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Upton House is quiet in the early morning. There’s no birdsong when Jon slowly comes to consciousness, nor the constant patter of rainfall that he’d come to expect back in Scotland, yet there’s a peace to it that he had, until very recently, all but lost. The room is lit only by a few lamps, dim but still bright enough on Jon’s sleep-heavy eyes to send him curling back into Martin with a wince. He’s laying on Martin’s chest, his head pressed against his stomach, and when Jon moves he feels warm arms come up to wrap around him. They don’t speak. They don’t need to, so early in the day, when they’re still taking in every moment of this brief respite. It’s been a day now since they arrived. To Jon, it feels more like an eternity.
He tilts his head upwards, meeting Martin’s gaze with a small smile. Martin is beautiful in this light. His curls are mussed, and there’s a sleepiness in his eyes that makes Jon want nothing more than to press a kiss to his temple, if only he could rouse himself to move.
When Jon breaks the silence, his voice is raw with sleep.
“Marry me.”
Martin freezes. For just a second, he is completely still, and then his eyes widen. “I- What?”
Jon’s heart is pounding, but he manages to smile at Martin, a single eyebrow raised. “You heard what I said.”
“Jon, that’s not the kind of thing you joke about!”
At this, Jon pushes himself up so he is leaning against the back of the bed, on Martin’s level. He turns slightly until he’s facing Martin, and they make eye contact. He looks… scared. Reaching across, Jon takes his hand, and squeezes it.
“Martin, I am perfectly serious,” says Jon softly. “If you want to, there is nothing I would like more than to be able to marry you.”
“You’re… But… Why?”
Jon’s brows furrow in concern. He brings a hand to Martin’s cheek and rests it there, stroking his thumb up and down.
Marry me.
He’d said those two words impulsively, in a haze of sleep and long-awaited relaxation and love, but he’s been considering this for longer than he can remember. Perhaps even back in the cabin, before everything went wrong, he’d been wondering whether one day he would swear to spend the rest of his life with Martin. Jon has never thought he’d make it out of the apocalypse alive, let alone have the chance to turn his impossible hope into reality. Martin’s wide-eyed stare alone, however, is enough to push Jon to continue.
“Because…”
Jon pauses, taking a second to gather his racing thoughts into coherence. He’d never believed enough in this possibility to plan for something like this, but talking about his feelings for Martin comes easier than breathing.
“Because you are the best man - no, the best person - I’ve ever had the honour of meeting. You’ve - You’ve been there for me time and time again, even when I did nothing to deserve it.” A pause. “You’re kind and stubborn and selfless, and God, you make the best tea I’ve ever tasted. I feel no doubt in my mind that it would be the greatest honour of my life to know I could one day call you my husband.”
“Jon, are you… is this…?”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.” Jon has far too little room in the bed to go on one knee, but he looks upwards at Martin and, despite the rush of blood in his ears, he knows that this is enough. “Martin K. Blackwood, will you marry me?”
“You know my middle name’s fake-”
“Martin-”
“Yes!” exclaims Martin, half in joy and half in exasperation. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Jon!” He pulls Jon to his chest in a tight embrace, and as he does so, his tone softens. “Thank you for saying all that. It’s so - I mean, I know it’s a proposal and all but… no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” murmurs Jon against his shoulder, automatic yet no less meaningful.
“I didn’t think you actually wanted to marry me, you know. That’s why I told you not to joke, ‘cause it was so sudden and unexpected and I genuinely couldn’t process that you’d want to. But you do, and I want to be your husband too, so much, when all of this is over.”
Jon tilts his head upwards to press a slow, gentle kiss to Martin’s forehead. “Of course I do. And I am very, very glad that you feel the same way.”
For a long while, they melt into each other, first kissing and then simply resting their foreheads together. Jon closes his eyes, breathing in deeply in the hope of relishing this rare, uninterrupted moment. Eventually, they fall back onto the mattress, with Jon pressed against Martin’s side, and simply lie there. Their silences have always been comfortable, but there’s a great kind of peace now, a deep understanding between them.
Jon touches Martin’s hand to get his attention. He turns his head and sees that Jon is looking at him with a curious expression on his face.
“What would you want the wedding to be like? Assuming the apocalypse has been stopped, I mean.”
