Jon’s bare footsteps sound lightly against the floor, and then he’s standing beside Martin, leaning with his hip against the counter. “Martin,” he says.
Martin looks up. “What?” he asks, entirely innocently despite the weight of the situation rapidly rising.
Jon is silent, simply staring at him. He raises one eyebrow.
It’s a long moment before Martin sighs and turns to face him fully. “What, Jon? I saw the skirts, and I’ve seen the rest of it - the makeup, the jewelry - for months now. I’m not going to leave you just for that. I don’t know the full situation, and I’m not going to push you into telling me, but the skirts are a part of something bigger that is part of you. And I love you. That’s not going to change.”
Martin glances away, giving a small smile. “To be entirely honest, it- well, it looks pretty on you, Jon. The light catches on the eyeshadow really nicely sometimes, and the gold rings are nice too. I like it.”
“They,” Jon says suddenly. Martin’s eyes flick towards him; Jon looks a little like a deer caught in headlights, eyes widening a little at the word. He shifts against the counter, looking away, clearly having no idea how to handle this situation.
“What?” Martin asks.
“I-I’m a they. Sometimes,” Jon says quietly. “I-it sort of, depends. On how I feel that day.”
“Is today one of those days?”
Jon looks up quickly at Martin, hesitating a little.
Martin tries an experimental touch, reaching out to put his hand on Jon’s hip, taking a step forward. Jon does nothing against it, gaze entirely caught on Martin, and then he speaks finally. “Yes. Sort of. I-it’s complicated. I’m still a he. Just- also not?”
Martin considers, and then looks up at Jon. “Well, this is a side of you that I don’t know,” he starts. Jon tilts his head. “I want to get to know it. If you’ll let me,” Martin says softly, stepping forward again so he’s just barely pressed against Jon.
Jon stands frozen, apparently shocked by this turn of events. Martin doesn’t push him, letting him adjust to the fact that his fears of being scorned for being genderfluid aren’t true, and simply waits.
Finally, it comes. Jon relaxes, brown eyes filling with warmth and fondness, and his hand comes up to Martin’s on his hip until he can lace their fingers together. “Okay,” he says, and starts to turn to the couch to walk towards it with Martin.
Martin smiles. “Right now, what do you want me to call you?” he asks first.
Jon pauses. “They,” they say finally, sitting down on the couch next to Martin.
“And that changes, along with what you wear.”
Jon nods. “When I wear skirts, it’s usually- I call it a ‘they’ day, though it ranges, I guess? The eyeliner and eyeshadow- it’s, I’m not sure how to explain it, but it’s like I just want to be a little more feminine without the actual shift? It’s always there, though the desire to want to be called they varies almost daily.” They lean back and sigh, closing their eyes. “It’s really complex.”
Martin rubs his thumb along one of the rings on Jon’s fingers. “That’s fine. I’m here to listen, if you want to explain.”
Jon nods. “I do. You’re-“ they give a little laugh, “-you’re possibly the only person I want to fully explain to, that I trust to understand.”
“Well,” Martin says, smiling, “you have me right here, and I’ll try to understand as best I can.”
Jon smiles, opening their eyes. “Thank you, Martin.”
“It’s you, Jon, and I love you,” he replies softly, gaze warm.
Jon closes their eyes again, then they open them and sit up, and Martin listens as they start explaining.
-0-0-0-
It’s hours later that they’ve finished a movie and Jon has predictably fallen asleep in Martin’s lap, curled up like a cat. Basic routine - carry them to bed, except the difference in the routine is this time, Martin takes a cloth from the bathroom and gently wipes off the eyeshadow and eyeliner, and he takes the rings off as well, setting them on the nightstand. Jon curls up contentedly against Martin when he’s finally in bed and underneath the blankets.
“I love you,” Martin says softly, studying the planes of Jon’s face in the moonlight as he lays facing them. “ All of you.”
There’s a quiet hum after a few moments. “I know,” Jon mumbles.
Martin feels Jon’s hand against his under the covers, feels their fingers lace with his. There’s a slight metal bump, a ring Martin must’ve missed when he was himself half-asleep, and he spends the time thumbing the smooth warmth of it until he falls asleep next to Jon, limbs tangled with theirs.