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Martin walks back towards the cabin holding an armful of wood tightly against his chest. All things considered, he feels surprisingly good. He’s unused to the physical work and he aches, but keeping the little safehouse running makes him feel more solid, more real, than he has since before the Unknowing. Before Peter. Before the Lonely. The slower pace of life here has helped. It’s allowed him to start fixing the distance he’d built around himself without finding himself overwhelmed by an onslaught of people and noise. There’s so much space to think, to breathe. For once, he can simply be.
He steps through the door, prepared to ask Jon what he’d like to do tonight, maybe comment that he thinks that another storm is likely, when he stops dead in his tracks.
He sees Jon struggling to put away the dishes from dinner, balancing precariously on tiptoes. He’s wearing...he’s wearing what looks like a long, dark purple skirt, but he has it pulled up so it is worn more like a dress. The light from the fire dances across the whole living area of the cabin, but right now Martin only has eyes for Jon. He’s scowling at the plate as he tries to get it up just an inch higher, and a warm rush of fondness fills Martin’s chest. The flickering light dances across Jon’s exposed collarbone. He looks stunning.
Martin’s breath catches in his throat. He only realizes he’s lost his grip on the wood when it clatters to the floor. Jon startles, nearly dropping the plate before catching himself.
“Martin?”
“Er, um...sorry, sorry,” Martin mutters, embarrassed to be caught gawking. He hurries to pick up the logs and set them next to the fire. Then, he gives himself a moment to stoke the fire, trying to ignore the sound of Jon chuckling behind him. Outside, the wind is quickly picking up, and Martin finds himself grateful for the roaring fire.
When he finally turns around, Jon has abandoned the dishes and settled onto the rather worn down sofa, arm draped across the back. Martin tries once or twice to get a question out, but he only manages to blush.
A tiny smirk flits across Jon’s lips, and his eyes dance with amusement.
“Yes, Martin? Is there something you wanted to ask?” He sounds incredibly pleased with himself, the smug prick. But he’s also nervously playing with the hem of the skirt and biting his lip, as if he sees Martin’s positive reaction but doesn’t quite believe it.
“Aren’t you cold?” Martin blurts out, then immediately cringes at his own words. Stupid. Stupid. Really? That’s what he came up with?
Jon snorts, then says “I promise you, you’ve been keeping the fire more than adequately stocked. Really, you missed your calling. You were wasted working in an office.”
Martin rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Rugged outdoorsman. That’s me.” Truth be told, chopping wood and badly attempting to do maintenance on this place does make him feel a little bit cool, but he isn’t about to admit that. Nor does it seem the right time to mention that Jon has been just as eager to find little projects and tasks around the safehouse himself.
He sits beside Jon, contemplating his next words. The sagging sofa naturally causes them to lean into each other, their thighs pressing together.
“I thought I’d seen everything we had packed. Where’d this come from?” he asks, keeping his voice light and teasing. He trails his fingers lightly across the fabric, and Jon shivers.
“Oh, I found it while cleaning under the bed. We didn’t exactly bring many changes of clothing with us, and everything I have needs washing.” While it is certainly true that neither of them brought much of a wardrobe, Martin thinks Jon’s voice is a tad too casual for that to be the whole story.
Martin raises his eyebrows. “Really? Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing Daisy would own. Do you reckon it was hers?”
A brief jolt of static electricity fills the air. “Seriously, that wasn’t meant to be…” Martin mutters darkly towards the ceiling, but Jon has already started intoning the information fed to him by the Eye.
“It belonged to one of her victims. Daisy was shocked that no blood got on it, so she decided to keep it. It didn’t look like something she would wear, and she liked that. She always liked subverting people’s expectations of her. She took it off the body before burying her about half a mile into the woods. After all, there was no point in wasting it. But soon after, she caught the scent of another hunt and forgot to pack it,” Jon explains in a single breath, then winces apologetically.
“Christ, Jon. I wanted to know exactly none of that!”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t always control-”
Martin cuts him off. “I know, I know. It’s not your fault.”
Jon wrinkles his nose. “Yes, well, I also could have done without knowing I was wearing a dead woman’s clothing. Even if it is clean.”
“It does look good on you though,” Martin says while blushing.
“Good,” Jon says, a bit shyly. Then, he leans in to snuggle against Martin’s shoulder.
