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Jon had felt it as he was relaxing - coming down from a statement felt like washing all the emotions from your body that weren’t yours. He didn’t like the feeling but it held a satisfying quality to become balanced, as balanced as an avatar might be. The air that seeped under the crack of his office felt cold and usually Jon wasn’t alone in his office after so many close calls and oddities while he recorded; Martin wasn’t anywhere in sight and Jon tucked the idle draft of his supplemental and research to record later when he opened the door to the rest of the Archive.
An oppressive air hits him, sinking into his flesh and bone though he can feel the warding of watchful eyes laced across his skin and clothing. The fog is barely visible from here but Jon knows this - feels it almost and tries to suppress the surge of anger that quickly drops to fear. Jon almost lets the want, the desire to open himself to the Eye and find Martin but he pushes through the fog, making sure to touch one of the walls, along the spines of books and folders to keep his composure.
He finds Martin slumped over the files, fog thick almost emanating from him but Jon sees that its further off, a distortion of Lonely that shifts the hallway to a pier and a tide that shifts and beckons. Jon swears he can see a lone figure on the ship too far for the naked eye can see and bares his teeth before he tears his eyes from the illusion and looks down at the man before him.
"Martin?"
The man doesn’t look up, fear overtaking a small part of Jon’s heart that prompts him to move forward. He’ll come to sit down beside Martin, turning his back to the pier and setting his eyes on Martin. Martin is still solid, based on a cursory touch and the slight lean Jon allowed himself to get close enough in the case he had to latch on the man before someone tumbled over the edge, again. He was yielding, still warm to the touch and it brought a smile to Jon’s eyes. So he kept on.
"Hi."
Hearing Martin’s voice brings a flutter to the illusion - sputtering of grays and fragmented color back to the shelves of the Archive for just a moment and Jon leans forward, reaching out and taking the paper from Martin’s hands. Just a quick touch and the Eye is open further than Jon wants and the paper is quickly folded, tucked back into a folder to be forgotten. The Lukas family is a blight, Jon thinks as he turns to Martin and watches his expression.
Life seems to come back into Martin’s eyes once the paper is gone, blinking as if broken from a spell as the statement is away from someone it could affect. Again Jon is glad, quietly, for his status. He will use this for as much good as possible.Jon slouches to lean back against the bookshelf once it’s become a bookshelf again as the ship has sailed and the Archive is his again.
Jon should worry how deep Martin’s link to the Lonely is, but he will negate everything with his own will as he reaches out.
Carefully, Jon takes Martin’s hand, lacing their fingers together as a soft rain begins to beat against the windows of the Magnus Institute. There’s only one window down in the Archives, a thick glass that Jon thinks it’s for show. Martin’s head turns up at it, catching the sound before registering the heat that begins to soak through into his own hand. Warmth, like a transference of life as Jon tries getting himself comfortable as he begins to speak.
He talks about his morning, vagueing about the statements he took down and his own notes to keep up on. Jon mentions the flat they’ve been tentatively sharing - a weekend together here, an evening alone there. Martin’s head turns, leaning into Jon’s voice and the Archivist can feel the brush of fingers against his knuckles, a gentle squeeze to affirm that Jon’s hand is in fact, real.
“I’m thinking of painting the bathroom a new color but I’m stuck between something warm like peony or pale like lilac,” Jon muses aloud as Martin shifts, not pausing too long in his train of thought as the man moves from sitting on his knees to half crossing his legs. Martin is looking at him, eyes nearly focused and the curls of his hair frighteningly flat Jon has to hold it in to not lean over and run his fingers through the man’s hair.
“What do you think about a plantar, outside the kitchen window? I remember Georgie doing something with that, herbs and what not.”
Martin cracks a smile at this making Jon’s chest flutter with pride and other feelings he refuses to acknowledge. Jon is able to watch the fading feelings of Lukas’ embrace wither at the attention and affection he gives - another thing Jon is happy to dance around. It seems Martin has been listening well enough, squeezing his hand again and prompting a longer pause from the smaller man.
“Hi.”
They might catch their deaths but Jon suspects neither of them are quite human enough to die. He isn’t going to test that theory for as long as he needs so he makes sure to leave an obvious note, something between throwing others off their trail and allowing a bit of privacy.
When the note said they were looking for leads it wasn’t truly false; leads on statements could pop up anywhere like a walk down a brisk rainy London street, or the cafe they pop into far out of the watchful gaze of the Institute. Jon and Martin squeeze themselves into a tiny table in the corner, deciding to diligently investigate hot cocoa with frothy whipped cream and dark chocolate. There are pastries that Martin happily questions, though Jon prefers the berry tart and marmalade.
Jon makes sure to savor this, ignoring the way his mind’s eye wants to open. A sleeping giant waiting with a growing urgency. But Jon will have this, leaning into the laugh of Martin so warm it burns away every doubt.