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He wanted to hate it. He wanted to hate the fact that they were effectively trapped there. Separated from all they know by thousands of miles of rolling hills and grassy lands. Isolated with only the cows and each other for company. He wanted to hate it. Hate the seclusion. Hate the creaky, crumbling cabin. Hate the stench of the manure flooded soil metres from their doorway. Hate the village and its people who he couldn’t even bring himself to see lest he somehow harm them too. Hate the incessant mooing of the cows at all hours of the day that had him smothering himself with his pillow each night. God, he wanted to hate it all.
And yet… And yet, it was the happiest he’d ever been. Finally having the peace he had been searching for his entire life. No evil boss looming over his shoulder. No haunted tunnels luring him in at night. No monsters following him home and dragging him into the darkness for weeks at a time. No tapes to tempt him further into this pit of danger and despair that he had fallen headfirst into.
And Martin.
Beautiful, incredible, amazing Martin. Martin laying sweetly asleep across from him each morning. Martin making him a cup of tea to sip whilst cozied in front of the fire. Martin to soothe him when the guilt and panic of all that he’s done settle in as harshly as a knife in the heart. Martin to hold as he attempted to drift into a fitful sleep that so rarely came. Weirdly that never bothered him. That he would spend each night tracing the grain of woody ceiling and the sleep-softened creases on Martin’s face until the Sun rose again. But, after everything, never-ending insomnia didn’t even phase him. And he didn’t feel he was exactly in a position to complain. Not when he was living in what he could only find himself describing as domestic bliss with the man he loved.
His boyfriend. He often found himself mentally giggling at the thought of that. Being Martin’s boyfriend. He knew it was probably a bit childish; they’re men in their mid 30’s and they hadn’t even properly talked about labels or anything. But still. He knew Martin would agree. Not Knew, definitely not. As much as he liked the certainty that came with knowledge from the Beholding, he would never do that where Martin was concerned. Martin had made it very clear on their trip up North that he did not appreciate his mind being read and, if they were ever gonna work together, Jon would have to at least try to stop.
And so he did. By God, was it difficult to ignore what had essentially become reflex, but he would learn to live without breathing if Martin asked him to. He had only had a few slip-ups, silly things like Knowing the name of Martin’s childhood dog, that the apologised profusely for. Martin was always far too lenient with him. Reassuring him that it was ok, that he knew he was trying. It was nights like this that left him shaking, silent tears falling over the hand clamped over his mouth. He didn’t want to disturb Martin, couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him even more. Yet, no matter how desperately quiet he was in his distress, Martin always awoke and curled an arm around him, whispering reassurances until his breathing settled. Martin was always so good at that. Being able to calm him. Knew exactly what to say and do. How firmly to hold him, or whether it would be a smart idea to even touch him at all. The perfect words he needed to hear to settle his racing anxieties reminding him over and over that it was a miracle Martin had ever stuck around.
I will never blame you, he would say as he ran his fingers through his hair.
I will always forgive you, as he caressed his scarred cheek.
I love you, as he lay a gentle kiss upon his lips.
Words that healed something deep within his shattered soul that he suspected had been broken for longer than he ever truly wanted to admit. He wished he could provide Martin with that same curing comfort. Each time he shot up in the middle of the night, hyperventilating at the memories of all the horrors he had been forced to endure, human or otherwise. He practically heard his heart break each time Martin’s heaving sobs wracked through the empty night air. Pleading to never again be left in that empty loneliness that was so unbearably tempting. He would try his very best to offer comfort.
I will always be with you, he would whisper as he ran a hand up and down his shuddering back.
I will never let them get to you, as he wiped away the tears on his cheeks before they could be replaced.
I love you, as he was pulled into a bruising kiss, a reminder that he was still there.
It never quite felt like enough.
Like he was not conveying how truly serious his statements were.
For how do you tell someone, especially one who may not particularly want to hear it, that you would tear the world to pieces if it meant you could never leave their side. That you would fight God ten times over to ensure they were safe. That you would endure an eternity’s worth of agony just to see them smile. No, he couldn’t tell him that.
He didn’t want to remind him that, one day, it may come to that. That bliss was never forever and that one day their past would catch up to them.
His past.
What he’d done.
He didn’t allow himself to linger on thoughts such as that. Imagining the horrors that could come to find them in their little cabin with their peaceful village and good cows. There was no productivity in that. No use in dwelling on it.
For once in his life, he let himself enjoy his present. And what a lovely present it was.