Chapter Text
Martin doesn’t register anything as he makes the short underground journey to Tim’s place. Melanie and Sasha are already there and the concern blowing up in their group chat is the only thing that makes Martin feel something other than soul crushing numbness.
He blinks blearily and suddenly he’s on Tim’s doorstep, he presses the doorbell for a split second and the door flies open and suddenly Tim’s long arms are wrapped around him tightly. A dull pain blooms in his chest and he closes his eyes tight.
“Don’t Tim,” he says despite returning the hug. “I’ll cry.”
“I really, seriously, don’t mind Martin. I’m so glad you decide to actually tell us instead of holing it up like you usually do.”
Martin sniffs, rubbing a hand across his face. Tim separates from him and starts gently guiding him towards the living room.
“C’mon pal, Sasha made you a blanket nest and Melanie’s making french toast.”
Martin snorts.
“You didn’t have to do all this- seriously it’s stupid-“
“It is not Martin!” Melanie yells from the kitchen. “You put a ‘haha’ at the end of your text, it was super concerning!”
“It was?” He sniffs again harder. Oh god, he’s starting to actually, properly cry now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Shut up you dope,” Sasha says fondly. She puts a heavy knitted blanket around his shoulder. The weight of it makes him heave a little sigh between his hiccups. “Get on the couch, I’m putting a Ghibli movie on. Whisper of the Heart sound good?”
“I love you guys,” Martin manages to choke out, before properly starting to sob.
- - -
Jon is so fidgety he can’t stand waiting for the tube, instead he books it towards the address Martin texted him, left arm aching from the grocery bags he’s carrying. He has them all in one hand, the one that isn’t burned severely from the waffle iron. He has to stop when he gets to the bottom of the building, bending over with a stitch in his side as he pants. He groans as he sees the ‘out of order’ sign on the elevator but climbs the stairs two at a time all the same.
He hesitates for a second in front of the door. Then he remembers Martin’s tone when he’d called him and hits the doorbell with his elbow. It would be awkward maybe, he’d only met Tim and Sasha once, when Martin had introduced them but surely-
“Jon? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Melanie?!”
He takes a step back in his surprise, almost bolts back to the stairs, truth be told. Him being on good terms with Georgie did not mean he was keen on Melanie. They didn’t hate each other per say, but if a person was a huge (maybe biggest) fan of your former band (including yourself) which you pushed to splitting up by having a dramatic break up with your girlfriend, then said person started dating said ex-girlfriend, then… well. It’s awkward. Very awkward. The kind of awkward Jon does his best to flee from.
“Jon?”
It’s another voice from inside this time. Jon almost doesn’t recognize it as Martin’s with how raw it sounds. He looks over Melanie’s shoulders and his chest tightens. Martin’s on the couch, surrounded by blankets and cushions, face flushed and streaked with tears. He puts his arms out and suddenly Jon’s legs are running out of their own accord, his own arms reaching out. He practically collapses on top of Martin with a soft ‘oof’ and pressing a kiss to Martin’s forehead, feeling warm arms wrap around his waist so, so tight.
“I’m here,” he mutters into Martin’s hair, feeling his shoulder shake. “I’m here.”
- - -
Martin barely notices Sasha herding Tim and Melanie in the kitchen mumbling something about needing more french toast. He still makes a mental note to thank her later. He jerks his head back from Jon’s sweater to look up at his face.
“Thank you.” He sounds so pathetic he blushes. “F-for coming I mean.”
“Of course.”
Jon smiles down at him, one of his hands stroking through his curls. Martin finds himself suddenly desperate to hold the other one. His eyes search for it then widen.
“Jon! You’re hurt!”
“Hm? Oh, yes it’s fine, patched it up at the A&E.”
“You went to the A&E?!” Martin thinks back. “Is this the ‘thing that came up’? Jon!” Jon waves him off with his bandaged hand and winces. Typical. Martin shifts and somethings digs into his side. He glances at it. A grocery bag. “What’s this then?”
“Oh. I- uh- I brought ice-cream.” Jon smiles sheepishly. “Still don’t know your favourite but it’s some of the ones you like. There’s enough for the others too.” He glances around. “Where are they by the way? I didn’t scare them off did I?”
Martin snorts.
“No, Jon. They just-“ He clears his throat. “They just wanted to give us a little- ah- a little privacy, you know?”
“Oh.” Jon blushes. He looks down, as if just realizing he’s straddling Martin’s lap. Martin thinks he’s gonna scuttle off then but instead he tilts his head in that cat-like manner of his and hums lightly. “That’s good because I’d quite like to kiss you right now.”
