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After the chill air of the lonely, Jon's skin felt numbed to the touch. The cool dry air of the archives, such a constant sensation over the last few years, was barely tangible as they stumbled out of the trapdoor. Either that, or the feeling of Martin's shoulder against his drowned out everything else. They both leaned into each other, cold and tired, as they finally stopped to catch their breath. Jon was distantly aware his hair was sopping wet, but that didn't seem important.
They continued leaning into each other as they blundered through London towards the run-down multistorey car park Basira had specified, and as he drove the first leg of the journey, Jon found himself resting his left hand on Martin's knee between changing gears. When they piled out of the car to change drivers and go to the bathroom, first in a Morrisons in Birmingham and then at the motorway services outside Killington, they stayed close together, near enough glued at the hip, and when Martin was driving the middle section of the journey, Jon ended up leaning in towards the gap between the seats, secretly relishing in the moments when Martin's hand brushed his arm as he reached for the gearstick or the handbrake. The way that Martin glanced over at him in these moments, without snatching his hand away or flinching, sent a warm rush of emotion through his cheeks and brought a fluttery sort of sensation to life in his stomach.
As the street lamps came to life, and were rendered into indistinct smears of light against the darkening sky by the motion of the car, Jon told himself that Martin was only tolerating his company since he was still recovering from leaving the Lonely. He could feel it within himself too, a panicked trapped rat of a feeling, scrabbling at his lungs and making his throat clench up - the feeling of needing to be close with someone, needing to know he was not alone. Yes, he told himself, Martin was just feeling some sort of withdrawal panic from the Lonely. In a few days, once he was feeling better, he would withdraw from Jon instead. He told himself he was fine. He knew he was lying.
It was pitch black when they reached the safehouse, especially so since it was remote enough that the only street lamps visible were a vague suggestion in the distance. The view of the stars was probably incredible, Jon thought, but after tearing through the tunnels at a sprint, the trip through the Lonely, and several hours on the road, the only idea that had much appeal was sleep. He and Martin stumbled towards the one bed in a haze, too tired to negotiate this new boundary that had just presented itself. Jon didn't even bother to take his hair out of its matted ponytail before he collapsed onto the mattress, immediately falling asleep.
****
Consciousness dribbled in with the sunlight in the gaps in the blinds. Jon felt the mattress shift behind him as Martin sat up and shuffled to the edge of the bed. Rolling over, he was treated to the sight of Martin stretching out his arms above his head, morning sun turning his unruly curls into a glowing halo. A smile crept onto his face unbidden, and for a moment it was as if there were no entities, or running, or danger - just two people waking up together. If he concentrated, Jon could hear birds singing outside.
Martin turned towards him and for a moment, Jon could have sworn that his lips twitched into a smile. He didn't have the chance to be certain, though, before Martin got to his feet, turning away as he tugged his shirt down where it had ridden up in the night.
"Could do with a shower, pretty sure we both smell like the lonely."
Jon was plenty familiar with Martin's croaky morning voice, thanks to his extended stay in the archives after his encounter with Jane Prentiss, but he realised quite suddenly that he hadn't appreciated it as much as it deserved before. Closing his eyes and rolling onto his back so Martin couldn't turn and see him mooning over him like a teenager, Jon gave a noncommittal hum.
"Jon, you too. Your hair's a mess and we both slept in yesterday's clothes."
"I know," Jon mumbled, flinching at the harsh rasp of his voice. He evidently needed to drink some water. "Just don't feel like getting up yet."
Martin chuckled, but it was a halfhearted sort of sound. Of course, Jon hadn't expected him to be free of the Lonely's influence overnight, but it was still heartbreaking to hear him so distant.
"There's a shower and a bath," Martin's voice came from the across the cabin. Jon hadn't heard him moving. "Soaking your hair in the bath might help your hair, it's a real mess."
Jon frowned. His hair was fine, surely - his detour into the lonely had been a few hours at most. Reaching up to pat experimentally at his head, he winced. Ah. Bird's-nest. No longer able to delay the inevitable, he sat up, ignoring the bubble-wrap pop of his spine as he stretched.
When he entered the bathroom Martin was already fiddling with the taps in the shower, one socked foot sticking out of the frosted glass cubicle. Jon knelt down next to the bathtub and put the plug in the drain before turning on the water. Admittedly, he had had developed increasingly poor senses of taste, smell, and touch after waking from his coma, so the temperature didn't really matter. Once it was full, he fished his soap and shampoo - stored hastily in a ziplock bag - from his rucksack before climbing in.
