#breathe in the salt

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger!

Martin buys lunch.

It’s awful outside, isn’t it?

The weather got worse.

A clatter of ice on window panes had broken through their quiet breakfast. Heavy sleet battered the house in waves, assisting the wind in its quest to tear the building from its foundations. Based on previous experience Martin wasn’t concerned. The house would see far worse once winter truly rolled in.

After breakfast Jon had returned to his side of the couch, hunched over the laptop and ready to work in spite of the noise. On the nearest side table, he had replaced his cold empty mug with a fresh cup of tea.

It hadn’t been a particularly cozy scene in the moment, the laptop casting Jon’s thin face in a cold, pale light. But as Martin made it to the top of the hill with his head bent forward to avoid the ice, it seemed downright cheery. He wouldn’t have minded joining Jon on the other side of the couch. But he’d have bolted at the first opportunity.

While not a full day of work, this was one more Saturday indoors that he’d willingly sacrificed when signing that contract. When was the last time he’d stayed inside and enjoyed the gloomy weather from a nice, warm distance?

Had he ever done that? He had had days off with past jobs, but then-

At least his work day would be short. He just needed to complete his evil button-pushing and get back without twisting his ankle in the mudslide that would be his way home.

Keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, Martin walked down the empty sidewalk. Not a soul passed him by or blocked his path, and he wondered if the other side of the street was just as barren. He didn’t bother to look up.

It made things easier, not having anyone to run into while he kept his head down and dry. And knowing the way meant not needing to think. One step after the other. Light from above blocked out by the stiff hood of his jacket as he turned away from the elements. The pattering sound of ice against plastic. Nothing to do but walk and breathe and consider other things.

Maybe he would pick up lunch. At least once during their time in town the others had grabbed food from a local sandwich shop that Martin was quite familiar with. What was it Jon had ordered? Something off the basic menu. Sasha went for a soup combo. Tim had a very specific order that Martin couldn’t quite pick apart just by looking. He was positive Jon had gotten the turkey sandwich at the bottom of the board.

A weird point of pride, but he’d been very good at this sort of thing when he still had coworkers. That and birthdays. Sure, he could call and ask Jon, but doing so would make it seem like there was an emergency. Before he left Jon had even asked him to call if anything happened, weird or otherwise. So calling withoutsomething happening would only give the man an unnecessary heart attack.

It was a nice gesture even if Jon couldn’t really be on call for emergencies, what with the distance from home to the cliffs and, well, what could Jon do? If Martin came against something he couldn’t handle alone, he would tell Jon to leave as soon as possible, no arguments. Morbid, but practical.

All too soon came the lighthouse steps and he submitted himself to its empty walls. The storm raged on against its sides, and he was glad for the sound as he walked up the spiral steps. Eventually, though, it gave way to a silence that filled his ears to the point of popping.

He opened his mouth to speak, then coughed into his sleeve.

It was a boring affair. Checking his pockets every so often, he made it to the top.  The work began without much thought, hands already moving in the new pattern as easily as they had for the old one.  He knew deep down that if he tried for one experimental twist of a knob, Peter would manage to appear over his shoulder and catch him in the act.

Peter. Martin had assumed the man was back on his boating trip, continuing to desperately avoid Simon Fairchild. But he’d returned just to, what, revel in Martin’s bad mood and then leave? There must’ve been something else to bring Peter back to land that Martin couldn’t see.

Still, he wasn’t a fool. Elias knew about Jon and what he was. He likely sent Jon to this town with the knowledge that another selkie was around, to keep Jon busy or flush him out. And he would’ve had to learn that from someone.

Maybe Jon was sidestepping that part because it didn’t matter anymore, what with Martin’s mother… out of the picture. But Peter didn’t seem distraught the last time Martin saw him, as if some grand plan had been foiled. In fact, he had seemed downright cheerful. If Elias’ goal had been to flush Jon out using another selkie, it hadn’t been Peter’s ultimate goal. Jon had been gone for weeks when Peter appeared to tell Martin howlucky he was.

So… what? Did they thinkhe was one? If so, he looked forward to being another disappointment.

It didn’t make his house the best hiding place, though, did it?

He sighed, finishing his task and heading back down the stairs. It wouldn’t be a fun conversation. He didn’t intend to kick Jon out after weeks lost at sea, but they needed to talk about it, right? Jon needed to be safe, and as much ashe’d needed someone else to fill the silence Martin wasn’t going to put that above doing the right thing.

Something loosened in his chest. Yes, while Jon wanted to help with the Evan situation, it made much more sense to think about the bigger picture. Martin had seen enough weird shit from one of Peter’s fellows to believe the man himself capable of anything.

Jon might argue at first. It was that damned earnestness, and not a little guilt if Martin had to guess. Of course he would want to help, to throw himself into Martin’s problems and keep his promises. He was at the house right now, scrabbling for anything that could make him useful, putting his own goals to the side to do so.

The most wistful sigh escaped him and he wanted to bang his head on the side of the stairwell.

He would talk to Jon about it later, before he lost his nerve and got too used to the company. But what would hesay? That Jon needed to prioritise his safety? He’d seen enough to know that line of reasoning would only work on Tim. That whatever Elias and Peter wanted wasn’t worth the risk? He didn’t have proof of what either was planning, but Simon had put him so on edge with cryptic nonsense and casual kidnapping that he expected the worst.

