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“Martin?” Jon swallowed hard as Martin looked over at him, eyes peeking over the top of his notebook. Jon focused on trying not to fidget with his hands, a nervous gesture, but only ended up fidgeting with his shirt hem instead. He’d take it – a partial victory. “I…want to talk about something.”
Martin let the notebook fall closed and sat up from where he was slouched against the armrest. “Um, okay?” He tossed it onto the coffee table. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes? I mean, um. I-it’s not not alright. It’s just, ah–”
“You don't exactly look like everything's alright. Come sit with me, Jon,” Martin interrupted him, patting the space on the sofa next to him. Obligingly, Jon went; but with the few seconds that the journey took his mind flickered between the thought of curling up next to him versus on the opposite end of the sofa. What would make this conversation easier? What would make it harder ? Could he even justify seeking comfort from Martin when he might be denying him something else? Jon knew Martin loved him. He knew that what he had to say wasn’t going to ruin their relationship. The real risk was of disappointing him. Jon didn’t know if he’d be able to handle that, disappointing Martin because of…because of a part of who he is . And Martin shouldn’t have to comfort Jon over causing Martin pain.
Turns out, Martin wasn’t even going to give Jon a choice of where to sit – he grabbed Jon’s hand as soon as it was close enough and tugged him into his side. Jon was silently very relieved for that – he hated to admit it in moments like these, but he was quite selfish when it came to his boyfriend, and selfish for his touch especially. Sue him. He dropped his head onto Martin’s shoulder but made no move to speak, instead focusing on his heart as it beat against his remaining ribs. Faster than usual, but still beating, because he was alive. And Martin was alive, too, the proof of it gentle against Jon’s palm as he pressed it to Martin’s chest. They were both living, and breathing, and free, and safe, and really, this was nothing compared to the other things they'd been through, so why was he even-
“Jon? You there?”
Jon jumped as he came back to himself, realizing he was biting his lip and releasing it as the pain registered.
“Ah, y-yes I’m – sorry, I, um,” He laughed weakly. “I suppose I’m just…in my own head a bit.”
“So nothing new then,” Martin teased, and Jon rolled his eyes, though the levity made him grateful nonetheless. “Well, you…said you wanted to talk about something, but we don’t have to talk about it right now, if you don’t actually want to. You…you know that, right?”
Jon dragged his hands across his face, rolling his head on Martin’s shoulder until he was looking up at the ceiling. “No, I…I want to talk.” He lingered in a few more moments of silence, steeling himself, before he forced his mouth open and sent the words tumbling out.
“Did you ever…? T-there was a tape, before the Unknowing, and, um. Melanie and Basira, they were…they were doing a bit of…ha, some gossiping. A-about me. Well, they mentioned you too, a-actually, they were talking about us , w-which was quite inappropriate of them, i-in hindsight, and–” Jon paused, reigning in his anxiously gesturing hands and pinched the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he maneuvered away from his slouch against Martin to slouch against the back of the sofa instead. “T-that’s not the point. I just ask because…have you…have you heard it?”
Even though Jon wasn’t looking at him, he just knew the look that was on Martin’s face: brow furrowed, head tilted forward, the corners of his lips turning downward, trying to decide if he should be confused or worried. “Uh…no? I don’t think so? Should I want to have heard it?”
“ No . Y-yes…? Maybe?” Jon threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know. The point is, they were talking about…well they were talking about your feelings for me, i-in a way, and Basira asked Melanie if we’d, ah, in the past…I mean she didn’t say it directly but it was clear what she was implying, a-and Melanie told her that Georgie had told her t-that I, um, don’t.” He grimaced at his stammered-out response – this was why he hated bringing his own vulnerabilities to the table. But this was important. He noticed that his shoulders had risen to his ears at some point and took a moment to deliberately lower them. Then, hesitantly, he risked a glance at Martin to find his face blotchy red – safe to say he’d probably gotten the idea, despite Jon’s absolute butchering of the subject.
“Ooookay. Correct me if I’m wrong, here,” Martin began, and Jon fought the urge to break eye contact and hide in Martin’s stolen jumper valiantly. “Are you…um, talking about sex? Were they talking about sex?”
Jon lost the battle. He squeezed his eyes shut with a punched out sigh. “Yeah.”
At least he hadn’t pulled the jumper over his head.
“Okay. So you…” Martin trailed off, and when Jon squinted his eyes back open Martin’s expression read as though he was thinking quite hard about something. Was that…a bad sign? Or a good one? Thankfully, Jon didn’t have to sit in anxious silence for too long before Martin spoke again. “Jon, are you trying to tell me you’re asexual?”
“I’m…what?”
“Asexual? You know, it’s–”
“I know what it means , Martin, but what does it have to do with me ?”
After another long pause, Martin made another face – this one like he’d just clicked the last piece of a puzzle into place – and Jon was perturbed by the fact that he was very clearly trying to fight a smile. For the life of him, Jon could not fathom why.
“What does asexual mean, Jon?”
Jon sputtered, mind working on overdrive to try and figure out how, and more importantly why , the conversation had turned this way. “W-well, I mean, asexual on its own isn’t really the right term for it? That’d be, um, a-asexual reproduction ? The, ah, biological term for–wha–are you laughing at me?”
