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Martin sits in the passenger seat of the car and watches the Scottish countryside roll by.
They–meaning Jon and Martin–had escaped from the Magnus Institute in the best way they could. They hadn't quit, but they had definitely run away together. (Like Jon wanted. And like how Martin wanted it to be.)
They'd taken a train to Scotland, and then Jon had rented a car. And now the two of them were driving towards a house owned by Daisy. A way to keep them safe from the many problems they were facing back in London.
The entire car ride had been awkward. And it still was. No one had said anything besides Jon asking for the map early on and Martin handing it to him in silence.
Martin wants to break the silence. He wants to thank Jon for everything. He wants to say so many things that have long been unsaid.
Jon breaks the silence first.
"We're almost here," Jon says. "I-I've never been here before, but I think–I think that it'll be nice. Daisy mentioned it before to me. Uh, Said something about it being nice to clear her head in. Take a break from–God, I don't want to even think about it."
Jon is acting like he does not want the awkward silence in the car. They're trying to fill it with words that don't really mean much.
Martin has always liked Jon's voice. It's comfortable, familiar. The kind of voice that's just nice to listen to.
Although as much as Martin likes Jon's voice, he hopes Jon will say something that actually means something, not just babbling on about the landscape.
But anything is better than silence. Silence reminds Martin of the Lonely.
"I'll call Basira when we get there," Jon says. "After we have a look around. I guess we should check to see what food there is in there. Probably canned."
"Please let it be anything but canned peaches," Martin says. It's the first thing he's said in the past four hours. Martin's hatred for canned peaches is apparently still brewing.
Jon chuckles. "I hope not. I think you would hate that. God, imagine if all we have are canned peaches."
"I would start throwing them out the window," Martin says. He would. He never even wants to see anything related to peaches ever again.
"Well, let's hope we don't have to do that."
Jon turns into a dirt road. Well, a more dirt road, as the one they were on was more gravel than actual road. Close to them, Martin can see a small cottage buried behind a small grove of trees. It's the kind of house that Martin had always wanted to live in.
"Quaint," Jon says. "I was expecting it to be . . . I don't know. Something different, I guess."
Jon parks the car a little distance away from the cottage. He gets out of the car, grabs their two bags, and walks around to the other side to open Martin's door.
They look at Martin with their big brown eyes. Martin has always thought that Jon had adorable eyes. And he had forgotten how much he loved looking at Jon's eyes.
"I know this is overwhelming," Jon says. "And you're lost. After everything, I don't want to leave you behind. Wherever I go, you're going with me. But I also want to give you some space. I don't know exactly what to do. But I do know I l–I will always put you first."
"Thank you," Martin whispers. He knows that Jon is doing his overcompensating thing–they mess up a little and do a lot to try to fix it.
"Okay. Are you ready to go inside?"
"Honestly, it's a little scary," Martin says, "but I should do it."
Martin gets out of the car. Jon was holding a hand out, but he withdraws it seeing that Martin doesn't need help.
Martin wants to hold Jon's hand again. He liked holding it the way out of the Lonely. And Martin would like to hold it again.
But Jon is hesitant. Martin is hesitant. They'll just continue to dance around each other until one of them reaches out. Martin isn't entirely sure how to reach out, but he should. He really should.
They walk up to the house. Martin sees a few flowerbeds, laying barren now but ready to have flowers planted in it. Martin starts thinking of a future where he can plant flowers at this house and Jon can help him–
Martin corrals those thoughts back in. He doesn't need to be thinking of this. It's not like they're going to be staying here long enough to plant flowers.
It's still a nice thought.
They reach the door. Jon reaches into his pocket to find the keys. Jon struggles for a minute or two to find them.
"Do you need any help?" Martin asks.
"I'm fine," they reply. "It's just a little–there we go." Jon pulls the key out of their pocket and opens the door.
Jon steps in and turns on the light. Martin cautiously follows him, still unsure, still wanting.
The first room is simply a living room. There's an old couch along the wall, with a lamp next to it and a coffee table sitting in front of it. The wall is covered in lilac wallpaper.
