Martin's Favorite Book
“Well, that was…”
“I liked it.”
Jon turns to stare incredulously at Martin beside him. The man takes a sip of his chamomile tea, closing his eyes serenely to avoid meeting his partner’s gaze.
Jon has just finished reading aloud from the latest book Martin had picked out. It was some sappy romance novel, formulaic in every way. He’d been bored to tears. “Seriously? There was no chemistry between the main couple! I mean, the man was a complete dickhead anyways, I don’t think any real woman would put up with that kind of weird possessiveness.”
“Oh come on, you’re overreacting! Sure he had problems, but the romantic gestures were sweet. And, like, the little subtle things too.” Jon scrunches his nose, and Martin smiles, setting his tea down on the bedside table. He reaches an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and pulls him closer. “That moment when he stood up to her mom for her? That was nice. And… what?”
Jon’s scrutinizing him with a cocked brow. “Are you being serious? You’re not. That book was not good. Why do you like these cliché romances, anyways? They’re all the same.”
Martin tries to look innocent, but he’s still not quite meeting Jon’s eye. “I just do!”
A grin plays at the edges of Jon’s mouth and he leans forward, trying to force Martin to look at him. “You sure?” Jon prods, as Martin very exaggeratedly swivels his eyes to the ceiling.
“Alright, fine. Fine! I just like to hear you say the sappy romantic lines when you read them out loud. Happy?” Jon sputters and swats his chest lightly, and Martin is laughing. “Whatever, it’s nice! You’d never say anything like that as Jonathan Sims, but you will as, like, the characters in The Notebook or something. I swear, it’s like you enter a trance when you’re reading out loud, you know?”
Jon’s lips are pressed in a tight line, and he’s staring pointedly at the far wall. Martin snorts, lacing their fingers together and holding their hands dramatically to his chest. Putting on his best impression of his partner’s reading voice, he quotes theatrically, “I love you. I am who I am because of you! You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I've ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, everyday we are together is the greatest day of my life!” Jon’s face goes beet red.
“I am not that… that thespian about it!” He exclaims, outraged, and Martin lapses into a fit of giggles. “What! I’m not!”
“I swear, Jon, you can’t even hear yourself when you’re reading! It was one thing with the statements, but it’s something else entirely with fiction.” Jon is fuming silently now, and Martin rolls his eyes exasperatedly before pulling him close and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, hush, I love it. You know that! That’s why I like to listen to you read.”
Finally, Jon relents. A small smile softens his haughty face.
He’s been reading to Martin every night for a long time now. He used to just silently thumb through whatever book he’d picked up that day, until one night Martin showed some curiosity in his current choice. He’d tried to explain the plot summary, but struggled with it until he gave up and just started reading.
Martin had been completely entranced. He’d praised Jon’s reading voice vehemently, and, well, it admittedly made Jon feel a bit proud of himself. So it had become routine. Usually Jon just chose whatever book he felt like reading, but sometimes he let Martin pick. That was how they ended up with this romance novel dilemma.
But, Jon supposes that he doesn’t fully blame Martin. He can imagine how it would feel, if the roles were reversed. It does make your heart jump in funny ways to hear your partner saying things like that.
Jon eyes Martin over the top of his glasses, his head leaning against the larger man’s shoulder. “Martin?” he receives a placid hum in response. “Do you have a favorite book?”
Martin’s eyes snap to his, and then immediately away. The direction of his gaze always speaks volumes more than his words. “Why, er, why do you want to know?”
Jon tilts his head curiously. “Well, we just finished what we were reading. I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but you realize it’s our 6 month anniversary the day after tomorrow?”
“Wow, I guess I should’ve expected that you would keep track of that stuff. That’s really very sweet, Jon.”
Jon had a good memory, anyways, but he’d taken special care to remember the important dates. Anniversaries, birthdays, the day they’d had their first real date. Things like that. Any excuse to show some extra appreciation for Martin.
“I thought it would be nice if I could read your favorite book. Do you not have one?”
