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“You look like hell.”
“I feel like I just crawled out of it,” John sighed, rubbing his temples. Martin gazed back up at him from the couch, but he kept his lips pursed. “What is it?”
“Come here.”
“What?”
“I said, come here. Sit down.” Martin patted the seat next to him, and John sat down. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw John sleep through the night without waking up. The spot next to him in the bed was always empty and cold. He felt like he was nothing. He felt lonely. Lonely wasn’t a good thing for Martin to be feeling. “Something’s wrong.”
“With what?”
“With you! You’re stressed out. You need someone to talk to. And, as your loving boyfriend, it’s my duty to keep you sane.”
“That’s just the thing, really,” John blurted before he even realised he was speaking, regretting it deeply not even a second later. “You shouldn’t feel responsible for me and my emotions. All of this, it’s all my fault.”
“You need to stop looking for the worst in everything. If you keep going like this, you’ll end up miserable for the rest of your life!” He grumbled, but Martin continued. “And really, this all isn’t so bad. I mean, I don’t remember the last time I visited Scotland. We’ve been on some lovely walks. Seen some good cows.”
“I mean everything leading up to this. Melanie gouged her eyes out, for crying out loud! This is all on me, really. I was so swept up in my own stupid delusions that I barely even noticed you were missing! And now you’re hurt, and it’s all my fault.”
Martin ran his hands through his hair. The tips had turned white from his time in The Lonely. He took a deep inhale, pushing his glasses up his face. “You’re a hypocrite, Jonathan Sims.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, you’re a hypocrite! If I’m not responsible for your emotions, then why are you responsible for mine? We… We’re messed up. We’re all messed up, and we know that. But, for now, we’re safe, and we don’t need to panic. There’s no Elias Bouchard in Scotland.”
“Jonah Magnus.”
“There’s no whoever he is in Scotland.” They paused, and Martin held out his arms. “Are you a cuddler, by any chance?”
“Well, I don’t really know, I’ve never been…”
John trailed off as he leant into Martin’s arms, feeling them wrap around him. He was a lot warmer than The Archivist, and it came as a bit of a surprise. But, not an unpleasant one. John buried his face into Martin’s sweater, unable to stop the tears that he had been so desperately fighting for days and days and days on end. Being in Martin’s arms made John feel small. It had been too long since he had felt small, and he was sick of being in the middle of everything.
“John, listen to me. This isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of that bastard Jonah. You aren’t ‘The Archivist’ or ‘The Ceaseless Watcher’s Special Little Boy’ to me. You’re John. You’ve always been John, and you always will be John. And, I want to be by your side for every second of your life as John.”
John took off his glasses, fumbling a little before placing them on the coffee table. It took him a moment to gather his ability to comprehend the jumble of words that were swirling around his head. “I don’t even need them anymore, now that I see e-everything. I swapped out the lenses with fake ones. I’m just so… I’m so used to wearing them, you know?”
“ That’s a John thing,” Martin scoffed, making him laugh along.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Martin pulled one of the couch blankets over them both in an attempt to warm John up. He had been as cold as a corpse ever since he woke up from the coma. The tears slowed eventually, and John was left in Martin’s arms, playing with the pull strings of his jumper. “Martin?”
“Yes?”
“Do you…” He paused, sucking a breath in through his teeth as if he had been waiting to say what he was going to say for all too long. “Do you hate me?”
The words tumbled out of Martin’s mouth before he was able to stop them. He couldn’t stop them. John had compelled them out of him. “Of course not. Sure, I-I mean, I’m kind of upset, but I can’t hate you, especially considering that I’ve loved you for so, so long. Months, hell, years before everything went to shit. I can’t hate you for something you can’t control. I can’t hate you after everything we’ve been through because you fascinate me to no end. You have beautiful eyes, a beautiful smile, a beautiful laugh, a beautiful mind. I could never hate you. Not even if I tried.”
They paused a little before John smiled. There was something behind it. Bashfulness? Regret? Discomfort? Surprise? Relief? “Huh.”
“What did we say about compelling me?” Martin scolded before sighing in defeat. “Besides, you don’t need to compel me to tell you that.”
“I’m sorry, I just… I needed to know that you weren’t lying to me. That you aren’t too far gone.”
“Hey, I don’t think I’ll ever be gone. My goal is to stay by your side until the day we die.”
“That may be sooner than we’d think,” John hummed.
“Snap out of the spooky for a bit.”
John cringed. “Hate that word.”
“I know you do.”
John scoffed. “Also, what was that about loving me for years?”
“Oh, right.” Martin was a little embarrassed, flushing a bright red, but he continued nonetheless. “From when I first met you, I thought you were so, so cute.”
“I’m not cute, I never have been, and I never will be.”
“Aw, it’s adorable when you look at me all indignantly.” John looked at him all indignantly, and he continued. “I was pining after you for so long. I was going to ask you to dinner, maybe for a couple of drinks, but I never found the chance to. I was tempted to ask while we were in the bunker hiding from Prentiss, really.”
“It’s sad to think that this never would have happened if it wasn’t for the impending apocalypse.”
“I guess so. Would you have said yes if I asked you?”
“I don’t really know. Maybe? I certainly would now, if you’re curious.”
Martin hummed. John could feel the vibration from where his head was resting on his chest. His heartbeat had increased so quickly that John thought it skipped a beat. It made him smile. “Stop it, you’re making me embarrassed.”
“And you call me adorable.”
“Watch it, mister. I have college band leverage on you.”
“I know,” John said dismissively, thinking it was an empty threat.
“I found a copy of Once Upon a Time (In Space) online and ordered it. It should be here in about a week.”
The look of terror on John’s face made him snort with wild laughter. “There are still copies?”
“Maybe we can have a listen together, Mr Jonny D’Ville.”
“Maybe,” he replied, but from contextual clues, Martin could tell that he was reluctant. They shared another laugh.
“Feeling any better now?”
“Yes, actually. A lot better.” Placing a small kiss to his forehead, Martin took John’s hand, rubbing circles with his thumb. And, for the first time in what felt like eternity, John was warm.