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Jon didn’t mean to Know about it.
He was very aware it wasn’t any of his business, but alas, he Knew.
Martin had been by the stove, making tea for the both of them in the glow of the morning sunlight. He’d pushed up his shirt slightly to scratch at the smattering of hair running down his stomach, only to reveal a section of the patchy red scar marred across his torso.
And all of a sudden Jon Knew.
Crash
The sound was like knives against Jon’s eardrums.
“Martin Blackwood, you horrid boy!” A shrill voice screamed at him.
“I… I’m sorry mum!” A child stammered. “I didn’t mean to, it slipped, I’m sor-“
Jon felt the backhand stinging against his face.
“That was an antique, how could you be so stupid?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Jon was aware of the wetness on his cheeks, almost able to taste the salty tears.
A loud splash, and then an unbearable heat against his chest and stomach. It soaked through his clothes, burning into his skin. His throat was raw from the scream that tore its way through him.
There was a fist in his hair, forcing him onto his knees as his body shuddered with uncontrollable sobs. New cuts opened on his hands where they were sliced by the shards of the broken mug.
“Clean this up, all of it.” The terrible woman demanded.
Then, he heard the sound of stomping as she stormed out of the room.
“Jon?”
Martin’s voices roused him from his unwanted thoughts.
“Hey, you in there?”
“Yeah… yeah I’m sorry, just,” Jon attempted to explain. “Just lost in my thoughts is all.”
Martin smiled down at him, placing both steaming mugs on the coffee table.
“Alright, if you say so.” He said as he plopped down next to Jon on the couch.
Jon looked at him then, as they both lifted their mugs. He gazed at Martin’s kind eyes, his soft jawline, those adorable freckles and curls.
Had he always looked like that, so soft and unassuming? Had he looked that way even as a child?
The Eye, always so helpful at the worst possible moments, supplied a clear image for him. In childhood, Martin had the same curls and the same freckles, his face somehow even rounder and softer.
His glasses were far too big for his head, making him appear even younger than he actually was, and they were held together at the bridge with duct tape most of the time. If he smiled, an onlooker could see the gap between his two front teeth, likely corrected in his teen years.
He looked like a boy Jon wouldn’t have been scared to talk to on the playground in his own childhood. Certainly, Martin would have still towered over him, but he didn’t seem the type to push him to the ground or steal things out of his hands or shout nasty names in his direction.
Jon didn’t hide the mixture of emotions on his face quick enough. Martin turned to say something to him, and he caught it all, fondness and despair and sympathy and rage taking turns gracing his features.
“Jon, what‘s wrong?”
“Nothing! It’s nothing.” Jon stuttered. “Don’t worry Martin, it’s not… it isn’t important.”
One of Martin’s eyebrows quirked in disbelief.
“Really?”
“It’s not… it’s just…” Jon scrambled for an answer. “I don’t want to upset you?”
Martin sighed in mock exasperation.
“Well now I have to know.” He chuckled. “Cmon Jon, you can tell me. I won’t bite, promise.
“I uh… I Knew something. Something I wasn’t supposed to.” Jon tried. “Something, ah… personal?”
“Personal?” Martin asked, his mind beginning to kick up a whirlwind of possibilities. “About me?”
Jon nodded.
“What, uh…” Martin fought against the current of embarrassing secrets and memories. “What was it?”
Jon couldn’t think of a tactful way to explain what he saw in words. Instead, he shifted his hand to rest on Martin’s side, rubbing gently with his thumb where he knew the shiny marks of damage would be.
“Oh.” Martin sounded shocked, but did his best to shake it off. “Yeah. Not a very pleasant memory, that one.”
Jon kept staring at him, eyes rounded with sympathy. Not pity, Martin reminded himself at the petulant stab in his chest, sympathy. Jon moved his free hand to stroke gently at Martin’s scalp.
“Don’t worry, love. It was a long time ago, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does, though.” Jon said. “It never… no one should’ve ever treated you that way.”
Martin shrugged. He really wasn’t used to this. There was a moment of thought, and Jon continued.
“I… I shouldn’t have acted the way I did towards you in general, but if I’d known-“
“Jon, we’ve been over this.” Martin rolled his eyes. “I forgive you, no hard feelings, it’s water under the bridge.”
“I know but…” Jon sat up straighter as anger returned to him. “It isn’t fair.”
“What?”
“You deserve nice things, Martin.” Jon declared. “Good things. It isn’t fair that you’ve had to suffer.”
“I have good things now.” Martin insisted, leaning in to kiss the bridge of Jon’s nose.
Jon relished the kiss for a moment, but then the passion swelled in his eyes once more.
“It isn’t good enough.” He decided, standing from the couch with intensity and vigor.
“Where are you going?” Martin was absolutely flabbergasted by this side of his boyfriend.
“To make you a nice breakfast,” Jon said, standing firm. “And later, we’ll take a lovely walk, and then I’ll run you a warm bath, and you get to choose the movie before bed, because I love you and you deserve to be cared for.”
Jon gave Martin a peck on the lips, and then left his stunned partner to process as he rushed to the kitchen.
Martin laughed, in both humor and surprise, as he settled back into the couch cushions. In the end, he had been right. He did have nice things.