Martin pauses for a long moment. “Honestly, I don’t know. When I was a kid, I never thought I’d get married, ‘cause I didn’t care about any of the girls my mum introduced me to at Church. As I got older, I realised I like boys, and then I decided I just wouldn’t date anyone, and I could ignore it and it would just… go away, I guess. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to marry a boy, anyway, even if I wanted to.”
Jon shifts closer to Martin. “That sounds like it was incredibly hard. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it was pretty…” Martin sighs. “It was rough. What about you, though, Jon? What would you want?”
“I think I’m in a similar position to you, to be honest, although for different reasons. My grandmother never tried to push me towards anyone, and for all my reading, romance was not a genre I was ever interested in. I’d always been very separated from my peers, so when I was a teen and they became obsessed with sex and I didn’t, I decided it was simply another way I was different. I assumed for a long time that it meant romance was something I also wasn’t interested in. I might have considered it briefly when I was with Georgie, but we were both so young, so we didn’t want to make long-term commitments, and then we broke up. The break-up was quite painful. After that, I decided that romance was completely off the cards.”
A slight smile makes its way into the corners of Martin’s mouth. “Until me.”
Jon’s smile mirrors Martin’s. “Yes. Until you.”
“Look, I’m sorry for bringing the mood down. You wanted to talk about the wedding, you literally just proposed, and I started going on about my really sad childhood.”
“No, it’s alright, Martin.” Jon squeezes Martin’s hand again. “I swear. This would have come up eventually. It’s good to talk about it now.”
“Yeah.” Martin takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right, it would. Do you wanna talk about the actual stuff for the wedding, then? Think about it properly?”
“I can’t imagine we’re going to have another chance any time soon.”
Martin pulls Jon closer to him, and he rests his head on Martin’s lap, staring up at the low Tudor ceiling. As he talks, Martin begins to run a hand through his hair. The casual intimacy was one of the first things Martin discovered that Jon loved when they arrived in Scotland, and by now, with Jon pillowed against him, it’s almost second nature.
“I certainly wouldn’t want a large event. The thought of socialising with all those people I barely know, for hours on end, is…” Jon makes a disguised noise. “I attended enough massive bar-and-bat mitzvahs for a lifetime when I was a child, and I spent the majority of those hiding in a corner with a book.”
“Me too. I mean, I don’t have your experience with big Jewish events, but a wedding like that sounds like a nightmare. I think I’d be happy to get married on our own, just the two of us.”
Jon hums in thought. “That… sounds excellent, actually. To be honest, at this point, it would be hard to name a friend who doesn’t somewhat hate me.” Martin glares at him. “But, more than that, getting married to you with just us present sounds perfect. Other people have only ever caused problems.”
At that, Martin lets out a small laugh. “They really have.”
Jon snuggles into Martin, thoughts of this future wedding flying through his head. Then, he stops. Slowly, he raises his wide eyes to Martin and sees him meet them, equally wide. Jon’s heart pounds with anticipation and when he speaks, the words come out at the exact same time as Martin’s.
“Would you like to get-”
“Do you think we could-”
A silence.
“You go first-”
“No, you go-”
Finally, Jon asks; “Would you like to get married here? Right now?”
“Yes!” A wide smile has broken out across Martin’s face, and he impulsively kisses Jon, hard and fast. A giggle of excitement escapes from his mouth. “Of course I would, love, but how would we-”
Jon has already gotten up and is pacing the room, a look of intense concentration on his face. Martin watches, smiling uncontrollably, as the man he loves, his fiance, plans this impulsive wedding with a familiar fervent dedication. When he looks up and begins to talk, gesturing wildly, Martin can see that he’s begun to grin.
“The wedding would not be legally binding, considering we don’t have any witnesses, and I highly doubt either Annabelle or Salaesa are trained Rabbis. However, I don’t think any legal procedure during the apocalypse would have much significance outside of it, and furthermore, I believe that we both care far more about being married in our own eyes than any specific legal or religious technicalities.”
“Yeah.” says Martin. “A Rabbi, though?”
Jon turns to Martin. “Would you prefer it to be a Christian wedding?”
“No! I just… didn’t think you were religious at all, honestly. You barely ever talk about being Jewish, and I know you don’t follow the practises. I kind of just assumed. Sorry, Jon.”