Martin seems to be struggling with something. His lips are pressed tightly together, turned down at the corners, and he’s squinting at the wall. “I, ah, well, I mean -- “
“Is something wrong? Martin?” Jon’s starting to fret a little bit, now. Was this a sore subject, somehow? He’d thought it was a harmless enough thing to ask.
“Nothing at all!” Martin’s voice is just a little bit too high, but it’s subtle enough that Jon thinks he could be imagining it. “Why don’t you just pick whatever you want? I picked the last one, so you go ahead. I really don’t mind. Really.”
“O...kay…” Jon says it slowly, his sharp eyes watching Martin’s face intensely. Their gaze still won’t meet. “Are you hiding something from me?”
“Yes.”
Martin bristles instantly, and finally turns to give him a furious look. “Jon! I thought you got that under control!”
Jon is mortified. “I didn’t -- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that! The Eye’s influence has dulled so much, I didn’t think -- I, I, I was careless. Shit, Martin, I’m truly sorry.”
There’s a very heavy silence. They are in a predicament. Martin is righteously angry at Jon’s unintentional use of his beholding powers, but now Jon knows that something is really wrong. Martin’s hiding something, and that always sets him on edge.
“I’ll drop it, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m so sorry,” he tries again. His voice sounds weak and uneasy.
Martin heaves an irritated sigh, but his shoulders relax just a little. “It’s fine, Jon. It’s nothing serious anyways, I promise. Can we just go to bed now? I’m feeling kind of tired.”
“Sure, sure…” Martin stands and collects his empty tea mug before walking out of the room, to bring it to the kitchen and brush his teeth. Jon can’t help the anxiety gnawing at his stomach.
---
Jon’s sleep is fitful that night. He’s never been a very restful sleeper, especially after everything they experienced at the Institute, but he’s been getting better with therapy. The nightmares still have a way of sneaking back into his head when he gets particularly stressed, though, and he’d expected it after their small spat the night before.
When he wakes, he’s drenched in sweat. A glance at the clock reveals it’s 4 in the morning. He can’t remember what his dreams were about, but he’s still trembling, and his clothes are clinging to him. The adrenaline is still pounding in his chest. He knows from experience that means he will not be able to fall back asleep.
With a sigh, he slides out of bed. He’ll just have to resign himself to being tired all day.
As soon as he opens the door to the bedroom, Lieutenant stirs in the cat tree by the door. She blinks at him and cries loudly. Jon winces, and holds his finger to his lips, shushing her with a barely audible hiss. As if she’ll know what that means. She jumps down to walk underfoot, as usual.
The darkness and silence feels overwhelming as he brews his coffee. He’s trying his best to fight off the flashbacks, but it doesn’t take long for the muscles in his back to start tensing. The more he tries not to think about it, the harder it pushes at the walls of his mind. His hand jumps up reflexively, waving behind his head as if to shoo something away. “Stop, stop,” he mutters.
This is a tic that he’s picked up since he left the Institute. The hand waving, the dismissive words directed at no one. His therapist explained that it was his body’s instinctive reaction to the panic that builds inside him when he thinks about his trauma. Martin worries endlessly about it. He just thinks it’s annoying as hell, and often rather embarrassing. He can just imagine the patronizingly sympathetic look on Elias’ face, if he’d ever seen…
Oops, there it goes again. His hand waves in the air. “Go away, go away...”
The coffee pot beeps far too loud, causing him to flinch violently. He curses and pours out a mug before stumbling to the sofa. The cold sweat hasn’t gone away in the 20 minutes since he woke up, in fact it’s gotten colder. He shivers.
Lieutenant meows again and brushes against his leg, so he drums his fingers on his chest to beckon her. “Come here, baby, I need some company.” His whisper is pathetically shaky.
When Martin wakes up 2 hours later, he’s scrolling his phone with the lower half of his face buried in the purring cat’s fur.
“Oh, Jon…”
He hates the worry that colors Martin’s voice. Hates how fragile he still is. They only had a tiny argument about Martin’s favorite book, for god’s sake, and it had this much of an effect on him. Well, that and his accidental Beholding. Actually, mostly that.
