Work Text:
Jon stares at the words on their phone screen.
My Favourite Thing About Realising I’m Starting To Fall For Someone.
They’ve read Martin’s blog post… well they lost count after the seventh time, but definitely a lot more than that. It never gets any better. It never will, but they can’t stop reading it.
Just the way being in a particular person’s presence can make you feel so, so much happier than when that person isn’t there, you know?
Oh, Jon knows. Jon…
Fuck.
This is stupid. They shouldn’t be so upset over it. Yes, they’ve been nursing these exact kinds of feelings for Martin ever since… well. Ever since they met him. God, that’s pathetic. Love at first sight? Jon never would have imagined themself stooping so low. It hadn’t been actual love, anyway, not at first. It had been appreciation of the way Martin looked, yes, and admiration, and enjoyment of his company and the joy of realising that he actually is more or less exactly as he comes across in his writing, and… oh, all sorts of strange, tender things Jon hasn’t felt properly in years. But not love.
It's love now.
But they have no right to expect Martin to reciprocate, no claim on his affection or his romantic feelings. It’s not as though they’ve ever actually said anything about their own feelings, how was Martin supposed to know? He’s perfectly within his rights to fall in love with whomsoever he pleases.
Jon scrubs angrily at their eyes, which have been sporadically producing tears for the last hour or so, ever since they first read Martin’s newest blog post. They almost wish they never had, except maybe it’s better that they know now. It’s only been, what, two months? Not long enough for anything really deep to grow inside them. Right?
Right.
This is all just a crush. It’s nothing. It’s… it’s barely worth thinking about. Martin has feelings for someone. That’s fine! It’s fine. It’s normal. People get feelings for other people all the time, and those feelings are never about Jon. Why would they be? Jon isn’t the sort of person people get feelings for. They’re awkward and weird and take forever to trust people, although Martin has rather proven himself the exception to that, somehow. When they try to ask questions they either sound judgemental or demanding. When they try to be kind they lose what small capacity for self-expression they usually have. When they want to be soft, their words come out hard. They laugh at the wrong times and second-guess themself constantly and can’t make eye contact and forget to ask how people are all the goddamn time.
Obviously Martin was never going to fall for them.
At first, for one hot, heady moment, Jon had thought the blog post might be about them. Just for the first few lines. But then there’d been the bit about how the other person would never reciprocate and, well, Jon has been, frankly, embarrassingly obvious about their own feelings. One time, they’d fallen asleep leaning against Martin, and when they’d woken up they’d spent a good minute or so nuzzling their face into the soft skin of his neck and making tiny happy sounds before they’d woken up fully enough to realise what they were doing. Not to mention the fact that they deliberately and of their own free will two or three evenings after work at Martin’s flat every week, and at least one weekend day.
No, if Martin liked Jon, he had to know at least that he had a hell of a decent chance with them. They can’t stop smiling whenever he’s around, and, even worse, they can’t seem to stop touching him. It’s like a compulsion. But maybe Martin doesn’t like being touched all the time. All the hugs and snuggling on the sofa and touching his arm or his shoulder or his hand. Has Jon ever asked him first?
Jon’s heart seems to stop beating from sheer horror.
What if this is why Martin wrote the blog post?
What if Jon’s been so utterly obnoxious, so impenetrably heedless of any feelings Martin might have on the subject, that they’ve actually been forcing their presence on Martin all this time? They remember, suddenly, how when they’d been very little, not long started at primary school, they’d seen some of their classmates playing with a huge, extremely battered, yet beautiful, doll’s house. They’d gone over to join in and had got way too enthusiastic about it all and had all sorts of exciting ideas until eventually the other kids had told Jon they didn’t want to play with them any more. And that was only the first time.
This is exactly the same, isn’t it? Jon’s been so excited about this new friend, this wonderful, generous, interesting, funny, beautiful new presence in their life that they’ve never noticed, not once, that Martin was completely and utterly bored with them. How many times has poor, kind Martin hinted that maybe he’d like a bit of time to spend with someone else, or even by himself, before being driven to writing a blog post about his feelings for someone else to get his message across?
Jon wants to be sick.
But it’s better that they know. At least they won’t impose themself on Martin any longer, and that’s good.
They switch their phone off with a shaking hand. Properly, all the way off.
And then they grab their bear, sitting primly on the pillow Jon doesn’t use, and crawl under the bed. It’s a stupid, childish thing to do. It’s not okay to hide from your mistakes. And they won’t! They’ll be better from now on, they will. They just need to be somewhere small and dark and safe, just for a little while. Just while it hurts so much.