“It’s alright. To be fair, you’re mostly correct. I never believed in the religious aspects, even before the Magnus Institute, and I struggled to connect with the community as a child. As an adult, I’ve completely abandoned following the practises, beyond staying Kosher. But it’s my culture, the way I’ve always felt closest to my parents, and I’d never completely abandon it.” Jon pauses. “You wouldn’t want anything Catholic?”
“Catholicism was always my mum’s thing. She forced me to participate, and I’m pretty sure those days were some of the worst of my entire childhood. I wouldn’t go back if someone paid me.”
“No Catholicism, then.”
Martin laughs dryly. “Definitely not. Though, I did always like the idea of vows. You know, telling someone how much you love them just before you get married, swearing that you’ll always treat them right. It sounds so romantic. I know Jewish people don’t do them, but…”
Jon has made his way back to the bed, and now he takes both of Martin’s hands in his, smiling. “Martin, this wedding is already as unconventional as it could possibly be. I’d prefer not to, but if you want to say vows, then you can say vows.”
His eyes watering ever so slightly at Jon’s kindness, Martin leans forward and kisses him. This time, it’s slow and tender, and they end up holding each other.
“I love you, Jon.”
“I love you too.”
There’s a long, peaceful silence, which is broken by Martin exclaiming “Rings! We don’t have any rings!”
“Salesa wears plenty of-”
“I am not getting married with Mikaele Salesa’s horrifically tacky rings, Jon.”
“Alright, alright,” mutters Jon, “I was only suggesting.”
“And you suggested wrong. Wait, hold on-“
Without warning, Martin throws the duvet from the bed and jumps out, heading to the other side of the room. Jon lets out a groan at the sudden loss of warmth, and Martin - in Jon’s opinion, extremely unfairly - laughs. He leans down to open his backpack, one of the two they packed before leaving the safehouse, and begins to rummage through it. Jon and Martin barely open it nowadays, considering the limited need for food or medical supplies, but carry it with them regardless.
“Don’t tell me you packed rings.”
Martin continues to determinedly sort through the contents of the bag, ignoring Jon’s sarcasm. “Not rings, but I’m pretty sure I…” He grins, leans into the backpack and pulls a handful of objects from the bottom. “A-ha!”
His hand raised triumphantly, Martin clutches the supposed alternative rings, and Jon leans forward to get a closer look. He almost laughs when he realises what they are. Martin is holding half a dozen hair bands, plain ones that he’d packed for Jon’s long hair before they realised the apocalyptic wind pulled them off within seconds. It’s been so long since Jon’s considered hair-care that he’d forgotten they were even in there.
He raises an eyebrow. “Hair bands? Really?”
“Look,” says Martin, “Do you have any better ideas?”
Jon pauses for a moment, and then a smirk spreads across his face. “... Ring pops?”
“Jon!” exclaims Martin, but he’s in peals of laughter. Soon, Jon is laughing too, and they sit there, Jon on the bed and Martin crouched in the corner, laughing harder than they have since… since Scotland, probably. As he looks at Martin, with his hair still unbrushed and cheeks flushed with laughter, struggling to contain his giggles, Jon’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. He loves this man more than anything, and in just a few minutes, he is going to marry him.
“Alright. Let’s get married, then.”
Martin looks up at Jon. His face is far more serious than it was a second ago. “Are we actually doing this?”
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No! Never, Jon, I just… didn’t this would ever happen, you know? Especially like this.”
“Yes, an apocalypse can be rather hard to predict.” Jon meets Martin’s eyes and his expression softens. “In all seriousness, we will only go ahead with this if you’re alright with it, Martin, and I promise I won’t be upset if you’re not.”
Slowly, Martin gets up from the floor and walks over to Jon, who is now perched on the edge of the bed. He joins him on the bed, kissing him lightly, and holds out his hands. In his palms are two hair bands, one black and one a dark grey. Martin holds them towards Jon expectantly.
“Of course I want to marry you, Jon. This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.” Martin pushes his hands towards Jon. “Now, pick a ring.”
Jon quietly laughs, the absurdity of the situation suddenly hitting him. “Okay.” He takes the grey hair band from Martin and finds himself overcome by another bout of laughter. “Yes, alright. This- this one is fine.”
