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Jon had always been particular in who touched him and how. His grandmother was never the type to be physically affectionate and he didn’t bother asking her for hugs. Plenty of bullies saw him flinching from contact as an excuse to hit him harder or more frequently. He even flinched away from the gentle hands of well-meaning teachers most days. Most people didn’t understand but he always felt safe with the ones who did.
Georgie had understood. Long before they even dated she saw him flinch at her gentle arm grab once and never touched him without permission again. He’s certain he must have been hugged by other people before then- terrible, stiff things that he couldn’t wait to get out of- but this time he initiated it. He felt safe around her because she didn’t push or complain or say it’s just (insert type of physical affection here), Jon. She respected his boundaries when they kissed. She never pushed him farther than he wanted to go. He didn’t get a lot of contact after they broke up.
The next person to understand had been Tim. He had chummily draped his arm over Jon’s shoulders, felt Jon tense up, and apologized. He wasn’t judgemental about it. Tim had been safe until Jon decided he wasn’t. It was Jon who broke the boundaries of trust and he understood Tim’s rage.
Sasha (the one he remembers at least) had understood, too. She wasn’t a physical person, either, but she offered hugs from time to time. The kind of gentle hug that Jon could break away from if it got overwhelming. Yes, she was nosey but Sasha (he thinks) had been safe. NotSasha knew all this (or perhaps made him believe she did) and that made it so much worse when it grabbed at him.
The Corruption didn’t care that Jon didn’t like to be touched. It burrowed under his skin and left his nerves ruined. The physical therapy was unavoidable and the therapist was professional and patient with him. The doctor giving him his stitches when Michael had stabbed him had been clinical with contact. Jude Perry, at least, had let him initiate the handshake that ruined his hand.
Daisy hadn’t cared for his comfort. She just hoisted him up and threw him into her trunk with Mike Crew. He spent the whole ride wondering if he was pressed against a corpse. He tried to go willingly to his own execution just so she wouldn’t touch him again. She touched him anyway. Calloused hands around his thin arms. The cold press of the knife and the warm rush of his own blood down his neck. After the Buried, she probably assumed that was the reason Jon flinched away from her. He could never feel truly safe with her and she understood. He still gently took her hand in a desperate attempt to ground them both.
Of all of his kidnappers, Julia Montauk and Trevor Herbert touched him the least. She had taken his arm at the bus station and Trevor didn’t touch him at all. Until they came after him for stealing Gerry. Trevor had held the blade in almost the same place Daisy had. Right over his voice box. His breath stank of blood. Jon had come to expect this kind of contact.
Nicola had been the worst. Every day, twice a day, her or Breekon or Hope or one of the Anglerfish victims would grab him, stip him, and rub lotion on most of his body. None of their hands felt like hands but they felt close enough to make him feel utterly violated. They did it at random intervals. He couldn’t shower so he just sat in the grease of the lotions and the sink of fake flowers. When he was finally freed he stood in the shower and scrubbed his skin raw. He didn’t want to be touched after that.
When Melanie stabbed him after her impromptu surgery he had understood, but when she took his hand and squeezed it to thank him for telling her how to free herself from the Eye, he didn’t. He doesn’t know when he stopped understanding kind touches. Probably when he stopped receiving them.
Martin had always been safe, in retrospect. One of the many foolish reasons Jon hadn’t liked him at first was because he seemed like the type of busy body who would thoughtlessly touch him but he never did. The first time they touched had been in document storage and Jon had been the one to initiate. All he had done was gently pat Martin’s shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort him but Martin didn’t try to push for a hug. The next time had been initiated by Martin. It was to pull a worm out of his leg and Jon’s flinching was caused almost entirely by the corkscrew. They didn’t touch at all when Jon’s mind was consumed in paranoia. Martin never offered and Jon never asked. Martin was so good at seeming unimposing. Perhaps that was why Jon was relieved to learn about Martin’s CV. More proof that Martin was safe. The first time they hugged was right before the Unknowing. Jon had again been the one to initiate. He had squeezed Martin, wishing he could say more, wishing he had the right to say more. Martin had squeezed him back hard enough to lift Jon off the floor. It was the first and last time Jon felt safe for over a year. The next time they touched had been in the Lonely. Jon had carefully put his hands on either side of Martin’s face and Martin had flinched back. He felt so guilty at forcing contact. He knew all too well what that felt like. When Martin Saw Jon his first instinct had been to hug him. He was so cold in that moment Jon shivered but he squeezed him tightly before taking his hand and leading him home.