That it was only a matter of time before it got weird to be around each other all the time? Well, no, that wasn’t something to bring up with Jon. But it wasareason.

He went back and forth with himself like this for a while, taking the long way back through town to let himself think. The drumming of sleet blocked out everything, a wonderful white noise that no one around would break, and it was a good deal later when he came around to the sandwich shop.

Stopping at the front of the building, he focused on the door and tried to be present. He knew his order and what he would get for Jon. Nothing special or difficult to remember. A quick stop, in and out.

The place was empty, more or less. A single employee sat on a stool behind the front counter, eyes trained on her phone. The storm seem d to have discouraged people from bothering the place, as the floor was almost completely dry. His shoulders dropped in relief at the lack of a line. It would be even faster than he’d hoped. He wiped his feet on the front mat and walked across the room, ready to get this over with, but about halfway across the woman looked up and jumped in her seat. He jumped in response, stopping in place.

The woman looked at him fully, her brows scrunching together, and he quickly looked away under the scrutiny. His eyes landed on the menu directly behind her, as if he hadn’t rehearsed the order in his head.

Shaking her head, she smiled and said with a small amount of forced customer service geniality, “Hi, what can I get you?”

It took him a bit to remember what he meant to say. What did he want for himself? Shit. He continued to look at the menu over her shoulder, avoiding her eyes. “Give me a minute.”

“Okay, no rush,” she said. From the corner of his eye he saw her shudder. “It’s, um. It’s awful out there, huh?”

Just say the order. Don’t make her stand there and wait. He’d ordered there a hundred times for himself, and Jon’s sandwich was just a number on the board. “Sure.”

After a moment her mouth twitched. She looked over her shoulder and said, “Well, um. Take whatever time you need. I just need to check something in the back?” And she nearly sprinted through the door to some sort of back room, leaving Martin alone and entirely dumbfounded.

The hell was that about?

He shouldn’t stay. Somehow he’d managed to bungle a simple lunch order before he’d gotten started and she was clearly weirded out or going through some things. She didn’t need to deal with him as he remembered how to talk to people in shops. He was usuallybetter at this sort of thing. She had given him the easiest thing to fill the silence. Anyone could talk about the weather!

But it was later than he’d expected and he’d told himself he would get a sandwich for his temporary housemate, so… he waited. The woman came out and took his order without issue, her eyes on the till and his on the menu, and he exited the sandwich shop with a plastic bag tucked inside his jacket and no intention of ever entering that sandwich shop again.

From that point on he’d put all his focus into getting home and not slipping to his death on the way back down the cliffs. What a horrible location for a house. No wonder it ended up in his hands.

Before opening the door, he checked the time and frowned. If Jon had already eaten it was Martin’s fault for wandering around in his own thoughts, but that meant Martin could have lunch to himself to think about what he would say.

He wouldn’t be bringing up any hard topics with Jon that day, for both their sakes.

But he was done stalling outside his own house and walked inside, shedding the jacket and mud-stained boots.

“Jon? I’m back,” he said just below a shout and walked toward the kitchen. “Grabbed some lunch if you want it.”

After a moment he heard from the hall bathroom, “Be there in a minute.”

So he probably hadn’t eaten yet. That made it all feel a bit more worth the trouble. All that was left was to see if his memory served and Jon liked it enough.

Nodding to himself, Martin turned into the doorway and stopped.

Resting over the top of one of the kitchen chairs, dripping wet, was Jon’s coat. Martin let out a tiny strangled sound and nearly dropped the food bag in his haste to back out of the room.

To his right, the bathroom door opened. “Is everything all right?” Jon asked, his dark hair wet and brushed back from his face.

Martin just looked at him and then at the kitchen, waiting for something to click in Jon’s expression.

Jon’s shoulders relaxed, and he walked toward Martin. He said with a kind of forced levity, “Yes, sorry, I left it there.” Then he stopped short a few feet and looked at Martin as if waiting for something.

“Um… why?”

Scratching the back of his neck, Jon said, “Well, I needed to take a shower and it needed to hang dry for a bit.”

“You, um… You took it out then? For a…”

“A swim, yes. I knew you’d be gone for a bit and needed some time outside of the house.”

Beneath the matter-of-fact tone something was off, but the day had already been so much in such a short amount of time, and Martin was just about ready to keel over. But he didn’t. Jon’s coat rested in front of him, and he could not move, and he could not speak for the bile that rose in his throat.

Seeingsomething in Martin’s expression, Jon quickly walked past and picked up the coat. “I’ll go ahead and hang this up in the shower. Don’t want to, um. Don’t want to warp the wood.” He tapped the chair and walked back down the hall in what Martin interpreted as a hurry.

Martin slumped in one of the chairs, setting the sandwiches in front of himself and the chair that Jon normally sat in.

Before long Jon returned and looked at the food in front of him with recognition. “Ah, right, this is the shop not too far from the lighthouse, isn’t it? Thanks for picking it up.”

“It’s no problem,” Martin responded, finally pushing the heart out of his throat. “Hope it’s something you like.”