Within seconds, Martin is laughing too. The sound echoes around the room, only causing them to laugh harder, and they collapse beside each other on the bed. Jon and Martin lie face to face, pressed together and feeling the vibrations from their inexplicable laughter. Jon doesn’t know at which point the laughter begins to sound more like quiet sobs, but soon they are lying in silence, overwhelmed by pure joy.
Martin places his hand against Jon’s cheek, wrapping his other arm around him and pulling him closer. He kisses his forehead and says “Should we do it now, love?”
“Yes.” Jon’s tone is softer than it has ever been. “Let’s do it.”
They shift slightly so they’re upright and leaning against the headboard, Jon still pressed tightly into Martin’s side. With any other person, it would be a wildly uncomfortable squeeze, but Jon feels happier here, beside Martin, than anywhere else.
“I think you should perform the ceremony.” says Martin. “I haven’t been to a wedding for years.”
“Alright. I, er, don’t remember much of Christian or Jewish weddings either, to be honest, but I’ll do my best to improvise. I think we’ve safely abandoned both religion and legality by this point.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Jon turns so he’s facing Martin fully, taking both of his hands in his own. Martin is wearing an old knitted jumper, purple with a faded flower design, that Jon has stolen on more than one occasion. His hair is hopelessly ruffled but still manages to appear charming, bringing to mind the ‘lo-fi aesthetic’ that Martin seems to love so much. The meagre light from the lamps reflects the tears glimmering in Martin’s eyes, making them shine. He is indescribably beautiful. He is beautiful, and Jon is going to be his husband.
“Jon?”
Jon takes a deep breath, not yet finished taking in the man that he is marrying. He clears his throat. “Dearly beloved. That’s us, I suppose.” Martin lets out a small laugh. “We are here to celebrate the union of… us. Two people who wish to spend the rest of our lives with each other.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you, Martin Blackwood, take me, Jonathan Sims, to be your wedded husband? In sickness and for health, for richer and for poorer, for as long as we shall live, till death do us part?”
Martin smiles at Jon, gently squeezing his hand. “I do.”
“Do I, Jonathan Sims, take Martin Blackwood to be my wedded husband in sickness and health and all else?” Jon pauses for a moment before answering his own question. “I do.”
Jon unfurls his hand to reveal the grey hair band clutched in it, and he holds it out to Martin.
“Martin, take this ring as a symbol of… love, or something along those lines, most likely. This is a wedding.”
Martin takes the hair band from Jon’s palm and stares at it, as if unsure what to do. After a moment, Jon leans forward and takes hold of it. Jon brings it to Martin’s ring finger, his fingers touching Martin’s, and begins to carefully wrap the band around it, not so tight for it to cut off blood flow but still secure.
“Now, I will take a ring from you to represent the same.”
Martin picks up the black hair band and gently wraps it around the matching finger on Jon’s hand. Jon doesn’t miss how afterwards, instead of letting go of Jon’s hand, he begins to stroke his thumb up and down Jon’s knuckles. The touch grounds Jon enough for him to continue.
“With these rings, I declare us wed.”
For a second, there is silence as Jon and Martin take in the moment. Then, Martin kisses Jon, throwing his arms around his shoulders, and they’re holding each other, laughing and crying. Jon buries his head in the crook of Martin’s neck and clings tight. When he looks up, Martin kisses him again, hard and fast, twin grins on their faces.
“I love you!” declares Martin. Every time he says it, he presses another kiss into Jon’s hair. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!”
Jon chuckles in amusement, his voice muffled as his face is pressed entirely into Martin’s jumper. “I love you too, Martin. Would you like to say your vows?”
“Oh! Yeah, I- I completely forgot, honestly. Hold on…”
Martin appears to take a second to collect his thoughts, glancing around the room.
“Okay. So, if I’d had time to prepare this, it would probably be some- some poetic ode to my love or something. Which sounds really great! But just talking about my feelings for you on the spot? I can do that too. I can always do it, because I’m always thinking about you Jon, and not just because we’re stuck in the apocalypse together. You’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re so smart, and I love talking to you, even when I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, and you’re so kind and caring too. The last few years? Well, they’ve been shit, honestly, but I’m still glad that they led me to you. Not many people can say they were literally saved by their partner, and you’ve done that for me so many times, not just in the Lonely but before and after and so many times… Jon, there’s literally no one I’d rather spend the apocalypse and the rest of my life with.”
“Martin…” Jon gazes up at Martin and kisses him slowly. “You’re incredible. Thank you.”