They stay there for the rest of the evening, crying on and off and directing angry monologues at themself for being so absolutely bloody stupid. They hate having feelings. If only there was a way to switch them off entirely, they’d do it. Feelings only ever lead to bad things.
They don’t switch their phone back on until they wake up the next morning, at which point they swipe away half a dozen texts from Gerry without even reading them in favour of navigating to Martin’s blog with sleep-clumsy fingers. Yesterday’s post is just as depressing as it was when Jon first read it.
What a fool Jon is. They’d actually been starting to think that perhaps Martin felt a little bit the same way. He always smiles so convincingly when they meet up, always seems to be genuinely enjoying himself. But that’s just because he’s kind. Even now, with Jon forcing their presence on him at every opportunity, he’s still been trying to let them down gently.
A glutton for punishment, Jon scrolls down to the comments. Everybody’s happy for Martin, encouraging him to talk to the person he has feelings for, congratulating him on being in love. That slightly terrifying IWillHuntYouDownAnd person seems to know who it is Martin has feelings for. Maybe that means the feelings are real, and not simply made up as a way for Martin to escape from Jon? That oughtn’t to be such a relief.
Jon should do the same as everyone else. Coo over Martin’s feelings, tell him that the object of his affection probably feels the same way. They probably do feel the same way. Who wouldn’t? Martin is one of the best people Jon has ever met.
Plus, leaving a message like that would show Martin that Jon’s got the message, if it is a message. Maybe it’s not. But it could be. Jon wishes they were better at understanding people and interpreting their actions. If IWillHuntYouDownAnd is right and Martin has real feelings for someone… it could mean bloody anything. Maybe it means Martin doesn’t hate Jon, but maybe it just means he’s using his actual real feelings to extricate himself from the unwanted friendship instead of being forced to invent them whole-cloth. Maybe IWillHuntYouDownAnd is wrong, although they don’t seem like the sort of person who’s wrong often.
This is a nightmare.
At last, half angry and half tearful, Jon types, Such feelings don’t sound very pleasant to me. I had no idea you were having them about anyone. That gives Martin the chance to explain, if he wants to. And, of course, to not explain if he doesn’t. They switch their phone off again without reading any of Gerry’s texts, and go to get ready for work.
They don’t switch it back on again until they’re home, and even then it’s a vicious fight between the part of their brain that hopes, despite all the evidence, that they’ve somehow misinterpreted everything and Martin actually does want to be friends after all, and the part of their brain that assumes they’ll have received a string of texts from Martin requesting that they never speak to him, text him, or comment on his blog ever again.
In the end, it’s neither. Martin’s replied to their comment on his post with, no reason you should know, I never said :) I like the feelings though, they’re nice!
Jon stares at it for a long time.
Martin’s right. There is no reason Jon should know.
They’ve only known each other two months. Yes, they’ve spent a highly anomalous, at least for Jon, amount of time together during those two months, but Martin is a cheerful, friendly sort of person who probably spends all his free time with friends, not just Jon. The smiley face, the one that for the last few weeks has been setting Jon’s heart fluttering every time they see it, suddenly seems bland and meaningless, barely a step up from Martin’s passive aggressive little thanks for commenting!
It takes three tries, with Jon’s shaking hands, to type in, I see., and post it, but once they have they switch their phone off once more and crawl under the bed for the rest of the evening. Maybe it’s cowardly, but they just… they need this.
What they very much don’t need is to fall asleep still curled up under the bed and wake up sometime around three in the morning, barely able to move from all the cramping. Not to mention the headache that comes from forgetting where they are and sitting up before being reacquainted, forcibly, with the slatted base of the bed frame.
Jon squirms angrily out from under the bed, sits around for a while nursing their various aches and pains, acquires a second set of aches and pains from falling asleep sitting on the floor leaning against the side of the bed and sleeping for another two hours like that, and eventually limps their bleary, miserable way to work without showering or eating breakfast. At least they do remember to get changed before they leave their flat, although it’s a close thing.
They don’t realise until lunch time that they must have left their phone under the bed, dropped there when they fell asleep for the first time and forgotten about. Oh well. It’s not as though there’s going to be anything on there that they have any interest in seeing. They don’t turn it on again, even when when they do get home, but slouch unhappily into the shower, turning the water up to an almost blistering heat in the hope of soothing some of the pain. It works, at least for a while. Long enough to heat up some leftovers in the microwave and eat them before crawling back into bed.
Saturday is… bad. In hindsight, Jon shouldn’t have gone to work yesterday, not with all that pain. It feels as though their body is on fire. For most of the morning they can hardly move. They just lie in bed, the curtains still closed, trying to find a position that hurts even a little less.
