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It was an absolute wreck of a building.
Pieces of old broken glass littered the grass outside, some overtaken by fungi and shrubbery. The ceiling was completely chipped away - the remains of which were sprinkled across the dirt ground like a grey duvet - leaving only the holy tin roof as a form of shelter. It was probably not even a house in the first place. There were only two rooms, their respective purposes indistinguishable and lost to time. Only the ghost of table remained, held together by the strong arms of English flora. It was damp and moldy and downright archaic.
Naturally, Jon sat down on what he supposed where once the front door steps. Despite the wreckage, he smiled for the first time in... days. Let’s go with days.
“I can’t See this place,” he murmured after a few minutes.
Martin was crouched next to him, examining an insect with interest. “The ladybird hasn’t tried to kill me,”
“Neither have the bricks,” Jon remarked.
“Or the plants,” added Martin.
They looked at each other. Some combination of drowsiness and stress and unearthly trauma led to a shared chuckle. Then a whole fit of laughter. Utterly bizarre.
“You don’t suppose I could turn this room into a kitchen?” Martin asked, eyes still bright with amusement. “Do some spring cleaning, interior design. I think dark blue would look lovely.”
“The image of you with power tools is almost stranger than the fact that this place is completely untouched,” replied Jon.
“Hey!”
Jon held out his arms. His boyfriend obliged.
They sat together in silence. Jon gazed upon their immediate surroundings, shutting out the terror and injustice in his peripheral for a moment. He let himself sink into thoughts of domestic bliss, of tiny comforts and dull happiness away from their terrifying new reality. He thought of nothing, everywhere, for just a little bit. The beautiful fantasy of normality during apocalypse.
“Why dark blue for a kitchen?” he mumbled to Martin.
“It compliments wood. And white flowers. There was a florist near the Institute that opened a few weeks before... everything.”
Jon shuddered, but willed his thoughts away from that. He laced their fingers together.
“So, spruce wood floors and dark paint,” he said.
He could feel Martin’s smile against his cheek. “I think it’s rather rustic.”
“Open-plan dining room?”
“Oh, that sounds nice. Maybe some playful chairs?”
“I’ll attempt to accept that idea,”
Martin laughed. “Hey, it’ll go well with the paint.”
“What about the other room?”
“Hmmm,” Martin seemed genuinely deep in thought. “Bedroom. And I can add on a bathroom.”
Jon chuckled. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know! Maybe I’m secretly a builder, Jonathan Sims.”
“Don’t tell me we’re getting a feature wall.”
Martin paused. “How d’you feel about floral wallpaper?”
Jon made a gesture like he was about
to vomit.
“Okay, okay! I was joking!” Martin kissed his head. “Polka dot wallpaper. Highlighter pink and yellow.”
“You’re going to kill me,”
“Bunk beds. Those really shitty ones that are way too low.”
“Absolutely not,”
“What about those car-shaped bed frames.”
“No.”
“Jail-cell mattress shelves?”
“We’re breaking up,”
Martin cackled. Jon was grinning despite himself.
With the way the roof hang above their heads, Jon could almost believe the sun was setting. He missed that. He wanted to see sunsets again. And he wanted to bring Martin with him.
But to do that, they would have to make things right again. He stood up and sighed.
“We can’t stay here,” he said, pulling his partner up to his feet.
Martin just remained seated. “I know, Jon. But can we just... pretend? Just for a bit longer.”
“Okay.”
So they did.