Martin doesn’t respond, simply returning the kiss and pulling Jon closer to him. Jon lowers his head to rest it on Martin’s shoulder.
“My husband…” says Jon, “Yes, I like the sound of that a lot.”
***
Jon forgets Upton House. It happens a few minutes after they leave, and by the time they’ve been walking for a few hours, his memories are entirely blank. It hurts, deeply, to know that he can’t remember the only respite they’ve been given. They were happy, he knows they were happy (with a lower-case k) because Martin has told him so. The Eye won’t even grant him the privilege of being able to remember that happiness.
They’re walking through a long, desolate stretch of nothingness before a Stranger domain when Jon removes his hand from his pocket to take Martin’s, and notices a strange pressure against one of his fingers. He lifts it to get a closer look, and sees there is a hair band wrapped around it.
“Martin,” asks Jon, a bemused smile on his face, “Why is there a hair band on my finger?”
Martin does not laugh. Instead, his face abruptly falls. He stares at Jon, his expression so tight and pained that he almost seems to be physically hurting. Jon grabs his boyfriend’s hand in the hope of providing comfort, but it seems to do little to ease Martin’s distress.
“Martin, are you alright? What happened?”
Martin doesn’t respond. Jon is greatly concerned now, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong, but all he can remember doing is mentioning the damn hair band. It’s as Jon thinks this that he notices a strange texture on Martin’s hand. He looks down and sees a grey hair band wrapped around Martin’s second finger, identical to the black one on Jon’s.
It is the Eye which supplies the Knowledge that both bands are on Jon and Martin’s ring fingers.
The realisation hits Jon within seconds. Sucking in a sharp breath, he stares up and meets Martin’s eyes, his own wide in mute horror.
Jon’s voice shakes. “Martin, are you… did we…?”
“Yeah,” says Martin. He speaks quietly, almost reverentially. “Yeah, we did.”
“My God…” breathes Jon. “Martin, I am so sorry. God, we got- we- and I don’t remember… that must hurt so badly, I can’t even imagine how it-”
Jon finds himself cut off by warm, strong arms wrapping around him. He’s pulled to Martin’s chest and relaxes against him, breathing deeply, his face tucked into Martin’s neck. After a few minutes, Martin’s hand comes up and begins to slowly run through his hair.
“Woah, hey, hey,” murmurs Martin, “It’s okay, love. It’s not your fault. I’m okay.”
“No, it’s not! And you’re clearly not okay either! We got married, and I can’t remember! That does not even remotely come close to the realm of ‘okay.’”
“Jon.” Martin pulls away from Jon slightly, putting his hands on his shoulders so they’re facing each other. “Okay, yeah, maybe I’m not okay. But that doesn’t mean you can go blaming yourself. It’s the bloody Eye that decides what you can remember. The Eye made sure that you can’t even remember - ” Martin’s voice falters, “-your own fucking wedding.”
A single tear slides down Martin’s cheek, and Jon brings a hand to his face to gently wipe it away. “Oh, Martin…”
Jon and Martin fold into each other’s arms. They stand there for a long time, holding each other close, both stewing in the grief of lost memories. If Martin feels wetness in the part of his jumper where Jon’s face is pressed, he doesn’t mention it. There’s an unspoken comfort in the other’s touch. It’s not okay, it’s the furthest thing from okay, but they know they have each other. For now, that is enough.
“I hate not being able to remember,” says Jon. Martin pulls his arms tighter around him in a show of wordless comfort. “I wish I could, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. You still have those memories. You’re still my husband.” A small, shaky smile appears on Jon’s face. “My husband… Yes, I like the sound of that a lot.”
Martin sucks in a breath. Jon looks up to see his face has fallen again.
“Martin?”
“It’s fine, Jon. It’s just… that’s exactly what you said before. After we got married.”
“...Fuck.”
It’s a while before they move again. When they do, they break apart slowly, keeping a tight grip on each other’s hands, and resume their trek in silence. It’s a long time later when Jon breaks the silence by turning to Martin and saying;
“Do you think you could tell me about it?”
Martin takes a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” A pause. “It was really early in the morning, and we were lying in bed, and you kind of just turned to me...”
The two men make their way through the apocalyptic wasteland, hands intertwined, and Jon knows that whatever happens, he will have his husband by his side.