Not needing further encouragement, Jon took a bite and after a moment nodded in approval.

In spite of everything, pride swelled in Martin’s chest. Incredibly silly and a bit pathetic, but it was something. He had remembered what Jon liked, and it had made Jon happy. It didn’t dislodge the image of the look that woman had given him from his mind, but it pushed the memory aside for the moment. It didn’t do anything about his concerns, but those could be brought up later.

They ate lunch, and the weather got worse.

AO3

Sometimes you lose the argument.

Jon tells the truth.

Jon’s grip stayed firm on Martin’s arm up until they’d reached the stairs to the next floor, his words as scattered as Martin’s thoughts. Martin caught some of his mutterings, things like hospitalandunnaturalandshit shit shit, but he couldn’t quite follow with how sharp the light stung his eyes and kept him squinting. Without Jon’s guiding hand he would’ve careened right into a wall on his way to wherever he was going.

That hand released him, slow and hesitant, ready to grab onto him if necessary. Did Martin look like he was about to fall over? Despite his muddled senses he stood firm, solid. The cold placed its own sort of ache in his bones, but his eyes didn’t fall shut from exhaustion. If the bloody lights weren’t so bright he would’ve been able to see just fine. He was a normal amount of tired from a long day, the kind of tired that made it hard to focus unless he tried very hard. Whatever Jon was saying, he could piece together later when he wasn’t so cold-

Bathroom. That was where he was supposed to go next. Take a shower, warm up. That would clear his head. Without support he managed to walk up the stairs into the blessed darkness of the upper floor.

Before he made the turn towards the upstairs toilet he glanced down at Jon, but the lights flooded his senses and blocked out whatever movement or expression Jon could’ve been making. Probably the same one he’d had since he found Martin on the steps, a tight sort of concern that Martin didn’t need to see again lest his stomach flip from the guilt. 

He almost didn’t turn the light on. There wasn’t yet a migraine, but the potential of one pushed behind his eyes. Recognizing the hazard he settled on looking away from direct sources of light while stumbling to the shower, shedding his wet clothes. Then hot water hit his back, battering the cold out of his skin. After a time the dim light filtering through the shower curtain ceased to sting, and once dry he dressed in the warmest pyjamas he had on hand. 

In the dark of his bedroom Martin felt that he should cry. Embarrassment alone should’ve done him in. Or fear.

Instead he sifted through his closet for a relatively dust-free duvet and folded it under his arm. He wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt like the right thing to take with him.

When he wandered downstairs, still dazed but able to feel the passage of time, the sound of tap water cut off sharply to his left. Jon burst through the door of the downstairs toilet with wet hair slicked back from his forehead.

It was a good look, all things considered. If Martin was less exhausted he might’ve reprimanded himself for the thought, but he could look around without getting a splitting headache and would take the win.

They stood there for a moment, Jon’s hand still on the door knob. “You… How are you feeling?” His voice pitched up just a little too high at the end, as if to ask Is this a stupid thing to say?

“Um. Fine, I guess,” Martin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tired, mostly.”

“Tired.” Jon pressed his fingers into his cheek, dragging down the skin under his eye. With a sigh, he said, “Go wait on the couch. I made something quick since clearly neither of us have eaten.”

“Er-”

“And don’t apologize for not making anything. I promise I’m putting in the least amount of effort. Uni level stuff.” Jon walked past him into the kitchen.

“I wasn’t- Right. Okay.”

Martin did what he was told, settling into his side of the couch and resting the duvet squarely in the middle. In a few minutes he was holding a plate of rice and beans with leftover veggies, simple as promised but still good to fill up the stomach. On the other side, Jon set his own plate on the side table and ignored it completely.

“Martin?”

“Hm?” he said, mouth full of food.

“I think your town is cursed.”

Martin choked on some broccoli and reached for the glass of water Jon had set out for him. “That- That seems like a bit of a reach? I know I zoned out a bit, but-”

“One, I would not consider that ‘zoning out’.” Jon looked at him, then frowned and looked ahead as if in embarrassment. “Two, this is definitely bigger than a single building. Case in point, I just spent several hours swimming in circles, past sundown, and only got back through a wall of fog through pure luck.”

Martin’s brows shot up. “Wait, you got lost?”

All at once Jon came into focus. The heavy bags under his eyes, the way he pressed into the back of the couch like all the world’s gravity weight on his limbs, his fingers digging into the fabric underneath like a lifeline. And one of his arms wrapped tight around him in a desperate bid against the cold. 

“When did you leave to- to go out today?” Martin set his plate on his own side table and shoved the duvet closer to Jon. “And throw this on, before you get yourself sick.”

Jon looked to protest, then shut his mouth and reached for the offering. With a languid effort he dragged the duvet across his lap. “Thank you. And sometime after lunch. I’d prepared for a moderate swim, but then the fog rolled in and there was no way to tell which way was which.” 

“Fuck.”

A smile managed to slip its way onto Jon’s face. “Agreed.”

“Well…I appreciate dinner, but it would make me feel better if you ate some of it yourself,” Martin said. 

