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It’s what my heart just yearns to say
In ways that can’t be said
It’s what my rotting bones will sing
When the rest of me is dead
It’s what’s engraved upon my heart
In letters deeply worn
Today I somehow understand the reason I was born
Jon and Martin have agreed that they don't want anything complicated for their wedding. They've planned a simple ceremony on the rooftop of Gerry's bookshop (it's convenient, to have a friend who owns a building that already has a rooftop garden), with just their small circle of friends, drinks and dinner ordered from their favorite Indian restaurant to follow. Nothing fancy.
(Jon had suggested at first that they just go to the courthouse and have the judge say the words. Quick, efficient, and then they could be married .)
(He still has trouble sometimes, having faith in the future, not being worried that anything good will be snatched away from them if they don't hold onto it tight enough.)
(Now, when Jon imagines Martin standing across from him in the garden, with Tim and Sasha and Gerry and Danny all there to witness, his breath catches in his chest, and he knows that he was right to let Martin persuade him.)
He and Martin have agreed that they don't want anything fancy.
But Jon can't stop thinking that he still wants to do something special. He's not sure what it would be—but he wants to do something that can express even a fraction of what this day and Martin mean to him.
It comes to him on an otherwise bad day. He's in bed, has been all day, the pain in his legs and his back too much to even consider getting up. It still happens, sometimes, even though his physical therapist has said that he's made vast improvements since his and Martin's somewhat bloody and violent arrival. It turns out that in this world, he is once more completely human–-with all the aches and pains and lack of supernatural healing that come with it.
So he's in bed, listening to music to try and take his mind off the wreckage that is his body. Old, familiar albums, ones he's listened to a thousand times over since they've arrived. And then he hits a song that he's listened to so many times and always loved (and always cried at, privately, when he thinks Martin isn't looking) and it all just—clicks.
Cos outwardly he says I try so hard to make you laugh at me
And she, she does, she laughs as though she not heard the joke ten thousand times before
And he adores her, he watches her get dressed as though she’s hurtling through time
Oh darling please be mine
The song is soft and tender, and the singer's voice cracks in places, dips to barely a whisper in others.
She promises to fight them all when it all becomes too much
And he, he curses at the world for leaving him behind and he’s falling out of touch
And she is stronger than he’s ever been he knows
And she brushes her hand through his hair, he’s got so much fucking hair
And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay
Jon thinks of how he and Martin hold each other—
on the good days, when Jon can spend hours counting the freckles on Martin's face, when Martin runs his fingers softly through Jon's hair, and they actually allow themselves to believe the miracle of the fact that they are here, together—
and on the bad days, when the world is too much, too loud, when Martin retreats into the soft seclusion of their bedroom, and Jon sits next to him in silence, their fingers intertwined as a reminder that he's not alone; or when Jon wakes from a nightmare and Martin holds him close until he stops shaking—
And when they’re sure no-one can hear them
She’ll turn to him to say, she’ll turn to him and say
And Jon sings along softly to the next words, and he knows what he wants to do for Martin on their wedding day.
It’s not fair, It’s not fair how much I love you
It’s not fair, cos you make me laugh when I’m actually really fucking cross at you for something
And he’ll say
Oh how oh how unreasonable
How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do
I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m standing here maybe everyone will think I’m alright
He finds a guitar in a secondhand shop, on a shopping trip while Martin is at work, and he persuades Tim to let him store it at his place and practice there a day or two a week, under the guise of Jon finally teaching Tim how to cook.
(They try one lesson, just to keep up the excuse. But Tim is impatient and Jon is exacting, and they end up ordering takeout for dinner that night.)
Practicing is slow going. Jon had learned to play guitar, once upon a time while he was at university. He never played it well—he'd always been more of a singer than an instrumentalist, and when he and his uni friends had started a band they had quickly determined that he was a better front-man if he didn't have to worry about slinging a guitar around his neck—but he learned a few basic chords, and some the muscle memory is still there, even after all these years.
His burned hand causes him some trouble. His dexterity is not nearly what it was, and the scar tissue has affected the nerve endings in his fingers, so the strings feel foreign and strange against his fingertips.
Strumming comes easier, though it's not entirely painless. Fingerpicking is the difficulty, and there are a few times, as he practices, that he nearly throws the guitar across the room in his frustration.
But Jon has always been stubborn, and he is determined to get this right. And so he keeps trying.
The end result he gets to, when he finally decides he's satisfied, is not nearly as smooth or flawless as he would like. There's a little stiltedness to it, as he persuades his hand to move through the picking pattern. But the notes are in order, and the rhythm is passable.
And this song isn't about the guitar anyway, he tells himself. For this song, it's the words that really matter.
