Art And Suffering

sometimes love is watching your partner put an ungodly amount of sugar in your tea and knowing you’ll drink it anyways because he’s trying

but it’s also stealing away the sugar pot when he isn’t looking in a desperate attempt to mitigate the damage

i really wasn’t expecting the amazing respons to the martin drawing i posted a week ago, it was really lovely to see that it made a lot of people happy because trying and struggling to come to terms with your body is something that’s been very prevalent throughout my life, so there was something cathartic in seeing someone who looked more like me than the ideal beauty standards be so accepted, thank you.

Making tea had always been Martin’s love language. Well, anyone who actually studied that kind of thing would likely call it “acts of service”, but tea had always held a special place in Martin’s heart. It had always comforted him - something about the warmth seeping through his body, making him feel relaxed and safe even when he was alone. The idea of giving that comfort to someone else.

He had made tea for his mother, his friends, his first colleagues, his first boyfriend… Putting on the kettle, taking two mugs from the cupboard, always knowing if and how much sugar and milk anyone wanted - to Martin, that was caring in its purest form.

It didn’t seem to be for anyone else, though. No matter how much Martin’s brain understood that his friends skipping class to hang out with him or his boyfriend always picking fresh flowers for him or the kind woman he’d worked with offering to close up so he could get home to his mom a few minutes early was their way of showing they cared about him, it still never felt as special, as intimate, as making a cup of tea.

But he never told anyone that. It was just his own, silly musings, nothing important enough to bother anyone with. He’d known his friends loved him, he knew Jon loved him and gosh, just being able to think that sentence made him feel warmer than any cup of tea. There had never really been a reason to tell anyone, and that may be why Martin was so surprised when he walked into the small but neat kitchen in the safehouse and saw Jon quickly turn his back to something on the counter with a startled expression.

“Martin! I, uh, I thought you were asleep,” Jon said, clearly trying to hide whatever was behind him.

“I was.” Martin yawned. “But then you weren’t there anymore and I got cold.”

“My apologies.” The mild shock on Jon’s face seemed to melt away into a fond, little smile, and he automatically stood up on tiptoes when Martin walked up to him, took his face in his hands and kissed him gently. A quiet little sigh escaped Jon when they parted, so content it made Martin’s heart ache with happiness and he just had to kiss him again, soft and slow, with all the time and happiness they’d never had before.

“What is it you’re doing?” Martin asked when they parted.

“Oh, uhm, nothing I just, uhm…”

“Jon,” Martin interrupted him with laughter in his voice.

“I just - I just wanted to make a cup of tea for you, since you’re always… I mean, you’ve always made tea for me, even back when I was so horrible to you, and I just - it seemed important to you.”

“Jon…” Martin could literally feel his heart melt into his voice. “You don’t… You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

“God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” A quick peck on the lips. “Now, let me get back to work?”

Martin hummed his approval, but couldn’t resist slipping his arms around his boyfriend, hands coming to rest under the t-shirt he’d stolen from Martin that was so ridiculously oversized on him it kept slipping off his shoulder. Jon kept his composure, boiling the water, letting the bag steep just a bit too long, getting the sugar, while Martin nuzzled against his hair and occasionally left small kisses on his neck or cheek. Jon put a teaspoon of sugar in the cup - perfect. But then he added another one. And another.

Is he gonna keep going? Sure looks like it. Dear goodness, that is a lot of sugar. Should I say something? Martin glanced at Jon’s adorably concentrated face, his tongue just visible between his lips. No, he’s doing his best.

“Here you go,” Jon said, handing Martin the cup when he was done stirring the sugar in.

From: @snakeyarts

From: @thethunderthedragonfruit

Prompt: Hollow experiences phantom limb syndrome 

is more angst time