Chapter 3
“Jon,” Martin’s voice was strained now, “What do you mean Elias Bouchard is in your apartment?”
“I’m sorry, I swear I was going to tell you but I just found out he’s actually alive and not Jonah and I just picked him up from the hospital.” Jon was rambling, the words falling out of his mouth a bit too fast for his liking.
“…Right.”
“Do you, uh, want to come in?” The palpable pause as Martin studied every inch of Jon’s face caused a stingingly cold sweat to his forehead. If Martin decided to walk away now…
“Alright. Fine.” Martin pushed past him to face the scowling Elias. Jon blinked. Martin was staying. If he was a lovestruck teenager, he would probably be kicking his feet and giggling, twirling a strand of hair.
But that feeling had to wait.
Jon had never played Russian roulette before, but sitting at the table with everyone in a stand-off against each other had to feel the same short-circuiting of the nervous system. All that was missing was the gun, which Martin’s furrowed brow seemed to think Elias was going to whip out with a ‘Huzzah, it’s really me, Jonah Magnus!’.
“Dunno about you, ‘Martin’, but Jon, you seem pretty big on ominous silences” Elias said, aimlessly tapping his nails on the table.
“Well, you seem pretty big on being an ass,” Martin retorted, ice cold and stock still in comparison. The response did change Elias’ demeanour, a shift in the chair had him focusing in Martin’s direction.
“You think I’m still Jonah Magnus.” The reply was a catty, yet smooth tone that Jon recognised all too well from his archiving days.
“Maybe I just don’t trust people who show up out of nowhere.”
“So you think Jon is dumb enough to trust a stranger.” Jon watched Martin’s eyes shift as he considered how to answer, but it wasn’t something that seemed worth it.
“Martin, I love you,” he internally cursed himself. That was no way something Martin would want to hear right now. However, he didn’t seem angry.
“But,” He continued, “You’re not going to get an answer out him like that. I’m pretty sure it is actually Elias but he’s, uh, difficult. To work with.” An arrogant bastard would be a more comfortable phrase to describe Elias Bouchard, but if Jon was going to have a roommate, he was not going to immediately piss him off.
“Gay”
Martin frowned, “I sure hope so, considering he’s my boyfriend.”
“Oh shit,” Elias smirked, “Actually? That’s wild.” Martin took a big breath in, exhaling slowly. He turned to Jon.
“I don’t think he’s Jonah. If he was, he would definitely be more tactful at least.
“I want a word, though,” He glared at Elias. “In private.”
Elias raised his hands in defence. “Sorry, new to being blind, can’t move without stumbling into everything” he said in a very bored tone. “Though the ladies do love something they can pity…” he mused. Martin’s face crinkled in disgust
“Right. Whatever. Come on, Jon.” And suddenly the man himself was ushered out of his own apartment.
“You are not doing this. Not right after the apocalypse. Not right after what you did.” It was a certainly a point statement, definitely one Jon deserved to hear.
“I don’t want to,” he muttered, “But I think I have to. He’s got nowhere else to go.”
“He could stay with me!” Martin seethed.
Jon stared at the ground. “No, he couldn’t. I’m not going to your place just to find you both dead after tearing each other to shreds.
“And don’t say that wouldn’t happen, because you know you would.” He added.
Martin rubbed his temples, as if attempting to stop an oncoming migraine. “Why are you so… ugh!” Jon couldn’t help but sigh, placing his hands over Martin’s.
“Let me make you another promise. One I won’t break. I promise… I promise that as soon as he gets his bearings he’s getting out of here. I promise that I will ask for help if I need it. I promise I won’t spend my time obsessing over helping him.”
And just for a moment it was the two of them. Nothing except them and the plea. And each second Martin went without answering, Jon could feel his pathetic little heart crease over unto itself even more.
Eventually, he sighed.
“You better not break this promise, Jonathan Sims,” Martin pulled him into a short, delicate embrace. “And I’m calling Melanie about this.”
“What? No, you don’t have to-“
“Yeah, I do. You know as well as I do she can help him the best and she is definitely not going to help if you ask.” Jon couldn’t help but side-eye Martin.
“You just want to be there when she inevitably beats him up.” He realised. Martin’s face suddenly flushed bright red.
“W-what? No! Well, it’s not the main reason- oh shut up!” He fumbled as Jon started cackling.
“No, no,” he wheezed as Martin playfully whacks his arm, “I get it. Arsehole definitely deserves it.”
They both settled down, breathing in and out.
“I’ll call Melanie when I get home. Take care, Jon.” Martin smiled as he turned away. If Jon had no sense of shame, he would admit his heart had skipped a beat.
“R-right. You too, Martin.”
And as he stood there, watching Martin walk off, he felt like he could admit to himself that the world was becoming a good place for Jonathan Sims.