They just sit for a moment, enjoying the crackling of the fire and the warmth of each other’s embrace. Jon’s touch makes the howling wind outside feel a million miles away.
Jon starts to say something but stops several times, and Martin finds himself feeling vicariously nervous on his behalf.
Martin isn’t sure how to help though. He doesn’t want to give a whole speech about how of course this is fine, because that comes with the implication that he might have thought it wasn’t fine. Because anything he says is going to make it seem like he thinks this is a big deal when it isn’t. And really, the more he talks the more likely he is to put his foot in his mouth.
But still, he can feel Jon’s muscles tense beside him. Trying to encourage him, Martin gently kisses Jon on the forehead. Then, he looks down at Jon and says, “I’ve never seen you wear something like that before.”
Jon sighs. “Yes, well...that’s because I don’t. Not really. Or at least, I haven’t for a while.” Jon goes quiet, straightening up and turning to look at the fire. Martin squeezes his hand gently.
“Jon, you know I don’t...I don’t care what you wear. Er, well, I care if it is important to you, but I’m not going to judge you or whatever you’re afraid of. I mean, I actually think it looks quite pretty.”
Jon ducks his head in embarrassment and responds with clear fondness in his voice. “Yes, your reaction was quite clear, Martin. But it isn’t just...this isn’t really about the skirt. Or clothing. I just saw it and it seemed like as good a way as any to bring up, well...” he trails off.
Oh. A deeper part of him suddenly knows that Jon wants him to keep pushing. And that isn’t knowing like the kind that Jon gets from Eye, that terrible, supernatural sort. No, this is the sort of knowing that can only come from having been there.
“God,” Jon continues, “this would be so much easier if I could just give a statement on it. Have it all pour out of me rather than having to find the words. Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding…”
All at once, the storm starts, rain beating down against the windows. Instinctively, he wraps an arm around Jon’s bare shoulders and pulls him close. After spending the past year protecting Jon from afar, it’s nice to feel like he can protect him up close, even if it is just from a storm. Jon instantly responds by sweeping his feet under himself and curling against Martin. For all the time he’d spent imagining what it would be like to be with Jon, he never imagined he would be this much of a cuddler.
“Jon, whatever you are trying to say, it’s okay. I mean, I already know about your spooky eldritch powers, and that wasn’t enough to scare me off.”
Jon smiles gently, but he holds himself stiff in Martin’s arms. Martin can feel his brain kicking into overdrive, but he pushes it down. He pushes aside the parts of his brain that want to think about his own past rather than the present. He pushes aside the little voice inside him that isn’t quite sure how to feel. He pushes down that damn instinct to run off to make a cup of tea. None of that is what is needed right now.
No. Right now, he just needs to be as comforting a presence as he can for Jon. He draws soft circles on Jon’s shoulder with his thumb and waits.
Jon continues, “I...I hate this sort of conversation. I’ve never been good with labels, at least not when applying them to myself. And honestly, this is not...it doesn’t seem quite fair to make an issue of this when it really isn’t a problem for me. This isn’t...it isn’t a thing. Not like it is for...” he pauses, the “for you” left unspoken.
Well, that at least confirms that in Martin’s mind. This is definitely a gender thing.
“Hey,” Martin says, gently brushing a strand of Jon’s hair out of his face. “You’re doing great. You’ve got this.”
Martin hopes he’s being reassuring. He should be better at this. He’s been through this, for goodness sake. He should know what to do here. So, why does he feel so damn useless right now?
Jon surprises him by going for a question. “What do you think gender is, anyway? I mean, really.”
Martin shrugs and considers his answer. For all that he has thought long and hard about this, it’s a surprisingly tricky question. He knows it hurts to be misgendered, to be seen as other than what you are. He knows that he’s known for ages that he was a bloke. But that’s just it. It’s just something he knows feels right, and he isn’t sure how to define it. “I dunno. It’s what’s in your head, or your heart, I guess. It’s how you identify no matter what body you have.”
Jon nods, “I’ve heard that before. But it never really clicked for me. Someone once asked me what gender I’d feel like if I was outside my body, and I had no clue. I don’t think that kind of knowing exists for me. It isn’t...being seen as male doesn’t bother me. Presenting myself as male doesn’t bother me…”
“But?” Martin prods gently.