“I think I’ve looped back to not feeling hungry, but I get your point.” He grabbed the plate and poked at his own meal. Glancing sidelong at Martin, he said “Hope it didn’t seem like I was kidnapped.”

“Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind? But, no, things were too neat and I saw the footprints. It’s not like you have a curfew,” Martin said. He tried to smile, to laugh a little, but it rang hollow. The frown lines only grew deeper on Jon’s face. Martin’s stomach twisted. “Are you… do you want to talk about it?” 

“What else is there to say? I got lost in the fog, then found my way back,” Jon said. With a hard look, turned toward Martin. “I could ask you the same thing. Do you want to talk about what it was you were doing out there? If it wasn’t for everything else I’d have assumed a stroke.”

Wincing, Martin said, “Sorry.”

“That’s not-” Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose, then pinned him with a sincere look. “Okay. What do you remember from your… experience?”

This felt familiar. He could almost hear the tape recorder whirring. “I… I remember coming home. You were gone, so I checked outside and saw the footprints. Then I sat down and just… thought about stuff.” No need to explain further. “Next thing I knew I was sopping wet and you were there shaking me out of it.”

“And you didn’t notice the freezing rain? Without a coat?”

“No,” he said, heat creeping up his neck. He tried a laugh again, with more success. “Guess I can’t bother you about wearing a jacket anymore?”

“I’m sure you’ll slip up and do it anyway.” Jon placed his plate back on the side table, ignoring Martin’s look of disapproval. “But the matter at hand. Your town, something is wrong with it. Or, if the lighthouse is the root cause, it’s not confined to that space.”

“Or to the top of the cliffs.” As if that was a meaningful distinction. Why would some unknowable force stop at a legal boundary? Yet he’d felt safer with the distance. “What can we do, then? I can’t say for certain what happened, but you-”

“Returned in spite of the weather making a hard case against me. Might have to let it win the argument and stay inside for the time being.” Jon squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head drop against the back of the couch. 

Something sank in Martin’s chest. “I don’t think- I mean, wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Jon’s brows scrunched together, eyes still closed. “How so?”

Shit. Okay, well, he was doing this now, notes be damned. Taking a break and staring hard at the wall ahead, he began, “I mean… Well, if there’s weird stuff going on, wouldn’t it make more sense to get ahead of it rather than-”

Jon warned, “Martin-”

“I mean it!” Martin said rather forcefully. He sighed and lowered his voice. “If there’s some sort of weird line of fog that makes it hard to get into town from the sea, maybe it works the other way and could stop you from leaving. You’d end up stuck, right? Stuck where someone like Peter could find you, where he might be looking for you under Elias’ orders right now.”

There, opening arguments. It hadn’t been too difficult. But when he finally chanced a look, he was met with such a look of stubborn indignation that he recoiled. 

With some great amount of restraint, Jon breathed out and said stiffly, “The concern is appreciated, but I’m not going anywhere.”

He tried to choke out a “But-”

“That’s the end of it. If I have to avoid the water for a while longer it’ll honestly be a blessing. Besides, the way I found you-”

“You shouldn’t force yourself to stay here for my sake. Or anyone else. I know, I know, you promised, but that was before Elias tried to- It’s not fair for you to be stuck here when-”

A hand landed firmly on Martin’s arm, gripping him just below the elbow and stopping his tongue. With an insistent tug Jon spat, “I’m not stuckhere.”

Despite all of the reasons Jon was horribly wrong, Martin wanted to forfeit then and there. Of course Jon was stuck there. No one could want to be in that house, in that bleak little town with nowhere to go. Jon was either lying to himself or trying to make Martin feel better or both, and Martin wanted it to work. 

So he kept his mouth shut and let Jon talk.

“I’m also not the only person putting himself at risk being here,” Jon continued, relaxing his grip and bringing his voice down to that softer register that made Martin squirm. “I hope you understand that by now.”

“Of course I do,” Martin muttered. “Even if I’m a bystander in some weird scheme, something’s… happening. To me. Has been, I think, for a while now.”

A sudden rush of pain ran up his chest and throat, but he greeted it only with a clench to his jaw. Saying it aloud was no great relief.

Martin kept on, swallowing hard. “But it’s not your responsibility to fix it.”

“I…” Jon removed his hand, leaving a cold space on Martin’s skin. He threaded his fingers together. “I’m not going to lie to you, or make more promises I can’t keep. Whatever is happening in this place, I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Then why not go?”

“Because I’m not dying to wander around in the abyss?” Jon said, clearly more spiteful than he’d intended. He breathed in through his nose, a calm, centering act, but something cracked in his expression. “Martin, I… don’t have a good answer for you. I want to believe I can be of more use here, but if I’m being honest, the research side of things has not been going well.”

Martin frowned. “That’s not your fault? I mean, you… you don’t have a lot to work with.”

“But with years of experience I should be able to come up with something.” Jon gestured in front of him sharply, empty air between his hands. “But all I found were useless documentaries better suited for- for social time than facing down a supernatural threat. And now that I’ve decided to use my one remaining ability, that’s blocked off as well.”

“What, swimming?” Martin asked. “I mean, you cando that still-”

“But I can’t make my way back freely, not for sure. What’s the point of any of it if I get lost?”