For a second, Martin can’t find his words.
“N… now?”
“If- if you don’t mind. May I?”
Martin giggles giddily.
“You may.”
And for a few seconds, Jon becomes his whole world.
- - -
“Oh good lord, I thought you’d be done by now.”
Jon jerks away from Martin’s mouth so violently he almost falls to the ground. He would’ve but Martin catches him, gently lowering onto the couch next to him instead. His eyelids are fluttering as though he just woke up from a wonderful nap. He gives a little sigh and buries his face in the crook of Jon’s shoulder. Melanie softens as she watches, setting down a plate of French toast on the table.
“Didn’t know you cooked,” Jon says. He can’t think of anything else for the life of him.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sims.”
“Wait.” Martin lifts his head. “You guys know each other?”
“Melanie is Georgie’s girlfriend,” Jon replies, finding himself reaching up to touch Martin’s curls again. “We’re…. acquaintances.”
“Melanie’s girlfriend was in the same band as Martin’s boyfriend?” Tim appears suddenly, carrying even more french toast. Boyfriend. Ah. “Holy shit! You didn’t tell me!”
Melanie rolls her eyes.
“Thank you, Jon,” she says sarcastically. Her dryness is undermined by the fact that she hands Jon a plate that Tim passes her. The toast is lightly dusted with sugar.
“Sorry. I thought that- sorry- and um, could you put that on the table? I can’t exactly…” He waves his bandaged hand, the one that isn’t busy petting Martin.
“Of course.” Melanie sighs deeply. “These things always happen to you.”
“What does that mean? What things?” Martin sounds very curious. It’s endearing.
“Oh, Jon just has a habit of scarring himself in the weirdest ways possible. Who was it that stabbed you with a bread knife? Helen?”
“No, it was Michael. Helen only bullies me verbally,” Jon replies. Martin looks at him, astonished. “What?”
“You got stabbed with a bread knife?”
“Yes, you’d be surprised at the kind of regulars we had at the bookstore.”
Martin’s mouth is an ‘oh’ of shock.
“What was it this time?” Melanie asks, between bites of french toast.
“Waffle iron was falling.”
Jon catches Tim laughing through his mouthful of bread.
“Wow Martin, your boyfriend gets more interesting by the second.”
Boyfriend. There it was again. The word sent a hot prickle down Jon’s neck, not entirely unpleasant. It spreads through his skin, OK ok enveloping him like one of the blankets layered on the couch.
“Yeah. My boyfriend.” Martin says it slowly, as though savouring it. He smiles. “That’s him.”
“Your boyfriend,” Jon says mostly to himself. The word rolls pleasantly off his tongue. He flushes when he sees that all eyes on him. Sasha laughs, shaking her head.
“You’re like newlyweds!”
“Makes you wish you weren’t single, eh Sash?”
He wiggles her eyebrows at her. She raises hers.
“Dream on, Stoker.” Her eye catches the bag at Jon’s feet. “Hey, is that ice cream?” Jon nods. “Yes! Hold on, I’ll get spoons!”
As it turns out French toast is best served warm, with assorted ice cream flavors lathered on top.
- - -
Martin doesn’t break again until fifteen minutes later when Melanie is absolutely losing it over the idea of Jon on a merry-go-round and Jon is wearing an expression of eternal suffering. Martin decides to pull out the photo he took, just one week shy of meeting Jon. He’d forgotten it was a selfie. Seeing himself in the little screen is like a punch to the gut. The breath is knocked out of him and when it comes back it’s with a sob.
He tries to muffle the following ones with a hand and fails miserably. He lets Jon wrap him into a one armed hug and buries his face into his neck. He cries hard for about twenty minutes before finally peeking back out. He completely ruined Jon’s shirt. He tries to apologise and Jon rolls his eyes and shoves his remaining french toast into his mouth. By the time he’s swallowed he’d more or less calmed down.
“Shall I start the movie?” Sasha asks gently.
He nods, not trusting himself to speak. Tim gets up to switch off the lights. Jon shifts closer to him in the dark, pressing comfortably against his side. He finds his eyes watering at the littlest things in the movie. Melanie plops a packet of tissues in his lap and he almost starts sobbing again. He feels Jon’s eyes on him.
“Sorry,” he whispers quickly, dabbing at his eyes. “This movie always makes me cry.”