Around noon, it occurs to them that taking painkillers is a thing they can do, and they force some tablets down, along with half a granola bar. It doesn’t get rid of the pain, but it does make it a little more bearable after a while. Jon reaches for their phone, intending to read, or maybe find some soothing game to play, definitely not to look at any of their texts, much less Martin’s blog, and only then remembers that it must still be languishing beneath the bed.
Once found, after some painful flapping around under there, Jon plugs the charger into the phone and switches it on. It immediately begins to ping with more incoming texts, including several from Martin. Ugh. Jon doesn’t want to look at them. They open their chat with Gerry instead.
Gerry’s latest message, sent just a couple of hours ago, says, seriously though i hope you’re not feeling too awful, let me know if you need me to bring anything or just come over and cuddle you! sending hugs xxxxx
Oh. That’s nice to read, actually. Jon scrolls up to read Gerry’s previous messages.
but I’m guessing it’s not so exciting and you’re just having some bad days
And before that, I hope you’re not replying bc you’ve been snogging Martin silly for the last two days, Jon, I swear to god that’s the only excuse I’ll accept!
What?
Seriously, what? Jon scrolls up again, to the messages from last night.
heyyyyy Jon if you could just like let me know that you’re not dead that would be great thx
JON???
Jon??
Jon? You okay mate?
They scroll up past a few more similar messages, until they get to the ones from Wednesday evening. There are… quite a lot of them. The first one reads, OMG JON HE FINALLY ADMITTED HIS FEELINGS FOR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
Following that comes, that is actually so cute and HILARIOUS that he apparently thinks you don’t feel the same way hahahahahaha
Next, sooooo you’re gonna call him, right???? talk to him? or at least meet up with him like tonight to talk about this, right? RIGHT?
And then, okay this radio silence better be bc you’re actually already at his flat and the two of you are declaring your undying love for each other
There’s a lot more in this vein. Jon reads through them all, increasingly baffled and frustrated. How can Gerry possibly think Martin’s post was about them? That doesn’t make any sense! If it was, Martin would have said, he would have at least mentioned it. He wouldn’t just write something like this and then not say anything to Jon, not if it was about them. That would be ridiculous! And anyway, he says right there in the blog post that he’s certain that the person he likes doesn’t feel the same way about him, and Jon knows how embarrassingly obvious they’ve been about their own feelings.
So it can’t be them.
Despite this knowledge, they still find themself hurriedly bringing up their texts with Martin, just in case. They haven’t really looked at their phone since the blog post went up, so maybe… maybe Martin’s said something and they just haven’t realised it?
But although there are half a dozen messages from Martin, none of them has anything to do with the blog post. The first one is from around forty-six minutes after it went up.
hi Jon, want to do something tomorrow night? I thought we could go back to that Indian restaurant you liked, the one next to the bookshop! or just have a quiet night in if you’re not up for that?
Nothing about the blog post, nothing about Martin’s feelings, for Jon or anyone else. In fact, it’s so completely normal, the sort of thing Martin texts them all the time, that Jon just stares at it for a while, not even sure what to think.
If Martin was trying to send a message with his blog post, then why ask Jon if they want to meet up? Why initiate contact instead of waiting to see how Jon’s going to react? Jon lets their eyes skim down the rest of the messages.
or it’s fine if you don’t want to do anything! maybe we can do the weekend instead?
hey are you ok?
if you’re having a bad time you know I’m always happy to bring you some soup or something else nice to eat! and cuddle you gently! just say the word and I’ll be there :) xxx
hey Jon just sending you some virtual hugs in case you need them xxx
and the final one, today, from just a few hours ago: is everything ok Jon?? maybe you’re having some really bad energy/pain days and need to curl up and take care of yourself and I absolutely get that so just ignore me if you need to, but I just wanted to check, did I do something wrong? I don’t think you’ve ever gone this long without replying before so I’m just sort of freaking out a little bit! anyway I hope you’re ok and again please let me know if you need anything and also if I’ve done something to upset you. if I have then I’m really really sorry and I would very much like to apologise for it properly if you’ll let me. anyway, hoping you’re ok and sending you good thoughts and hugs if you want them <3 xxx
Big, hot tears begin to roll down Jon’s cheeks. Martin doesn’t hate them. Even Jon, whose capacity for overthinking Gerry once described as cosmic and immeasurable, cannot possibly interpret those messages as coming from someone who wants to escape their overbearing and unwanted friendship. Martin still likes them. Martin still wants to be friends.
