Work Text:
“You don’t have to take it off if you’re not comfortable, love.”
Martin comes up behind Jon, wrapping his arms around his thin frame and resting his head on his shoulder.
“Are you alright?”
Jon stiffens, hands frozen on the hem of his t-shirt.
“I’m fine, Martin.”
Martin sighs, watching Jon in the mirror. He presses his lips against Jon’s neck, pulling him closer.
“You’re not, Jon. I know you’re not.”
He places his hands over Jon’s, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“You can talk to me. I know all of this is a lot to cope with, running away and all that, but I’m always here. I care about you, Jon, and I’ll never not be there if you need me.”
Jon relaxes a little, melting into Martin’s arms and allowing his eyes to close.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Everything is, nowadays.” Martin laughs dryly.
“I suppose. This isn’t particularly something that you’ll be able to help with, though, unless you’re capable of rewiring my brain.”
“What do you mean? Is it something to do with the Eye?” Martin frowns, shifting so that he can turn Jon to face him.
Jon shakes his head, pulling off his long-sleeved t-shirt to reveal a body that is littered with scars.
“No. This.”
He dips his head, staring intensely at his toes, trying his hardest not to let the tears fall. It is a futile effort.
“I— I can hardly look at myself.”
Martin’s heart wrenches at the way his boyfriend’s tone shifts, the way his voice wavers.
“Jon, there’s nothing wrong with having scars.”
Jon looks up at Martin, his face contorted in an expression of disgust and self-loathing.
“It’s not that, Martin. I’m a hideous person, inside and out, and these scars not only amplify that, but remind me exactly why it’s true.”
He takes a step back, moving around Martin to sit on the bed. He draws his knees up to his chest, his fingers clasped tightly together.
“Everyone, everything in this world seems to be out to get me, and I never die. Not really, anyway. But I keep collecting these scars, and it just makes me all the more aware of the fact that people have repeatedly saved me. And not for one moment did I deserve it.”
Martin can’t bring himself to respond— he just stands there, watching Jon as he begins to cry, a rush of adrenaline surging through him.
“And no matter how hard I try to change, it never seems to work. I am not a very nice person, Martin, and all I seem to do is cause those around me harm. Sasha trusted me, Tim trusted me, and look where they both ended up. Hell, even Leitner trusted that I’d come back— and Melanie… I don’t know if you could call that trust, but there was a connection. And now she’s blind! Georgie hates me, Daisy turned to try and save me, Basira’s somewhere, and I—”
“Shut up!” Martin screeches, rushing towards Jon and grabbing his arms.
“Stop it!”
Jon goes rigid, looking up at Martin in terror.
“You— Christ, Jon, don’t talk about yourself like that! Don’t you dare!” Martin hisses, his own tears falling faster and faster.
“You need to let go of this idea that people trusting you is going to kill them! I’m here, Jon. I’m alive, I trust you more than anything, and I’m here.”
Jon scoffs.
“You followed Lukas because you trusted that it was going to keep me safe. That worked out well, didn’t it?”
Martin furrows his eyebrows.
“That’s unfair, Jon.
I trust you. None of what’s happened is entirely your fault. These Fears are indeed out to get you, and they don’t seem to have any intention of stopping. But that’s not your fault, that’s Eli— Jonah’s. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
He sits down on the bed and pulls Jon into his arms.
“I promise.” he whispers.
Jon sniffs, burying his face in Martin’s chest.
“Fine. I’ll accept your statement on it not being my fault, but that’s only because you’re insufferably nice to me. God knows why.”
Martin chuckles.
“And the scars?”
“I’m afraid my opinion on those isn’t going to change any time soon. I don’t like them, and people stare at me constantly. It’s the one thing about my physical appearance that I actually despise. On a deep level, rather than something superficial like my eyebags, or whatever.”
Martin sighs, entwining his fingers with Jon’s and kissing his knuckles.
“I have an idea.”
Jon looks up, confused.
“What?”
“An idea. Can you lie back on the bed for me?” Martin releases Jon, watching as he lies down, still utterly clueless.
“Perfect. Now, are you okay with me touching your scars?”
Jon nods.
“Wonderful. I’m going to try something, alright? Just tell me if it’s too much, or if you don’t like it.”
And with that, he sits on his knees next to Jon. He leans over and starts to kiss each and every scar that adorns his bony chest, lingering for those he recognises. When he reaches the concave space where two ribs should be— not technically a scar, he knows, but a reminder of an encounter with a Fear nonetheless— he gently traces the dip with his thumb, his other hand resting on Jon’s hip.
“You’re beautiful, Jon.”
Jon rolls his eyes, and Martin doesn’t find it difficult to believe that the Ceaseless Watcher itself does too.
“I’m really not, Martin. Objectively speaking, I am not conventionally attractive. I frequently wonder how the hell you fell in love with me.”
Martin lies on his side next to Jon, cupping his jaw and pulling him in, their lips barely brushing.
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t care about conventions. I fell in love with you days into our new positions in the Archives, and it’s been that way ever since. I fell in love with a cold, bitter man, and I am currently in bed with a sensitive, feeling one. Your looks have never been the priority— though I do find you incredibly good-looking, so it helps— and right from the start, I noticed that you weren’t the stern, stoic person you made yourself out to be. You just needed someone to talk to, that’s all.”
He wipes a stray tear from Jon’s cheek.
“Would you still have fallen in love with me if I had had these scars when we met?” Jon muses, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.
“Of course I would have. I fall in love with you even more every day, and I will continue to do so for the rest of eternity. I will fall in love with you over and over again for as long as I live, and I don’t care how, or why or when. I just will. Because I love you, Jonathan Sims, and I think you are the most brilliant person I have ever met. You’ve been through so much, and yet you’re still here. And above all, you chose me. Nobody has ever chosen me.”
He trails off, emotion filling him entirely. He smiles, looking at Jon with his usual loving gaze.
“Of course I chose you, Martin. You chose me even when I was horrid to you. It’s the least I could do.” Jon teases, smirking.
Martin giggles and wraps him in a tight hug.
“Rude. I’m glad you did, though.”
“Me too, Martin.”
“And your scars aren’t hideous. They make you you. And I happen to love you. So therefore, they’re amazing.”
“Just kiss me, you sap.”
Martin does just that, and they soon fall asleep in each other’s arms, snuggled up underneath the ratty knitted blanket and lumpy duvet. The wind whistles past the cabin window, biting and cruel, but they are safe in here, together.
Maybe the scars aren’t so bad after all.