“I’m fine now,” he halfheartedly reassures, his hoarse words betraying his exhaustion. “I mean, I’ve been up for a few hours, so it’s, I’ve -- I’m fine now.”
Martin sits next to him, wraps him in his arms. Jon hates how that brings the slightest sting of tears. He blinks hard in irritation. “Do you need me to stay home today?”
“No! No.” Martin always coddles him like this, when he has his… episodes. In the moment it’s actually a welcome thing, but he can’t stand it after he’s calmed down. He doesn’t want to feel this delicate. Broken. A single errant breath away from shattering on the floor. “Martin, I’m fine, I swear. I don’t even have work for the next three days.”
There’s irritation in his voice, but for a different reason now. Back when… everything was over, he’d taken a short break from working to recover. Get his bearings again. But about a month in, the cabin fever became unbearable. He’d wanted to get a new job, but Martin and his therapist insisted that it wasn’t a good idea. Martin had told his therapist about his “unhealthy” relationship with work in the past, and she didn’t want him lapsing back into that lifestyle. Of course, she had no idea about the reason for that behavior, or even the exact nature of his previous job.
He was stubborn. He kept badgering them, until a compromise was reached. He was allowed to get a low-stakes part-time job. He could stick with that schedule until he learned to keep a better work-life balance. So, he’d found a part-time job at the library.
He only worked 21 hours a week, and oh, it was boring work. He’s more than qualified to find a good position involving research and analysis, with his degree and his experience as head archivist. But, no. He’s stuck organizing bookshelves for now. At least it’s better than sitting alone in their shared flat and staring at the wall. And his coworkers are pleasant company.
Martin seems to still be hesitating, so Jon sighs and squeezes his knee. “I promise, I’m alright. I have some things I want to do today, anyways.”
“...Okay,” Martin concedes, and he gets up. “You have to call me if anything happens, though, you got that? None of this, suffering in silence nonsense. If I come back and you’re like, collapsed on the floor again or something, you’re gonna get it. I won’t be soft on you this time!”
Jon’s too tired to argue that right now. He smiles. “Yes, yes, I got it.”
Martin’s satisfied with that answer, so he prepares breakfast (Jon refuses to eat it today), showers, and leaves. Not before supplying Jon with tea and blankets, though, and instructions for Lieutenant and Keats to keep an eye on him.
Jon stews quietly over his tea for a while. He doesn’t need the tea, he’s had a few cups of coffee already, but it was a kind gesture. Martin seems to have relaxed a bit this morning. But still, the secrets bother him.
He’s starting to feel restless. He stands and paces, muttering. “Why…? It’s just a book. Nothing serious, right? He even said so, that it’s not serious, it doesn’t make sense. Unless… is it serious? What sort of book would Martin be too afraid to tell me about?”
That puts a halt to his thought process, and he slows, his eyes widening. Oh. There are actually a lot of books in their past that they wouldn’t want to talk about openly.
“...Can’t be. Can’t be a L… a Leitner. Stop it, stop it. Damn it. Martin wouldn’t like those! It doesn’t make sense!”
He snatches his phone off the coffee table, and furiously scrolls through his contacts until he finds Sasha. The phone rings an infuriatingly long time before there’s an answer.
“Jonnyyyyyy.”
“Tim!? Where’s Sasha?”
“In the shower. What’s up, Jonny boy?”
Jon grits his teeth. "Don't call me that. No one calls me Jonny, for good reason."
"Not technically accurate, I just called you Jonny. So someone does. What do you want, Boss Man?"
Jon rolls his eyes, even though no one's there to see his annoyance. He chews his lip for a moment before saying, "do you or Sasha know Martin's favorite book? He's being… weirdly cagey about it. I'm, well, honestly a little worried."
Tim senses his tone. "Okay, Martin's favorite book isn't going to be some horrific life-altering supernatural artifact, so let's put that train of thought to rest before it derails. Don’t want you blowing it out of proportion and being tempted to Know."