“But I don’t know. I guess being in one body seems theoretically pretty much the same as being in another to me. I don’t think I would mind if I were seen as female either. Or somewhere in between. Or if I had a different body. Does that make any sense?” Jon looks at Martin helplessly.
Martin replies, “I can’t personally relate, but you are making sense. I mean, you’re explaining it well.”
“I don’t feel like I am. And just, it frustrates me that I don’t know which I’d prefer. I don’t know how I’d feel if I were in a different body. I don’t know what gender is, and I hate feeling like it’s something the rest of the world just implicitly understands and I don’t. And sometimes I just feel....curious. About the what-ifs.”
“Really. You, frustrated by not knowing something? Consider me shocked.”
“Yes, yes, very funny,” Jon responds, nudging him playfully in the shoulder.
“I mean, you could try asking…” Martin gestures upwards. Jon half glares at him.
“For your information, the Eye is shockingly bad at metaphysical questions.”
“Right. Forget I said anything,” Martin says, holding his hands up in surrender.
Jon chuckles. “No, it’s fine. It’s more that I actually already tried that, and the answers were singularly unenlightening.”
He pauses, then asks in a much softer tone, “Do you mind?”
“No, of course not,” Martin answers immediately. At the same time, his stomach is tying itself into knots. Panic later, he desperately tells himself. Jon needs you right now.
It’s just...what he said is true. He doesn’t mind. He loves Jon just the same. It’s just...a little voice in his head is screaming that he should mind. If anything, he’s uncomfortable because what he said is true, but that truth doesn’t fit with how he defines himself.
“Why did you think I would?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light, trying not to reveal the lump in his throat.
“Well, you are gay, for one. And I just said that I’m not exactly a man,” Jon points out. The gnawing sensation in Martin’s stomach grows stronger. Right, he doesn’t have time to deal with that right now. There will be time for him to process this later.
“Does that bother you? I mean, does it feel...invalidating or like I don’t see you or something?” He knows how much it would hurt him not to be seen as a guy in a relationship. The thought that he might be putting Jon through something like that breaks his heart.
“No, like I said...I’m not even sure how I identify. There are a lot of terms that seem to fit, perhaps nonbinary would be the closest, but it’s always felt a bit, well, wrong to apply them to myself,” Jon says. Martin just holds him until he’s ready to continue.
“Especially since it doesn’t bother me to be seen as male. So no, it doesn’t bother me how you identify.”
Martin isn’t always the best at reading people, but he’s pretty sure the more times the phrase “it doesn’t bother me” is said in a conversation, the more likely it is that it does, in fact, bother the person saying it.
“It doesn’t work like that. You don’t have to want to rip your body parts off and stick them in a garbage compactor to want to be seen as who you are,” he says matter-of-factly.
Jon sighs and closes his eyes, pressing his head more firmly against Martin’s chest like he’s trying to hear his heartbeat. “I know. But I’m not sure I’d want to be seen more accurately either. Or what that even would mean for me. I’ve never wanted to be the center of attention in that way.”
Martin gently scratches Jon’s scalp. “Thank you for telling me. I can tell this isn’t easy for you.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m being ridiculous over something that doesn’t really matter…”
“Jon,” Martin stops him, his voice stern. “Stop saying it doesn’t matter or comparing yourself with other people. If it is important to you, it’s important.”
Martin feels Jon nod, his face nuzzling against him, but he stays quiet. Martin spends a moment just enjoying the sound of the rain. Still, the conversation doesn’t seem quite done.
“Er, do you want me to ask you questions? Would that help?”
Martin feels Jon nod again.
“Okay. Um, just tell me off if I ask something you don’t want to answer.”
“Martin, I promise you that I have no problems setting boundaries for myself.”
Martin snorts. “Yeah, I mean, you made that very clear when you explained that you were ace. Hey, that’s actually a decent question. You had no issue talking about that upfront, even when you were concerned it might be a dealbreaker. What makes this so different?”
Jon thinks for a moment. “Certainty, I suppose. I’ve known I’m asexual for ages. I know my answer to sex is “never.” There’s no reason not to just say it. But talking about something I’m not sure of, well...it feels different.”