“Sure,” Jon says, clearly not believing him. “And stop apologizing.”
“Sorr- ah. Never mind.”
Jon shakes his head at him.
“I don’t have anymore toast to stuff down your mouth to stop you,” he sighs.
“You can always kiss me quiet,” Martin mumbles before he can stop himself. Thankfully the movie’s volume is cranked to the maximum and he’s the only close enough to see Jon’s cheeks darken.
“Maybe- maybe later.”
“Okay,” Martin says, trying not to sound too giddy. “Sounds good.”
- - -
By the time the movie ends Martin has fallen asleep leaning against him. Jon doesn’t move a muscle, not even when the lights are switched back on and all of Martin’s friends crowd around them ‘aw’-ing. He’s sure his face is glowing though. Melanie glances at her watch and gasps.
“Shit, I have to go! I’m recording with Georgie for her podcast.” She leaps to her feet, hurriedly padding over to her shoes and coat by the door. She’s ready within seconds. “See you guys, tell Martin to text me when he wakes up.”
And just like that the only conscious person Jon is even slightly familiar with is gone. He’d have started fidgeting if it hadn’t been for Martin still soundly asleep on his shoulder. Sasha takes out her phone and he hears the ‘snap’ he’s now become so familiar with. Tim looks over her shoulder at the screen. Jon sighs.
“You really do frown in every single photo,” he states, very unnecessarily.
“Yep,” Jon says, because he has no idea what to say. “I do do that,” he adds since they’re stating the obvious.
“Nice to see you’re not like that all the time,” Sasha says, pocketing her phone. “You’ll be good with Martin.” She doesn’t say it like a question, but like she’s drawing a solution to a long lasting problem.
“Thank you?”
He must look as confused as he feels because Tim launches into an explanation, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders but careful not to jostle Martin.
“Listen. We’re just used to Martin pining for a few months to a year and then not acting upon it. Then all of a sudden he mentions a cute guy riding the merry-go-round and buying him ice cream and one week later he asks me how to style his hair for a date. Usually what happens is that Martin just ends up sighing a lot then eating a carton of honeycomb ice cream while listening to Regina Spektor.”
“Oh. I- honeycomb?”
Tim tilts his head.
“Uh- Yeah. It’s his favourite.”
Sasha slaps Tim’s arms.
“Tim that was their whole thing!”
“What- aw shit. Forget I said anything.”
“You- Martin told you about that?”
Somehow he’s only slightly mortified. Sasha rolls her eyes.
“Martin tells us everything about you.” She starts listing them, counting on her fingers.“Your favourite is rum and raisin, which he found and I quote, ‘cute in a grandpa kind of way’, you studied literature, you know surprisingly a lot about emulsifiers, you-“
Jon is not slightly mortified anymore, instead he wants to bury himself. Tim elbows her.
“Sash, enough, he’s turning into a tomato.”
Jon puts a hand to his cheek self consciously. It’s warm. The movement made Martin shift and further nuzzle his face into Jon’s neck, one of his arms going to rest around his waist.
“And I think that’s my cue to leave,” Sasha says, sauntering to the door. “Try not to third wheel too hard Tim!” And that’s her last words as she makes a swift exit.
“I-I should go too,” Jon mumbles, trying to untangle himself from Martin. The grip around him tightens. “Um.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Tim is smirking. Jon is starting to not really like Martin’s friends.
“So you’re not gonna help me?”
Tim gives him a wink and finger guns, somehow excessively charming and dorky at the same time. Ah, Jon thinks, so he’s like that.
“It’s getting late anyways, just sleep over.”
“What? No, I can’t possibly-“
“Yes you can.” Tim’s already walking away, much to Jon’s horror. “There’s enough pillows and blankets. I’ll be in my room, holler if you need anything. Um, just one thing-” he adds “-don’t… do anything on my couch, yeah?”
“What?”
Tim sighs.
“Please don’t engage in intercourse and the like on my couch Jonathan. Good night.”
He can’t find his words until Tim’s door clicks shut.
“I would not,” he grumbles indidgnantly to himself, face hot in the dark. “What kind of- who does he think I am?” He feels Martin wiggle against him and realises with a start that he’s trembling. For a terrifying two seconds, Jon thinks he’s crying again. Then: “Martin? Martin. Martin, are you laughing?”
“I’m sorry,” Martin manages between giggles. “I can’t- damn it, Tim. You just sounded so offended.”
“You were awake?”
“Yeah, not for long though, I just…” He looks up at Jon then looks away. “I just really wanted you to stay.”