The few times they had let go of each other’s hands while they prepared for their trip were terrible. Jon was terrified that Martin would slip away from him. Martin had reached for his hand with such trepidation on the train that Jon nearly scratched him in the scramble to grab him back. He hadn’t even thought about how dearly his missed being touched with affection from someone safe until he had Martin’s hand in his.
Sharing the bed in the safe house had been unsurprisingly daunting. As he and Martin lay down, hand in hand, he was hyper-aware of how close Martin was to him. The Eye even told him how close they were down to the micrometer. He spent the first night staring at the ceiling, torn between reaching out and shrinking away until Martin woke up from a nightmare. Automatically, he cupped Martin’s face the way he had in the Lonely. Martin didn’t flinch this time. He just took Jon’s hands and breathed.
Martin initiates hand holding the following morning. He doesn’t play some obtuse game where he slowly crawls his hand towards Jon. He just asks quietly while the tea is brewing and Jon takes his hand gently.
“Is this alright?” Martin asks gently.
“Of course it’s alright; it’s you,” Jon replies squeezing Martin’s hand at the last syllable. Martin’s shoes suddenly become very interesting to him. Jon realizes it’s important to tell him. That he’ll have to fumble through the explanation of his particular reaction to touch with special emphasis that he wants be close to Martin. He doesn’t even know anymore what he’s ok with. They agree to try. Martin offers his hands after breakfast. Palms up, fingers splayed and Jon takes them. He moves Martin’s hands up to his face and settles the palms on either side of his cheeks. Jon can’t remember being touched like that. He leaves one hand against his face while he runs the other through his hair. Martin is the one who stops him to avoid catching a knot on one of his fingers. Jon takes the hand resting against his cheek and moves it down to his shoulder, careful to avoid his neck. He moves the hand resting on his head to his chest and sighs.
“It’s good to feel you breathing again,” Martin says a little too bluntly. Jon takes a few more deep breaths in response before moving the hand on his shoulder down his arm and stopping abruptly. Even through the fabric and total control, the feeling of being rubbed is too much to bear.
“Caressing is...not a good idea for the future,” Jon notes and moves the hand on his arm to his hip. He moves Martin’s hand so it has the barest of skin contact with his waist. It’s not an especially strange sensation but he’s not sure he wants to explore skin contact on his torso just yet. He takes the hand resting on his chest and reaches it around behind his back, right between the shoulder blades. He doesn’t feel trapped like he thought he would. Tentatively, he moves slightly closer to Martin who takes great care to follow Jon’s hip with his hand and avoid rubbing. He still doesn’t feel trapped with his chest flush against Martin’s but he doesn’t expect to. He knows Martin would let him go. He looks up to see Martin’s eyes brimming with tears.
“Should I stop?” Jon asks gently. Martin nods. Jon carefully moves away.
“Sorry,” Martin says quietly, wiping his face.
“It’s alright, Martin. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know. It’s just….You can’t just tell a man he’s on the extremely short list of people you’ve ever wanted touching you and guide his hands over you because you don’t even remember what a kind touch is, it’s a bit unfair.”
“I see your point,” Jon replies. “In the future, I’ll either only tell you you’re currently the only person I feel safe around enough to let touch me or put your hands on me.”
“That’s all I ask,” Martin smiles.