"I wasn't expecting this," Jon says, "but I'm not going to be angry with this."
Martin doesn't reply. He just keeps looking around. There's a large kitchen to his right, and it's everything that Martin wanted in a kitchen. It reminds him of the kitchen he remembered having when he was little. (When his dad was still there, when his mum still loved him or at least did a better job of acting like it.)
Jon looks towards the kitchen, having seen Martin looking at it.
"It's a nice kitchen," Jon says. "It's . . . Been a while since I've cooked, but maybe . . . Maybe I could start cooking again."
"That would be nice," Martin replies. "I used to cook. I'd like to start cooking again."
"Maybe we can do it together," Jon says.
Martin nods in agreement. It's another one of Martin's daydreams about to come true. He can hardly believe it.
He stops himself. Martin doesn't really need to be entertaining himself with these daydreams. He still doesn't know what Jon feels about him.
Yet, Martin still hopes.
"I'll go call Basira," Jon says. "I guess you can explore a bit. I'll tell you if I need anything."
Martin nods. He slowly walks towards the kitchen, not entirely sure if this is real. He feels as if everything could be ripped away from him at any moment and he would disappear into nothing. Get sucked back into the Lonely and never see another person again.
The kitchen is simply beautiful. Butcher-block countertops, white cabinets, two sinks, and a large window. Right now, it's dark, but it's probably more beautiful in the daytime.
This is like home, Martin thinks. If home was a place I owned and I had Jon by my side.
Martin starts opening cabinets. There's actual food in there–some of it canned, but there isn't any canned peaches. Most of the stuff is long lasting, food that won't go bad after months or years. But that's okay, Martin can go shopping and fill the kitchen with more food. And then maybe he can finally rest.
Only maybe.
After Martin finishes looking through the kitchen, he decides to look at the rest of the house. It lookz very small, but again, it's very cosy.
Between the kitchen and the living room, there's a small hallway. On one side of the hallway, there is a bathroom. On the other side, there is a door, leading to the bedroom.
There is only one bedroom, and there is only one bed. Not like Martin minds, but it could be a problem. (And yet, Martin hopes that Jon wants this too. It's stupid, but it's what he wants.)
Martin does not want Jon far away from him. He wants to keep Jon close, because the moment he let him go away, he lost Jon. And he is not losing Jon again.
Martin anxiously waits in the doorway and watches Jon. He's sitting on the bed, boots off of his feet and looking more relaxed than Martin has seen him all day. Their bags are set next to the bed, not quite ready to be unpacked.
Jon is talking on his phone. His flip phone, because as Jon had explained before, they didn't want anything more than this. After the whole clown kidnapping thing, Jon didn't want to keep spending a lot of money on a phone he would lose.
"Martin's okay," Jon says. "He'll be fine. I promise. I–he–we'll be okay."
Jon is silent for a minute. He listens to whatever Basira has to say to him.
"I know," Jon says. "I know what I feel about him. Communication has just been really hard. It always is. I'll talk to him, though."
Martin hopes that whatever Jon feels about him is good. Maybe Jon also loves him.
"Thank you for the statements," Jon says. "I'm sure I'll be fine for a few days. I got a lot out of Peter Lukas."
Jon has told Martin, as they were preparing to get in the car, that Peter Lukas was dead. Just simply blurted it out. And Martin–who had barely said anything since leaving the Lonely–just thanked him. And Jon accepted it, just closing the car door behind him and completely fine with having killed that man.
"Thank you."
Jon hangs up and sets the phone down. He looks up and he sees Martin. Jon looks at him with such a familiar, loving stare, it almost makes Martin's heart break.
"Hey," Jon says. "Did you look around the house?"
"Yes," Martin replies. "I like the kitchen."
"Good, good. We're going to have to stay here for a while. Basira's trying to clean up the mess left back at the Institute."
"How bad is it?"
"Let me see–Elias escaped from prison, no-one can find Peter because he's dead, Not!Sasha got let out and we don't know where it is, and Julia and Trevor are still hanging around the place, along with Basira not knowing where Daisy is. It's a lot to have to clean up."