“That makes sense,” Martin says, pressing a few small kisses to his forehead. “Uh...you said you haven’t dressed like this in a while. When did you try before?”
“In uni. I was with Georgie at the time and, well, we were both interested in playing with how we presented. I tried appearing more androgynous at times or more femme at times, and it all...nothing really felt wrong. I even enjoyed a lot of it. I came to the conclusion that pretty much no combination of pronouns actually bothered me, so it wasn’t worth the effort to ask. Even if it was nice.
“I did quite a bit of research. Looked at every blog and website I could find to try to figure out what fit, looked at conceptualizations of gender and gender roles throughout history. But I tried once to go out in public, and I guess...I guess I just got scared. Didn’t like everyone staring. Especially when it wasn’t something I needed. And once I started working, I was so focused on wanting to prove myself that I didn’t want anything to interfere with that...”
Martin smiles at the thought of a younger Jon attempting to turn his own identity into a research project, although his heart aches to hear just how little value Jon seems to place on doing something just because he wants it rather than needs it.
“Hmm. Okay. So, if you wondered a long time ago and then put it aside, is there any reason you were thinking about this now?”
“I guess...I saw the skirt and I suppose I just really wanted to put it on. Also, what else are we supposed to do out here? This place doesn’t get internet access. I suppose I could start processing the horrors of the past several years of my life, but…”
“But having an identity crisis sounded like a much better time?” Martin offers playfully.
“Quite.”
They look at each other for a moment, mutually trying to keep a straight face. Martin fails first, but soon enough they are both giggling hysterically.
Martin puts his hand under Jon’s chin and gently tugs him up for a kiss. Once they pull away, Martin notices just how wrung out Jon looks. Maybe that’s enough questions for now.
Unless...suddenly, inspiration strikes. “You mentioned looking up gender in different cultures. Do you remember any of it?” The sudden light in Jon’s eyes tells Martin that this was the correct move.
“Yes. I was particularly interested in cultures that had conceptions of a third gender, or more. Of course, it is hard to find reliable data, because a lot of times most of what’s written down comes from Western scholars who are trying to force ideas into concepts they are more familiar with. And of course, it also brings up questions of if there is another role outside male and female in a society, but it is just as much of a defined role that people can find themselves pushed into as those two, is that as progressive as we might think....”
Jon babbles on as Martin listens intently, heart warm as he soaks in Jon’s excitement. After a while, he finds himself drifting off, soothed by the heat of the fire, the sounds of the storm outside, and the rich tones of Jon’s voice.
Tomorrow, he thinks before falling asleep. I’ll deal with my own bullshit tomorrow.
*
They never make it to the bed, instead falling asleep curled around each other on the sofa. A decision that seems much less intelligent in the morning when both of them wake to various aches and pains and some truly terrible morning breath. Jon seems in good enough spirits, but he doesn’t bring up the prior night’s conversation, so Martin follows his lead.
Still, Martin’s skin itches with restlessness, so despite the fact that the rain from the previous night has not completely abated, he decides to go for a walk. He knows why he’s feeling this way, he just...doesn’t want to deal with it.
Jon doesn’t look particularly surprised when he says he’s going out. Their time at the safehouse has been wonderful, incredible even. However, at times Martin has found it overwhelming having gone from the near-total embrace of the Lonely to being with someone else at all times, even if he loves that someone dearly. So, he wanders the countryside or makes excuses to go down to the shops, anything to keep him moving.
Jon had worried at first that Martin had been getting too close to the Lonely again, but the feeling couldn’t be more different. The lonely is distance — like you barely have a connection with yourself, never mind the rest of the world. Being out here away from the city, he doesn’t feel lonely at all. The whole world around him feels alive. Yes, the sensation is one of peace, but it is also one of presence.
He has never been a fast walker, and he needs to take frequent breaks, but that’s okay. He has the time. Wrapping his jacket around himself against the gentle drizzle of rain, he sets out, breathing in the cool, damp air.
Away from Jon, away from the need to be there for him, he finally lets himself think through the ramifications of last night’s conversation. He couldn’t possibly have dealt with both trains of thought at once, but he realizes that it is also that he just did not want to have to think about this.
It’s safe, he tells himself. It’s just my own thoughts. Thoughts can’t hurt me or anyone else out here.
