Work Text:
“Because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you. Over again!”
Jon winced a bit at the crowing, off-beat, song coming through the thin door in a familiar voice. He sighed and grabbed the key out of his pocket, unlocking the door and pushing his way inside.
“Don't make me change my mind, I won't…LIVE to see another day.” Martin gasped a breath and yelled out the next words from, what sounded like the depths of his poor, sick heart, as he was reclining against the armrest of his couch, “I SWEAR it’s true. Because a boy like– JON! Hi!” Martin perked up, eyes and nose red, body covered in a bright yellow sunflower quilt. “I haven’t seen you in– since…since work.”
Jon chuckled incredulously, “Wow. You are…out of it, aren’t you? Anyway…I brought, ah, some…soup? Homemade. My mum’s favorite growing up, so I’m told.”
Martin looked at him as though seeing sunlight for the first time, “You did? Oh…wow. That’s…amazing. Can I have some? I…love soup.”
Jon laughed and shook his head, “Yes, Martin. I made it for you. Can you sit up?” He set down his bag and grabbed the bowl.
Martin clumsily pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached out his eager hands towards Jon and the bowl.
Jon handed over the bowl, watching him carefully, as he took a slow, careful sip.
“Christ, Jon. This is the best– best soup I’ve ever had. I’m just saying– for…f-for food like this, if you keep giving me this, I will fall in love with you over and over again. Won’t be able to help it, soup’s too good. Holy shit.” Martin muttered through his full mouth, eyes closing in a bliss only achieved by the extremely high on medicine.
Jon made a high-pitched sound, choking on his tea and holding his hand up to catch the warm liquid as it dribbled down his chin.
Martin didn’t notice at all, and, in fact, simply finished his bowl of soup with a loud slurp and a long groan of happiness. He put the bowl down, almost missing the coffee table entirely but recovering valiantly. He leaned over to the side, intending to simply nudge Jon’s shoulder with his own, but ending up falling over against him, giggling face landing, closed eyes facing the ceiling, in Jon’s lap.
Jon froze, open hands up by his shoulders, staring down at Martin’s happy, giggling face, haloed by his shaggy, curly red hair.
It wasn’t until Martin had finally giggled himself out of breath and opened his eyes, wide grin still in place, that the sound of keys scraping the lock to his flat and the door opening came through to his ears.
“Sorry, Baby Blackwood, got a bit held up but– who the fuck are you and– ooooohhh. Huh. Hi, Jon.”
Martin’s eyes grew wide and he launched himself off the couch, falling on the ground in a graceless pile. “Gerry! You’re here!”
The man at the door, the very familiar man, gave Martin a grin, one eye brow raised in amusement, “I am. And you’re on the floor.”
Martin smiled up at the visitor, still on the floor at Jon’s feet, “Look, Gerry! Jon’s here. He made soup! It’s the best soup in the– in the world.”
“Hmm. Is it now.” The man, Gerry, turned to look at Jon through his lashes, his eyes hard and unyielding. “And how long is Jon going to be staying?”
“Ah, I– I’m just…going. Tim, and Sasha, a-and I just…we were worried. So…I made him soup. But, ah…he’s done now. So.” Jon hurriedly grabbed the bowl and his bag and stood up. He could feel Gerry’s eyes on him as he walked over to the doorway.
Gerry stared at him for a moment longer without moving before smiling slightly and stepping out of the way. “Thanks for stopping by, Jon. Can’t wait to meet you again, one day, right Martin?”
Jon heard, through the open doorway and from behind the couch, the slightly muffled, but no less ecstatic, “Oh yeah, Jon’s the best, Gerry!”
Jon walked away from Gerry’s amused chuckles and down the street.