Jon can’t even keep up the pretense of being exasperated.
“You didn’t have to pretend to have fallen asleep,” he says with mild amusement at how Martin blushes. “Of course I’ll stay.”
- - -
Martin’s nearly actually asleep when Jon clears his throat.
“Mm?”
“About what Tim said- don’t look at me like that I am not suggesting we go against his wishes!” Jon splutters. Martin feels very red in the face. “I just- it reminded me of something I forgot to tell you- um- I’m ace.”
“Oh. Okay.” And he called himself a poet.
“O… kay?”
Jon’s voice is even but Martin can feel how tense his hunched shoulders are.
“I meant- I meant that’s okay, yeah, it’s fine, I-I mean- thank you for telling me?” Martin stops then sighs hard. “That was horrendous. Can I start over? Oh, stop laughing you bastard.”
“Sorry, sorry, yes, you can start over but the message is quite clear.”
“The message that I acknowledge and respect it and that it doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you?”
“Yes.” Jon buries his face in his shoulder. “Nice to hear you say it all the same,” he mumbles.
“Since we’re doing this, um, I’m trans and-“ Jon looks bewildred. “-and uh. Um. Yes?”
“Oh I just- sorry, it’s not-“ He laughs. “-what I mean to say is me too.”
“What? No way. Seriously?” Jon nods. “Huh!”
“Anyways, you were saying?”
“Hm? Oh! Uh, I’ve been wearing a binder for about nine hours so-“ He slides away from Jon who lets him with a sigh.
“You should take that off, yes.” He twists in the couch to look at Martin getting up. “Will you still be okay with cuddling?”
The last word sounds very out of place in Jon’s mouth. Martin’s feels his heart flutter.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Mhm. ’S fine.”
He rushes to Tim’s bathroom as quietly as he can, unceremoniously squirms out of his binder before scuttling back even quicker. He doesn’t even bother rounding the couch, instead hitching a leg over the back to immediately flop over Jon who squawks in surprise.
“Someone was in a rush,” Jon whispers, laughter on the edge of his voice.
“Shush.” He huddles against Jon. “We should do this more often. I never thought you’d be the cuddly type.”
“You’re the one clinging to me,” Jon mumbles.
“And do you want me to stop?” Martin asks. Jon wiggles in his arms and pouts. Martin wants to squeeze him terribly. “Exactly.”
He wiggles some more, gives his back to Martin.
“Spoon me,” he commands and Martin does, not without teasing him so much that Jon reaches back and smacks his leg. Martin retaliates by kissing the back of Jon’s neck, parting his hair to reach it properly. Jon squirms and Martin finds himself grinning devilishly.
“I say, Jonathan Sims, are you ticklish?”
Jon goes very still. Martin lets him think he’s gotten away with it for a second, then digs two fingers in the side of his neck and Jon squeals.
“NoO- Martin-“ He wheezes, arms batting uselessly. “We’ll wake Tim up, sto- Martin!” He dissolves in badly muffled giggles, failing to escape Martin’s grip and only managing to writhe his way to straddle Martin’s waist. “Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself!” He huffs. Martin just smiles up at him.
“I’d really like that second kiss right now,” he says softly.
Jon rolls his eyes.
“Fine. But do not try to tickle me. I’m serious.”
Martin nods, closing his eyes as Jon’s mouth meets his own. His mind goes comfortably blank, only conscious of the feeling of Jon’s hand cupping his cheek. He’s smiling when he parts, seeming satisfied at the way Martin blinks dazedly.
“Hi.” It’s all Martin can say.
Jon laughs, patting his cheek.
“Good night Martin.”
“Kiss me good night then.”
“I just did!”
“One more?”
Jon accords him a chaste peck on the lips before flopping half next to him, half on top of him. It shouldn’t feel as comfortable as it does.
“Martin?” Jon whispers into his ear.
“Mhm?”
“Mm. Martin?”
“Yes Jon?”
“Can I ask you something?"
“ ‘Course.” He turns to Jon, sees him biting his lip. “Is everything okay?”
Jon nods but continues nibbling at his lower lip.
“You’re not- you’re not sad because of me, are you?”
Martin blinks.
“What?”
“I know you said it was your mother, and I don’t really know much about your situation but- but you started crying right after looking at that picture of me, you know the first one? Then Tim remarked that I frown in every photo and I-I know I’m not exactly the sunniest person to be around, so I thought- I don’t know, I’m sorry if I upset you is what I mean to say,” Jon blurts it out in a rush, hanging his head.