As Martin sees it, this is the issue. It’s true that plenty of people continue identifying as gay even with a nonbinary partner, and yes, Jon had said he was fine with that. It’s true that from Jon’s point of view, there is no need for Martin to change how he thinks about himself.
But the thing is...settling on the label gay had kind of taken Martin a while in the first place. And it had been like a battle. A journey. A journey that he’d thought he was done with. After years of dealing with identity issues, he’d thought he was done for good.
Perhaps he’s stomping on the fallen leaves with a bit more force than is strictly necessary, but he can’t bring himself to care. He had thought he was done with all his self discovery nonsense, but apparently, here he is again.. And it frustrates him beyond belief that he’s here questioning himself after feeling so certain of his identity for some long.
Funnily enough, there had been a time as a teenager when he’d identified as a lesbian. It hadn’t fit obviously, but he hadn’t known how else to interpret the discomfort in his own skin. It...he’d definitely had crushes on girls, he thinks. Crushes he’d later dismissed as performative, like desperately trying to fit into shoes that were too tight because they looked appealing from a distance. But there had been a spark there.
And then he’d realized he was a guy, and once he’d accepted that, everything had just fallen into place. The discomfort he’d felt being attracted to men before had vanished once he’d started picturing himself as another man in the relationship. And that feeling had been so strong, so certain, that he’d just sort of switched to identifying as gay.
And something about the label had seemed right. It seemed to fit him, explain how his awkward gentleness and maleness could fit together. Sure, perhaps he was falling back on stereotypes, but it had fit his own internal sense of himself. He isn’t even sure how a label can fit a personality. Logically, of course, he knows that is complete shit. If it was anyone else but him having these thoughts, he would have told them that. But it had always felt like identifying as gay suited how he thought of himself beyond simply describing attraction.
Then, there had been his mother. Her reactions along the way had been less than ideal, to say the least. Plenty of berating him to just be normal and such. Asking why he was so keen on breaking her heart. Blah, blah, blah.
Martin kicks a rock in front of him halfheartedly, feeling rather like a small child as he does. But then again, part of him always feels like a small child when he thinks about his mum.
She’d looked at him with such disgust when he’d come out to her as a man, but she had said one thing that stuck with him. “Well, at least your attraction to girls will be less grotesque now.” Had that been the moment when he had decided that no, he was definitely gay? Even now, as he thinks back on it, he isn’t sure.
Shit. His eyes are watering, and it isn’t just from the cold breeze. This memory hasn’t gotten to him like this in ages. Why can’t he just be over this? He needs to get over this so he can be there for Jon, and he needs to get over this for himself. He cannot let this affect the way he sees Jon. He doesn’t think it does, but the possibility scares him.
At the time, he had told himself he told her he was gay to avoid giving her false hope. That it wouldn’t be fair to keep her wondering. But even then, he’d known that a harsher part of him wanted to make it so she had no hope for her child ever being in a seemingly straight relationship. He didn’t want to grant her a centimeter of wiggle room. So from that moment, it had been part of his identity. And now, if he is completely honest with himself, he still has that aversion to the thought of being in a straight-appearing relationship.
He knows it is a crappy thought. A horrid, unfair thought that he would never want another person to feel beholden to. But he doesn’t know how to make it go away.
And this all shouldn’t even matter, because Jon said last night that he still wants to mainly present as male and that he’s probably nonbinary. But still, it feels off. Like he’s been lying to himself for a long time, and this is what it took to make him realize it.
He loves Jon. He would love Jon no matter what gender Jon was. He thinks that would be true for any partner he had, even if he does find himself more attracted to men. If he is honest with himself, he has been attracted to people of multiple genders in the past.
So why does it still hurt to let go of the label “gay”? Just because it has been a part of him for so long?
He stops walking, taking a moment to rest under a tree. The ground is a soggy, muddy mess, but he just flops down onto it. Trying to center himself, he picks up a stick and draws lines and curves in the mud. Maybe he’s being silly, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s spent the past several years dealing with eldritch terrors — he’s earned a bit of playing in the mud like a child.
Perhaps bi would be the best word. It feels strange, even in his head. Awkward. It shouldn’t. He almost envies how little Jon seems to think about the gender of his romantic partners, like it hardly registers to him. But it just, he shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable with a new label. It isn’t a bad thing. It fits.
