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John ran his fingers across the worn fabric of the old cardigan. He’d done this countless times, drawing comfort from its softness, although he was wise enough now to realize it had less to do with the article of clothing itself and more to do with its original owner. But it wasn't the comfort he was thinking about now as he held it close.
He felt— happy.
He wasn’t sure when he’d decided he’d never feel true happiness, but he was fairly certain it had been long before the Institute. It just seemed like something that wasn’t meant for the likes of him, and that only felt more true once he found himself entangled in the horrors. But despite it all, he was fairly certain he was happier now than he’d ever been, happier than he thought possible.
It was a little funny how long he’d had the jumper, considering it wasn’t his. Had it really been years? He’d found it in document storage, after Martin had moved out. There was no question that it was his. John had clung to it first out of spite, when he thought he was hiding something from him. But he wondered now if that had just been an easy lie to tell himself, considering he hadn’t given it back, even after Martin had proven himself. Even after they’d become properly friends.
He kept telling himself he’d give it back, it just kept conveniently slipping his mind. Until he was there alone at his desk, late at night, and he found himself reaching for it, feeling the fabric, pressing his face to it. It had been a bit of normalcy in all of the chaos, and even as he tried to push everyone away, he clung to it as a comfort. Proof that, maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he felt.
Maybe he’d wished Martin was there instead, but he’d been too afraid to admit it, too afraid to open himself up to the risk. To put Martin at risk. He’d never been very good at relationships. He was always too slow to realize his own feelings, too afraid of getting hurt, too awkward when expressing himself. He was so relieved he’d realized in the end, before it was too late.
He was still struggling to believe it, honestly. Martin was far better than he deserved. But Martin was here and he’d said he loved him and John was full to bursting with overwhelming joy and affection. He didn’t need to live in denial or longing, because Martin was with him, he’d left everything behind to be with him here in this tiny Scottish town. So he supposed it was about time he returned the cardigan. Because he had the real thing, Martin himself, there with him. The temptation to wear it anyway still crossed his mind, though.
“They were out of the tea you like, so I have a new kind for you to try,” Martin said, already talking as he pushed through the front door, his bag of shopping in hand.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” John said from where he sat on the sofa, and he couldn’t help but smile over at him.
Martin left the shopping on the table as he went to claim a kiss which John gave willingly. He always did that, as if he hadn’t been gone for barely thirty minutes, as if greeting him, kissing him, was the most important thing he could do the moment he got back. It made something in John ache, something tender that wasn’t used to this kind of attention, but left him feeling so warm, so loved.
“What have you got there?" Martin asked, nodding towards the cardigan. There was amusement behind his eyes, a knowing look that told John he knew exactly what it was and the significance behind it.
“It’s yours,” John said, holding it out to him. “I found it after you moved out of the Institute. I meant to give it back sooner.”
“Sure you did,” Martin said, and there was that mischievous smile.
“I did!” John insisted, but he couldn’t muster up as much indignation as he thought he should.
“And I suppose you just happened to put it on sometimes when it definitely wasn’t too cold in the archives,” Martin said.
“Yes, okay, fine, I did,” John sulked, and Martin rewarded him with a kiss to his temple. “Honestly, I’m surprised no one found it when you were all rearranging my office while I was in the coma.”
“I did,” Martin said, the smile faltering only a little as he remembered more painful days. But those were in the past. “I kind of hoped you’d want it when you got back, so I left it there.”
“I—I did,” John admitted, and he looked back down at it.
“Keep it,” Martin said, pressing it back to him. “It suits you.”
“I have you now,” John said, and he hadn’t meant to put so much meaning behind it, but he did, and Martin’s face went scarlet. It was incredibly lovely to see.
John pulled him down onto the couch beside him so he could kiss him properly. Martin recovered quickly enough and kissed him back, his hand coming up to cup his cheek, their movements easy and well-practiced, making up for so much lost time. John wasn’t so lost in the sensation of being so close to him, held by him, that he missed when he draped the sweater over his shoulders like a shawl.
“Still,” Martin said, finally drawing away to admire him. “I like seeing you in it.”
“I can always wear your other jumpers too,” John said, feeling the corner of his lip twitch up in a hint of a smile, feeling mischievous himself now.
“You’re going to steal all my clothes, aren’t you?” Martin chuckled.
“Maybe.”
“Not fair when yours won’t fit me,” Martin said and he rose to put away the groceries.
“I’m sure we can find something,” John said, pressing his nose into the fabric. After a moment, he decided he might as well and put it on properly. Then he went to join Martin, wrapping his arms around him from behind, hindering more than helping. “It would probably be a crop top on you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Martin asked, turning to pull him into another brief kiss.
“I think you’d look great in one,” John said, reluctantly letting him go to put the remainder of the shopping in the fridge.
“If you say so,” Martin said.
He leaned against the counter and John was more than happy to step into the circle of his arms. Martin ran his finger along the hem of the cardigan with a wistful look on his face, trailing up until he was cupping John’s cheek. He smiled at him so radiantly, John felt that aching happiness again.
“You can wear whatever jumpers you want,” Martin said, as if he ever would have actually complained.
John kissed him again, pressing into him as he did. He didn't think he’d ever get used to having this. He could hardly believe it was real. But then Martin deepened the kiss and he decided he didn’t want to think about anything but him right now.