I’ve seen enough he says I know exactly what I want
And it’s this life that we’ve created, inundated with the fated thought of you
And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all
Like petals in a storm, cos darling I was born
To press my head between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading
Just to let you know I’m old, waylaid and feels like I am wading into
carpet burns and carousels oh Christ you’ll be the death of me
And calm throughout his melodrama she will turn and say ‘dear heart It’s me, its me
You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not
Cos it’s not like I’ve never heard you fart and snore
And for some god forsaken reason I’m still here love like I’ve always been before
And he’ll say
It’s not fair, It's not fair how much I love you
It’s not fair cos you make me weep when I’m just trying to watch The Office with my yoghurt
And she’ll say
Oh how, oh how unreasonable
How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do
I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m standing next to you then maybe everyone will think I’m cool
The day comes, and Jon isn't sure what he's more nervous about: the wedding itself, or the song. The preparations on the day are at once full of excitement and oddly unceremonious—he and Martin are banned from the setup process by joint decree of Tim and Sasha, so they spend the morning together on the sofa, pretending to read, then they help each other get dressed. Jon only gets a little choked up as he helps Martin tie his tie, and tucks a sprig of honeysuckle into his lapel.
The ceremony is short and simple. Gerry officiates. They exchange rings, and vows. They both cry.
And then Tim gets up, and brings Jon his guitar. A momentary confusion flickers over Martin's face before his eyes widen in realization, and he presses a hand to his mouth as Sasha brings a chair over for Jon to sit.
He had thought of what he wanted to say, before he started the song—but he finds on looking at Martin that he can't get the words out. Or that is, he knows that if he says what he's feeling now, he will not be able to sing afterwards.
So instead he just says, "Martin, I'd like to play you something."
And Jon leans forward, stretches his fingers of his right hand to loosen them, and begins to play.
He manages to make it through the song with his voice mostly intact, but only by focusing on the chords and his fingers, only watching Martin out of the corner of his eye. He cracks a bit on this life that we've created —and he sees Martin's breath hitch at that one, too.
In the last verse, he lets his voice go soft, and he finally looks up and meets Martin's eyes. He's holding himself together admirably, but his eyes are swimming with tears, and his lips tremble a little even as he's smiling.
How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do, Jon sings, looking at Martin, and he can feel his voice start to go. I’ll spend my days so close to you comes out with a wobble, and by the time he gets to the last few lines, he's whispering.
cos if I’m stood here
Then I’m stood here
And I’ll stand here
I’ll stand here with you
Jon lets the last note ring from the guitar for a moment, and then Tim is there, ready to take the guitar from him so he can stand and catch Martin in a tight hug as he comes to meet him.
They hold each other tight, Jon's face pressed into Martin's suit jacket, and he can feel Martin's chest hitch in a sob to match his own. It's an embrace that contains everything that Jon was trying to say with the song, and more—all the wonder and joy and relief at the enduring fact that they are here, now, together.
"Thank you," Martin says, when he can finally speak. "Thank you, Jon, that was—" He takes a breath. "That was perfect."
How unfair, how unfair they’ll sing as they dance across the darling rooftop wreck
He’ll trip and she’ll pretend not to have seen,
Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment, ‘where have you been?’
She’ll whisper ‘I’ve waited oh so long for you to come’
And as the stars above them hum and hear them he’ll turn to her and say ‘that’s what she said’
It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you
It’s not fair cos you make me ache you bastard
Martin and Jon dance together in Gerry's rooftop garden, illuminated by the soft warm glow of string lights and candles. The others have gone downstairs, ostensibly to begin putting away the leftover food ("wouldn't want these naan to go stale, would we?" Tim had said loudly, but he had winked at Jon as he followed the others to the stairs), and left the two of them alone, with only the sounds of the city and the soft music from Gerry's old boom box for company.
Jon leans into Martin, savoring the warmth of their hands pressed together against their chests, the way that Martin's suit smells faintly of laundry soap and the cologne that he knows that Martin saves for special occasions—jasmine and lemon and rose.
"I can't believe you sang a song with a "that's what she said" joke in it at our wedding," Martin says softly, and Jon laughs.
"I knew you'd like that part."
They dance some more—not doing any steps, really. Just swaying together, close and in time.
"I meant it all, you know," Jon says after a moment. "All the other parts."
He looks up at Martin, taking in all the details of his face: the beautiful deep brown of his eyes, the slight flush in his cheeks from the excitement of the day.
"I love you, Martin. I can't wait to spend the rest of my days standing next to you."
Martin's hand tightens across his back, and he pulls him closer, tucking his face tight against Jon's neck.
"Me too," he whispers. "I love you, Jon."
They continue to dance, there on the rooftop under the stars, with their friends' chatter floating softly up through the open window downstairs, and Jon's heart swells with the knowledge that whatever might come next, they will meet it together.
And he’ll say
Oh how, oh how unreasonable
How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do
I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m stood here
Then I’m stood here
And I’ll stand here
I’ll stand here with you