The Weekend Arrangement

I Can't Bury My Heart With You- It Belongs to Another

Spring had swept into London wet and dismal and unseasonably cold; April showers had been a deluge leaving the world soggy and dreary. It was a fantastic piece of good fortune to leave the Institute and emerge into the first sunny day in what felt like months. The trip to the store was a pleasant diversion and a nice walk for Jon before the weekend could get started.

Now that things were settled, Fridays were the day they took care of domestic chores. One would go do the week's shopping while the other attended to the laundry and small around the house cleaning. In the interest of fairness they switched every week and thus far the arrangement had worked beautifully with little fuss.

Jon may have travelled a bit more slowly than usual, enjoying the slice of warmth and sunshine while it lasted. He had been vaguely thinking about taking Martin out for dinner tonight rather than their usual Friday night takeaway. They generally tended to stay close to home; but with the relief from the cold and rain, Jon thought a dinner out might be a nice change of pace.

Jon calls into the wider house as he drags the shopping in; sure he'd come home to hear the vacuum running or Martin playing a podcast on his phone while he dusted.

"Martin, they were out of those biscuits you like, so I had to get the store brand and they aren't as good- Martin ?"

The townhouse is suspiciously silent. Jon leaves the bags where they are and goes searching; Martin might've left for some reason, but he would definitely have at least sent a short text about why.

Jon finds him, sitting absolutely still on the study couch. He's staring straight ahead, eyes unfixed and for a second Jon isn't sure if he's even breathing. Jon's vague worry chills deeply. He had to pass right by the door to the study on his way in, but Martin was so still and silent on the sofa; Jon did not see him, and he did not seem to hear Jon as he called into the house.

"Martin? Are you all right?" Not sure at all what's happening, Jon combs through Martin's hair gently, encouraging Martin to look up at him. Martin's eyes clear a small amount as he tries to focus on Jon. He's gripping his phone so tightly Jon can see the tendons in his fingers, his knuckles gone white with the strain.

"S- she's dead Jon." There's a tremor in Martin's voice, and Jon is completely lost with what is happening.

"W-what? Martin who?"

"My mother. She passed today. I was at work making tea and collating paperwork about ghosts and she was dying in a care home room. Alone." Martin's voice breaks on the last word, and he begins to cry, chest hitching as he tries to breathe through it.

Easing onto the sofa, Jon reaches to take Martin's hands. "Oh, oh no... Come here- let me hold you."

"I haven't even tried to go see her in months. She was so distant on her birthday - at first I thought, well, silence is better than insults. I thought I'd give her some time and she'd come around- she always came around eventually. But- not now. Now... Jon, there's no more time. I've been so happy and it's been so easy to just- not go see her and now..."

Jon can feel a hot spigot of tears erupt as Martin buries his face in Jon's shoulder; he's started sobbing. Jon wraps his arms around Martin, lightly stroking his back and letting him cry.

"Oh, sweetheart, shh. I'm so sorry. I'm here. I'm here." Jon isn't at all sure what to do. He had been so very young when his own parents passed he really doesn't feel much of anything at all anymore about their deaths. Martin has- had - such a fraught relationship with his mother and Jon can only be here and let Martin tell him what he needs. "Take your time, you just take as much time as you need."