Progression // for John

[loficharm]

August 2nd, 2020

It's ironic, given how much Martin has thought about this — for about two months now, he's been anticipating this date, the date of their one-year anniversary arriving in Darrow — that it only occurs to him at day's end, as he finishes cleaning up after dinner. He glances up, no particular reason, no object in mind — just idly noting John across the room — and his eyes brush over the calendar hung on the fridge, and the sudden awareness hits him like a bus.

"Oh," he blurts, frozen in the act of drying his hands, his eyes fixed on the calendar, on the date. He eventually moves again, slowly, sluggish and awkward, looking back to John. "It's... it's August 2nd. It's been a year."

He's not sure what else to say. They haven't actually talked about it. He suspects John had forgotten just as he had, because it hadn't felt momentous; just another quiet Sunday. But now it's here and he almost bloody missed it, he has no idea how to feel. The question of how to feel had been one he turned over and over in the months leading up to it, never actually answered, as though the answer would be any clearer the day of.

Or perhaps it's something else; perhaps he suspects he knows exactly how he feels, and he isn't sure how to feel about that.

"I, erm..." He finally sets the towel back and stands there a moment, his hands hanging at his sides. "I could do with a lie-down."

It isn't an unusual request for him. Sometimes, when he feels overwhelmed and needs to get his thoughts in order, he retreats to the bedroom, as though lying down makes it easier to process difficult things. It isn't just the position, of course — it's the safety and security implied by the bed, and it's having John beside him.

He starts toward the bedroom, expecting John to follow, not entirely sure what his own face is doing. He isn't distressed, really; there's no sign of anxiety or upset. It's more of a premonition, that this conversation, a conversation he's put off for a very long time now, is going to be... not bad, but, well. A lot.

Comments

[statement_ends]

John lets Martin draw his hands away from his own face, and he grasps back at him instinctively, curling their fingers together. "You could..." John starts, casting about for options with far less mental finesse than usual, before landing on: "you could call in sick."

It's absurd. He knows it's absurd, and probably more childish than just going into the office, taking their lumps, and getting on with things. He also knows it isn't a permanent solution; worrying their coworkers with a lengthy enough convalescence to completely hide the mark would just create new problems.

But one day would buy them time to sober up and think of something better. "And then," he hazards, "we'd have time t-... to get concealer, or something. Could cover it up, right?"

[loficharm]

Martin lights up, briefly, at what seems like a solidly good idea, until he realizes it presents many problems of its own, chief among them being this is ridiculous. He's fairly certain of that; it's just they're both too bloody drunk to sort it out sensibly.

"I—I could," he says, sounding a bit dubious. "Would that be stupid? I'm pretty sure that would be stupid. W—we're adults, we can..."

What? What do adults do when they give each other... hickeys? Why doesn't he know?

He pitches forward with a huff, his head landing on John's shoulder. "But I like it," he whines, as though the biggest issue of all is how unfair it all is.

[statement_ends]

When Martin slumps against him, John automatically curls his arms around him, one hand settling in his hair without a thought. He still feels responsible for all this, though there's something faintly bolstering about Martin's insistence that they're adults. That's true, isn't it? There might be something to that.

"M-maybe... maybe it wouldn't even be a—a thing," he hazards after a few moments. He doesn't sound entirely confident — it's hard to imagine both Kat and Eliot just politely withholding all commentary, though he can at least imagine Daisy limiting herself to a pointed (but blessedly silent) facial expression — but it's not impossible, right? "We just... walk in like everything's normal, and..." what, make it normal through sheer force of will?

[loficharm]

Martin huffs softly, moderately comforted by John's arms around him and the hand in his hair. And John's attempts at reason are a little helpful, at least. He's fairly certain they are both being a bit ridiculous, even though it's hard not to feel like this is absolutely the end of the world.

"Maybe," he ventures, and shifts a bit in John's arms. This has all been quite the proverbial cold shower, but he still hasn't come down entirely, and it's left him feeling a bit overheated and a bit awkward. "Maybe if we—we could go in separately." He's not even sure why that makes sense, except some vague idea about not looking too couple-y and proud of themselves. "And I'll just... stay in my office." He's pretty sure he can come up with plenty of reasons for that, at least.

[statement_ends]

There is some initial appeal in the idea of arriving separately, but it also feels a bit cowardly, at least for John's part. Setting aside the suspicion that would arise if they showed up separately for the first time in months, it would mean leaving Martin to fend off any obnoxious commentary all on his own.

"'M not—I don't want to abandon you," John objects, leaning back so he can frown at him. "Wouldn't be fair." He almost suggests that he could just walk on Martin's bruised side and perhaps block it from view, but that feels a little absurd, not to mention unlikely to actually work.

Regardless, the idea of holing up in their respective offices seems... sound. For Martin, especially. "I could bring you tea," he allows, smiling a little in spite of himself.

[loficharm]

Martin almost objects — it wouldn't be abandonment, not really — but he gives up when it seems like too much trouble over a silly suggestion. It's not like they'd draw less attention coming in separately; probably even more.

Then John makes the rather sweet offer of bringing him tea, and he's so lovely about it that Martin almost forgets the rest of his anxiety; all worth it for this.

"You could," he agrees with a warm, tentative smile. "That'd be nice."

It's not so unreasonable to imagine he could manage the whole day in his office. The perhaps larger issue is that this bruise will linger for much longer than just one day, and it's bound to be discovered eventually. He supposes they really ought to just make peace with the mortification now and prepare to get through it.

He sighs and leans back against John. "If either of them say anything I'll... I'll give them such a look." The evidence may be on him, but it's John who made it, and in some ways he feels even more protective of John's privacy than his own on this point. "They'll be the embarrassed ones when I'm through with them."

He knows he's nearly speaking complete nonsense, but he doesn't care. He lets out a decisive little grunt and burrows in against John's shoulder. As his panic over this situation starts to die down, he only becomes more focused on how he still sort of... wants things, but he's not certain John's in any mood to get back to it.

"And next time," he ventures, a bit sheepish, "you can... do it some place where no one can see."

[statement_ends]

"I'm sure you will," John says, his smile widening as he imagines several potential looks Martin might employ. He'll probably need to: the mortification might be evenly split between them, but John suspects he's already made himself unapproachable enough, in this regard, that the bulk of the ribbing will be directed at Martin, not him. He doesn't like the idea of such a disparity (at least not on principle), but, well... if worst comes, maybe a suitably severe intervention on his part will put a stop to it.

"And if that's not enough, perhaps I'll just... have a few words with them." John might endeavor not to be a joyless prick anymore, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten how to pass as one. He could probably drain all the fun out of teasing them if he really wanted to. Might take some thinking. He can mentally workshop it in the morning, when he's less bloody drunk.

At the moment, he's more interested in trying to salvage the evening. There's no denying that his ill-timed observation put a damper on things, and it would be easy to just call it a wash. But he doesn't want them both to just... shuffle off to bed in defeat, like a pair of convicts with nothing to do but await their sentencing. And the feeling is only strengthened by Martin's sheepish reference to a 'next time.' Maybe he just doesn't want to push, now that the mood has been so thoroughly compromised, but it all feels a little too reminiscent of the sort of tip-toeing John thought they were through with.

So he hums softly, as if considering Martin's proposition, his fingers gently carding through his hair. "Maybe," he ventures, his tone as guileless as he can make it while still pitched low enough to almost be a purr, "we could both get into bed, and you could... show me what you had in mind."