Oh. Oh.
“Oh Jon, no, that’s not it at all, really. I just-“ He flounders slightly. “It was me, me in the photo that made me… yeah, don’t- don’t worry about it.”
“But you look lovely!”
He sounds so earnest that Martin tries hard to smile but instead finds himself closing his eyes tightly.
“Just… don’t Jon, okay?” His voice wobbles, then cracks. “I look like my dad.”
He feels Jon’s hands flutter agitatedly around his face before one of them settles on his cheek, thumb wiping at a tear trickling down the side of his nose.
“Is- is he not good then?”
Martin makes a vague, non-commital noise.
“It’s a long story.” He sniffs. “I’ll tell it to you some other time, okay?”
“Okay,” Jon says, hand still cradling Martin’s face. Martin kisses his palm. “Ah…”
“You’re adorable,” Martin sighs, reaching for Jon’s hand to plant a second kiss on his knuckles. His other hand goes to touch Jon’s face. It’s warm. “And an easy blusher.”
“I am not adorable,” Jon grumbles, very adorably. “You are.”
“No-“
“Yes!”
Jon’s sudden vivacity makes him giggle.
“Shhh! You’ll wake Tim up!”
“Yes -” Jon says, lowering his voice. “- you are. You have dimples Martin.” He says it with a tone of finality, like it’s a winning argument.
Martin opens his mouth to protest and is interrupted by Jon’s lips. Jon is smiling triumphantly when they part.
“You make a compelling argument,” Martin murmurs.
“I know. Now seriously, I’m exhausted, I haven’t been around so many people at once since my band broke up. Good night.”
“Jon, we were five if we count ourselves.”
“I know. And I said good night Martin.”
“Night Jon.”
- - -
Jon wakes up the next day with terrible hair and no access to a comb. He spends the morning with a half-hearted scowl on his face at Tim’s chirpy laughter and Martin’s badly hidden smiles. He does his best to pat it down and brush it through with his fingers, especially as he and Martin leave, Tim parting from them with a wink, still oozing with charm despite his equally tousled hair.
“Still grumpy then?” Martin asks as they go down the stairs.
“You would be if you hadn’t brought a change of clothes,” Jon grumbles accusingly, tucking his hair into what could generously be called a messy bun. Martin glances at it, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I’m doing this one-handed Martin, do stop laughing.”
“Just-“ He reaches a hand up. “Can I, Jon?”
“Wh- Here?”
“I’m not in a hurry. Like, really not. Are you?”
“I mean- I suppose not.”
Martin shifts his backpack to his arm and sets it down before plopping down on the stairs himself. He pats the step just below the one he’s on meaningfully.
“Go on then.”
Jon rolls his eyes but complies.
“You’re really avoiding going back, aren’t you?”
He sounds more worried than he’d like, despite his effort on keeping his tone light.
“Oh Jon, I didn’t know you cared! It’s fine, I have some distant cousin staying with her and helping her out.” He combs his fingers through Jon’s hair. “Oooh. Soft.”
Martin had very deftly avoided the question and also distracted Jon by being stupidly cute.
“Right.” It’s hard to keep focused with Martin’s unhurried brushing. “Couldn’t you have chosen to waste time someplace else though? Maybe a park or a nice cafe?”
“I dunno, this is already kinda romantic don’t you think?”
“What? A musty stairwell? Seriously?”
He feels Martin pulling his hair into sections, the familiar sensation of someone braiding his hair making him sink slightly against Martin’s leg with a sigh.
“Yes! It’s just out of sight of others, daylight shining softly through stained glass windows-“
“Pretty sure the glass is just yellowed with age, Martin.”
“Shush, I’m not done! Anyways. Yes, soft light coming from the windows, so you can see, but it’s dim and all honey coloured and -stop laughing I’ll pull your hair- and it just makes it the perfect place to kiss, don’t you think?”
“Hmm, I don’t know, but clearly you you’ve been thinking a lot about it. “ Martin tugs at the now completed braid. “Ouch.”
“I warned you, you awful man.”
But when Jon tips his head back, Martin’s smiling, despite looking slightly embarrassed.
“Perfect place to kiss, eh?”
It comes out unexpectedly soft, making him flush. Martin’s cheeks darken as though in sympathy.
“I-I didn’t mean- well I did but-“
Jon huffs. Well. He tries to, but honestly it’s more of a laugh.
“You can kiss me if you like Martin.”