He just doesn’t love them.
Or, not romantically. That’s all. It’s not so huge. It’s not so bad. He still likes Jon as a friend, maybe even loves them, Jon isn’t sure. How do you tell? Either way, it’s a relief. It is.
It is.
Tears are still rolling down Jon’s face. It’s not Martin’s fault he doesn’t want them, not the same way they want him, but oh, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. They wipe the tears away, but more keep coming. They’re pathetic. Martin was never going to love them, they’re not the sort of person people love. Except Gerry, of course, but Gerry’s the exception to a lot of rules. The point is that Jon was always fooling themself, thinking they had a chance.
But it’s not Martin’s fault, and it’s not fair to keep on acting as if it is, as if he’s somehow done something wrong by falling in love with someone. If Jon wants to keep their friend, and they do, more than almost anything, they have to fix this.
Fumbling with their phone through shaking hands and blurry eyes, they type I’m all right into their chat with Martin, and then stare at it for a moment. There’s no reply.
That’s fine. Martin’s probably busy. No. Wait. A little Martin is typing has shown up at the bottom of their chat. Jon’s heart jumps, and a moment later they read, omg I’m so relieved, I was really worried about you!!!
Jon scrubs away a few more tears and smiles wanly at their phone. Sorry, they write. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just had a few bad days.
I thought it must be that!! Martin writes back immediately. you know you can ask me if you need anything bringing, right? x
The little kiss at the end makes Jon’s heart clench. Martin can’t know, of course, how much it hurts to see that and know it doesn’t mean what Jon can’t help wanting it to mean. He doesn’t love me, they think again. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me.
God, they need to shut up.
You: I know.
Martin: even if it’s just a hug, I’m happy to come over and give it to you!
You: Thank you.
Martin: how are you doing now?
You: Better.
Martin: so glad!!! do you want to do something later today, or tomorrow? if you’re not feeling up to going out yet I can come over and we can watch the rest of that insects documentary or something? order something nice in for dinner?
Jon shuts their eyes for a moment, their whole mind revolting against the idea of seeing Martin right now. They’re so glad to know he still wants to be their friend, they truly are, but… they’re still in love with him, and he isn’t in love with them, he’s in love with someone else, and it’s all just too much. They need a few days, just to get used to the whole situation. That’s all.
You: I think I’d rather not this weekend, if you don’t mind.
There’s a longer pause than usual before Martin starts writing again.
Martin: yeah of course, whatever you need! you sure you’re ok?
You: I’m fine.
Martin: how about Monday or Tuesday then? I could pick you up from work and we could go and sit in the park for a bit?
Jon groans. Martin’s being so nice. They wish he’d stop, just for a while. Just to give them time to get their head on straight again. But of course Martin assumes they’ll want to meet up. They’ve been spending two or three week nights together for weeks now. It’s practically routine. Jon should have slammed the brakes on ages ago.
You: Can I let you know on Monday?
Martin: sure! looking forward to seeing you again whenever you feel up for it :) I know it’s only been since Tuesday, but it feels like forever lol
More tears rise into Jon’s eyes. They brush them away angrily.
You: Actually, there’s a few things I need to do right now. I’ll let you know about meeting up.
Martin: oh right, sorry! thanks for letting me know you’re ok! xxx
You: Bye.
Jon drops their phone onto the duvet beside them and lets themself shed a few more hot, heartbroken tears.
Martin must think they’re being so weird. They are being weird. When have they ever said no to seeing him before? Even the one time they’d had a few bad pain days, they’d let Martin come over and lie down on the bed beside them and chatter quietly. He’d read to them. Pride and Prejudice. Jon’s never read it before, and they’d got through the whole thing over the three days Jon had been in bed.
It had been the least awful flare of symptoms Jon can remember having.
But Jon can’t, they just can’t see Martin right now. He’ll be able to tell there’s something wrong just from looking at them, and then he’ll make them talk about it and that will be… no. Just no.
They just need a little time to get over it, that’s all. A day or two to wallow, and then they’ll pick themself up and start moving forward.
They’ll be over it by Monday.
They’re not over it by Monday.
Gerry comes over on Sunday, but at Jon’s request they don’t talk much about Martin. It’s just too sore a subject. Instead they bake, or rather Gerry bakes while Jon watches, because Jon’s still in a fair amount of pain, and afterwards they cuddle up on the sofa to watch a film, although they end up talking through most of it, and Jon allows themself to shed a few self-pitying tears into Gerry’s inexpertly dyed hair.