“No! No,” Said Martin from behind a hand that was doing a piss-poor job of hiding his smile. “Okay. Maybe I am a little bit. But!” Martin managed to grab Jon’s wrists just as Jon began to pull away, confused and maybe a bit hurt but also trying to remind himself that certainly Martin wasn’t trying to be malicious. “I’m sorry. That was mean of me. You’re just, don’t hate me , kind of adorable when you’re clueless?”
Jon sighed, not even bothering to protest against the endearment…or being called clueless. After all, Jon knew that he could be pretty oblivious at times, but…
“Martin, just…just tell me what this is about. Please.”
“Right. Yeah.” A more serious expression fell over Martin’s face as he slid his palms down to meet Jon’s, holding his hands properly. “So you’re not wrong , exactly. But asexual has another definition? If someone’s asexual…it means that they don’t experience a lot of sexual attraction to people, if any at all. Is that…is that how you feel, Jon?”
Jon turned the concept around in his head. Asexual – another label then? Jon had never been one for labels. He knew what LGBT stood for: lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender; but none of those ever felt like him . And it had certainly never crossed his mind that there might be more words. But it had never really bothered him. Not always. For an embarrassing amount of time he’d thought everyone felt the same way he did, that sex was just this awkward, uncomfortable thing that people tolerated for…whatever reasons Jon could never quite grasp. But then there was Georgie. Georgie, the girlfriend that marked Jon’s first serious relationship. Georgie, who seemed to genuinely want to do those things for no reason other than “fun.” Georgie, who’d seemed just as thrown off by his lack of wanting as he was by her presence of wanting. Georgie, who kindly but confusedly told him “that’s not how most people think about sex, Jon.”
But in that moment, holding Martin’s hands, all Jon could think to say was “...huh.”
And the small part of him that hoped he wasn’t the only person in the entire world to feel this way rested.
Martin laughed again but this time it was quieter, breathier. “It’s okay if you don’t want to have sex, Jon. I’m not gonna like…lose my mind or anything over it.”
“Are you, um,” The word was foreign on Jon’s tongue, the syllables strange and awkward as they formed in his mouth. “A…asexual as well, or…?”
Martin shrugged, and his eyes flitted to the floor for a moment before looking back at Jon. “Well…no. I’m not. But–”
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Jon interrupted, the words spilling out of him so fast that he’d be surprised if Martin was able to parse out what he was saying at all.
His relationship with Georgie ended for a lot of reasons. Even now, Jon didn’t think his aversion to sex was one of them – or at least not a big one – but it had changed things. Jon didn’t blame either of them for that particular thorn. They’d begun the relationship making assumptions that perhaps they shouldn’t have – but how were either of them supposed to know any different when they’d never had those assumptions challenged before? But the importance of Jon’s inclinations (or lack of them) to Georgie didn’t matter now, hadn’t for a long time. Now he had Martin. And since this time Jon knew that he was different…wouldn’t it be best to share, especially now that he had a reason to share? Martin’s feelings on the subject hadn’t mattered during the apocalypse, for obvious reasons. And Jon didn’t think it would ever matter because he never expected to make it this far.
But he did. They did.
So now it mattered - simple as that.
Martin tightened his hands around Jon’s. “Hey, look at me. You never disappoint me, Jon. Especially not now.”
Jon did not look. Instead, he focused on their hands, firmly locked together with fingernails painted a matching yellow. The color was bright, bright like the explosion in the Panopticon that should have killed them both. “I don’t want to hurt you, then, if terminology’s so important.” Jon protested bitterly. Then, quieter, smaller: “I know I’ve done that before.”
Martin sighed, slow and heavy. “Yeah. We’ve both hurt each other. But you’re not hurting me with this…” And Jon could just hear his cheeky smirk, “...if terminology’s so important.”
A weight lifted off of Jon’s shoulders and he laughed with a lopsided smile. “You’re not as funny as you think you are, you know,” He said, voice tinted with relief and affection as he let himself fall forward into Martin’s chest.
“Well I can at least try to be!” Martin’s arms were a comforting weight across Jon’s back as he nosed his way toward Jon’s cheek, kissing him there with a smile. And suddenly, he laughed. “God, Jon, you can be so stubborn sometimes, you know that right?” He sat up to ruffle Jon’s hair with both hands, something that Jon found completely unacceptable.
“Yes, yes. Don’t pretend you’re not , though,” He chastised, but couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he followed Martin upright, swatting his hands away as went. “I’m…I’m trying, though, Martin.”
“I know. I just…I just want you to believe me when I tell you I love you, even if you don’t want to, you know? Just like…just like I know you want for me.” Martin brought his hands up again and Jon prepared his defenses, but this time Martin just smoothed his hair back down, tucking a strand behind Jon’s ear and tracing a line with his fingers back toward Jon’s cheekbone. Jon let himself settle into the softness of Martin’s palm, tender and warm and loving. “That being said…thank you for telling me,” Martin finished.
“And thank you for listening.”
And when they kissed, it tasted like safety, and like trust, and like love.