Martin looks at him in a way that makes him feel like he’s the sun. But it only lasts a second. Martin bites his lip,eyes suddenly distant. Jon tries not to look too disappointed.
“Sorry, sorry,” Martin says quickly. From his tone, Jon knows he failed at not looking disappointed. He shifts so he can face him uprights.
“It’s fine, really, are- is everything okay?”
Martin gives a too-small smile.
“I just- I don’t want to go back home. And I feel like I’m just doing this to waste time.” His smile strains into a grimace before dropping. “That’s all.”
“You can come to mine,” Jon finds himself saying. “I don’t mind you spending the night, if you like,” he added without thinking, then realising that he, in fact, did not mind.
“Yeah?” Martin says, a little doubtfully.
“I can get ice cream. And I have tea. And better blankets than Tim.”
“Yeah?” Martin repeats. He’s smiling now, eyes crinkling.
“They’re very cozy,” he insists. That earns him a weak chuckle.
“Sounds tempting,” Martin muses.
“Good.”
“Honestly thought you were gonna try to drag me to an ice cream place again.”
“We could-“
“No, no, I wasn’t suggesting, it wouldn’t be as fun now that you know.”
Jon blinks. Then sighs, high and frustrated.
“So you were awake. I hoped you were asleep when Tim told me at least.”
Martin bumps his forehead against Jon’s, he stays there and it’s warm and perfect, so much that Jon almost forgets to be irritated.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Jon replies. “S’fine. I would’ve guessed at some point anyways. Probably in the near future.”
“You-” Martin says, turning his fae to press a kiss to Jon’s left cheek, “-sound awfully confident about that.”
“I mean, it does suit you, doesn’t it?”
“Like- what was it- sweet potato does?” Martin murmurs it into his cheek. It’s a pleasant tickle against his skin. Jon relaxes against him.
“Yes. Exactly like that.”
Somehow that makes Martin blush darkly. His face retreats into the space between Jon’s neck and shoulder.
“Are you calling me sweet?”
It’s Jon’s turn to color.
“I-I guess I am. Though I really thought I had you with cookie dough.”
“Well. I mean honeycomb is my favourite but kind of because of it’s aesthetic, you know? In terms of flavour, I would go for cookie dough, or plain chocolate cause I’m boring.”
Jon sits up, probably a little suddenly since Martin startles slightly, blinking behind his round glasses.
“What do you mean because of it’s aesthetic?”
“Well I-“ Martin puts his chin out as if in defiance. “-I just thinks it’s a nice color and idea and just a nice word! ‘Honeycomb’s my favourite ice cream’ sounds so much better than ‘oh yeah I like cookie dough like every other person on earth’.”
“Do- are you serious?” Jon tries to pull on the exasperation he’d felt earlier, but all he can find is giddy laughter. “Is this another of your-“ He puts his hands up to emphasize his statement with air quotes. “- ‘lo-fi charm’ things?”
“I-“ Martin crosses his arms. “So what if it is?”
Jon’s practically snorting, half draped over Martin’s lap. It would be mortifying if it wasn’t so hilarious.
“Do- do you decorate your room with fairy lights and polaroid photos then?” Martin gives him a look. “You do! You do!”
“You’re lucky you look so lovely when you laugh,” Martin huffs and that shuts him right up, heart suddenly leaping to his throat
“I…” Jon tries to collect himself, patting down his hair which had somehow gotten dislodged again as he’d laughed. “I-I can’t believe you made me guess all those times when I’d gotten it right so early on.”
Martin rolls his eyes.
“Way to deflect the compliment Mr. Sims,” he says tweaking Jon’s nose gently. “I just- I dunno, I was enjoying it and I didn’t really want you to stop. Sorr- agh, no, never mind.”
“I wouldn’t have stopped.”
The genuine confusion on Martin’s face makes something stir in his stomach.
“What? But there wouldn’t have been a reson-“
“Is it really so hard to believe that you’re my reason Martin?”
“Oh.” Martin pauses, a smile slowly curling up his face. “That’s really poetic.”
“Going to tuck it away in one of those notebooks of yours that you never let me see?”
“Oh, don’t you tempt me now.” He gets up and stretches, before offering a hand to Jon. “Where’s your place then?”
Jon smiles as Martin pulls him to his feet.
“So you’re coming?”
“Despite your merciless bullying, yes I am. If that’s okay.”
“Of course.” He squeezes Martin’s hand, very intent on not letting go until the other made him. “It’s always okay.”