Jon puts off talking to Martin again until after work on Monday. They know it’s shitty of them, that Martin has done nothing whatsoever to deserve the cold shoulder, but it’s so hard. How do other people manage this sort of thing? At least they make it to work, leaning on their cane and practically rattling with painkillers. It’s a relief to have a distraction.
But they have to get their phone out eventually. There are a couple of messages from Martin. I’m guessing you’re not up for doing something this evening, since you haven’t said anything about it. tomorrow? And then, only twelve minutes ago, are you sure I haven’t done something to offend/upset you? I wish you’d tell me if I have, I’d much rather know! x
Guilt surges up in Jon again. They’re hurting Martin. Only because they’re feeling so hurt themself, but that’s not an excuse. They care about him, so so much. You’re not supposed to hurt the people you care about.
Jon sits down on the bench outside work, steels themself with a few deep breaths, and writes, I apologise, Martin. I didn’t mean to worry you or make you feel as though I was angry with you. I’m not. Unfortunately, I am not able to meet up with you for the next few days. Chatting to you here would be pleasant, though, if that is acceptable. Ugh, why do they always end up falling back on sounding stuffy and stilted when they’re having feelings? It’s awful. They also know from experience that it’s about the best they can do right now, so they send it anyway.
of course I’d love to chat! Martin sends back immediately.
And so they do. Jon is miserably aware that the conversation is awkward, that they aren’t opening up the way they normally do with Martin and that Martin, too, is tiptoeing around them a lot more carefully than usual, but at least they’re talking. Things can only get better from here.
Except it doesn’t. It stays awkward. Jon warns Martin that they’ll lose signal on the tube, but he still seems surprised and relieved when they message again once they’re back on the street. Jon can’t help shoving their phone back in their pocket every time Martin sends a smiley face or a row of kisses, because it feels a little like being stabbed in the heart every time. Somehow Martin picks up on this, and by the time they say their goodnights, noticeably more subdued than usual, he’s stopped sending kisses and smiley faces altogether. It hurts even more than seeing them did.
Tuesday isn’t much better, and neither is Wednesday. Jon is actually glad to have to go to work because it means they have an excuse not to text Martin for a few hours. They’ve never felt like that before, not in the whole two months since they first met him.
It’s horrible.
The worst part is that no matter how hard Jon tries to act like their usual self, they know Martin can tell something’s wrong. By Wednesday, his texts have tailed off into small, sporadic bursts, flat and spiritless compared with his usual cheer.
It all makes Jon want to cry. In fact, they do have to miserably wipe away a few tears as they make their slow way up the street towards their flat. It’s days like this when they’re pathetically grateful to live in a building with a working lift. The weekend was the worst by far, but it hasn’t been a great week, pain-wise.
Their phone rings just as they’re coming out of the lift, and Jon answers without thinking about it. Gerry’s the only person who ever calls them.
“I’m coming over,” Gerry announces.
“You… what?”
“You heard me. I’m five minutes away and I nipped into the little Waitrose near the shop and bought us some proper posh pizzas to eat, and this bougie little salad with, like, heritage radishes and shit in it.”
“Gerry,” Jon starts weakly.
“Nope. Don’t want to hear it.”
And Gerry hangs up. Jon stares at their phone in indignant disbelief for a moment, then sighs. Gerry isn’t the sort of person you say no to, not when he gets like this, and they’re not sure they really want to. The week hasn’t been much fun so far. Perhaps eating posh pizza and salad with Gerry will improve it.
Five minutes later, Gerry enters their flat like a whirlwind, sweeping Jon onto the sofa with a cushion to support their worst leg, hurling pizzas into the oven, putting the kettle on, doling out bougie little salads onto plates, and, once the pizzas are cooked, slicing and serving them, too.
“So!” he says as he sits down, handing one plate to Jon and keeping the other for himself. “Have you read Martin’s latest?”
Jon scowls. “No.”
“Oh my god, why are you like this?” Gerry puts a bit of salad in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Huh, these heritage radishes aren’t bad, actually. Come on, Jon, you’ve got to read it. It’d be hilarious if it wasn’t so completely pathetic. The man is doing some serious pining.”
“Not over me,” Jon says stubbornly. Gerry groans.
“It’s clearly over you! He literally talks about people changing for no apparent reason!”
“I haven’t…” Treacherous tears sting Jon’s eyelids and they have to look away quickly.
Gerry touches their hand gently. “I think you probably have,” he says. “You’re not great at hiding your feelings, Jon, and Martin’s observant. He’ll have noticed.”
Jon thinks of the kisses and smiley faces Martin’s stopped sending, the messages that have been coming fewer and further between. Of course Martin’s noticed.
