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Peter was dead. Peter was gone. Peter couldn't touch Martin anymore.
Because Peter was dead.
Jon rescued him from the Lonely. He killed Peter. Martin came back. He was real because Peter was dead.
So why did he still fade?
Martin let out a watery sigh as he stood alone in the middle of the assistants office. No, not that. He wasn't alone. Basira and Daisy were huddled together over Basira’s table, which was only an arms away from where Martin stood frozen. His hands shook as his brain screamed for him to wave, to get their attention, to–to exist. But the fear of failing being seen was too much too real, and Martin didn't want to know how invisible he actually was.
His eyes stung with frustrated tears, yet he couldn't move. If he moved it would make it more real. His nonexistence would laugh at his face. Peter would laugh at his face.
Even dead.
Martin lost track of time. At one point Basira asked after him, and his heart raced in hopes that they'd finally see him, and he could put this behind him–
“Martin?” Daisy asked, “Bet he's taking a tea break.” And the waving she did with her hand as she pointed lazily towards the break room almost hit Martin on the cheek.
He instinctively jerked back, and froze immediately to check their reactions. Maybe he snapped out of it, maybe they found it weird that he was now hovering over them awkwardly. Yet they were already paying attention to something else.
And he was still alone.
“Fuck,” Martin swore. He pressed his palms firmly against his eyes until he saw white. “Fuck!”
Still, he didn’t need to be rooted on the same spot, now that he moved from his fucking frozen stance. Now that he made sure to his stupid brain that, no, no one could actually see him anymore and he was stuck being invisible, thanks for double checking.
He didn’t really know what was better really, to be still until someone saw him, or to move frantically for no one to see. Martin never did learn much from Peter about any of this. Well, Peter never taught him anything.
But now he was dead and Martin had left the Lonely, so why was he still fading?
He scoffed and tried to make peace with his situation.
Which lasted for no more than five seconds because that was when Jon emerged from his office. Their eyes met, which felt just as painful as if he’d drawn a knife to his own heart. Because Jon wasn’t seeing him, not really. He was seeing through him.
Martin let escape a miserable noise from the back of his throat and ran to the storage room. It was too much, too overwhelming. Martin was drowning from it. Months he spent invisible in front of Jon, thinking it was for a better cause and now that that cause was dead and buried he never wanted to feel that invisibility ever again.
And yet.
Here he was. Or wasn’t.
To look at Jon and not be seen had to be the worst joke the universe ever threw at him. Especially after Jon went all the way into the Lonely just for him.
He found the perfect spot to drown his sorrows and sat down, letting the uncomfortable feeling of the hard cardboard boxes against his back wash over him. He drew his legs towards his chest and let the tears fall.
Maybe love wasn’t enough to save him from being alone.
“Martin?”
Martin’s loathsome thoughts crashed around his feet. Jon came in, looking directly at him. His face worried.
“Martin? What’s wrong? I can barely see you.” Jon closed the distance between them, and sat down next to Martin. Jon’s eyes studied Martin intently. “You’re almost transparent.”
“Y-you can see me?” Martin’s voice was rough as he spoke past the tears. He brought his knees closer yet.
“Well, yeah. I just told you that.” Jon frowned. “But again, not that good.” Jon hesitantly touched Martin’s cheeks, caressing his thumb through wet tracks. “Can you tell me what happened? Basira and Daisy said they didn’t see you.”
Martin sighed. Jon’s hand felt warm and soft against him, almost grounding, in a way.
“I-I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It used to happen quite frequently back when… you know. And it didn’t matter much back then, you know? I had a job. But it had stopped ever since we came back from the Lonely. But now…” He closed his eyes, feeling the hot drops of new tears escaping his eyelids. “Jesus, Jon, it feels horrible. I hate it.”
Jon shifted closer until his body was practically glued to Martin’s. “I know, Martin. I’m sorry.”
They stayed in silence after that. Martin sniffed occasionally, to which Jon would hum his reassurance.
“Look at that,” Jon said after what Martin assumed was close to half an hour, “you’re back.”
Martin looked down at himself, not sure what he would find different. He felt the same, nothing seemed to change from his point of view. Still, he gave Jon a tentative smile.
“Hi.”
Jon snorted and kissed Martin on the nose. “You’re a dork,” he whispered softly.
They slowly disentangled from their emergency cuddle and rose from the floor.
“Just one thing, though,” Martin started as he dried his face and brushed the dust from his clothes. “How could you see me? If no one else could, I mean. And, and I know you have the Eye or whatever– but before the Lonely, you couldn’t see me either.” He blushed at his own awkwardness.
“Martin.” Jon stood in front of him. His eyes were set, but there was a fire in them that made Martin feel utterly and completely safe. “I see you. Remember? I will never not see you.” He kissed Martin. “I love you.”
Martin insides flourished at Jon’s words. He breathed in his love, his care.
“I love you too. Thank you.”