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“I really loved you, you know” Jon heard those words echo in his head any time there was a lull in the admittedly short conversations he and Martin had on the way to The Safehouse. It was the Past Tense that hurt him, more fully it was the fear that the Martin Jon knew and loved, and had learned to care about was…gone, fully. Martin was barely responsive to Jon, it was anxiety inducing, Jon had coaxed a few very customer service-esque conversations from Martin, and they were short, and distracted. Jon sometimes would blink, and Martin wouldn't be there at all, he could see him, but their knees wouldn't touch, or their hands wouldn't brush. Jon was terrified.
The terror temporarily abated after many, many hours, Martin truly looked at Jon. Jon hadn't noticed it before, but any other time, it was as if Martin's vision was glazed over, Jon gave a small, sad smile (forcing it seemed too much, for either of them at the moment). Jon avoided eye contact (as much as he could, anyway, it was hard for him to look away from Martin, for fear if he did Martin would be lost as fog in the wind, and fighting would seem worthless.)
Jon's hand came to rest on the table, the cold felt weird against the burn scar, he casually observed it, he missed it, almost, when his worst problem was his colleagues thinking he murdered someone. After a moment Jon felt Martin's hand (ice cold, and trembling slightly) come to rest on top of it. He gave a startled look back at Martin, Martin went to pull it back. “No, keep it there, it's nice…having a welcome touch.”
The other man's eyes were still glazed over (and lighter, it seemed, the bright blue eyes faded into a fog like grey, is there nothing that the damned fog wouldn't ruin?) but Jon could see life coming back, it wasn't fast, or strong, but Martin seemed present, solid, quiet, but solid, and Jon would prefer that to anything. All he had wanted these past months was for Martin to be safe, does this constitute safe? Running off to a possible murder house? Getting nearly bleached of all your life force? “It's nice, to have physical contact,” Martin said, quietly, his voice was far away and rough with disuse. “Im happy to provide it,” Jon smiled, it came easier,
The hours were less tense, every 30 minutes or so they would start talking icebreakers (Zodiac sign, favorite takeaway place, favorite book, et cetera) as the minutes went by, Martin's hand seemed warmer, and the grey eyes, though definitely still prevalent, were slowly turning into a foggy crystalline blue.
They eventually made their way into the Safehouse "Doesn't appear to be the house of a serial killer” Martin noted. “Or she just uses a lot of bleach,” Jon replied. The entryway was, indeed, not dark, empty, maybe, but it was shockingly cozy. They both sat on the couch, in silence for a moment. “Your eyes are quite pretty, Martin” Jon said, under his breath. Martin heard him “Thank you.” The silence was more awkward, after all. Jon had never been good with conversations like these, even when he didn't just Know an evil embodiment of Loneliness. “What shall we do, now” Jon asked, Martin had grabbed his hand again. “Regarding what? Cause if just in general, stay alive and safe and as close to normal as we can get for now” Jon interrupt Martin “I meant just…now, should we go through the kitchen, just…pause, or figure out next steps,”
Martin was quiet for a minute “Pause, definitely” he said “Would you mind if we..nevermind-” Jon looked at him “We what?” Jon physically kept himself from Compelling the answer out of Martin. “Cuddled.” Martin sighed “I just…contact makes me feel…here, not in the fog, we don't have to.” Jon immediately, in lieu of an answer, just hugged Martin. “I truly don’t mind, Martin” Jon said. “The contact is nice for both of us.” Martin leaned closer to the armrest, Jon laid onto him further, leading Jon to be laying on Martin's chest. Both seemed very content at this arrangment.