#nonbinary jon

With a laugh, Martin replied, “As if any of your skirts would fit me anyway.”

“I have some that really stretch.  And if you like the feel of them, we can always go get you some more that fit you better.”

Martin hesitated, still holding Jon’s hands in his own and eying the way Jon looked so comfortable in a skirt.  Part of him was jealous of Jon’s relationship to gender, how Jon was able to play with it and mold it as he chose; Martin had been so scared for so long to step outside of the societally mandated box he’d chosen, but now he felt a longing to tear down those walls.  Or at least open a window for a while.

“If you don’t mind… yeah, I think I would like to try some on.”

Jon smiled, gave Martin’s hands a quick squeeze, and then led Martin into the bedroom where he dug through the dresser and pulled out a few skirts with stretchy waistbands that would accommodate most any size.

“Let me know how they fit, how they feel.  And if it’s no good, no harm done, right?”  Jon offered an encouraging smile as he lingered in the door to the bedroom, then he shut the door to leave Martin alone.

Martin ran his fingers over the fabric for a brief moment, then decided to get on with it before he changed his mind.  He went for the skirt with the sparkles.  He remembered when he saw Jon wear it before, and how he literally started to shine when the light hit just right.

With his fingers on the door handle, Martin took a deep breath, and then emerged.

“What do you think?”

Jon’s hands flew up to his mouth and his eyes opened wide.

“That bad, huh?”  He knew this was a stupid idea, he should have just-

“You look lovely.”  Jon’s voice was so soft and tender that Martin couldn’t help but believe it.

“You think so?”

“I do.  How does it feel?”

Martin swooshed the fabric a little and smiled at his reflection in the mirror off to the side of the room.  “It feels good.  Like, I don’t think I’m going to be wearing skirts every day, and probably not outside, at least not for a while, but right here, right now?  I like it.”

“I’m really glad.”  Jon stepped over to Martin and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, holding onto his arms and beaming.

“Thank you for letting me try this on,” Martin said.  “I don’t think I ever would have been brave enough otherwise.”

“You’re welcome.  And thank you for trusting me and letting me see you like this.”

Martin nodded.  Then, he started to play with the fabric again and swung it back and forth around him.  “How do you get anything done wearing these?  I could just twirl and swish around for hours.”

“What do you think I do in my office all day?”  Jon teased, and they both laughed.

“Oh, look out, love—” Martin warns softly from the other side of the bed, reaching over to point at a spot in his knitting. “You’ve slipped a stitch, I think.”

He hadn’t realized Martin had been paying him any mind, so engrossed was he in his new book—eyes hungrily flitting over the pages in a way Jon finds so endearing, happy to see him enjoy anything so very much. Though, in hindsight, of course Martin would be keeping an eye on him. Jon is new to knitting after all, only just starting his first real project.

Well. Restarting, that is. For the fourth time.

In reality, Jon knows he had not really been paying his stitches any mind, rather focusing on looking for something to do with his hands, shaking as they were, willing to try anything to calm his racing heartbeat. It hadn’t worked—of course it hadn’t, and now he’s slipped a stitch and ruined everything once again. Without a sound, he begins to slip the rest of the stitches off the needles, starting to pull at the leading string to tear the rest of it to pieces once again—

Before warm, steady hands come to cover his own.

“Hey, hey,” Martin begins, eyebrows creasing together at once as he leans closer to Jon in worry. “No need for that, I can fix it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon spits, unable to control the panicked thrumming of his chest, letting it spill over into his words no matter how hard he tries to stop it. “It’s ruined again, I can’t—”

“Woah, easy, there.”

And now Martin is leaning over him properly, carefully plying Jon’s fingers from the yarn, threading his own fingers through them instead.

“Easy, Jon. Are you panicking?”

“N-no, I—” he begins—because he isn’t, not exactly, not the same.

Not in the way that Martin seems to find so important, anyway. Although…

He’s going to leave you, whispers that dark part of his mind, the part no therapy or medication had been able to heal completely.

He will leave you. You know he will.

And now, perhaps—perhaps he is panicking a bit.

“Tell me what I can do, darling. Anything at all.”