"That is a lot."
"It is." Jon falls silent. He keeps looking at Martin, like he wants Martin to be closer to him.
"You can sit next to me," Jon says to break the silence. "I won't bite. I promise. You just–I think you need someone close to you."
"I do," Martin agreed. "After . . . All that."
Martin sits down next to Jon. He takes a deep breath and wonders where they were going to go from here. Are they even together?
Martin does not know.
Jon got him out of the Lonely. That must mean something. At least, Martin hopes it means something.
Martin hopes that it means Jon loves him. Or that they at least cared about him enough that whatever feelings Jon had would grow stronger.
Martin opens his mouth to talk. Unfortunately so does Jon.
"Martin, I–"
"Jon, you–"
"I, uh, should be quiet."
"N-no, you go first. You probably have more to say."
"Are you sure? I, ah, I don't think–"
"You probably have more to say than me," Martin points out. "I've been quiet. You've been filling the silence."
Jon takes a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," Jon says. "I should have done something else. I should have helped."
"It wasn't you," Martin replies. "It was me."
It was all me, Martin thinks. I pushed Jon away. I kept them from getting close. I made that deal with Peter. I made all the decisions.
"I just didn't want the Lonely to take you," Jon continues. He looks unsure of what to do with his hands. The hands are in their lap, but they fidget with their fingers as they talk. "You'd been so far away from me. And I didn't want that time to be the last time that I saw you."
"The time you asked for me to–gouge my eyes out and run away with you?" Martin asks.
Jon taps the fingers on their right hand–the one with the burn–against their thigh. "Yes. That time."
"I guess I did that now," Martin says. "I ran away with you."
Jon laughs, which is quick enough to not fill the room but enough to put a twinge in Martin's heart.
"You did," Jon says. He smiles. "Minus the eye-gouging, of course."
"I don't know if I would have done it. But it's you, Jon. And I . . ."
Martin sighs. He doesn't know how to put years worth of complicated feelings into words. Years.
And Martin had not stopped loving Jon. Even if he was supposed to, he still loved Jon.
"Martin," Jon says, in the same soft voice Martin loved. "It's okay. You've been through a lot. You don't need to spill your guts to me. We can take our time."
"Okay," Martin says, in barely a whisper. "Thank you."
The hand on Jon's thigh moves closer to Martin. He looks like he wants to–no, that can't be.
Martin wants to say so much. Hundreds and thousands of words that need to be said, have needed to be said for so long. But words are hard, and have been hard for quite some time.
"I thought I'd lost you," Jon says. "I didn't know where you went. I was sure that you were dead, that the worst had happened. Or you'd be stuck in the Lonely and I'd never get you back." Jon kept tapping, tapping his fingers. Their hand moves off their thigh, right next to Martin's hand.
"And you wanted me back?" Martin asks. He hopes that Jon will touch him, the same way he did when he pulled Martin out of the Lonely.
"Of course I did," Jon replies. Their hand is so close to Martin's. "I missed you. I wanted you back. It's not like you could say anything that would make me change my mind."
Is that what it was? Does Jon really love him?
"May I hold your hand?" Jon asks.
Martin's heart skips a beat. "Yes, you may. You–you already did, Jon."
"I know," Jon says. He touches Martin's hand so gently, burned and scarred skin brushing softly against Martin's dry one. (His skin was even drier after the Lonely, salt air burying itself into the cracks.) Jon tangles their fingers together, just like they did in the Lonely.
It is all so much like Jon. Too cautious and heartfelt, a person who worries and over-thinks all their actions. And even then, he was still convinced he made the wrong decision.
And that was why Martin loved them. Loves them still. Even after all that time apart.
All that time only made the two of them love each other more. Jon had started liking Martin back when–when Martin started pushing him away.
Hopefully, Jon still likes Martin.
"I know what happened," Jon says. "I don't hold anything against you. I hold many things against Peter Lukas and Elias, but I understand your decisions."
"But I still made a choice," Martin replies. "And I don't know if I regret it."
