Work Text:
Jon and Martin settled down in adjacent stools at the kitchen counter as Vivi ducked down to find suitable mugs for the both of them. Jon felt his stomach twist uneasily as he attempted to force Vivi’s initial greeting of Martin from his mind. That wasn’t his to know, certainly not like this, and Jon couldn’t help but be discomforted by that thought process’ familiarity. Martin seemed to feel similar; When Jon looked over he could see his jaw clenched and leg bouncing in stress. When Jon was sure Vivi was on the far side of the kitchen, he leaned closer to him.
“Martin, are you alright?” he whispered gently.
“‘m fine.” Martin insisted, though his voice came out strained and tense through his teeth.
Jon frowned, sadness blooming in his chest. He hated seeing Martin like this, so clearly stressed and out of his element. The larger man was hunched over slightly, as if in an effort to make himself smaller, with his forearms resting on the counter. Jon desperately wanted to reassure him, to talk to him, but when he opened his mouth to whisper again, he was cut off by the sound of Vivi closing a cabinet abruptly. She remarked casually how the mugs couldn’t have “up and disappeared,” apparently unaware of the tension within either of them. Martin let out a short, polite laugh.
Jon hesitated for a moment on what to do before an idea solidified in his mind. He reached out towards Martin gently, palm up as an invitation. Martin’s brows were knotted together as anxiety cast storms over his grey eyes, but when he saw Jon’s hand his expression visibly softened. He turned towards him, meeting Jon’s gaze for just a moment in gratitude before entwining their fingers together.
“Aha!” Vivi exclaimed, pulling out two matching polkadot mugs, “I knew we still had these somewhere!”
Jon squeezed Martin’s hand reassuringly, and a genuine smile flickered on his lips.
“Didn’t you get those mugs for Memée years ago?” he said, his voice lighter than before.
As Vivi began to explain the origins of the mugs, a story they clearly both already knew, Jon let his mind wander once more. His eyes caught on framed cross-stitched artwork hanging on the wall a little ways away. Now, in this moment, all Jon let himself think of was the intricate patterns of coloured thread, and the weight of Martin’s warm hand in his.