Chapter Text
“Where exactly are we going?” Martin huffed, trailing lazily behind Jon.
“I don’t know if it’s another one of the Eye’s tricks, but this is the first place I could think of,” Jon sighed.
“You really have an ominous way about you. If you don’t trust the Eye, why are we going there in the first place?” Martin scoffed.
“Do you have any better ideas?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow in speculation.
“Well... no, I don’t,” Martin admitted with a sigh of defeat.
Jon turned around, placing a reassuring hand on Martin’s shoulder as he continued at a slow and steady pace. “I won’t let it do anything to any of us,” he murmured.
The steps leading up to the cottage creaked as Jon swung the door open. Martin tossed the backpack he was carrying onto the floor and sat down with a sigh. Jon stepped beside him and, following suit, slumped down against the wall.
“Not exactly a palace, is it?” Martin sighed.
“Well, when was the last time the Eye gave us a particularly welcoming abode?” Jon chuckled.
“I suppose you're right,” Martin muttered sleepily.
“Come on, let's get you into bed. I promise it will bring you some comfort,” Jon said with a sigh.
“I’m not sure ‘comfort’ is a word that accurately describes this place,” Martin laughed.
“No, I don’t suppose so. I just hope it doesn’t have any spiders,” Jon sighed.
“Not fond of spiders?” Martin teased
Jon gave him a withering look. Martin giggled and, with a sleepy wave, headed towards the bedroom.
Once Jon knew he was alone, he dove toward one of the backpacks where Martin had stuffed a recorder. “Just in case you need it,” he had said matter-of-factly. He was right, of course. Whatever the Eye was planning, it made Jon more desperate for statements.
“Statement of Jonathan Sims regarding the recent arrival at the abode that calls itself the ‘Cosy Cabin.’ Statement taken directly from the subject on… sometime in March. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.
It’s nice here. It doesn’t hurt here. It makes you grateful that you escaped the grasp of your power-hungry boss, even at the cost of so many. There is not much thought given to the suffering of others, as the Institute is quite far from here, and Elias is not fond of careless spending. You know he can find you, but most likely, he’ll only pass by to drop off a bucketload of statements. He’s such a good boss, isn’t he? No, of course not. You are overthinking everything. You are here, you are alive, you are with Martin.
Thank the heavens you survived. What about Daisy? Basira? No, you know exactly what happened to them. Deep down, you know. But why dwell on it all? Just relax. Because now you are the Cosy Cabin, and the Cosy Cabin is in you.”
Jon fell back hopelessly against the sofa in the tiny living room. How convenient; not only had he left the Institute, but he was now at the mercy of the being that called itself the ‘Cosy Cabin.’ But it was obvious something was going on. That statement he had just read was eerily short. The Eye was never that brief. What was Elias planning for him?
“Jon,” Marin whispered.
“Hm? What?!” Jon shot up into a sitting position and found himself in the cramped, dank room that he assumed was one of the bedrooms.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just… you’ve been out for two days, and I was worried,” Martin replied shyly.
“No, no, it’s no problem at all. Thanks for… caring,” Jon murmured.
“Of course I care! I love you, remember?” Martin huffed indignantly, putting his hands on his hips.
Jon chuckled and gave Martin a silly grin. “I love you too.”
“Okay, well, let’s get some food in you, hm?” Martin smiled.
“Well, since we have nothing else to do, yes, I will take you up on that,” Jon said.
“Yes!” Martin whooped.
“What? Excited to eat something?” Jon smiled.
“No, it’s just that you’ve been all gloomy and frowny. The fact that you’re back to your (adorable) yet really long speeches means you seem to be doing much better,” Martin teased.
“I am not adorable, and I do not talk too much,” Jon huffed.
“Mhm, yeah, sure,” Martin grinned.
Jon playfully pushed Martin through the doorway, and they both entered the cabin's kitchen.
“Well, this place could use some cleaning up,” Martin sighed.
“Maybe some extermination too,” Jon said, deflating at the sight of cobwebs in the corners of the cupboards and drawers.
“Want me to call Kennedy?” Martin laughed.
“Y-you know about him?” Jon whispered, hiding behind Martin.
“Yeah, when Peter was set on me isolating myself, I would... listen to your old statements,” Martin admitted shyly. “I-I just th—”
Jon wrapped his hands around Martin’s waist and murmured, “I’m so proud of you for that, in case I haven’t mentioned it.”
Martin startled, but then returned the embrace. “Thanks.”
“You better not think you’re getting out of cleaning,” Martin sighed.
“Yes, well, you caught me,” Jon sighed and started dusting the cupboards, holding the brush at arm’s length.
Martin chuckled and got to work.
The sun had set by the time Martin and Jon finished their work, and both of them collapsed against each other, completely burned out. Slowly, they made their way to the sofa and sat down.
“I’ve never said this before, but I love your hair,” Martin said out of nowhere.
“O-oh, thanks. I never really... take care of it? I mean, I wash it, but other than that, I don’t really... care for it,” Jon admitted, lifting his hair limply and letting it drop again.
“I mean, you always seem bothered by it, and I can never understand why,” Martin smiled.
“It just always gets in the way. I’d rather not cut it short because each strand grows back more unruly than the last,” Jon sighed.
Martin ran his hands through Jon’s hair, and Jon visibly relaxed as he slumped against Martin. Martin smiled, and an image of a black and gray striped cat filled his head.
“Don’t. Don’t even think about comparing me to a cat,” Jon frowned, opening one eye slightly.
“H-How’d you know?” Martin asked, surprised.
“I don’t know; it’s just written all over your expression,” Jon shuddered
“But your eyes were closed,” Martin raised an eyebrow.
“I have other ways of seeing now, Martin,” Jon grimaced.
“Again, with the ominous thoughts. Just promise me you won’t pry into my mind if you get mind-reading powers,” Martin pouted.
“Of course. If I hypothetically did, I wouldn’t use it on you. I’m disappointed you’d think that, Martin,” Jon complained, his head drooping slightly.
“I don’t know, Jon. You can be... rash. But anyway, it looks like you need some rest, so goodnight~” Martin whispered, still playing with Jon’s hair fondly.
“Goodnight,” Jon yawned.
Later that week, Jon would find himself overwhelmed by a strange compulsion regarding the statements that had lingered in his mind. As he went over each word, the weight of their meaning would tug at him, leading him down a path he never intended to take—one that could ultimately end the world. But for now, as he sat with Martin, resting in comfortable silence, that dark future felt distant and unimportant.
For now, it was enough.