They are sitting on the worn sofa, Jon leaning against Martin, his long legs folded into the stiff cushions and his head resting back against Martin's shoulder. Martin is laughing, a soft, quiet thing, and Jon is overcome with such a swell of affection he can hardly breathe.
He reaches up with hardly a thought, the movement so natural it's as though they've done it a thousand times before. Martin's cheek is warm under his lips, his laughter stilled as he looks down at Jon with something approaching wonder.
It is a long time before either can bear to move.