Work Text:
There was something off about the man he'd seen on the subway. Ginger and white curls, freckles and big hands consumed his thoughts as he laid still in the dark, willing his splitting headache away; the same headache that he'd gotten staring across the platform at the man.
Jon had been getting off, hurried in his desire to get back to his flat as soon as possible, but for a moment he looked over his shoulder and saw him. He'd been standing in the middle of the car, framed by the open door, one hand raised to the handhold above him, the other balancing a bag of groceries and his phone as he typed something. Jon stopped and stared as a feeling like desperation washed over him, drowning out everything else around him. A name had fallen off his lips, one he couldn't recall now (Mark? Marvin? Something with a 'Ma' sound), and something wrapped tight around his chest and pulled him forward, back towards the subway. The other had looked up, and upon seeing Jon he'd gasped, his expression indescribable.
Two more steps and Jon would be on the train, except for the fact that the doors slid shut, barring him from the other man. He watched the man press against the door window, saying something that could've been Jon's own name as the subway began to move.
Looking at him, Jon felt like he'd known him his whole life, but as the subway disappeared into the dark, confusion took over, along with a blinding headache, and he was left staring at nothing, trying to capture and dissect the ghost-like feelings that were rapidly leaving him.
Eight or so hours later, Jon was still doing the same thing, albeit in his own bed this time and not on the wrong side of the yellow line. Huffing and throwing the covers off, he decided it'd been long enough since the last two Tylenols he took, and went in search of the bottle and some water.
He saw him again two weeks later.
"Tim! Tim!" Sasha called out across the pub, waving her hand excitedly. Jon scanned the bar they'd just entered until his eyes fell on the guy who'd taken notice of Sasha's shouting, the proverbial Tim-from-college. He waved back, beckoning them over to the booth he occupied.
"C'mon, I want to introduce you two." She walked towards the booth and Jon followed. She sat next to Tim, both of them already talking animatedly, so Jon slid into the seat across from her.
"-This is my roommate, Jon, and Jon, I've told you about Tim before."
"Mhm." Jon nodded.
"All good things I hope?" Tim grinned.
"Obviously," Sasha answered for him, "Who're you here with?"
"Just Martin," He gestured across the table, "Friend from work."
"At your big boy publishing office?" Sasha teased.
Tim's reply was lost to Jon as he turned to see the person sitting next to him. His heart stopped for the second time that month as his eyes swept across freckled cheeks and tousled curls. It took a moment to register that he- Martin , was also staring at him.
"Uh. Hi."
A sharp pain radiated out from a point on Jon's back, right where he had a birthmark, as he tried to remember how to speak.
"Do I know you?" was all that Jon could think to say, and he said it so softly he wasn't sure he was heard until Martin replied.
"I- I don't know."
"Earth to Jon and Martin, Earth to Jon and Martin."
The trance they were stuck in was broken by Tim calling their attention.
"What was that?"
"I asked if you guys wanted anything to drink."
Looking at Sasha and Tim felt different now. There was something clawing at the back of his mind, begging to be let in. Something that tasted like blood and guilt and ice-cream. He'd forgotten something, something important , but what? There were no gaps in his mind, no Martin-shaped holes in his memories, but a feeling of grief still bubbled up in him.
"Just- Just a beer for me," Jon replied shakily.
"I'll have the same."
"Right! I'll be back!" Tim made a comedic show of squeezing past Sasha as she laughed.
As he made his way to the bar to order, she turned back to the two sitting across the table from her, "Do you guys know each other?"
Jon shook his head, both to indicate a 'no', and to try and dislodge the pain building behind his eyes.
"Are you sure? Because you're staring at each other like you've both just seen a ghost."
Martin shrugged noncommittally and Sasha raised an eyebrow in suspicion, but let it be. Tim came back with drinks a few moments later, and Sasha's focus shifted back to him.