"You don't need to do anything," they say. "Martin, no matter what, I still care about you. No matter what you've said or done. You were caught in a web, so to say."
"I wasn't that helpless!" Martin replies. "I knew what I was doing. I was manipulating Peter back."
"And I'm very proud of you for that."
"I didn't really do much," Martin says. "But I tried to stop him. I just–I don't want to talk about it right now." Thinking of what had happened made Martin feel cold. Made him feel like he wasn't important. Made him feel horrible. Made him think of Peter Lukas.
"Okay. Then we don't talk about that. Not until you're ready. I don't want to hurt you." Jon frowns. Just for a second. It makes Martin sad.
"Never mind. I should just be happy that you're here. With me."
He wants to be with me, Martin thinks. And Jon is still holding his hand.
"M-may I hug you?" Martin asks nervously.
"Of course," Jon replies. They do hold onto Martin's hand for a bit longer than they should.
Martin wraps his arms around Jon. He is able to pull Jon close to him, have Jon as close as he has always wanted.
Jon is a slim person. It did not make it better that Jon had two ribs extracted from their chest.
The ribs did nothing. A piece of Jon's own body did not draw him out of the coffin, but instead the tapes that Martin had placed nearby.
Isn't it strange, how life works?
Jon hugs Martin back, a contented sigh escaping from their lips.
"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?" Jon asks.
"A while," Martin replies. "Maybe since the Unknowning."
"Yes. You're right. A long time. I guess it's the same with you."
"Yeah. Since . . . God, since you even showed me a bit of kindness."
Jon did not reply. He simply tightened his grip on Martin's body. Martin can only assume that Jon felt some kind of pity for him. That all Martin wanted–still wants–was just a little bit of kindness.
"I'm sorry," Jon says. "I shouldn't have been so mean to you."
"You don't need to apologise. You always say sorry too much."
"But I do need to. I'm just so sorry. I was insecure in myself and my ability to do my job, I took out on the person I thought was incompetent. And I shouldn't have done that." Jon's hand tightens on the fabric of Martin's jumper. (It was his favourite one, but it was faded by the Lonely now and it was never going back to its old colour.)
"I missed you," Jon says. Simple enough.
"Missed you too," Martin replies.
Martin closes his eyes. For the first time since getting out of the Lonely, he is warming up. It's because of Jon, with the warmth emanating from his body.
Martin guesses that this is what being loved feels like.
Jon adjusts so he is resting against Martin's shoulder. Their arms are still around each other, but not as deeply as before. But it is a little easier for them to talk.
And there is still so much unsaid.
Jon had tied his hair back before they left the Institute. It is longer than Martin remembers it being, but he hadn't been paying attention. A small lock has escaped the elastic band, hanging over their face. It is black, parts of grey running through it like a stream through a forest. Martin wants to brush it away, tuck it behind his ear.
That's the way that Martin sees love. A series of small acts that meant you loved them. At least, it was part of it. (Because love is complicated. And despite how hungry he is for it, Martin does not think he has ever experienced some sort of true love.)
(Except for now.)
So Martin does it. He reaches out for Jon and brushes the hair off his face. Because they are here now, and maybe things will work out.
Jon smiles. Martin has barely seen him smile, but it warms his heart. Jon, smiling because of him, has to be one of the cutest things Martin has ever seen.
"Thank you," Jon says. They lay their hand on top of Martin's.
"I can braid your hair for you, if you'd like," Martin offers.
"I might take you up on that."
Martin wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss every single scar on Jon's face, along with the dimples. (Dimples! Jon has dimples! Why does Jon just keep getting cuter?)
"We'll see. I guess that's just part of living together," Martin says in the most awkward way possible.
"I guess," Jon replies.
It makes Martin's heart sing. The possibility that this can go somewhere. That it doesn't have to be dancing around the point.
But that means Martin has to say something. Or Jon has to say something. They have to communicate. It's hard, especially after the Lonely.
"Thank you for all this," Martin says. "For getting me out of the Lonely, for taking me here, for everything that you've ever done."