Wherever the thread was, Martin had certainly lost it. “Isn’t the point to be out there? You know, in the sea? Get out of the house?” 

“Not if I can’t keep track of where I’ve been.” Jon clenched his jaw as if holding words back, but it didn’t last long. “I’m not just swimming for the fun of it. I have a purpose.”

Deep down in Martin’s chest a hollow pit opened, and he refused to ask the obvious question for fear of it being answered. But Jon was very good at filling the space.

“It wasn’t something I wanted to bring up until I had concrete results, but I thought… I thought since it hadn’t been long since she departed, that I could find your mother and- and speak with her. Like I’d planned to.”

Martin deflated then. He slumped against his armrest and muttered, “My mum?”

Jon put his hands in front of himself in a placating gesture. “I thought if I could speak to her, that maybe she could help me- help usunderstand-”

Hands shaking, Martin folded them on his lap. “So that’s still the plan?” he asked, pushing through the pain in his throat. 

“Yes, I… I’m sorry. I know what you said, family business, but you can’t go out there and I can, so I thought…”

A wave of calm came over Martin, soothing the panicked buzzing of his mind. “Jon.” 

Like a child caught in the act of stealing from the kitchen, Jon shrunk back. “Martin?”

“Jon, she’s been gone for days. You’re not going to find her if you end up looping back here after a few hours.”

Jon’s shoulders sank. “But if she-”

“I know my mum, Jon,” Martin said, folding his arms and sliding down a little in his seat. “If you’re looking for answers or information on where she’s gone off to, you won’t find it by staying here.”

With no response from his right, Martin sighed. He looked ahead at the television and felt a pang of petty satisfaction above the disappointment. Jon had come there looking to speak to Martin’s mother, and that goal hadn’t changed. The argument was won. 

And then he heard Jon laugh, humorless and muffled. Martin glanced over and saw Jon, running his hands up and down his face. Too tired to question the fit, Martin sat and waited for the other man to concede.

“Then what else can I do?” He asked. The word lost again came to mind. “If I can’t find her, then how do I fix this?”

With a renewed confusion Martin looked to the side and was met with eyes that begged for an answer. But there was nothing he could give.

Jon looked at him sharply, jaw clenched as if keeping words at bay. “Don’t give me that look. You know what I mean. It’s been written all over your face since you found my coat in that closet.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stumbled through the lie and knew it couldn’t be saved.

“Yes you do, Martin.” A wet lock of hair swung down onto his forehead as he spoke. “At first I thought it was in response to me, my behavior, my squirreling it away. I thought that if I could keep my coat around more often, try to push past my own anxieties about it being seen, that I could prove my trust in you. But I know now that it’s not enough, so I’ve been swimming out to the middle of nowhere to- to fix things. To get answers, understanding, closure. To get us back to where we were before everything went to absolute shit.”

For the first time that evening, Martin heard the rain tapping on the window panes as it filled the thick, awful silence. He wanted to be angry, to spit out nonsense about privacy and family business, but instead in front of him sat a good guy who desperately wanted to help and kept being blocked off at every turn. 

He thought he had done the bare minimum of keeping up appearances, keeping his stupid emotions contained. He was supposed to be better at lying. And all Jon got was a housemate who plotted to get him out of his hair as soon as possible. Jon had been going out on his account all because he thought Martin… hated him? Resented him? 

Did he?

“I-I didn’t realize.” He should’ve known better than to open his mouth, but there had to be a way to turn things around. “You… shouldn’t go looking for her, unless it’s for yourself. Anything she had for me, she left behind. It’s done.”

His voice didn’t crack once under the strain on his throat. In the moment he was proud of himself for not flinching.

Another laugh, sudden and full of relief. “Okay.”

Here it was, after all this talking in circles. After his hours of pointless plotting, this was the part he knew he could handle. 

“I won’t, then.”

And in his utter lack of preparation for this, Martin could only sputter out another ridiculous, “But-”

Jon gripped Martin’s shoulder, and for the first time that night he looked awake. “Listen to me. Your mother… she had every right to do what she did. And you, you did everything right, and you didn’t deserve to get hurt, but you did get hurt and I’m sorry.” 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit-

“And you’re right. I won’t find her if I stay here. She’s out there, the one person who might be able to give me a sense of direction about myself, and here I am going out for a few hours each day and then running back here to sleep on your couch. I take up space, trying and failing to make myself useful but unwilling to do the hard part.” Near the end was an almost hysterical lilt to his speech, laughter bubbling up through his words. He leaned forward and butted the top of his head into Martin’s shoulder. “In all respects I’ve failed to make things better.”

Frozen, confused, and unable to voice his disagreement, Martin begged that by some grace Jon wouldn’t feel the thundering of his heart.

Jon sat up and snatched Martin’s gaze, speaking faster as he went on. “I’ve been flailing about trying to keep my promises when I can’t, and I threw myself into the sea hoping that maybe I could find something to give you closure, to make things hurt less, to salvage whatever goodwill you had for me before I left you to deal with things on your own. At this point I’m banking on Sasha and Tim to swoop in with a plan because I certainly don’t have one.” 

All this man did was try and try and try-

“So with all avenues of being helpful closed off, the only argument I have left for staying is that I wantto.”

