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    Summary

    Watching Jon in the moonlight, he tries not to think of the amount of times he thought he’d seen Jon in the Lonely, only to realize that no, he wasn’t even conscious, when his luminous figure at the doorway to Martin’s office would vanish before Martin could call out to him.

    Over and over it had happened, until Martin hadn’t even reacted when Jon really was standing there, at long last. Waif-like and weak and swaying on his feet, eyes shining unearthly green, he’d come for Martin, on what seemed like willpower alone, and maybe even divinity.

    Martin had only realized it was real when the soft, worn-in sleeve of Jon’s cardigan had brushed his forearm.

    And the touch had nearly made him vomit.


    Martin isn’t good at letting himself be taken care of. Jon does anyway.

    Series
    Language:
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