Too good you’re too good you’re going to leave me—

Even with the pounding of his pulse, the tears springing to his eyes anew—the ache in his chest tells Jon that this is something that must spill from his lips now now now, distantly wondering if this is what it felt like for those he had compelled—

“Martin, I—”

Voice briefly falling short in a choked-off sort of way, Jon takes another shaking inhale as Martin’s arm gently comes to rest across his shoulders. Comfort, you should be comfortable, you are home and you are safe—

“I’m—I have to, to tell you something. I’m…I’m nonbinary, Martin.”

Flowing now—the words are flowing in time to the blood rushing in his ears, the overwhelming sound of everything everything everything drowning out all else but his confession.

“Oh, Jon—”

“A-and it’s okay if, if that’s…if this makes things different for you, I understand, I wouldn’t blame you if…”

“Jon.”

“—if you wanted to leave. I—I would understand if—”

“Jon, I wouldn’t—”

“—if this is too much. I know it’s already got to be difficult, be-because I’m ace and you’re not, it’s got to be different—”

“Jon, please—please take a breath with me.”

No harshness, no cruelty—for a moment Jon almost believes that Martin may be alright, that they might stay together, that this might not be the start of being let down easy—but of course Martin would be kind of course he would this is it—

He takes a breath, steady as he can—and meets his eyes.

Finding nothing but warmth—always warmth.

Always for him.

“Listen to me. Are you alright to listen?” he asks, running his hand back and forth across Jon’s shoulders, the gentle pressure untwisting something dreadful that has been knotted away in his stomach for a long, long time.

“Y-yes,” he finds himself whispering, desperate to swallow the lump in his throat as Martin shifts on the bed to sit in front of him, pulling Jon’s forehead forward to press against his own, hands resting softly against his ears, and the line of his jaw on either side.

“I need you to know how proud I am of you.”

One sentence—once sentence is all it took, and the tears spill like rain down Jon’s cheeks, unbidden and lovely and so, so relieved.

Proud of me he’s proud he’s proud

“For so many things, I’m proud of you. And this is no exception, my darling.”

No exception?

“But you—heh, sorry,” he laughs damply for just a moment, reaching up to wipe his tears away, finding Martin’s thumbs already doing the job.

“But what?”

“I—you—I’m not, not a man, Martin. I’m not—”

“Jon, I—”

“Let me finish, please,” Jon begs as he pulls away from Martin, fully unable to stop his tears now, voice shaking on every note.

“Okay.”

“I-I know you’re—you’re interested in men, and—I’m not….that. A-and I’m not, not interested in sex, and—and I know you said it’s alright, and that you’re alright with that. But in case that wasn’t—wasn’t true, I. I can’t bear the thought of you feeling stuck here. With me. So, you’re—”

He swallows thickly, fruitlessly.

“You’re not. And I need you to know that.”

A pause, a small pause that sets Jon’s heart pounding again as Martin blinks at him silently.

He’s going to leave he’s going to leave

“Are you finished now?” he whispers, his own voice wobbling a bit as he refuses to look away from Jon’s gaze.

“Y-yes—mmph.”

Cut off by the warmth of Martin’s lips against his own, Jon finds himself melting—always melting, always for Martin.

He loves me he loves me he loves me

“Jon,” Martin murmurs gently as he pulls away in favor of resting their foreheads together once more, eyes brimming this time as he gazes into Jon’s tear-streaked face.

“I am not. Stuck here. I have never, not once felt ‘stuck’ with you, my love. Never.”

Overwhelmed, too much, not enough. Never enough of Martin.

“I love you, Jon. Not in spite of who you are—I love you because of it. And nothing—nothing, you understand?—that you tell me like this could ever stop that. You are my partner. You are asexual. You are nonbinary. And I am so, so proud.”

Something small and aching in Jon’s chest shatters—and he is free, so much freer than he ever has been, in this moment. With his love. With his everything.

“M-Martin, I—” he chokes around his sobs, now with a different, smiling edge. “I love—I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you,” Martin breathes easily, pressing another kiss to Jon’s lips, before pulling him forward against his chest, ever so gentle even with all his strength.

Smiling against the fabric of his shirt, Jon finally allows himself to be.

Comfortable.

Proud.

Safe.