Mouth twitching at the corners, up or down Martin couldn’t tell, Jon lifted a shaking hand toward Martin’s face. Martin leaned into it without thinking, without saying a thing through the fire in his ribs. Why bother when one sentence beat him so thoroughly?

So he melted into the hand that held him, dipping his head forward, and Jon met him in the motion, pressing his mouth to Martin’s and eliciting an embarrassing squeak. Pulling back, Jon looked for something in Martin’s face with such a painfully hopeful expression that Martin was ready to toss his whole book of notes into the sea, all evidence of his crime destroyed in the spray.

Whatever Jon was looking for he found and surged forward to take. He pressed Martin into the armrest, threading fingers through still-wet hair and bracing an elbow against the couch cushion while he made himself familiar with Martin’s mouth. It was already enough to make Martin dizzy, and he placed a hand on the back of Jon’s neck to regain some semblance of control, of balance, brushing his fingers against the soft ends of his hair.

For a moment Jon broke off the kiss, adjusting his bony legs so they weren’t digging right into Martin’s thighs, and then diving back down to resume his business of driving Martin absolutely mad. He grabbed Martin’s free arm and dragged it behind him until Martin got the hint and wrapped it around Jon’s waist, then pressed kisses to the corner of his mouth, brushing his way up the line of stubble right to his ear and finally pausing against Martin’s cheek. 

“So I, ah-” Jon’s voice was giddiness laced with nerves, breath hot against Martin’s skin. “I hope this is a good enough excuse?”

Unable to get a single word out of his stupid throat, Martin nodded.

“Good,” and he took Martin’s lips again, slower this time, lifting both hands to hold Martin’s face nice and still. A sigh of satisfaction escaped him, slipping into Martin’s mouth and down into his ribcage. 

It was unfair, seeing up close how long Jon’s lashes were, how deep and dark his eyes. It was unfair for this to happen now of all times, when things already felt so temporary. Unfair, unfair, his mind cried as the rest of him happily surrendered all of his arguments of safety and sense. He was being kissed, and kissed well, by someone who knew better than he did.

Jon pulled away again after a few minutes of deliberately slow kisses that had Martin close to whining. “I mean this in the most innocent way possible, but would you mind if we moved from the couch to your room? For my back’s sake?”

“W-what?” Martin said, breathlessly. He laughed without thinking. “Was that the plan, kiss me into submission and then steal my bed?”

With a paper-thin glare Jon kissed him again and bumped their foreheads together. “It’s not stealing if we’re both there.”

Martin opened his mouth to reply and found nothing at all. He simply couldn’t keep up and had lost grip of the situation several minutes ago. “Um-”

“Sorry, too much?’ 

Jon pulled back and Martin could look at him properly. The man looked a mess, an incredibly endearing mess with a worried forehead that Martin wanted to smooth out as soon as possible. 

Oh. Oh, fuck it. “No, no, that’s… fine. If you want? It’s not that big.”

That got a smile. Jon went limp against Martin’s chest, squeezing him around his middle. “As long as you’re fine with my bony elbows getting in the way.”

Martin leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, chest burning, dizzy and confused. His tongue moved on its own with the familiar eb-and-flow of their evenings. “And all of my warmth being stolen?” 

“Naturally. As everyone loves to remind me, I need to be better equipped for the cold.” As Jon leaned in again, his stomach loudly protested and he froze. “Hm.”

Martin forced them both upright, half-heartedly untangling their limbs. “You also need to eat something.” And he needed time for his face to regain its normal color.

Rolling his eyes, Jon reached for his plate while moving as little as possible from his new spot on the couch. “Trading one scolding for another, then?” He was clearly going for deadpan but was too tired to stop the grin from spreading across his face.

“Shut up and eat your beans.” 

He did, quite comfortably in his newly-acquired space against Martin’s side. Quickly, too, as both found their appetites much easier to wrangle after that unprecedented level of emotional honesty. Perhaps too quickly. Once they were both fed Martin stood up and stretched without much thought at all, then turned to see Jon reaching out a hand.

So he pulled Jon up, letting out a small ‘oof’ when Jon leaned into him like it was wholly normal for him to do so. And he supposed it was if he chose to see it that way.

Martin could’ve felt something more like embarrassment, or bashfulness, but he was tired, and 29 years old, and it was easy to follow Jon’s lead in skipping to the part where they’d always been like this.

By the time they collapsed onto the bed, run ragged from forces unknowable, it was no surprise when Jon threw a skinny arm around Martin’s torso and immediately fell asleep, Martin not far behind.

–

Alternative spoiler synopsis:

AO3

What time is it?

Martin takes a breather.

(lol happy jonmartin week)

After lunch Martin collapsed onto his bed, muscles complaining from the long walk he’d taken around town. They didn’t ache; he’d made the walk up and down those cliffs enough to have built up some stamina. But he was tired, tired enough to place his glasses on the side table and try for a lie down.

Jon had gone out to sea. 

It was good news. A few days of rest and Jon was comfortable going back in the water. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to bring up safety concerns if Jon was diving back in of his own accord. Maybe it wouldn’t take much convincing for Jon to find a safer place to hide.

