Chapter Text
They passed a two story Victorian mansion of grand stature, the door bright yellow and almost taunting. Ivy grew up the dark wooden siding, the porch painted in bright swirling neons like a rainbow had attacked the otherwise gothic visage. Music floated from the opened windows- Forget the man, I used to be, you’ll move along more easily! - jaunty and vibrant. Jon resisted the urge to try and look inside.
“Our neighbours?” asked Martin, furrowing his brow slightly. Carlos nodded. “I guess so.”
“They’ve been here for a year or so. Fairly new, but…” Carlos shrugged. “Nice enough. Not in public much.”
Martin nodded, as they walked on, past a cluster of trees down the side of the desert road. Finally, they stopped.
“Here,” Carlos gestured to a small ranch house, a field to the side.
It was like a fairy’s cottage, quaint and beautiful. Pink tinted red wood made up the sides, with a rounded oak door.
Around the side, a pair of french doors opened to a patio, the sky a beautiful orange overhead. Flowers grew wild up a pair of lattices, a pond trickling from the corner of their apparent garden.
Jon grabbed Martin’s hand, squeezing it like a lifeline. “This… this is ours?” His voice shook slightly.
Carlos nodded. “It’s signed to your names. It appeared a few weeks ago.”
Martin noticed Jon was still shaking slightly, and turned worriedly to him. “Is it okay? Do you want to live here?”
Jon’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. Taking Martin’s other hand, he smiled softly. “It’s perfect.” His eyes crinkled, dimples spotting his smile and brightening his face. Unable to resist, Martin leaned down and pressed his lips against them, then moving to gently kiss Jon’s forehead. Jon made a breathy sort of sigh, absolutely blissful.
“D’awwwww,” a loud voice crooned from behind them, decidedly not Carlos. Martin broke away, both of them looking up.
“Kittycakes!” Carlos perked up, running towards the newcomer. His white lab coat flapped behind him as he swirled himself into the waiting arms of the tall stranger.
“Honeypup!” The stranger grinned through perfect white teeth. He wore platformed black boots, a button up and purple sweater vest, printed with knitted white eyes. Rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms patterned with hypnotic tattoos inked in a plumish purple. White hair flopped down into his bright eyes, which were fixed adoringly on the matted head of dark curls that had buried itself in his arms.
“Aww!” Martin cooed, nudging Jon, who just made a disgusted face in turn.
“This is my sweet Cecil,” said Carlos, turning back. “My honey-voiced husband.” He then proceeded to give ‘Cecil’ the most mopey, love-struck expression known to mankind. At least, to Jon, who had never seen himself look at Martin.
“You two are adorable,” Martin commented, smiling.
“I’m Martin Blackwood. This is… Jon. My boyfriend.” Jon beamed at the pride in Martin’s voice at claiming Jon as his. Cecil gasped, and beamed. “Well that’s just lovely! Night Vale needs more couples. Especially after we sacrificed so many of them last Valentine’s Day.”
“Cecil! They don’t need to hear about that,” Carlos frowned at him, but grinned again at Cecil’s apologetic look.
“Sacrificed?” asked Martin incredulously.
“Do you two live near here?” asked Jon, tilting his head.Carlos nodded. “Just up the road! Next to the Elementary School. So Esteban can walk.”
“I’m sorry, sacrificed?”” repeated Martin.
“Esteban?” Jon questioned.
“Our child!” Cecil announced proudly. “They’re out in the sand wastes currently, screaming at the sky in terror with their friends.”
Carlos sighed. “They grow up so fast.”
“I know,” Cecil leaned his head onto Carlos’. “Just a year ago they only reported a creeping dread towards the sky.”
“How things have changed!”
Jon and Martin exchanged a Look.
There was a pause. Carlos bit his lip. “Er…”
Cecil seemed to understand the pause, since he nodded. “Well, we should probably leave our happy newcomers to their existential dread and terror of a new life.” Leaning down, he picked up Carlos bridal style, before turning back once more. “Make sure to tune in tonight to the radio for my program. The Night Vale News is mandatory listening, It’s a felony not to!”
And with that, he walked off, barely stumbling as his face was grabbed and pulled down into a kiss.
“Love, please tell me we don’t look like that,” Jon whispered, grimacing.
“Jon, if you called me ‘kittycakes’, I would probably check for a concussion,” Martin responded.
“Good,” Jon shuddered. “God, pet names are disgusting.”
“I know, angel. They’re awful. I wouldn’t ever subject you to that, sweetheart,” Martin said, looking Jon dead in the eye, and trying not to smile at the deep flush on Jon’s face.
“I mean,” Jon mumbled, looking away. “Most of them. I guess some aren’t…. Terrible.”
Martin laughed, then kissed Jon’s forehead again. “Should I carry you through the threshold?“
Jon paused, then smiled softly. “Of course.”
Martin leaned down, hooking an arm under Jon’s knees and scooping him up like a cat. Jon’s little squawk of surprise, vaguely cat-like in its nature, added charmingly to the effect.
Walking over, Martin let Jon reach over to open the door. It swung easily, the cool inside air a lovely respite from the sweltering heat. It was in the living room where Martin set Jon down on his feet.
It was already decorated just for them.
What Jon noticed:
1. The record player against the wall, the shelf below stacked with colourful record sleeves. On the top, sat an unfamiliar album, a man washed in red light and holding a cat boldly displayed.
2. The photos pinned against the corkboard, each of their friends. In one, Jon glowered a disgruntled frown at the camera, while Martin blushed beside him. Behind them, beamed Tim, his face void of scars. To the side stood a tall, smiling woman with dark skin and long tousled hair, glasses perched sweetly on her nose. Jon didn’t recognise her, but he knew who it was, and his heart broke.
3. Next to it, was pinned a poem titled ‘Epiphany’. He recognised the handwriting almost as well as the blush that spread when Martin noticed him looking at it.
4. The cabinet of tapes, a player on top. Each was marked with a number and a date.
5. The bookshelf, packed full with books. He recognised none of the titles, which was the best part in his opinion.
What Martin noticed:
1. The attached kitchen - marble countertop, vases of flowers. ceramic jars shaped like mushrooms, their lids red and white spotted, flour and sugar printed against the tan base.
2. The clock on the wall, shaped like a cloud. Small dangling stars hung from the bottom, and the numbers each were printed over the moon in it’s various phases.
3. A shelf on the book-nook, filled with journals. Some looked battered and written in. Some looked brand new. His name was scrawled along the spines.
4. The sofa, crowded with fluffy blankets and pillows he already knew would be neglected by Jon for preference of Martin’s lap as a resting place.
5. The french doors that offered such a lovely view out of the sky, which now glowed a anticipating coral.
The ominous glowing lights in the distance glowed ominously.
Gentle screams echoed across the plains from somewhere far off.
It was home, plain and simple.