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Although there are many benefits of being a fear avatar, Martin sometimes wishes there were an off switch.
He wouldn’t want it for himself--he’s not sure he could actually handle life without The Lonely anymore--but rather, for Jon, who seems to have very little control over whose memories he feeds from, and when.
Martin has long since lost count of how many times they’ve gone on what was supposed to be a nice, relaxing walk only for Jon to seemingly randomly halt in his tracks and guide them to the nearest farmhouse or cottage to pull a statement from his next unsuspecting victim.
That doesn’t mean he likes it, though.
“Not again,” he mutters when Jon’s eyes begin to glow with a blank sort of luminescence that only ever leads to trouble.
This time, trouble comes in the form of a farmer who seems just as confused as Martin when he catches sight of them approaching him, not that Jon pauses to explain before beginning: “Statement of John Peters, regarding his particularly unusual crop this year…”
With a sigh, Martin zones out, watching the cows in the field across from them as John Peters recites what must be at least half of his entire life story. He used to pay attention--nobody can say he isn’t a good boyfriend, thank you very much--but active listening is the exact opposite of his whole Lonely thing so he quickly gave up on that, resorting to simply holding Jon’s hand and waiting him out.
“...statement ends,” Jon concludes, and Martin pulls himself back into the present.
The farmer seems to disappear before Martin can apologise so he just turns to Jon. “Are you okay?”
Jon squeezes his hand. “Fine, fine. He, uh, he had a lot to say.”
He looks a little too pale for Martin’s liking but there’s not much he can do so the two of them continue walking. They’ve hardly settled back into their usual rhythm before eyes unfurl along Jon’s arms, his feet abruptly rooting themselves to the spot in the middle of the path.
Martin groans, frustrated but not surprised when someone comes up to them as if on cue. “Hey! You guys wouldn’t happen to know which direction the river is, would you?”
Jon does, but he also happens to serve The Eye, so whoever the other person is ends up getting not only their answer but the creepiest therapy session of their life. Martin would feel bad for them if he didn’t feel worse for Jon, who forgets how to hold himself up as soon as the stranger walks away.
“I’ve got you,” Martin murmurs, his arms securely around Jon.
“I’m sorry,” Jon replies, leaning into his embrace.
Martin makes sure he’s steady again before shaking his head. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault. Besides, that one was pretty entertaining, actually.”
Jon chuckles and kisses his cheek. “What would I do without you, Martin?”
“Fall over,” Martin teases, but he can’t hide the soft warmth that spreads across his face.
That warmth swiftly morphs into concern when they run into their third statement-giver of the day, this time a girl who barely looks old enough to be out by herself. Martin pays attention to what she says in case he later needs to use it to reassure Jon he hasn’t ruined her life, but it turns out he needn’t have bothered because every word that leaves her mouth is dripping with malicious intent.
“I’ve got you,” he says again, once Jon snaps out of his trance and his knees fold in on him. “It’s okay, the statement’s over, you’re alright…”
“She… she was so cruel…” Jon manages, breathing heavily.
Martin tucks Jon’s hair behind his ears before lifting him up entirely, one hand under his knees and the other around his shoulders. He ignores Jon’s half-hearted protests and carries him over to the nearest bench, settling down sideways so their legs are stretched out and Jon is leaning against his chest.
“What hurts?” he asks softly.
Jon goes boneless at the question, slumping against him. “My head,” he mutters, turning and burying his face in the crook of Martin’s neck.
“Close your eyes, love,” Martin whispers, already running a hand through Jon’s hair. It’s sweaty and messy but he couldn’t care less, he knows the sensation of having his hair played with calms Jon down so it’s more than worth taking the extra time to untangle any and every knot he comes across.
“I’m sorry for ruining our walk,” Jon says as the last of the eyes sink back underneath his skin.
Martin leans down and plants a kiss on his forehead. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
“But--”
“If I can give you frostbite every now and again, you can cut a few of our walks short,” Martin says firmly.
Jon laughs and burrows further into Martin’s arms, as if trying to find a way under his very skin. Martin wishes he had the words to explain that Jon is welcome to hide all the way inside his heart as and when he pleases because he might tire of literally everyone else but he’ll always, always carve out space for him. He doesn’t, though, so he just pulls Jon closer in return.
“I love you,” Jon whispers eventually.
Martin grins. “Is that why you’re about to fall asleep on me?”
There would have been a time Jon defaulted to over-justifying his exhaustion--as if being flooded with three lifetime’s worth of trauma wasn’t explanation enough--but now, he just pokes Martin’s stomach and grumbles incoherently.
“I love you too,” Martin laughs, “and I don’t mind if you fall asleep, by the way.”
“Thanks, I will,” Jon mumbles, his words already having slowed down.
Martin rolls his eyes but he can’t be too annoyed when all it takes is a little concentration to transport them back home, more or less carried back by the breeze itself, with the two of them finding themselves in bed mere minutes later.
“You’re the best, dear” Jon declares, his eyes drooping.
Martin kisses each of his eyelids in turn, and then his forehead for good measure, before pulling the duvet over them, securing them in the comfort of a home they’ve brought to life together and safe in the knowledge that no such ache or pain exists that they can’t soothe away as long as they’re together.