Then there would be no need for Jon to worry about the skin or pretend he was ok with Martin seeing it.

Martin frowned, rubbing small circles into his forehead and cheeks. It would’ve been nice to pretend that Jon was genuinely all right with his coat lying around for Martin to see, but there was no getting around the tightness around the man’s mouth as he’d taken the skin out of the room.

Not that Martin had made the situation any better, freezing up at the sight of the thing. He’d managed to calm down enough for polite conversation during lunch, but there he was, holed up in his room in the hopes that sleep would carry everything away. It wasn’t pleasant, but there was nothing else to do in his agitated state but retreat upstairs and try to relax.

So he lay there, turning from one side to the other, unable to stop himself from peeking at his phone and confirming that it had only been minutes since the last time he’d checked. For several hours he did this, groaning each time the clock refused to tick forward more than a quarter of an hour. All he wanted was for time to pass while he wasn’t looking. Why couldn’t it play along for once?

It was while reaching for his phone yet again that there was a knock on his door.

“Martin?

The phone dropped to the floor, and Martin cursed. “Yeah? Sorry, give me a minute.” He reached down after it, squinting into the shadows between his bed and the side table.

From the other side of the door, Jon said, “If this is a bad time-”

“No, no, it’s-” Martin sighed and finally grabbed his glasses from the end table. Tightening his ponytail back to a presentable state, he pushed himself off of the bed and opened the door. “It’s fine. What’s going on?”

Jon looked up at him, fingers lacing together. Then he looked back down, warm light from the hall casting his face in shadow. “Nothing. The trip outside left me more tired than I’d expected, so I’ve given up on research for the night.”

“Oh. Okay.” He wasn’t sure if it was the sudden brightness or his failure of a nap, but Martin found himself slow to respond. “Glad you’re taking some time to rest?”

“That’s the idea. I hope I didn’t interrupt you.” He looked through the doorway into the dark.

“You did? Sort of. Wasn’t going well, though.” Martin said, running a hand along his forehead and combing a bit of his bangs that had flipped up against his pillow. “Can I… Do you need something?”

Jon scratched his head. “Er… not really. It’s getting a bit late and I thought we could eat and continue that show we started yesterday. The one with the old house?” 

Late. He had started his nap with some light through his window and when he dropped his phone he couldn’t see a damned thing. Of all the rude things.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten-” Martin walked past him and down the stairs. “I should be able to get something made up.”

With a placating gesture, Jon said, “Martin, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine! You’re a guest and yesterday…” At a sudden new smell Martin trailed off, following the scent to its source. “Oh.”

It was rice and chicken with fried vegetables. Two bowls were set on the kitchen counter, ready to be filled from the large pan on the stove. Simple enough, anything would have to be with Martin’s grocery choices, but there had been a clear increase in effort from the night before.

Damn it, he’d slept too late. He should’ve been up an hour ago, not wallowing in bed while Jon made dinner again. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of Jon eating his cooking, but it would’ve been less embarrassing. Absent-mindedly he tried to smooth a different area of his hair.

Coming back to himself, Martin glanced at Jon who had already started filling up his own bowl. 

He would not make another meal weird. Not for the third time in a row. He stood back and waited for his turn.  “It looks great. Thanks for cooking, again. I guess I was more tired than I thought.” 

“You grabbed lunch. Fair is fair.” Jon turned with his food and gestured toward the living room with his elbow. 

Dinner and drink acquired, they walked past the empty kitchen tabled into the living room and settled into their respective sides. Because that was how things were, with Jon on the right and Martin to the left. Routine. Or Jon preferred having a side table to his right. 

Not much was said as they resumed their watch, Jon clearly trying to keep stone faced at the strange yelling man they’d left off from in the young girl’s dream. It was too early to let himself laugh at something that silly, apparently. The adventures of the younger sister continued with empty halls and one incredibly mean older brother. Not in a particularly intense way, but the way siblings could be in shows. Martin hadn’t had any experience in that vein, but he hoped actual siblings weren’t actually that awful to each other.

Nevertheless, the girl went on exploring the house and the surrounding grounds, this time with a proper coat and boots. From over a hedge, a child from a neighboring house told her of local superstitions related to her family’s new home and then was called home by a woman off screen. 

“I wonder if that’s all he was for,” Jon said, taking another bite of chicken. “Walk on-screen, say something cryptic, and then disappear forever.”

Martin thought for a moment, swallowing his current mouthful. “Don’t remember him, honestly.” 

With a sigh, Jon raised an eyebrow at Martin and said, “Well, there are worse ways of getting information across I suppose.” Then he turned back to the television.

This would happen every once in a while, Jon making some comment or other with the tiniest of nit-picks and looking at Martin not for agreement but just to have someone to say it to. He wondered if Jon would say it out loud with no one else in the room. It was easygoing, though, and with Jon happy enough to fill the space, Martin didn’t have to use much of his brain to enjoy himself. 

At one point the girl made her way into an attic space. Jon wondered aloud if the strange man from before would ever come back or if it was just another one-off character when suddenly the camera turned with the man’s face in the window.

Both men jumped in their seats, Jon with a startled yelp. His fork fell to the ground and he scowled at it. “Shit.”