“It doesn’t mean he’s…” they begin, but Gerry holds up a stern hand.
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d read it,” he says. “Okay, hang on a sec. I’m going to read it to you. Just let me find it again. Right. My Favourite Thing About Rain.”
When he finishes, there’s a long silence. Gerry shoves an entire slice of pizza in his mouth and then makes a muffled questioning sound in Jon’s general direction.
Jon does not reply. Jon doesn’t think they can reply. Martin’s never written a blog post as sad as this before, not once. Not since Jon started reading his blog, and not before that, they’re pretty sure. They’ve read most of his old posts by this point.
Gerry finally manages to chew and swallow all of his slice of pizza, but he doesn’t break the silence. Bastard. He’s always known how to make Jon face up to the truth when they need to.
“This can’t really be about me,” Jon says at last.
“Then who is it about?” Gerry demands, unfortunately quite reasonably. “He’s been talking about you on his blog for weeks now. The only other person he mentions regularly is his mum, and I’m dead sure that post isn’t about her.”
“No.” Jon’s mouth twists. Perhaps it’s unfair to loathe a woman they’ve never met and probably, if Martin has anything to say about it, never will, but they detest her viciously and vigorously, and if they ever do come face to face, Jon has several monologues prepared that they’re quite proud of and would very much enjoy delivering.
“Exactly,” Gerry says. He sighs and puts down his last slice of pizza instead of eating it. “Look, Jon, I know I’ve only met the guy a couple of times, but I’m honestly not sure he’d be able to pick me out of a line-up because he spent the entire time, both times, completely unable to take his eyes off you. He’s absolutely smitten.”
It’s very much not the first time Gerry’s made this argument in the last week, but it’s finally got to the point where Jon can’t easily rebut it. Too many things are adding up in favour of Gerry’s point. But if Gerry’s right…
If Gerry’s right, that means Martin has feelings for Jon.
They still can’t quite bring themself to believe it. Jon isn’t the sort of person people get feelings about. They’re just not! And if anyone does make that mistake, they usually realise and rectify it pretty damn quickly. And Martin… Martin is so wonderful. He wouldn’t.
“Hey,” Gerry says, his voice suddenly gentle. His hand lands on Jon’s shoulder, a warm, comforting weight, and Jon realises they’re pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes, hard enough to see stars. They pull their hands away and tuck them under their thighs instead.
“Hey,” Gerry says again. “You know you can stim around me. C’mere.”
He pulls Jon close, wrapping his arms around them and squeezing tightly. Some of the tension immediately leaks out of Jon. Quite a lot of it, actually. They rest their head against Gerry’s shoulder and sniffle a little bit.
“Sorry,” they mumble. “It’s just… a lot.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve got to stop thinking you’re fundamentally unloveable, Jon. It’d seriously make things a lot easier.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe it would. Maybe they should do what Gerry’s been suggesting for about the last five years and make an appointment with a therapist.
“You need to talk to him,” Gerry says, finally letting Jon go.
Or that. It’ll be a good start, anyway.
“Yes,” Jon says. “I’ll… tomorrow, I’ll…”
“Do it now.”
Jon’s heart thumps, rabbit fast, in alarm. “Gerry, I…”
“If you don’t, you won’t be able to think about anything else until you do. Ask him to come here so that you can talk face to face. I’ll leave if you want to do it tonight.”
Tonight? No. No, that’s much too soon. Jon needs a little time to prepare for a conversation like that. Anyway, it’s not fair on Gerry to chuck him out just because Jon wants a boyfriend. Or, failing that, simply another friend.
“I’ll text him tonight and ask if we can meet up tomorrow?” they suggest, and Gerry smiles.
“Sounds good.”
It takes Jon a few minutes to compose a text they think is adequate to the occasion, but eventually they finish and send it.
Hello Martin, I want to apologise for having been so distant during the last week. I think I may have misunderstood some things rather badly. Would you be willing to come to my flat tomorrow after work? I would offer to come to yours but my body is only just handling work at the moment and I think anything extra would be too much. If you’d rather wait until I can come to you, of course I’m happy to do that. And if you’d prefer not to see me at all, I understand that, too. Thank you for your time. Jon
Gerry grins when he reads it. “Nice work, professor.”
“Shut up,” Jon grumbles, shoving at him. Then their phone pings and they snatch it back from Gerry to see Martin’s reply.
of course I’ll come to yours, I’m thrilled to!! I can’t do tomorrow though, I’m really sorry. We’ve got an event on at the library in the evening and I’m on clean-up duty afterwards so I can’t really get out of it :( would Friday be ok instead? it’s my half day so I can be at yours as early in the afternoon as you like! really looking forward to seeing you x
Oh. Oh, that’s… that’s… Jon finds themself wiping away tears.
