Jonathan Sims

Martin smiles, faint and tired but full of affection, as he guides John to the bedroom, their fingers threaded together until the very last moment, when John seems to let go of him only because he must. Martin sheds the bathrobe and hangs it up on its hook before turning to find John has pulled the covers back to invite him in. They are both too worn out for the word 'eager' to properly apply, but there is a certain haste to all of it, a quiet shared urgency to be close to each other, and Martin's smile grows a bit more as he climbs in and wraps his arm around John, settling snugly against him.

"Okay," he says with an air of finality. They're here now; they're together and they're safe. He is aware of an undercurrent of lingering horror, the final vestiges of it which he still needs to process, but he keeps it at bay for now. Instead he shifts a bit awkwardly until he can reach up with his free hand and brush his fingers a few times through John's hair. "Better?" he says softly.