He must have had the water quite cold, he realised as he noticed the steam billowing out from behind the shower screen accompanied by Martin's humming. He smiled, reassured by the idea that Martin was enjoying himself, before sliding down in the tub until only his face was unsubmerged. There he lay for several minutes, knees poking above the water as he allowed his hair to soak. He didn't quite fall asleep again but let his mind drift, hazy, until a shadow falling over Jim drew his attention. He opened his eyes to see Martin standing over him with one towel wrapped around his waist and another draped about his shoulders so his chest was covered. Jon could see his lips move, but couldn't hear him from under the water. As he pushed himself into a sitting position, he thought he saw Martin's gaze linger on the scars on his chest - jealousy, perhaps? - but didn't draw attention to it. "What was that?"
"I was asking if you wanted a hand with your hair."
Jon mulled this over while running a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught in the tangles.
"Yes, please."
Martin set to work quietly, squeezing a blob of conditioner into the palm of his hand and beginning to spread it through the ends of Jon's hair. He made surprisingly quick work of the snarls, and Jon was suddenly aware that he'd cared for his mother's hair similarly for many years. He barely suppressed a shiver.
"Are you cold?"
"No, don't really feel it anymore."
Martin hummed disapprovingly and reached for the hot tap, turning it on and allowing the tub to fill by a few more centimeters. Jon cleared his throat as Martin's fingertips brushed against his scalp.
"How...how are you doing?"
"...‘m fine, why are you asking?"
Jon sighed, leaning back a little into his touch. "I'm aware you were becoming very devoted to the Lonely, even if it was just a ruse. It can't be easy to shake that off."
Martin's hands stilled as they combed through the weight of Jon's hair. "It's...a lot to cope with. I feel like I want to seek out closeness, but it still feels easier to isolate myself."
Jon reached his hand behind his head to grasp Martin's. Martin squeezed his palm reassuringly in return. "That's still an improvement. I'm glad you're here, with me, though."
Martin chuckled and tugged gently on a lock of Jon's hair, a playful gesture. "Yeah yeah, you sap."
Jon smiled up at him. They hadn't discussed their feelings at all since escaping the Lonely, but they seemed to be acting far closer than they had in the past and - well - they had just shared a bed together. He decided to test the waters.
"A sap? Only for you," he teased with far more confidence in his voice than he actually felt. Martin snorted and moved his hand down so it was cupping Jon's cheek. "Little shit," he murmured, reaching out with his thumb to smudge soap suds along Jon's nose. Jon laughed and lifted his arm up, only to flick bathwater at Martin, who shrieked in surprise.
Needless to say, they spent a few more minutes pratting around. After the laughter gave way to a comfortable sort of silence, Martin gently rubbed a strand of Jon's hair between his fingers. "I think this is ready to rinse," he said, "if you wanted, I could style it for you?"
"I'd like that."
****
They ended up sitting in the kitchen, since it had the best natural light. They had both gotten dressed, and Jon now sat in one of the wobbly wooden dining chairs with a towel around his shoulders. Martin stood behind him with a hair band around his wrist, ready. "Can I braid it for you?"
Jon smiled and tipped his head back so it rested against Martin's chest and he could look him in the eye. "You tit!" Martin cried, despite the lopsided grin gracing his face. "You'll get my shirt wet!"
Jon grinned, not moving his head away. Martin groaned exaggeratedly and held Jon's face in his hands, smushing his cheeks together so he couldn't quite speak.
"You look like a fish."
"Mmmffh."
Martin laughed, tipping his head back with the force of the sound. His hands began to wander, carding absentmindedly through Jon's hair. He sighed at the soothing feeling and Martin chuckled. "God, you're like a cat."
"I thought you were going to braid my hair?"
"Lean forward then, genius."
Jon laughed and tipped his head forwards, giving Martin access to the rest of his hair. Closing his eyes so that he could focus on the feeling of Martin separating his hair into three chunks rather than Knowing about the flowers outside or the cows in the next field, Jon snickered as he felt a clumsy kiss against the nape of his neck.
"How dastardly."
"You're ridiculous."
"...I love you."
"...I love you, too."