Jon kisses his teeth in frustration, but doesn't argue. He knows how ridiculous that is, so he's actually grateful for Tim shooting it down.
"Secondly, why are you calling Sasha to ask about your own boyfriend? This sounds like a personal problem.” Jon opens his mouth to argue, but Tim doesn’t let him. “If Martin didn’t want to tell you, maybe there’s good reason. I know you like to fret over things, Jon, but it’s probably better to just let this one rest.”
Jon is silent for a moment, and then heaves a sigh. “...Fine, you’re probably right. Since when are you the one giving sound relationship advice?”
There’s a scoff. “You kidding? Always have been. Who do you think Martin talked to back when he was still pining hopelessly over you? ‘Oh, Tim, I just don’t know what to do! He’s a complete dickhead, but he’s so dreamy…’”
“Alright, that’s quite enough! Tell Sasha I said hi!” He hangs up over Tim’s cackling and tosses his phone down onto the couch.
...He hates to admit it, but Tim is probably right. He’d agreed to drop it, so it’s dishonest to dig for answers behind Martin’s back. He’d just have to endure the curiosity.
---
Jon actually did have things to keep him busy today. He couldn’t stand the 3 days off he had with his part-time job, so he’d picked up a few hobbies. First, he was writing a book. Putting all the knowledge he’d gained from his archival position onto paper. It took up so much space in his head all the time, it was actually a relief to purge all of this information.
Second was his podcast. It was Martin and Georgie's idea. Georgie had been visiting one night while Melanie was away, and Martin had brought up that Jon had a good voice to listen to. Jon didn't believe him, but she’d jumped at the opportunity. Their joint effort convinced him to give podcasting a try, and Georgie helped him set it up. Now, he recorded weekly book reviews.
Those two things together were surprisingly effective in keeping him grounded. It felt almost like his old job, except without the constant threats on his life and the mental strain of reading statements. He could write down his research, record his thoughts in an audio format (although his new setup was a big upgrade from tape recorders), and move on without it affecting his quality of life.
He's been staring at the blinking cursor for far too long when Martin got home. His eyes are heavy and stinging, and he looks a complete mess as he slinks to the door to greet his partner.
"Welcome home."
"Hi! How are you -- “ He pauses in the middle of hanging up his coat. “Christ, Jon, your eyes are totally red. I'm guessing you didn't even try napping?"
"Er, well, no," Martin knows that Jon never naps, but he always asks anyways. "How was work?"
"About the same as always. Lovely. Have you eaten?" The question sounds almost accusatory.
"Yes, I had the sandwich you left for me in the fridge." He feels slightly defensive as he says it, but Martin smiles in response.
"Good." He gives Jon a quick kiss, and then wraps his arms around the smaller man’s waist. His voice is soft and intimate. “Are you feeling better?”
Jon releases a slow breath, and the words bluster out with it. “Yes, but I’m still exhausted. I barely got any writing done today.”
“I mean. You didn’t have to write, Jon. It’s okay to just rest sometimes.”
“Too fidgety. I don’t have the patience to rest.”
Martin’s eyes flick upwards and he lets out a what-am-I-gonna-do-with-you kind of sigh. “...Right. Yes, I know. Well, how about we turn in early tonight, then? After we eat.”
Jon’s about to say that he’s not very hungry, but decides against it. “Okay.”
The cats are crying around their feet, and Martin throws his hands in the air. “Kitties!” And then he scoops a protesting Keats into his arms and walks to the kitchen, leaving Jon to stand in the doorway and wonder if Martin can feel the slight tension in the air, or if he’s just paranoid.
---
They go to bed at 10 pm, which is painfully early for Jon. Even though he’s exhausted, he still feels the nervous energy buzzing in his limbs. Normally he’d read at this time to calm the thoughts swirling in his head before trying to sleep, but they’re left bookless after the dilemma from last night. So he stares into the darkness, trying to will his eyes to close.
Eventually, Martin’s voice interrupts his silent torment. “Alright, Jon, what is it?”
