#also: holy shit y'all i wrote a tma fic not from jon's pov for once woahhh

[fridayyy-13th]

💛 jmart? 👀

💛 reunion kiss / relief

coming right up!! it uh, got a bit long, i don't think nearly 900 words counts as a "snippet"...but i had a little idea and ran with it lol.

[ask game]

Martin woke up.

He was…not expecting to do that. Not when just moments ago the Panopticon had been crumbling around them, debris raining down as he’d clutched Jon’s dying body close, trying to shield him from further harm as he awaited his own end. “Somewhere else” had been Jon’s final, clumsy attempt at comfort, yeah; it hadn’t been anything serious. A nonsensical, end-of-the-rainbow wish in a universe that didn’t get those sorts of happy endings.

And yet.

He lay sprawled across the ground, now, in a place he did not know and did not care to understand. Jon was gone from his arms, and that was all that mattered.

The love of his life was dead by his hand. That mattered, too.

Maybe his body was nearby, so Martin would at least have something to bury.

Every part of his body protested as he rolled himself over, pushing up to hands and knees. There. Blurry through his fractured lenses, a Jon-shaped heap lay just a meter away.

No, wait. Not just lay. It—Jon’s body—Jon was shaking. Curled up in a fetal position, back to Martin, sobbing quietly.

Alive.

Crossing the distance between them, Martin hardly noticed the several dozen tapes scattered across the rough carpet, the would-be-familiar stacks full of unsorted files on either side. He was far too focused on the man before him.

“Jon,” he managed, afraid of what he would see if Jon turned to him. The knife, still buried to the hilt in his love’s chest? His face twisted in rage at the sight of the man who put it there? The final sliver of light fading from his eyes?

Jon froze. Martin heard his breath catch. He turned slowly, so slowly, like he was working through the same fears as Martin, until he faced him fully and their eyes met. His clothes were soaked with blood, but his eyes were bright and alert—wide as saucers in shock, before his expression crumpled once more. “Martin,” he sobbed, reaching for him.

Something in Martin’s own chest dislodged as he reached back, and soon they were both crying in earnest. He pulled Jon up to him, marveling at each shuddering breath, pushing aside the ragged tear in his shirt to inspect the bloody skin underneath.

A single, thin scar lay over Jon’s heart, looking as though he’d had it for years. Martin’s stomach churned—I did that. Oh God, I gave him that.

Jon’s hands cupped his jaw, tilting his head up and away from the mark. “Don’t,” he whispered, “I asked you to. ‘S okay.”

It’s not, Martin wanted to scream, I killed you. You should hate me. I want you to hate me. His throat was too choked to let the words out, though, and he instead sobbed harder. Damn you. I love you. Why did you go against the plan? Don’t ever do that again. Leave before I hurt you even more. Stay with me, please, please.

Jon, wonderful Jon, simply cried with him, a solid weight in his lap that gently thumbed away his tears until finally, they began to subside. His thoughts were still roiling through his chest, but—Jon was here. He was alive. The rest could all come later.

Jon tipped their foreheads together. Martin leaned into the touch with a sniff.

“I love you,” Jon croaked.

Martin let out one last sob, nodding fervently. Me too. I love you too.

Jon seemed to understand.

He still asked, before kissing him. A hesitant “May I?” that reminded Martin of their first days in the safehouse, of that same shy question before Jon kissed him for the first time.

“Please,” Martin said, and Jon’s dry, gentle lips met his own. He tasted of salt, ash, and blood, and all the things Martin was certain he’d never get again. Martin kissed back like Jon might shatter, gripping his jacket like he might disappear, and time slipped away as he embraced the man he thought he’d lost for good.

His world was nothing more than this kiss.

(Neither noticed the twin footfalls passing. An amicable conversation stuttered with a “Hold on, Martin, did you see—?" A sheaf of papers fluttering loose-leaf to the ground.)

Parting for need of air, Martin took in the gorgeous sight of Jon’s private little smile, like they’d just shared a secret, tempered though it was with the burden of how they’d hurt each other, of what they’d done.

Martin didn’t care about that right now. Now, he simply wound his arms around Jon’s shoulders and smiled in turn. “I love you, Jon,” he said softly.

Jon’s smile caught, and his expression shifted—Martin thought for a moment he’d said something wrong, but Jon simply turned his head, looking at something down the way. What had caught his eye, Martin wondered, turning as well to look at…oh.

Two figures stood at the end of the shelves, staring back at them in shock. One was a tall, bespectacled woman with curly hair tied back into a high bun.

The other, blushing a furious shade of red, was a three-years-younger copy of himself. Whatever papers he’d been holding in his slack hands now lay scattered across the floor.

Oh, Martin thought distantly, finally taking in his surroundings. I know where we are.