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Martin was staring up at the ceiling in complete disbelief. This couldn’t be real, surely. But no, he glanced around again and sure enough, he was indeed still lying on Jonathan Sims’ couch, in his living room, clutching his loaned blanket. He’d really gone too far this time.
Sure, maybe he had laid it on a little thick, emphasizing how he’d only gone back to investigate further because of how hard John tended to be on him, but he hadn’t really expected him to take it so seriously. I mean, that was the point, right? To get him to take his horrible experience seriously? He’d been so afraid he’d dismiss his experience outright, to question his mental state or fling insults at him. But he seemed to be taking it personally, like his safety was his highest priority, going absurdly far for it. And how was Martin to know his boss would go so far as to insist he stay at his place?
It seemed so ridiculous. John hated him, couldn’t stand being around him, but now he was going out of his way and ensuring they would have to be around each other at all hours. Then again, he knew John often worked late, maybe he intended to practically live at the institute to escape him. He hadn’t done that tonight though.
He’d made sure to walk him all the way here, letting him into his life, into his routine despite the inconvenience. He’d given him a brief tour of his sparse living space, offering to help worm-proof the doors and windows just in case, constantly making sure he felt comfortable, that he had full permission to use anything he liked, and he had no right to be that thoughtful.
The light to the living room clicked on and Martin shot up in bed in his surprise. Looking around, he found John standing there in a bathrobe, tied neatly of course, staring at him in equal surprise.
“Ah, right,” John said. “Sorry.”
He clicked the light back off, but then he continued to stand there in the dark. He couldn’t see his expression, but he could see his silhouette.
“Everything— okay?” Martin asked the darkness.
“Um, yes,” John replied. “Apologies, just getting a glass of water.”
“Right,” Martin said, drawing the word out. John still didn’t move. “Are you gonna— go get that? Do you want to turn the light back on?”
“Yes, thank you,” John said, clicking the light back on.
John didn’t make eye contact, he kept his eyes down as he made his way to the kitchen, looking frazzled and if Martin didn’t know better, he would have sworn he was blushing. That was ridiculous, he was reading too much into this. He’d obviously forgotten he was here and hadn’t meant to wake him, he definitely hadn’t been concerned and wanted to check on him and just hadn’t thought through what he was going to say because he could be so adorably awkward sometimes. No, that wasn’t what was happening here and he squashed those thoughts immediately.
“I apologize,” John said when he returned, once again pausing at the light switch, only stealing glances, like looking directly at him was too difficult. “I will endeavor to avoid waking you in future, I suppose it slipped my mind that retrieving a-a glass of water would disturb you.”
“It’s fine, honestly,” Martin said quickly, overwhelmed and unsure why he was being so sincere. “I wasn’t asleep anyway.”
“Oh,” John said, and how he did turn to look at him properly. “Are you— are you having trouble sleeping? Do you need anything else?”
“No, no just— still a bit on edge,” Martin admitted, trying to laugh it off. “I keep waiting for the knocking.”
“Very understandable,” John replied. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, and Martin must have been losing his mind because he thought he actually might look somewhat vulnerable and open. “We can go over our defenses again in the morning if it will make you more comfortable. We could buy proper supplies too. It feels ridiculous to suggest glue traps might help against the likes of Jane Prentiss, but they certainly wouldn’t hurt.”
“Um, thanks,” Martin said, and he felt like he had to be blushing too now. “I know I’m being paranoid, but—“
“No,” John interrupted, and he seemed to have gathered himself and was returning to his normal self. “Your concern is completely warranted and understandable. It's unlikely Jane Prentiss will have been able to follow you all the way here, but it’s best to be prepared.”
“Right,” Martin said. “Well, thank you.”
John stood there for a moment longer, before suddenly spinning on his heels to leave. He’d always been abrupt, so Martin wasn’t too bothered by that, it was more odd how—concerned he seemed to be for him.
Martin sighed and flopped back onto the couch. He’d always had a bit of a— thing, for John. It was stupid, there were so many reasons to stomp those feelings down. He was his boss, significantly older than him. He was nearly 40 if he remembered right, but then Sasha had implied he had lied about that. Still, he was rude and harsh and he used a briefcase of all things. Who even had a briefcase anymore? How was he so ridiculous? But Martin was just as ridiculous if not moreso, because he let those feelings remain, because it was so rare to feel anything positive, and a fond longing was something he didn’t want to lose.
But now John was being kind and Martin’s mind was racing, he didn’t know what to do, what to think. Was he dying, was that it? Martin had always speculated that John had to have a soft side. He didn’t see it often, just glimpses when he indulged Tim or praised Sasha’s reports, and even sometimes when he thanked him for his morning tea. He’d even seen him stop to feed a stray cat once.
But he’d never expected him to do all this, for him of all people. It didn’t seem like John was only doing this out of guilt either. A guilty conscience only went so far, but he seemed genuinely concerned for him. No, Jonathan Sims was being genuinely kind to him, going far out of his way for him. He’d let him into his home, was letting him stay, making him feel safe for the first time in weeks.
Shit.
Martin buried his face in the borrowed pillow, which turned out to be a mistake because of course it smelled like whatever detergent he used, so it smelled like him. This was going to be a long night. But it wasn’t just tonight, was it? He didn’t know how long he intended to do this, but his heart felt so full of gratitude. After two weeks thinking no one cared, no one noticed, in rapid succession he’d realized John had been trying to contact him, and was willing to do all this for him. He did care, deeply. And Martin wasn’t delusional enough to think it meant he had any romantic feelings for him, but that was fine. Just knowing he had an ally, someone who might notice if anything like that happened to him again, made his heart ache. And John had done so much more than just notice.
It was stupid, he was traumatized and exhausted and should be thinking about the woman made of worms who could still be after him. Instead, he felt lighter than he had in some time. He reminded himself that John could immediately regret this and kick him out, but he’d still gone this far for him, hadn’t he? And that meant more to him than he could put into words. He’d glimpsed this awkward caring side of him and there was no erasing that. He smothered his smile more thoroughly into the pillow and settled in to try to get at least a little rest before tomorrow.