Jon squeezes Martin's hand. "It's no problem. I would have stayed with you in the Lonely if I had to. Not like I would want to, but it's for you. I–you–I think it's the only thing that's kept me from becoming a true monster. I'm already damned, I know that, but you have been keeping me from entirely giving up. You're my anchor, Martin."
How romantic, Martin thinks. But that is what I want, isn't it? Been loving them for so long I've just been waiting for this.
"Why me?" Martin asks. "Out of all the people in the world, why choose the coworker that you hate the most in the world?"
"I don't hate you," Jon says. "I didn't ever really hate you. I was an idiot. Now . . . I know that you're the most kind and caring person I know. And despite everything in the entire world, you always believe that things can get better. That maybe it doesn't have to be all doom and gloom." Jon looks like he wants to kiss Martin, leaning his forehead against Martin's in such a way Martin knows he wants the same thing.
"And I like your tea," Jon adds. "Stupid, I know, but that's a little thing that makes me–" Jon takes a deep breath. They're unsure of what to say. "God, I don't want to look like an idiot here, but I also want to say so much to you. And I also don't want to make you uncomfortable."
Martin takes a deep breath. "Can I say something, then?"
"Go ahead," Jon says, and Martin feels their breath on his lips.
"I have loved you for a very long time," Martin says. Finally getting it out after all this time. "Way too long for it to be reasonable. I don't know what it was. The fact that all the people around me actually treated me like a human?"
"I called you a useless ass," Jon points out.
"I know. But you also saw my freak-out over the worms, realised you made a mistake, and were nice enough to try and fix it. Which was me sleeping in the Archives. And when you were all paranoid, you at least apologised when you yelled at me. And then we were friends. You talked to me. You liked me. You cared about me, and I hate saying that you were the first one, but you were."
"Martin, I didn't know."
"No-one would. I've just got a lot of issues. But I'm glad that you care about me. I'm glad that for once in my life I had someone who cared about me, but I did not want you to die. For you to leave me like everyone else has. You had to be safe. And you did–I know you didn't want to, but you did–and I had to make a choice. I don't know if it was right. But I thought it would help you. Isn't that all I want? And after all this . . . I don't know what to do. How to move on from the Lonely."
Jon squeezes Martin's hand again. "I don't know either. But I can help you. At least, by being here."
"Thank you," Martin says again. "That has to mean something. Just–you won't leave me, will you?"
"Why would I?" Jon asks. "Why would I ever want to do that?"
"I don't know. But that is what I assume. A lot of people don't want to stay with me when they get close. Always something about me that they don't like."
"What would there be for me not to like?" Jon asks. "I've seen a lot from you. And even after you pushed me away, kept me from getting closer, I still thought, "You know, I still love him.'"
Love him. Martin's heart thumps in his chest, and he hopes and prays that Jon still does.
"I hope you do too," Jon continues. "You said as much in the Lonely."
"I–Jon–are asking me if I love you?"
"Well, I do, I just want to make sure it isn't unrequited or I make you uncomfortable."
"Jon, of course I love you," Martin says. "I've loved you for so long. You don't have to doubt that."
"Sorry, I just–"
"You don't have to say sorry. I understand. It's okay, you could just not awkwardly walk around it."
Jon laughs. "Yeah, yeah."
"Do you love me?"
"Yes, I love you. Why ask, you know."
"I just wanted to hear you say it," Martin says.
Jon smiles again.
"May I kiss you?" Jon asks, in the same cautious way as he'd been doing the entire day.
"Yes," Martin whispers. "Please do."
Jon smiles. Again, because of Martin. Jon reaches out and lays a hand on Martin's face. He takes a deep breath and slowly leans forward. As always, Jon is being awkward and overly cautious.
Jon slowly presses his lips against Martin's. It's a slow kiss, one that is gentle and loving. Martin, who has been so cold for so long, is already feeling warm again
.
Jon slowly breaks the kiss, hands still on Martin and another smile on his face.
"Your lips are cold," Jon says.
"Cut me a break," Martin replies. "I was in the Lonely."
