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A quiet night was not often a good one. The silence hid things from Jon, leaving him feeling as though he were being watched. A gaze he could not see yet could feel crawled down his spine like sludge more often than not.
Watching.
Waiting.
For what? He was unsure. Were those eyes waiting for him to give in? To feed into the hunger that clawed at his ribcage, begging for sustenance only those dreaded papers could give? Or perhaps they were waiting to attack, to rip away this calm peace Daisy's cabin had given him? No, a quiet night was not often a good one. But Jon would be damned to hell before he let this paranoia ruin this night.
A breeze came in from the fields, bringing with it the scent of wet cows that Jon had never quite been able to grow accustomed to. The moon-lit grass glistened with dew that had begun to soak through his trousers, and despite everything in his body screaming to run back into the cabin, Jon wouldn't dare move, wouldn't dare speak, for fear of breaking this peaceful silence.
Martin sat just as quiet by his side, the ginger man's head on Jon's shoulder as they relaxed under the moonlit night. They'd spoken about everything and nothing all at once, and now simply enjoyed each other's presence.
Things weren't okay. Jon was no fool, he was aware of this fact, Martin as well. Something was coming for them. A shoe waiting to fall, a call waiting to be answered, and Jon was terrified. When that call came, he knew deep in his gut that it would be answered, even if he dreaded it. Something in him Knew to be scared, even if he didn't know what there was to fear just yet. But Martin was here. And while that didn't diminish the fear it did help alleviate some of them. It helped him feel more human, helped him breath.
In.
Out.
In. Out. A repetitive cycle, a steady beat like a drum that had slowly but surely fallen into sync with that of his partners as they sat in the grass, shoulder to shoulder. In and out. Not perfect, but nice for the time being. The shoe may hover but it had yet to fall. The Eyes may watch, but for now that's all they did. Jon still had time for this, time to be happy, time with Martin.
A slow exhale left his lips as Jon shifted ever so slightly, the only movement in perhaps an hour. Immediately he regretted doing so as it drew Martin's warm eyes to him, an unknown question on his plump face. Jon just smiled sheepishly in apology, but Martin's eyes never left his.
“... Is there something on my face?” Jon asked, concerned for a moment as he lifted his free hand to wipe at his cheek. He couldn't understand the look in Martin's eyes, wondering if a bug had landed on him in his moment of deep thought.
Martin gave no verbal response, but shook his head with a fond smile. Still, his eyes did not move from Jons face, and the dark skinned male bristled.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you… Like you’re-” The words caught in his throat, and Jon struggled to speak because he knew that look. Martin wore that look every time they visited the cows, or when he spoke about his vast collection of poetry. A happy Martin was a good Martin, but Jon couldn't understand why that look was directed at him.
The man in question only giggled, a soft snort escaping causing Jon's heart to flutter. “Like I'm looking at something to be loved and treasured?” The words hung heavy in the air, and Jon felt his throat grow tighter. He knew what that look meant but never expected to see it directed at himself. Not after how cruel he'd been to Martin, going as far as accusing him of murder so long ago.
“Like you have heartburn.” Jon finally said, sending Martin into a fit of laughter. His lips quirked up, and Martin's giggles were enough to keep off the cold of the night a little longer. This ease, this love. It was so nice to have. Nice to hold. Jon reached out and took Martin's hand, holding it in his lap.
If he could make Martin laugh then surely everything would be fine.
So long as Martin loved him, the world would be right. If he could stay here, with the smell of wet cows in their air and damp trousers, and Martin's hand in his own, then that would be fine.
Jon returned to his original position, his cheek on Martin's head, and closed his eyes listening to his boyfriend try and silence his giggling.
Even as the world lit up behind his eyelids, black yet outlined in white, Jon felt himself relax. A strange gift he'd received since his coma was the ability to see the Entities and who they've touched in the past, or present. He knew the eyes on his hands like… well, the back of his hands. A tilt of his head showed said hands, the familiar eyes, and the webs that clung to his fingertips. Even slotted with Martin's, he could see the Buried trapped under his nails, the Desolation burn that melted its way across his hand.
It was both a gift and a curse, to see the pain they had inflicted on both Martin and himself. All of the Entities bore their signatures on Jon's skin, painted a story of destruction that he dreaded to look at. Martin, on the other hand…?
Worm holes made themselves known across his shoulders and biceps, he saw the clouds that threatened to swallow Martin whole, hazy and hovering heavily around his head like a halo. There were others, the Spiral from his time in Michael's chambers, the End from God only knows where, but above all the others were a collection of Eyes, blinking lazily above Martin's heart. Guarding it. Protecting it.
They traced lazy lines up his shoulders and neck, stopping just at Martin's soft jawline, and watched the others as if warding them off. Martin's eyes were still dark, Jon knew this, even if they would not remain so for long.
So many Entities have tried to wrap Martin in their chains, to steal Martin from Jon. To steal him from the Eye. But Jon refused to let go of him. His mark was clear on the man's heart, wrapped around him like a warm embrace. They weren’t truly his marks, but what belonged to the Eye belonged to Jon, and he didn't mind sharing this one person…
“-on? Jon? Did you fall asleep on me?” He opened his eyes and looked up at Martin blinking the dark from his eyes. “Hmm?” He murmured, once again he was given that beautiful laugh, and counted it for another win for him. Two for Jon. Step it up Martin or you’re gonna loose.
“Why don’t we go inside?”
“Yeah… That’s a good idea.”