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Jon has decided he likes the music of this new world.
It's possible, he supposes, that some or all of these bands existed in their old universe. God knows he paid little enough attention to music those last few years--paid little attention to anything, really, that happened outside the world of fear and eldritch horror he had found himself mired in.
(Sometimes he had thought about it, fleetingly, if he ventured outside--the fact that there were people going about their lives, making art and watching movies and listening to music and grocery shopping and fighting over who left the laundry in the dryer. All those mundane trappings of an everyday life felt so distant for so long, it's hard to realize sometimes that now he can pay attention to those sorts of things again.)
His taste in music is eclectic at best, and Martin teases him about it but listens happily enough with him to his latest discoveries. This week, it's been a band called The Amazing Devil, a duo whose music turns from unbearably tender to wild and feral in the space of a single track. Jon loves it, in a way he hasn't loved music in a long time. It connects to something deep inside him, the part of him that yearns for gentle touch but also wants to scream at the universe for every indignity and horror it's ever put him through.
He and Martin both love "Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious", joking about how this is how they might have met in a kinder world, and shouting along with the lyric "if God made us all in his image then God's a fucking nerd" at the top of their lungs.
Martin pretends not to notice the tears that slip down Jon's cheeks the first time they listen to "Chords" together. They haven't ever discussed the idea of children, and Jon isn't even sure he would want them. But the raw aching love in that song, the bittersweet sadness of the line "your life begins by leaving and our love is shown in the letting go" gets to him, somehow. The idea of having that sort of deep, abiding love for someone, and knowing that the best way to show that love is to let them leave, knowing they'll return but that it will never be quite the same. He holds Martin's hand tightly until the song ends.
He's not expecting his reaction to "That Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace." He and Martin share a wry, knowing look at the lines about sleep and weariness (Jon has been better at following a healthy sleep schedule lately, he has), but then the tempo picks up and the song goes from quiet and tired to loud and raw and the next set of lyrics hit Jon in the chest like a blow:
You're not a coward 'cause you cower
You're brave because they broke you
Yet broken still you breathe
And suddenly Jon is having trouble breathing, having trouble listening to the words being sung.
So breathe, breathe, just breathe
Martin notices immediately, grabs the phone and pauses the music as he moves to Jon's side.
"Jon, look at me. I'm right here, you're safe, just breathe, all right?"
Jon nods and squeezes Martin's hands and tries to match his breathing to Martin's measured inhales and exhales. He doesn't know how to put into words what he's feeling, what those lyrics unlocked.
He has never considered himself a brave man. In fact for most of their time at the Institute, he knew he was a coward--a braver man could have walked away, could have taken the out that Eric Delano's statement gave him, could have confronted Peter Lukas sooner and saved Martin from ever having gone into the Lonely. His only accomplishment had been surviving (and even that was debatable, given the coma and his increasingly inhuman status). The only thing he had to say for himself by the end was that he was still here.
Since they arrived here, and since they have started taking steps to heal from everything they went through, he has been told, over and over, that survival was enough. That the fact that he made it is more important than he has ever given it credit for. He has nodded and known they were right but never really, truly believed it.
He doesn't know why these lyrics hit in a way that none of his therapist's assurances ever have. Maybe it's just the way they're said, "screaming in tune", as they would put it. Maybe it's the fact that it doesn't shy away from the word broken.
You're brave because they broke you, but broken, still you breathe.
People don't like it when you describe yourself as broken, but it's what Jon has felt for a long time, what he has only just, in the last few months, begun to find his way out of. He is broken, in so many ways. He's finding ways to heal those cracks, but it doesn't change the fact that he's broken.
He's been told that it's okay to feel this way, that it's okay to just be here and breathing.
But he's never been told that being here and breathing after everything that happened to him is brave.
Jon squeezes Martin's hands tight, grounding himself in their solidity and warmth, and forces himself to breath deep. When he opens his eyes, Martin is looking at him with concern and love and--understanding.
"That verse hit a little close to home, didn't it?" he says quietly, and Jon loves him so much, loves that he doesn't have to explain why he reacted this way. If anyone would understand why those words affected him the way they did, it is Martin.
Jon nods, and Martin smiles sadly.
"All right if I hug you?" he asks. Jon nods again, and allows himself to relax as he is encompassed in the safety of Martin's arms. He buries his face in Martin's shoulder, and breathes.
"It's true, you know," Martin whispers after a moment.
"Hm?"
"What the song said. You are brave."
Jon huffs a breath against Martin's collar. "So are you," he says. Martin gives a noncommittal hum, and Jon immediately leans back so he can look at him.
"I mean it, Martin. You are--you've been through so much, and to keep going as you have--I've long thought that you are the bravest man I've ever met."
Martin's breath hitches. "I've never been able to see it that way," he whispers.
And Jon can't help but smile sadly at that, at the way that they mirror each other.
"Neither have I," he says. "For--for myself that is." He leans in so his forehead is resting gently against Martin's. "I guess it's a good thing we have each other, so we can help each other see."
"Yeah," Martin says with a sigh. "It is."
They stay like that for a moment, leaned into each other, so close they're sharing breath.
"Want to finish the song?" Jon says eventually.
Martin smiles. "Yeah," he says, and presses play.