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Martin felt the water beat down his back, smiling at the pleasant warmth that seeped through his body. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks ; a shower hadn’t seemed all too important when running away from eldritch monsters left, right, and centre.
The heat enveloped him; the slight steam seemed to mist his thoughts as well as the mirror, and he let himself float in his hazy daydream as the spray appeared to effectively wash away the stress that still lay heavy on his shoulders.
A few minutes later, somewhat reluctantly, Martin stepped out of the tub and began to dry himself off. The clothes Jon had left for him lay neatly folded on the side, and the domestic sight caused a rush of affection to spread through him.
The knitted jumper was a favourite of Martin’s; the fabric didn’t scratch against his skin like most knitted clothing did, which he appreciated. However, this also meant that Jon had taken a liking to it. The whole ‘partner wearing your clothes’ thing was cute in theory, but not when you hadn’t seen half of your wardrobe for weeks.
“Jon? Shower’s ready if you want it.” Martin called from the bathroom, trying and failing to get his damp hair into some semblance of order.
“Jon?”
Martin waited a few seconds. No response from the bedroom. Odd.
Well, not odd really, Jon had probably just gone to make tea or something. Yeah, that was it. He’d been complaining about a sore throat that morning, grumbling about needing fresh air but not wanting to go anywhere. Forever whining, that man.
Martin had suggested tea with honey, so that was where Jon had to be. Stood in the kitchen, stirring his mug, sipping it and wincing because he always insisted Martin made a much better cuppa than him.
And he was correct. There was a reason Martin had been chief teamaker in the archives and decidedly not Jon.
So, yes, Jon was definitely sitting at the small dining table and fussing over his subpar tea.
Except, he undoubtedly was not.
Martin stood in the doorway of the safe house’s small kitchen, and felt the mist from the shower begin to cloud his thoughts at the sight of the empty room. Jon was… not here. Hadn’t even been in the room it seemed; the light was off and there were no remnants of any kind of cooking. Jon was not here. Jon was not in here, and he wasn’t in the bedroom. Jon was…
Martin quickly shook his head, turning away from the kitchen and moving towards the living room. Jon was in the living room. He had to be, probably reading some dusty, old book he’d found on one of Daisy’s shelves. Curled up on the sofa, nose in a book. Yeah, that’s where he was.
Except he wasn’t.
He wasn’t because the sofa cushions were still arranged neatly from when they’d tidied them last night. He wasn’t because there was no book lying on the coffee table, and no Jon nestled in one of his jumpers, smiling up at him. No light was streaming in from the curtains because they hadn’t even been pulled open, and there were no shoes by the door and-
Wait. No shoes? Jon’s shoes. Jon’s shoes were missing. Jon’s boots, his brown ones, they weren’t there.
Martin’s eyes flicked up to the hooks on the back of the front door and… No coat. Jon’s coat, Jon’s brown coat. It wasn’t there.
No tea, no book, no shoes, no Jon.
Had he left? Where would he have gone? He’d left Martin, he’d left him and…
Stupid. Stupid, of course this would happen; everyone left eventually, Martin knew that. Jon was just like the rest, and now Martin was all alone in the suddenly freezing house.
This was always how he was going to end up, alone and cold and his mother was right, wasn’t she? He just drove people away, annoyed them until they finally got sick of him. It was better this way, he couldn’t hurt anyone like this… Oh, but Jon…
He loved Jon. He couldn’t lose Jon, what would he do? Jon wasn’t meant to leave, he was meant to be here.
But no tea, no book. No shoes, no coat. Jon was not here.
Martin wasn’t all too aware of when he’d started to cry, but he found himself trembling as tears ran down his face. The tears were silent, and Martin stood in the middle of the room as the scent of sea salt began to invade his senses.
Soon enough, his eyes stopped leaking and his breathing returned to its normal rate. This was fine. Better off alone, really, no use getting upset. Better without his mum, better without Tim and Sasha and Jon and-
The front door swung open. Martin could hardly feel the abrupt gust of wind, but it was there nonetheless. He managed a small shiver, but remained mostly still; he couldn’t bring himself to lift his gaze from the floor.
“Oh, Martin! Out of the shower, then. Lord knows I’ll be needing one, it’s freezing out there.”
Jon preoccupied himself with untying his shoes, still muttering absentmindedly about the cold. Martin stood stock still. Jon shed his coat, closing the door as he hung it up. Martin scarcely breathed.
“How about that tea, then?” He asked vaguely, finally turning his gaze towards the other man.
Jon’s eyes went wide, and he abandoned the scarf he was in the middle of taking off, in favour of rushing over and gathering Martin’s hands in his. He reached up to smooth back the hair that was a starker white than he remembered waking up to, and looked fiercely into the eyes that had gained that awful, misty quality in his absence.
Now that he was paying closer attention, he noticed the smell of the sea that always accompanied the Lonely. He noticed the light fog that seemed to surround Martin, and the blank look that reminded him so much of that dreaded beach; he could hardly stand it.
“Martin? Martin, please, I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have gone out, I- I wasn’t thinking.” Jon rambled, trying to get the man to look at him and not through him.
He managed to carefully manoeuvre Martin to the couch, muttering endless comforts and promises that he was here now, he wasn’t alone anymore. Cupping his face, Jon continued his murmuring and, with every word, he saw a little more recognition flicker in Martin’s eyes.
It was anything but sudden, Martin came around slowly; Jon sat and waited as the fog cleared, and the hazy look in his eyes finally began to dim. When he eventually came to, he stared at Jon for a long ten seconds, looking almost confused.
“Jon?” Barely a whisper.
“Yes, darling, it’s me.” A little louder.
Martin’s eyes immediately went glassy, and it wasn’t long before Jon had him wrapped up in his arms as he sobbed. Martin was shaking and gripping almost desperately onto Jon’s sweater; the other man just carefully hushed him as he apologised, and ran his fingers through his hair.
“No need to apologise, love, you’re okay. Everything’s okay, I shouldn’t have left, it isn’t your fault-”
Martin gave a small huff into his shoulder at that, mumbling something Jon couldn’t quite make out. He could guess what it was, though.
“It isn’t, Martin.”
After a few minutes, the crying slowed to a stop, and Martin lifted his face from where it had been buried in Jon’s shoulder. At the sight of his red, puffy eyes and quivering lip, Jon’s heart lurched.
He reached up to wipe away a stray tear with his thumb and Martin gave a soft chuckle, croaky and saddened, but a laugh at least. Jon continued to mop up his face, grabbing tissues to wipe away the remnants of his breakdown.
By the end of it, Martin looked exhausted. His head had drooped under Jon’s careful ministrations, and his eyes were more closed than open; Jon carefully lifted his head up to look at him.
“Back to bed?”
Martin barely summoned the energy to nod.
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Jon tucked Martin in tenderly, making sure to carefully remove his glasses and set them aside. He sat on the floor next to the bed, stroking Martin’s hair back, the white having almost disappeared by now.
Martin opened his eyes, just for a second, and Jon frowned sadly at the sight of tears beginning to form.
“I- I’m sorry, Jon-” he croaked, reaching his arm up to wipe at his face but Jon got there first.
“We’ll talk about it later, Martin. It’s alright, you just focus on getting some rest.” Jon replied swiftly, but gently. Martin only nodded, settling down into the welcoming sheets.
It only took a few more minutes of soothing words and soft petting for Martin to finally succumb to sleep, and it helped knowing Jon would be there for him when he awoke.