It’s okay for it to fit, he tells himself. It’s okay. It doesn’t change who I am.
“Huh,” he says up to the sky. “Guess I’m bi.” It’s true, and he finds he minds the word less the more he thinks about it. But he’s just still not sure that it is his word.
He spends a long time under that tree, even as the rain temporarily picks up again. By the end, he’s a shivering, sopping mess, but he also feels better. Lighter. Like he’s back in his own skin. Sighing, he pushes himself up to his feet with effort and slowly starts to make his way back. He knows how Jon worries.
*
Jon happily kisses him when he returns, although he does make a pointed comment about how Martin should probably take a shower. Later, after they’ve made some sandwiches together for lunch, the topic turns towards their mornings. Jon had read a statement, then attempted to read a novel he’d found left behind. According to Jon, the rather dreadful romance novel was the more frightening of the two. Then, the topic turns towards Martin.
“Anything good today? Cows, horses?” Jon asks. Perhaps they’ve both been in the city too long, but the presence of farm animals still seems incredibly novel to them both. Or, perhaps it is just a good, safe, silly topic of conversation that keeps them from dwelling on their recent traumas.
“Didn’t really look much today, to be honest. Needed to have a think,” Martin replies.
“Oh?”
“Eh, just needed to have a bit of an identity crisis. It’s all sorted though.”
“What? Jealous of mine? Needed one of your own?” Jon jokes. Martin rolls his eyes. “But seriously, I’m sorry, Martin. I hope it wasn’t because of last night,” Jon says, looking a bit guilty.
“I mean, yeah, a bit but also not really. It wasn’t your fault. Just some stuff I should have dealt with a long time ago. And honestly, what other options are there? I suppose I could start processing the horrors of the past several years of my life, but…”
“An identity crisis sounded like a much better time?” Jon finishes for him.
“Exactly. How’d you ever guess?” They both giggle.
“Fair enough. Want to talk about it?” Jon reaches for Martin’s hand, and he takes it gratefully.
“Eh, not much to say, really. I think I’m bi? Not really because of you. Just sort of think I am.”
Jon just says, “Okay.” Then, after a moment of looking at Martin, he asks, “Are you okay with that?”
Martin finds he’s...more okay with it than he was last night, at least, so he shrugs. “I guess. I’m getting there. Labels, you know?”
“Labels,” Jon replies, nodding sagely.
Huh. That had been easy. Shockingly easy, really. Maybe he just needs to keep saying it.
Martin asks a question he had forgotten to last night. “So, do you want me to use other pronouns for you? It doesn’t have to be about something not sounding wrong. It can just be something you want because it feels nice.”
Jon freezes a moment before replying. “Yes, that would be...I think I would like that. He really is fine, but...maybe just mix them all up? Some theys? Or even she sometimes? Although it isn’t like you are going to be talking to me in the third person much.”
Martin smiles. “Of course,” he says, resolving to figure out a way. He thinks out loud a fair amount anyway. He’ll manage.
Jon takes another bite of their sandwich, a bit awkwardly since his dominant hand is holding Martin’s. They chew for a bit before continuing. “You know, I’ve considered just using the label queer and absolutely refusing to specify what I mean by it. Make people guess.”
“I’ve never thought about that one too much. It always seemed a bit, I don’t know. Like a label for someone with more self-confidence than I have,” Martin replies. But some part of him really likes the sound of it.
“What, you mean like...” Jon suddenly drops her voice to her most ominous and monotone, “I”m here, I’m queer, I’m an avatar of Eldritch fear?”
Martin lets out a wheezy laugh and tries not to choke on his sandwich. “Yeah. Like that.”
He thinks for a minute. He’s getting more comfortable with the idea of being bi, and he probably will use that word for himself. But he also just kind of likes the idea of a word that implies there’s a lot going on here. A word that seems to acknowledge all the identities that were important to him in the past, whether they still fit or not. Or maybe just a word that just says in the strongest possible terms, whatever I am, whoever I’m with, I am not straight. And maybe, just like he told Jon, he can have a label just because it feels nice.
Martin smiles at Jon. “Actually you know what? That sounds great to me. Let’s just go with queer.”
Jon smiles back and lifts up their glass in a toast. “Queer.”