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Every day at the safehouse so far had been filled with something to do, some task to keep them occupied.
Wash the whole place down until it was livable, pound dust from all the furniture, and then clean the place one more time because they didn’t think to clean the dust before washing all the floors. Going to town and getting plenty of food and supplies so they didn’t have to leave the cabin too often. Just because it was a safehouse didn’t mean either of them necessarily felt safe enough to go wandering about town much, calling more attention to themselves. Besides, Martin still felt an aching kind of pain being around people after so long in isolation, and Jon was concerned about the temptation to feed on the stories of some random townsfolk in a place this small, where they would easily recognize him from their dreams when they saw him again.
Having the town show up outside their cabin with torches and pitchforks didn’t sound particularly appealing to either of them.
Point is, there had been plenty of things to do to fill their days so far, from early morning to late at night. Sure, there had been a few sweet moments of calm in-between; sharing cups of tea, quiet hugs, sleeping with arms wrapped around each other...but they hadn’t had the chance for something like this. Until now.
They sat beside each other on the couch, arms and thighs touching. Jon had a book open in his lap, though he’d abandoned reading it and was now just gently fiddling with the soft old pages. They’d sworn they would have no interest in the cooking show Martin found on one of the three tv-channels their tiny, ancient television miraculously accessed out here, so Jon would just read while Martin watched. But as the competition intensified and more amateur chefs were feeling the pressure, the book had gradually lowered more and more towards Jon’s lap until it had been abandoned entirely now that they were about to start the third and final challenge of the episode.
Martin was trying very hard not to show how smug that made him. He didn’t want to embarrass Jon and put them off more nights like this where they could just relax together with low-stakes reality television.
“She’s opening the oven too much,” Jon commented. “It’s going to let all the heat out.”
“Since when are you an expert on baking?” Martin teased, just as there was a close-up of the judges muttering together about how the contestant was opening her oven too much. The smug expression on Jon’s face made Martin want to kiss him and whack him with a pillow at the same time. He settled for a small laugh as Jon leaned heavier against his side, resting their head against Martin’s shoulder with the fond press of a cat rubbing against a leg.
Obligingly, Martin’s hand found Jon’s hair and started gently combing through it, scratching at the scalp and rubbing against the back of his ears as it took his fancy. Jon practically melted against his side, and something about the simple display of affection made an unexpected lump form in his throat.
Suddenly he couldn’t quite make out what was happening on the screen in front of them.
Suddenly all he could think of was the image they made, sitting here watching a cooking show on any old weeknight, pressed up together simply enjoying each other’s presence and company. He felt so overwhelmed by emotion that for a moment he feared the fog was trying to sneak back into him, but he didn’t feel the numb coldness that usually accompanied the Lonely. All he could feel was the heat from Jon’s body and the lovely texture of their hair between his fingers and it was just so nice and gentle and…
He didn’t notice the tears falling down his cheeks until he felt the hand wiping at them, and then he noticed that Jon wasn’t pressed to his side anymore but was sat facing him with frantic concern and cradling Martin’s face between their hands.
“Martin, what’s the matter?” Jon asked. “What happened, are you alright?”
Martin nodded emphatically, though it took a moment to find his voice amidst all he was feeling. “Yeah, I-I’m alright, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“ He took a deep breath and Jon watched patiently as Martin gathered himself. “I was just…sitting here and everything was so nice and, and, domestic and it just sort of hit me that. Well, I. I never thought I’d have anything like this, you know? Ever. Just…sitting on the couch watching telly with someone I love who loves me back and it’s just easy and…safe.” He sniffed unattractively but Jon didn’t pull away. “I just never…never thought I’d get something like that, you know? That I….I don’t know, deserved it? It just never felt like the sort of thing I was allowed to get.”
Jon’s eyes were all love and softness and grief when he rubbed his thumb gently beneath Martin’s eye. “Oh, Martin…” That was all they said before wrapping their arms around Martin’s shoulders and climbing into his lap, clinging to him tightly as a sloth to a branch. Martin’s arms went right around him in an instance, pressing Jon’s body as close into himself as he could and they just…sat there, hugging, holding onto each other with the force of all the love they felt and neither of them spoke for a very, very long time.
The cooking show ended. Neither of them had any idea who won the final challenge, and they didn’t really care. They could find out in the next episode.
After all, there was going to be more times like this. Domestic scenes of love shaped out of seemingly dull moments. Watching telly on a weeknight. Doing dishes after dinner. Bumping into each other on the way in and out of the bathroom in the morning. Just boring, little moments that make up a shared life. And they would appreciate every single one of them. Together.