Much of the night continued in the same fashion; Tim and Sasha recounting stories that Jon had already heard from her a hundred times, drowning his new-found phantom guilt in whatever was put in front of him, and ignoring the feelings that blossomed under the skin of his knee and calf every time Martin brushed against him, and ignoring the way he instinctively leaned into him every time it happened. Near the end of the night, he got courageous enough to put his hand on Martin's knee, and in response Martin turned his hand over and laced their fingers together, and something about it felt so familiar that every part of Jon ached.
After letting Tim pay for all their tabs, as he insisted he should, they stepped out into the cool night air to say their goodbyes. Jon didn't realize he was still holding Martin's hand until he was asking if Jon would want to go back to his place.
It took him a moment to come up with a response that wasn't ' I feel like you're my other half, I want to fold myself up and tuck into the space between your ribs and your heart, I'm sorry for everything I've done to you, let's move to a cottage in the countryside and elope tonight ', and ended up settling for a less-unhinged, "Yes. Lord, yes."
Jon followed him all the way home, holding his hand all the way up to his door. He'd barely gotten inside Martin's flat when his face was being cupped by two big, warm hands, and Martin was asking if he could kiss him.
Jon didn't even dignify himself with a response, just lifted himself onto his toes and pressed their mouths together.
Martin kissed like it was the last thing he'd ever do, like he would die if he stopped kissing him. They stood in the flat entryway for god-knows how long getting acquainted with each other, or what felt like being reacquainted.
"Come to bed with me, please." Martin pulled away, but was still close enough that Jon felt his pleas ghost over his lips.
"I want to, I want to, I want to," Jon chanted, bringing their mouths together again.
They leaned apart again a minute later just long enough to kick off their shoes and coats before Martin was grabbing both his wrists and pulling him further into the apartment. When the backs of his knees hit the bed he sat, and Jon took initiative to climb into his lap and weave his fingers into his hair as their lips slotted together again. His hands found their way under Jon's shirt, fingers tracing the edge of his tape and rubbing circles into his lower back. Jon leaned back to pull the shirt over his head and drop it on Martin's floor, and Martin copied him.
Instead of finding his mouth again, Martin pressed kisses across his cheek and under his jaw and behind his ear and across his newly-exposed shoulders, in all the places Jon liked, as if he'd already spent as much time as he could studying and memorizing Jon's body like a road map. Every time Jon's fingers tightened in his hair as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, he'd say Jon's name like it was a prayer. On the back of Jon's tongue he could taste the number of freckles Martin had, like he'd known the exact number at one point and had uttered it before. The number refused to come to him, but instead melted on his tongue and tasted like London fog and terrible poetry.
"I feel like I've known you before," Jon said, his voice high and breathy as Martin sucked a mark into his collarbone, "Like there's a piece of me that I've lost, and I didn't even know I lost it until I saw you."
"I've seen you in my dreams," Martin whispered into his neck, "I thought I made you up."
"Is it too forward to say 'I love you'?" Jon couldn't muster a laugh at his lame half-attempt at a joke.
"I think I've already loved you."
Jon's chest was tight with something that felt like grief, but shifted to the left. His arms draped over Martin's shoulders as he buried his nose in his hair and breathed in the unfamiliar-familiar scent of his shampoo. Martin's arms found their way under the smaller man's thighs and he shifted them both to lie on their sides. Jon pressed a hand against Martin's chest and he took it in both of his, kissing his knuckles.
"What am I like? In your dreams?"
He didn't seem to know where to start, and it took him a minute to gather his thoughts.
"I know how you take your tea and your coffee, I know where you like to be touched and where you don't, I know how you sound when you laugh or when you're upset or angry or whatever, I know you think my writing is terrible, though you won't outright say so, I just- I just know you. I've never met you in real life until now, but I know you, I know I do .
I've… I've lost you before, somehow, and I can't lose you again. I can't keep seeing you in my dreams and feeling this overwhelming guilt, like I- I killed you or something. I need you." Martin sucked in a sob, eyes glistening.
The birthmark on Jon's back ached again. He tucked into Martin's chest closer, as close as he could,
"I'll stay. I promise."