"I know," Jon whispers. He kisses Martin again, just a slight brush of lips against lips. "I guess I can try and warm you up."
"That might take a while."
"And I'll stay for that while," Jon says. He kisses Martin once again, his thumb brushing against Martin's cheek.
"Warmer already," Martin whispers.
"Good."
"What do we do now?" Martin asks. "We–talked and we're away from danger."
"I guess we just stay here," Jon replies. "It's–kind of nice. Just the two of us in a house in Scotland."
"In Daisy's house?"
"Yes, in Daisy's house," Jon says. "It's not so bad. It's not like there's rusty knives hanging from the ceiling. It's just a normal house."
"Why the ceiling?"
Jon smiles again. Their smile is incredibly cute.
"I don't know. But at least it's just a charming cottage. No murder house, just way too much flower wallpaper. Wonderful lilac wallpaper."
"It's a little too cutesy for me," Martin says. "But it's fine. We could have much worse."
Jon nods.
"Do you want to go to sleep?" Jon asks. "It's been a bit of a long day, and I think both of us need some sleep." He looks at his watch. "It's nine PM, no wonder I'm so tired and thinking of sleep. I don't get much of that these days."
"We should sleep," Martin replies. "I'm tired. You look tired."
"Do you want me to stay? I can leave if you need me to. There's a couch–"
"Don't leave," Martin says. "Please."
"Then I won't," they whisper. He holds Martin's hand again, putting real meaning behind his words. "God, this is all like a dream. Being with you."
It's almost domestic. It's all Martin has wanted for a very long time.
"Then we should get ready for bed."
"Yeah," Jon agrees. "I'll go brush my teeth."
"I hope you remembered your toothbrush."
"I did. I've got everything we need. Though I'd hate to leave you behind."
"It's okay," Martin promises. "I won't dissolve if you leave me alone for a second. I'll be fine." He chuckled nervously.
"I can stay here for longer if you need me to," Jon offers.
"It's fine. Go get ready for bed."
"Okay." Jon gets off the bed, cautiously letting go of Martin's hand. "I guess–I know you'll be okay."
Jon kneels down and unzips his bag.
"You'll be okay," Jon says again.
Jon walks off to the bathroom. Martin decides to change his shirt as he leaves. He doesn't want to keep wearing this jumper, the one that reminds him of the Lonely. He wants to forget.
Martin knows he can't forget, but it's the thought that counts.
Martin didn't take much with him. He'd gone back to his flat to get a few things, but he hadn't had much time. He wasn't like Jon, who had a bag completely packed already, but he had a few things that had been sitting in a bag for a very long time.
He has a shirt in there that Jon had said he liked. A cute blue one with a cartoon cat on it that Jon had complimented back when Jon never said a nice thing to Martin. As his crush on Jon grew, Martin started to treasure it more and more. Just one happy thing in a sea of tragedy.
Martin decides to wear it. Better than the jumper bleached by the Lonely.
Jon walks back into the room and smiles when he sees Martin's shirt.
"I appreciate the cat on your shirt," Jon says.
"Thank you," Martin replies.
"Are you going to brush your teeth?"
"I should. I'll do that."
Martin grabs his toothbrush from his bag. He walks into the bathroom, and he is not prepared for what he sees.
It's very pink. Bright fuschia walls, magenta tiles on the floor, and a light pink sink.
"Who designed this?" Martin wonders. "A unicorn? A piece of candy?"
This wasn't what he was expecting from Daisy Tonner. An avatar of the Hunt with a disgustingly pink bathroom and lilac wallpaper.
Whatever, it didn't matter. Martin was still able to brush his teeth. He also hopes that he can repaint it in some way. Maybe green. Something that is a lot less eye-bleeding.
Martin walks back into the bedroom, only to see Jon wearing a very familiar faded blue jumper.
"Did you–did you steal my jumper?" Martin asks, sitting on the bed.
"It's comfortable," Jon replies, still standing.
"That's fine. You can wear it. You look cute in it, despite how oversized it is on you."
"It's yours. That means I like it."
