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It was no secret that Martin could be a thoroughgoing lout when he was feeling ill, and, unfortunately, the south of England had been caught in a small cold snap the past few days.
Were it anyone other than Martin, Will wouldn’t worry about it.
But it was Martin. Will was built to worry about Martin. It was part of who he was. It was part of what made Martin roll his eyes and snap at him that he was fine, William, honestly.
(Martin never meant anything by it, of course; he just sometimes had enough of Will’s mother-henning — or, at least, he pretended that he had. Will had his suspicions; Martin wasn’t nearly as prickly deep-down as he liked to pretend he was.)
So when, one morning, Will kissed Martin’s forehead and felt a tell-tale warmth, he whispered, “Do you want me to call the doctor?”
“I’m fine,” Martin said, but then he coughed. There was no blood — there wouldn’t be yet, with the first touches of a fever — but it made Will just the slightest bit anxious. He supposed it always would, at least where Martin was concerned.
Still, Will knew better than to push. He knew how Martin could get about doctors, especially when those doctors came with laudanum. (Martin knew Will could control himself — that the nightmares hardly came anymore when he slept alongside Martin every night — but he wanted Will to be as comfortable as possible; it was sweet, but it was also annoying when Martin put Will’s needs so far above his own.)
“Tea, then.” Will said, kissing his forehead again and moving down the loft to the kitchen without waiting for a response. He threw on a shirt, just in case.
“I’m hardly an invalid,” Martin protested, following Will down. Well, at least there was that. He wasn’t ill enough to be bedbound yet. Hopefully at all. Hopefully this bout was just a small thing, like it sometimes was.
Will always hoped Martin’s bouts of illness were small and manageable, for his own sake as much as for Martin’s.
As Will put the kettle on, Martin set about slicing bread and cheese for breakfast. Martin had baked the bread himself, which Will found unbearably dear. When the tea was ready, Will poured Martin’s for him and kissed his cheek. There was no one around to judge, after all; even if Daisy or Mrs. Tanner were to burst in (as Daisy sometimes did), she knew the truth.
Speaking of… “Do you want me to get Daisy to bring us something more substantial for lunch?”
There was no telling how Martin would react to the suggestion, particularly when he wasn’t feeling well.
Today, though, Martin actually smiled. “I think I’d like that.”
So he wasn’t feeling as horrible as Will feared, at least. “I’ll run by later, then.”
“If she doesn’t burst in first,” Martin said, echoing Will’s earlier thoughts.
Will laughed. “That’s part of having siblings, I’m afraid.”
“Hartley never acts like that. Nor does Ben.”
“No, but I do to them.” Will put on his most innocent expression, and Martin laughed — at least as much as he ever did.
“Is that all you do in London, then? Visit your friends and burst in unannounced on Hartley?” He knew, after all, that Cumberland was a bit far for him to visit unannounced anymore — not with Martin in Sussex and utterly unwilling to return to the place he’d always loathed so much.
Will waved a hand. “Hartley expects it at this point. Besides, Sam likes me.”
“And you like Daisy.”
“I do like Daisy, though I’d never tell her to her face. Could you imagine?”
“I can,” Martin said softly. He was still smiling. “She’d never let it go.”
“Never,” Will agreed. He grabbed a piece of bread and some cheese and ate it. It wasn’t bad, all things considered, but he could do with something more substantial. Sometimes he thought it must be nice to live above a busy pub like Hartley and Sam did, but… he liked this life with Martin. Loved it, even.
He certainly loved Martin. He had for so long that it was just a part of him. He could never regret anything that kept Martin close to him — especially if it kept Martin safe and happy, which living here did.
He knew if he voiced this, Martin would roll his eyes and gently prod him for being so sentimental, so instead, he leaned in to kiss the corner of Martin’s mouth.
“I’m fine, William, honestly.”
Yes, Will really did know Martin well. “I know.” It wasn’t entirely a lie; he’d learned how to gauge Martin’s bouts of illness, and this was a mild one. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to kiss you.”
Martin rolled his eyes and muttered something about what to do with you, which made Will feel all sorts of warm, fluffy things.
So, to prove his point, he pulled Martin into his lap.
“Will,” Martin said firmly.
“Just want to be close to you,” Will said, nuzzling Martin’s shoulder.
“You are disgustingly sentimental.”
“And you love it,” Will countered, because Martin did, and they both knew it.
Martin grumbled again. “I do, God help me.”
Will couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t fuss over you. Too much.”
“Liar,” Martin said with a snort.
And, well, Will would do anything for him.