“Huh?”
“You’re stiff as a board, and you’re glaring at the ceiling. Something’s wrong.”
“I’m, I’m not... not glaring -- ”
“Jon.”
He combs his hand through his hair and makes an effort to relax his expression. He hadn’t realized Martin was watching him in the dark. “Martin, are you… angry with me?”
There’s a pause, and Jon’s heart sinks. There wouldn’t be a pause if nothing was wrong.
“Not… angry, no.” He rolls onto his back, now mirroring Jon’s position of staring at the ceiling. “I’m just worried, Jon. That’s all I do, really, is worry. But you gave me a real good time of it, last night. And this morning.”
Jon sits up abruptly, with a sharp huff of air. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and perches his elbows on his knees, so that he can rest his weary eyes in his palms. “I don’t want to worry you, Martin, I hate it. I feel useless. I’ve never been this dependent before, even as a child.” He can feel the pain and bitterness burning in his throat, thickly coating his words as they’re formed. He tries to swallow, to compose himself enough to at least sound respectable. “I’ve totally fallen apart since we -- since the world went back to normal. It’s completely pathetic.”
The mattress shifts under him, and then Martin is sitting beside him, his big warm arms enveloping him. “Jon... Jon, you went through so much. You need to give yourself time to recover from that. No one blames you for this, and you shouldn’t either. I didn’t mean to make it sound like any of it was your fault. It’s not. Not at all.” His hand strokes comforting circles in his back.
Jon’s breath hitches and wobbles at the apology, which he hadn’t expected. "It, it kind of was, though. The beholding --"
"Hush, love, that was an accident."
There's a short silence, and Jon can feel the question bubbling up out of his chest long before he asks it. "Can't you just tell me what your favorite book is, Martin?"
His partner tenses, and his hand stops circling. "Are you serious? This again? Right now?"
"Well you're, I'm, you're not the only one who's worried! If it's something dangerous, I -- "
"Hold on, Jon, holy shit, it's not a Leitner." There's another pause. "You seriously thought it was a Leitner? Is that why you were so anxious all day?" There's a suppressed grin in Martin's voice, but luckily he has the wherewithal to stop himself from laughing. Jon would not appreciate being laughed at right now.
He tries to think of a good response, but all that comes out is an "Uhhhh," and then some unintelligible grumbles. Martin squeezes him.
"I'll tell you, but not right now. Is that okay? It's not anything dangerous, I'm just. Er. Embarrassed, if I'm honest."
Jon turns to blink owlishly at him, and Martin swears his eyes are glowing just a tiny bit in the dark, like a cat. "It's not… erotica, is it?"
"No, Jon! Why do you always have to leap to the most dramatic conclusions?" He's laughing now, and Jon feels better enough to shake humorously with him.
"It's okay, Martin, I won't judge you. Although I might not be comfortable reading those kinds of things out loud, as much as you might enjoy it."
“Oh, god, I don’t, you, that would be, I wouldn’t…!” Although everything is dyed a deep indigo hue in the darkness, Jon can feel the heat emanating from him. “And I’m calling your bullshit on that, by the way, you absolutely would judge!”
“That’s true, I would.”
Martin pulls gently at Jon until both of them are laying on the mattress again. “Let’s sleep now, yeah? Goodnight. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
---
He really did think he would get a good night’s sleep tonight.
That was some blind optimism.
Jon has no idea what time it is when he wakes up, because he can’t move. There’s a pressure on his chest, pressing him flat, crushing his lungs. The walls are throbbing all around him, as if he’s locked within the chambers of a human heart. Most threatening of all is the sound of rasping, rattling breathing very close to his ears. He swears he can even feel the hot air fluttering his hair around his neck.
He counts backwards from 100 by 7s, but only gets to 58 before he notices the dark figure looming over Martin beside him. Laying on Martin. Consuming him. It turns to stare sidelong at him, and it has one enormous, vibrating eye. After that, it’s useless. The work he put into calming his heart rate is invalidated as the frantic pouding in his chest crescendos into a choking violence within his body.