“See?” Gerry says, reading over Jon’s shoulder. “Smitten.”
And, for once, Jon finds themself almost able to believe it.
Still, by the time the knock on their front door comes on Friday afternoon, Jon is feeling distinctly green about the gills. There are just so many things that could go wrong. What if Martin was only being polite and doesn’t really want to come over and it’s horribly awkward? What if Jon’s managed to push him away so completely that he’s only coming here to say goodbye properly before he disappears out of their life forever?
What if, despite all their best intentions, Jon somehow messes this conversation up and it could have been all right but it isn’t and Martin realises they’re not worth forgiving and walks out in disgust?
Sometimes Jon honestly thinks they oughtn’t to be allowed to talk to people at all.
“Hi!” Martin says, the second Jon opens the door. He beams at Jon, that’s the only word for it. His whole face changes with it, lights up like a lantern at dusk. Like the sunrise.
“Um,” Jon says. Their mouth is unaccountably dry. They step back from the door. “Please, come in.”
“Thanks.”
Ugh it is awkward. Jon had known it would be. They’re basically incapable of being normal in the presence of another human being. The only reason Gerry has stuck around this long is because he’s pretty weird himself. They shut the door behind Martin.
“I, ah, I haven’t really been up to cooking much,” they say. “So it’ll just be heated up leftovers. I thought, um, maybe after we talk? I… if you want to stay for dinner, that is.”
“Yeah, no, that sounds good,” Martin says. “But talking first… yeah. We should do that. Shall we sit down?”
“Oh! Yes. Yes, that’s… yes.”
Jon turns away hurriedly, flushing, and heads for the sofa. Martin sits down next to them, not close enough that they might touch by accident, but not pointedly distant, either. For a few long, horrible moments, neither of them says anything. Then Martin inhales quickly and says,
“Jon, are you okay?”
Jon looks at him, startled. “Wh… me? Why?”
“Because you’re so anxious you look like you’re about to faint,” Martin says. “And because you’ve been…” He cuts himself off suddenly, and looks away. Then he turns back, frowning. “Look, I’m not stupid, Jon. I know I did something to upset you, and I wish you’d just tell me what it was.”
Right. They’re getting into it straight away, then. Jon fidgets with their fingers. Their mouth is still dry. They feel nauseated. They swallow, hard.
“I…” they start. “It was…” They shut their eyes. Easier that way. “Your blog post. The one from last week. I read it, and I… I thought…” Their voice wavers and dies.
“Oh,” Martin says. There’s an odd flatness to his voice, one Jon can’t quite parse, especially without looking at his face. They don’t quite feel ready for that yet. Martin says, “Look, it’s… it was probably stupid to write that post, to be honest, but I didn’t think it through at the time. I don’t expect anything from you, though. I know you don’t feel the same way, and I… it’s fine. You don’t have to be afraid I’m going to pressure you or anything, I just…”
Jon’s eyes fly open.
“What?”
“Um, I said I’m not going to pressurise you,” Martin says. “Honestly, I meant what I said in that blog post. I just like having the feelings. It doesn’t mean I’m expecting anything from you or that you have to…”
“No, not that.” Jon is staring now. Gerry was right. Gerry’s always damn well right! They should have known. It had just all seeemed so terribly, depressingly, unlikely. “The, ah, the part about me not feeling the same way.”
Martin blinks at them a moment. “What do you mean?”
“Why…” Jon’s voice comes out almost as a sigh. They have to stop and swallow again to get it under control. “Why don’t you think I…? Martin, of course I feel the same way about you. Of course I do!”
“You… do?”
“Yes! Obviously!”
“I mean, it wasn’t that obvious, or I’d have…”
“Well, I do, all right?”
“I…” Martin looks at them, grinning a bit. “Yeah, all right.”
“A-and you do,” Jon says, because they have to check. They have to be sure. “You… I… it’s me that you…”
“Yeah,” Martin says quickly. He doesn’t laugh at them, which is a relief. “All that stuff I said about my feelings and everything, it was all about you. I think you’re, um…” He starts to turn pink. “I mean, you’re amazing. You’re… I like you so much, Jon.”
“Oh.” Jon feels themself curling up defensively against the sheer sincerity in his voice. “M-me too. You, I mean. I like you.”
Martin reaches out and takes their hand, squeezes it a little too hard, just the way Jon likes.
