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As it turned out, rescuing someone from a foggy, isolated hellscape and then having to flee with that person to a murder cabin in the middle of the Scottish countryside tended to make things awkward. As soon as Jon had come out of The Lonely, clutching Martin’s hand, wisps of fog still rolling off of their clothes, he could tell, he knew deep in his soul, that Martin didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Jon didn’t blame him. A lot had happened over the past… day? Few days? How long had they been in that hellish otherworld? They would need to talk about it eventually, Jon knew, but not yet. He wanted Martin to approach him when he was ready.
And then they had to flee. Daisy’s safehouse was small, and it could have been considered cozy if not for the copious cobwebs and suspicious stains that littered the place. It had the basic necessities of a house: Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a basement, the latter of which Jon and Martin decided to avoid at all costs. They spent their first day awkwardly dancing around each other, with plenty of mumbling and avoiding eye contact. When bedtime rolled around, Jon made the suggestion that they sleep in separate rooms, even though his heart longed to fall asleep in Martin’s arms. Martin agreed, and they silently claimed their bedrooms.
Jon tossed and turned that night. No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t get comfortable. Visions kept running through his head: Elias, Peter, Nikola, Jane. Tim, Sasha, Daisy. All taunting him, sneering at him, their mouths twisted into cruel grins, their laughter sharp and agonizing. Finally, Jon stood up and walked over to Martin’s room, knocking softly on the door.
“Martin, are you awake?” He asked.
“Yeah.” Martin’s voice sounded tired.
“Can I come in?” Jon asked. There was a pause, then:
“Yeah.” Jon opened the door. Martin was sitting up in bed, squinting at him.
“What’s wrong, Jon?” He asked.
“I— well, I know I said that it would be better to sleep in separate rooms, but I— I can’t sleep,” Jon stammered. “I was wondering if I could sleep with you. It’s— it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’ll manage.”
“No, it’s fine,” Martin replied hurriedly, lifting the blanket so that Jon could join him. “I can’t sleep either. Maybe this will help.”
“Maybe,” Jon said, climbing into bed and snuggling close to Martin’s body. Before he could really process what he was doing, he was leaning up and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to Martin’s lips. Martin froze, shocked, for a moment before closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss. They broke apart, and Jon burst into tears.
“I was so scared,” He sobbed. “I’m sorry, Martin. I was an ass to you, I was always an ass to you, and you didn’t deserve it, and I only started to realize how I felt after you’d gone with Peter and then he pulled you into the Lonely and— I thought I’d lost you!” In the darkness, Jon could barely see the tears streaming down Martin’s face as well.
“I was scared too,” he confessed. “It felt like I was in there for so long , Jon, I— I thought you weren’t coming for me. I thought that no one was coming. I thought that I’d be there, alone, forever, and that I’d fade away and no one would even remember me.”
“I’ll always come for you,” Jon said. “I’ll never leave you on your own like that again, Martin.”
“Promise?” Martin sniffled.
“Promise,” Jon replied.
There was a soft knock on Jon’s office door. Jon looked up from the manuscript on his laptop and smiled as he saw Martin standing in the doorway.
“Hello, stranger,” He teased. Martin smiled back.
“Are you coming to bed?” he asked. “You know I can’t sleep without you. You’ve created a dependency, you evil man.” Jon chuckled.
“Everything is going to plan, then,” He said, putting on a cartoonishly evil voice as he closed his laptop and stood up. Martin laughed.
“Come on, you dork,” he said, taking Jon’s hand.
“I love you.” The words tumbled from Jon’s lips as naturally as his breath. Words he’d said a million times, but words he still meant more than he could articulate. Martin smiled back at him.
“I love you too.”