And then, unceremoniously, it’s over. And he’s screaming.
He doesn’t even remember bolting upright. The white-hot panic has left him as good as any animal, flailing about and acting on nothing but instinct. It takes a good few seconds before he even notices Martin clinging to him, crying out his name and begging him to come back, to be Jonathan Sims again.
Jon’s yells gradually peter out, and transform into heavy feverish sobs. He presses his face into Martin’s chest, and focuses on the feeling of Martin’s hand stroking his hair, the sound of Martin’s breath hushing him. “It, it was on you,” he chokes out.
Martin only pauses for a second before continuing his reassurances. “Well, I’m okay. I’m safe, Jon, nothing to be afraid of.” Jon’s body is still wracked with violent heaving and trembling, though, so they both lapse into silence and wait it out. They rock back and forth slightly, and Jon counts Martin’s heartbeats. It hurts to hear that Martin’s heart is thrumming almost as quickly as his own, afraid despite his calming manner.
It takes a while for him to cry himself out. Eventually they’re both left clutching each other, breathing steadily, their bodies feeling hollow and fatigued. “So… what was it this time?” Martin asks. His voice is quiet. Cautious. “Was it Orsinov again?”
Jon shudders, and his hand twitches up to wave behind his head. Martin squeezes him apologetically. “No, it was none of… of them. It was the Eye.”
“E-Elias!?” He stammers over the exclamation. Neither of them have said that name aloud in half a year.
“No! God no.” Jon hesitates before admitting, “I think it… may have been me. Except I had no face, just one giant eye.”
Martin waits a beat before saying, “Well, that’s not so bad I suppose.” Jon pulls back to stare at him incredulously, so he quickly adds, “I mean, I don’t mind having you on top of me.”
Despite himself, Jon snorts at that. "You're mad."
"What? I'm not afraid of you, no matter how many eyes you have or, how big they are." He's joking gently, trying to lighten Jon's mood. As ridiculous as his words are, it actually does make Jon feel a bit better. He huffs a tiny, breathy laugh and collapses back into place against his partner’s chest.
Then, after a moment, he sighs. "Martin, I'm sorry I woke you, I --"
"Shut up, Jon."
"What?"
"I said shut up, stop apologizing for things you can't help. I don't want to hear it, so just. Stop."
Jon peers up at him, but with the darkness and his lack of glasses, his partner’s face is too blurry to discern expression. “I feel bad, though. I want to apologize. It’s, it’s really kind of… embarrassing. Here I am screaming like a, a scared child, over absolutely nothing -- “
“My favorite book is Winnie the Pooh.”
There is a long silence.
They both stare at each other in the gloom, and Jon really wishes he could see anything. However, after a moment, he can tell by the jostling of the mattress underneath that Martin has now fallen backwards. “Please say something before I die.”
But the words haven’t really clicked for Jon. He’s squinting in confusion, his mind sluggishly registering what was just said. “Wh -- your favorite -- sorry, what?”
“My favorite book.” The Martin-shaped blob distorts in a way that Jon can read as Martin covering his face with his hands. “It’s Winnie the Pooh.”
“Wh, wha, why are you telling me this now?”
Martin’s response tumbles out quickly, one long sentence laid out in a single breath. “Okay, I was keeping it a secret because I was embarrassed, but then you made me think about how you don’t really have the choice to hide the things that embarrass you, and it doesn’t seem fair for me to have that option, and to be stressing you out over my stupid little secret, when it isn’t even that big of a deal in the first place.”
Jon’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile, but he doesn’t fully know how to respond yet. “But -- hold on, Winnie the…?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you again?”
“Oh, shut it!”
Jon is unable to see the pillow before it smacks him in the face, and he can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of him at that.
“It’s a nostalgic thing, okay? Well, okay, not entirely just nostalgia. I did read it quite a lot as a kid, but it wasn’t, like -- I just like A.A. Milne’s writing style, okay? He has a really poetic way of describing scenery, and the books are charming. They’re just nice. Alright? Stop laughing!” He’s cross, but there’s a smile in his voice. He’s pleased that he was able to relax Jon enough to get a laugh out of him, even if it’s at his own expense.