“I’m really glad,” he says softly. “And look, I’m sorry about that blog post. It was stupid to write it and assume you wouldn’t think anything about it.”
Jon turns to look into his face at last, feeling their mouth curl into a wry smile. “I thought you must be talking about someone else, and I was… actually, at first I got it into my head that you, ah, that I’d been too… too overbearing in my enthusiasm for you, and that you were trying, very kindly, to tell me that you didn’t feel the same way, that you didn’t even want to be friends, let alone anything else. I…” They give a self-conscious little laugh. “I didn’t take it very well.”
Martin’s face has crumpled. “Oh, Jon, I’m so sorry. Hurting you like that, it’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”
Jon squeezes his hand. “It was my own fault. I made a lot of assumptions. I… I tend to have a hard time believing people actually like being around me, so I… Gerry keeps telling me I should get therapy. Maybe he’s right.”
“Might not be such a bad thing to have a bit of self-worth,” Martin says, but he’s smiling again. “I’m still an idiot for writing that post, though.”
“Not an idiot,” Jon tells him firmly. “A little short-sighted, perhaps, but, well, we’ve all made mistakes.”
“True.” Martin grins. “Like I’d ever want to stop spending time with you. And like I’d tell you that way, even if by some strange and bizarre turn of events I did.”
“Yes, yes, I know how ridiculous it was now.” Jon winds their fingers between Martin’s, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin and strong fingers. “I don’t understand, though. If you wanted to, you know, be together, why didn’t you just say so? Why would you ever think I didn’t feel the same way?”
“I did say so!” Martin says, a trifle indignantly. “A few weeks ago! When we were talking about going to that really fancy Italian restaurant, and dressing up for it, and I said it’d be like a date!”
Jon remembers the little spark of excited hope that had fizzed up inside them then, only to be quenched a moment later. “Yes, but then you said that it wasn’t a date,” they point out. “You were very certain about it. You said, not that it’s actually a date, definitely not.”
“Yeah, but only because I was hoping you’d say you wanted it to be a date! When you didn’t, I assumed you were letting me down gently!”
Jon stares at him. “I… how was I supposed to know that?”
Martin opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He slumps. “I dunno, I just thought… I was scared to just ask outright in case you said no and everything got awkward and terrible between us.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Jon starts to giggle. They press their hand to their mouth almost immediately, not wanting to risk upsetting Martin when they’re finally communicating properly, but after a second or two of outraged glaring, Martin gives a reluctant little laugh himself.
“Guess I managed to make it awkward and terrible anyway,” he says.
Jon stops laughing. “No,” they say. “You didn’t. Well, all right, you did, but it wasn’t all your fault. I interpreted your post in the worst possible way. Gerry tried to tell me, but I couldn’t…” They shrugged, remembering how awful those first few days had been, when they’d honestly believed that not only did Martin not love them, he didn’t even like them.
Martin squeezes their hand again, this time in both of his. “I really am sorry. I thought I was being incredibly obvious with the whole not a date thing and you were letting me down gently. I was so sure you weren’t into me that way that it never occurred to me you might be hurt by the blog post. I’ll take it down if you want.”
“No, no,” Jon says quickly. “It’s, ah… it’s actually quite nice, now that I know it’s… it’s about me.”
“Okay.” Martin smiles, and Jon finds themself smiling back, and it’s suddenly so wonderfully easy.
“I’d have said I wanted it to be a date,” they say impulsively.
“What?”
“That time, when you were talking about the Italian restaurant. If I’d known that was what you wanted me to say, I’d have said it. I did want it to be a date.”
Martin beams at them. “We should go,” he says. “We never did. It’d be a nice date.”
“All right.” Jon watches him smile. He’s so beautiful, his round cheeks faintly pink, his head tilted a little to one side, his eyes bright and contented, the little dimple in one cheek peeking out. “Martin, could I… that is to say, would… would you think it, ah inappropriate if I were to ask…”
Martin tilts his head a bit further. “What’s up?”
Jon chews for a moment at their lip, and then bursts out, “Can I kiss you?”
“Oh!” Martin’s blue eyes go wide, and then he’s nodding vigorously. “Yeah! Yes. Yes, very much yes. Absolutely. That’d be gr…”
His words are cut off by Jon kissing him. He lets go of Jon’s hands, cradling their face with one of his, the other arm wrapping around Jon and pulling them closer, holding them tight. Jon feels the residual tension from the last week melt away, leaving them feeling soft and floaty and warm. They curl their fingers into Martin’s jumper contentedly, and kiss him again.