The Weekend Arrangement

I Will Always Find You

The anger Jon had in Bouchard's office is fading, washed away by his excitement and anxiety and now Jon can barely focus.

There was no way he could sleep. Not before and certainly not now, though for vastly different reasons. The weighty fog of exhaustion is clearing, replaced with a hectic, uncontrolled energy; the urgency Jon feels to get back to Martin has lit his very blood on fire.

He and Martin were in the clear. Had been in the clear since the beginning; the last two weeks of misery had been wholly unnecessary- the months of fear and hiding and sneaking around had been wholly unnecessary.

He showered, found his least wrinkled clothing and tried to make himself look as presentable as possible; after two weeks of sleeplessness and sorrow, he's sure 'handsome' will be far too tall an order, but arriving at Martin's in the same bedraggled state he has been living in recently simply would not do. Martin deserved better than the scarecrow he's been for the previous fortnight. Martin deserves the best he can offer.

The tube ride seemed to take much, much longer than the twelve minutes promised by the schedule. Jon had spent that time trying to map out what he was going to say; holding firm to the hope that finding out they were safe from reprisal would let them be together, but acknowledging that Martin may be wary about resuming their relationship in the midst of his own personal obligations. Jon can only hope for the best, and he carries that hope like a talisman.

Now Jon's here, pacing in front of a battered flat door in Stockwell; anxious and overwrought and still trying to figure out exactly what he's going to say. They've said so little to each other since... that day; and Jon is petrified that something vital may have been lost between them.

He can't continue to just hover in this hallway forever though and needs to do something before Martin's neighbours call the police about the wild man in their building. Cagey, suspicious faces have already started peering around cracked open doors. Jon feels watched and judged but it won't put him off.

He knocks.

And he waits.

He knocks again, but stops himself from pounding on the door in a panic. Time seems to stretch and Jon doesn't think it's ever felt so malleable and fraught before. He hears footsteps behind the door but it does not open for him.

"Martin!" Jon calls to him, this block of flats is old and does not have peepholes, and Jon is hoping fervently that if Martin hears his voice it will be enough for him to open the door. He just needs an open door. " Martin! "

"Jon?" It's wary, Martin sounds like he's doubting what he's hearing.

"I- I'm here. I came for you."

"Why? I hurt you- why would you come for me?" Behind just a few inches of wood Martin sounds hollow; he sounds sad and empty and confused and it hurts Jon almost as much as the day in the office. If he will just open the door to him, if Jon can just hold him and tell him everything is all right; everything is finally all right.

"Martin, please let me in. Please , I need to talk with you." The door creaks open slightly and Jon can see a dubious hazel eye peek around it. It's rimmed red and watery and still so beautiful Jon feels like he might die at the immensity of it all.

"You should go, Jon." Martin sounds vacant and distant- he's so close and yet everything seems to open into a chasm between them. "I'm so, so sorry about everything ; but you can't show up at my door like this- it isn't fair. I've come to terms with this; come to terms with how the rest of my life will be. It's better this way, even the pain is gentler now. It feels terrible, but right. I deserve this for ever hurting you. I deserve to feel alone. Alone is fine- it's just quiet."