“That’s really what this was all about? Christ, Martin, you really scared me over this, I even called Tim!”
“You called Tim!?”
“Well, I called Sasha, actually, but Tim answered. But Winnie the Pooh? I was all in my head about Leitner or something!”
He feels Martin grab his arm and drag him down to lay beside him. “Okay, don’t try to pin that on me, that was just completely absurd. I don’t understand how you could’ve possibly believed that, even for a second.” Jon opens his mouth, but Martin presses his large hand over it, stopping him abruptly. “No, don’t even try to explain, you know it was ridiculous.”
Jon takes the hand covering his mouth and kisses the palm before scooting closer and nuzzling into Martin’s neck. “Thank you. I’m glad you told me. We can start reading it tomorrow night.”
“Er, you don’t, have to do that… if you don’t…”
“I want to.”
“If you insist.”
Martin kisses him on the head one more time, whispers “I love you so much,” into his hair, but the murmur that Jon returns is unintelligible and barely audible. He’s already falling asleep again, safe in Martin’s arms.
---
Neither of them have work the next day, and they spend the day in each other’s company. Their 6 month anniversary. Somehow, it feels decades longer than that, or infinitesimally shorter, depending on who’s talking. They both agree that 6 months doesn’t feel like a reasonable measure of their time together, though.
Jon wakes up late. It’s the first time he’s slept in since before he became Head Archivist, and his sleep is deep and dreamless. By the time he’s woken up, Martin has already prepared breakfast. Beans and toast, with roasted mushrooms and tomatoes on the side. And tea, of course. No need for coffee, today.
After breakfast is a long walk in the park, which turns into a walk through the city after they run out of park to wander. They stop at a small bakery in the middle of the day, but Jon’s appetite is too small for 3 square meals even on a good day, so he just orders some more tea and scavenges a few bites off of Martin’s scone.
Once they get home, they spend a few hours whiling away the afternoon together on the sofa. Scrolling on their phones, mostly, although Martin eventually puts on an episode of his favorite cooking show on Netflix while Jon is studying his booklist.
That evening, Martin outdoes himself by making an outstanding vegetarian lasagna. Jon helps him by prepping the ingredients, as usual, and gets out the way once the actual cooking starts. Jon’s mostly useless in the kitchen, but Martin has a real knack for it.
After they eat, they bicker over who will do the dishes, as they do every night. Jon insists that he will do it, since Martin did the cooking, but Martin argues that he did just as much work since he prepped the ingredients. However, Jon is the more stubborn of the two, so he wins the argument as always and gets the job done while Martin watches him with rapt and adoring eyes.
They have a blackberry pie for dessert, which Jon had sneakily hid in the back of the fridge after he picked it up the day before. Then, after a few more hours of relaxing on the sofa, it’s finally time to go to bed, and to read.
Martin self-consciously hands over his own copy of Winnie the Pooh. It’s a well-loved book, the cover fraying and the pages warped slightly. He seems too embarrassed to listen as Jon first starts reading, but quickly relaxes when he realizes Jon will not make fun of him. And, surprisingly, Jon finds that he actually enjoys it. There’s a distinct writing style, and it’s just as charming as Martin had explained.
He feels a small flutter of affection every time he sees traces of Martin’s childhood marked on the pages. Bent and smoothed out corners of pages, little stains here and there. There’s even a page with some tiny flower petals pressed into the paper, as if Martin had been reading outside and hadn’t noticed the petals falling.
They end up getting so engrossed that they finish the entire book in one sitting. It’s not a very long book, to be fair, but it still takes a while. When Jon sets it down and remains silent for a moment, Martin regards him with a hint of worry again. “Did you like it?”
Jon closes his eyes and nods, before leaning over to give his partner a long, tender kiss. “Adorable. I loved it.”
Martin absolutely beams.