"Okay, okay. Also, Jon, what do you think we should do tomorrow? We need something to fill the time."
"Well, I think we need more food than nonperishables."
"Then we can go shopping."
"How about just you?" Jon suggests. "I–I don't–" He fiddles with the hem of Martin's jumper.
"I understand," Martin says. It's about the statements, which is going to be another conversation, but he wasn't doing that right now. "I'll go shopping for you."
"Then we can see the cows tomorrow," Jon says, perking up a bit
"Cows?" Martin asks.
"You didn't notice the fluffy ones on the hill?"
"I didn't, and now I'm sad about that. I love cows. And you love cows, too. We've bonded over that."
Jon smiles. Martin remembers the only other time he'd seen Jon smile before this was over cows. (And his favourite mug had a cartoon Highland Cow on it.)
"Despite all my . . . You know . . . At least we're good for each other. In a way. We complement each other."
Jon is right. They're similar, their rough edges rubbing up against each other until they soften.
"We do," Martin agrees.
Jon sits down next to him.
"Can you braid my hair?" Jon asks. It's such a simple question, but it means a lot to Martin. A small gesture of intimacy that hints at so much more.
"Sure," Martin says. He sits down next to Jon and pulls out the hair tie. Jon's hair, which is really kind of soft, is also easy to braid.
"I like your hair," Martin says.
"Thank you," they reply. "I'm surprised, with all my grey."
"That's okay. I think it just adds charm to it." Jon smiles again.
"Do you think it's okay if we sleep with these blankets?" Martin asks.
"They don't look like a rat chewed on them or anything," Jon replies. "There's blankets in the closet that look fine, if we flip them back and everything is horrible."
"I'd like more blankets," Martin says. "If you stole my clothes, I'll be worried that you'll also steal my blankets."
"Okay then, I'll get some." Jon gets off the bed and heads for the closet.
Martin flips the blankets back on the bed. They look fine. The bed looks fine. Comfortable, even.
Martin lies down on the bed, curling under the blankets. He's still cold, but he is slowly getting warmer. The blankets and Jon are making him less cold.
Jon is holding a fluffy blanket in his arms.
"Do you want this one?" Jon asks.
"Sure. I'll take it."
Jon drapes the blanket over Martin. Martin still shivers.
"Good?"
Martin nods. "Good."
Jon lies down next to Martin, climbing under the blanket. They reach out and take Martin's hand in theirs.
"I've been dreaming about this," Jon says. "It's been a stupid thought. To keep thinking about you."
"It's not really that stupid. Look at us, we got here."
Jon smiles.
"I like when you smile," Martin says. "And it's–you're smiling at me."
"Of course I would, why wouldn't I want to? You're worth smiling at."
"I don't think so. I'm not the best person for you to love. For anyone. No-one has really loved me."
"But I do," Jon says.
"Are you sure?"
"I am."
"How–" But Jon cuts him off.
Jon is kissing Martin, passionate yet gentle. Jon's hand is tangled in Martin's hair, his other hand clutching onto him. It's so much like Jon, careful and at the same time throwing caution to the wind.
Martin kisses him back, wrapping his arms around Jon. They're warm, they're so warm, they're breaking the ice that has surrounded Martin's heart for so long.
This is what love is like. This is what being loved is like. That someone cares, that someone will clutch onto you and let you into their home.
Jon breaks the kiss. He's breathing hard, hands still clutching onto Martin.
"I love you," Jon says.
"Love you too," Martin replies. He smiles again. This has to be his first time smiling since the Lonely.
"As much as I'd love to keep kissing you," Jon says, "I think we need to sleep."
"Yeah. We do. I'm incredibly tired, because of everything."
Jon presses a kiss to Martin's forehead. "Good night."
"Good night."
Martin sighs, content for once. He is lying in bed with Jon, the person he loves. They are safe, they will stay safe, and no matter what happens next, they will have this. A small shining moment of happiness, in the midst of all the horror that is their lives.
And maybe that is all that matters. That the love was there, that life can be wonderful, and that maybe, just maybe, there can be something more to existing.