Martin smiled sheepishly and said, “I do remember being a bit scared of this show now that I think about it.”

Clearing his throat, Jon scooped up his fork and strode over to the kitchen. “A cheap jump scare, that’s all. It would startle anyone.” 

He didn’t mean to laugh, but a little one slipped out as Jon left the room. Hopefully Jon hadn’t heard him. The man was already bad enough at hiding his own embarrassment, and he didn’t want to come off as mocking. Even if he was, a bit. 

It didn’t seem like Jon took teasing too badly, though, if past conversations were any proof. He huffed and did his best to explain himself, sure, but he wasn’t the type to linger too long before moving onto other topics. Given the opportunity he might even tease Martin back.

This was stupid. This was a stupid thing to think about and Martin’s ears were starting to burn.

He rubbed his forehead and let out a breath through his nose. It was all right. With the limited time Jon would be staying, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy his evening and be a bit easier on himself. What did it matter if he had the tiniest, softest feelings as long as he kept quiet about them?

Jon returned after a minute or so with a clean fork and a suspicious glance at the television set.

Not having bothered to pause the show, Martin said, “The man’s face disappeared when-”

“When she looked again, I heard,” Jon replied, waving a hand. 

“Sure you want to keep watching?” Martin asked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Nodding gravely, Jon glared at the screen. “Yes. Next time he appears I’ll be ready for him.”

Unable to stop himself, Martin snorted and then kept his face down towards his dinner bowl until the scene was over. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jon relax into the back of the couch. Maybe he even smiled a little. From that angle it was hard to tell, and at that point Martin was incapable of looking directly at him without exposing the absolutely gone look on his own face.

It only took him weeks of knowing the guy and several days of living with him, but Martin had finally noticed that Jon often tried to be funny in a flat sort of way. Pity he had to deal with someone who didn’t pick up on the joke half the time.

Jon was trying. Trying to be a good house guest, to fix the mess they both had found themselves in, to help people he barely knew. To make their cohabitation bearable.

So Martin laughed a little through his scorched throat, hoping it was enough.

–

When Martin returned from his walk to town the next day the skin was hanging up in the downstairs shower, dripping wet. A better place to see it, for certain. Martin had the hall to himself when he jumped at the sight and could scurry up to his room to let his stomach untie itself before Jon noticed he was home. 

Once his breathing had caught up with him he had the space to wonder if the trips out to sea had been happening this whole time. Maybe Jon’s trepidation was all in Martin’s head, another baseless excuse to put off the inevitable.

–

He tried to bring his concerns up that night at dinner (whipped up by Martin at his own insistence, unfortunately), but Jon really got going on the topic of irregular hauntings and it seemed a shame to-

–

He’d taken notes on what to say.

Once lunch came around on Monday he sat himself down and started to write in his notebook. The notes were scattered, barely legible with how fast he scribbled, but the pen chased his thoughts as best they could. The notes weren’t a letter or speech and couldn’t be relied on as such. Pros and cons, the numerous risks Jon was taking, that sort of thing.

Hewasn’t kicking Jon out. He wasn’t exactly inviting him to stay either. He was asking Jon to break a promise not just with Martin but with Evan as well. He was asking Jon to let Tim and Sasha handle things, not because Jon wasn’t capable-

God, what was he writing, a notice of termination?

Jon could leave. Should. Absolutely, Jon needed to think ahead and not assume his own personal selkie hunter’s colleague wouldn’t sniff him out eventually.  If he was lucky Jon would be on board with the idea. Not so lucky, though. He didn’t need Jon running out the door.

Martin had already asked Jon to let him make dinner again, and this time he would plan something better than his usual, easy meals. Nothing fantastic, but more effort than he’d bother to put in for himself. When he got back Jon would be tapping away at the laptop, where Martin could, well… corner him, basically. They would have the conversation, and once things were settled he could cook for Jon and assuage his own overwhelming dread by keeping his hands busy.

He looked at the winding steps and was halfway out of his chair when he saw his break was over. Nothing for him to do but work.

–

The walk down the cliffs was unbearable, and he wished he could go right back up and up and up to the lighthouse and up once more.

No one was making him do this. The conversation didn’t have to happen that evening, or any evening. Jon was an adult who wouldn’t appreciate someone nagging about safety. Probably.

But that just meant Martin had to be stubborn about it. Plant himself firm and make his case for why Jon needed to leave forever, immediately, for both their sakes. Because it was dangerous. Because the situation had changed since Jon made those promises. Because Martin couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have someone watching while he waited for the worst to come.

So Martin was going to kick Jon out of his house before he had the chance to break down and embarrass himself. Could he be more of a selfish arse?

Jon’s safety was the priority. Not his pride, or Martin’s helplessness, or how the house wasn’t so painfully quiet while Jon was there.

Jon’s safety. That and ripping the rug out from under Elias’ plans. That would feel good, even if he was never going to meet the man.

Breathing in sharply, Martin slapped his cheeks and brought life back to cold-numbed skin. He squinted at his house through the rolling fog. Light shone through only the living room window, fuzzy through the mist on Martin’s glasses. His hair had begun to stick to his forehead unpleasantly, so he stalked towards the house and left his stupid arguments behind. 

“Jon?” he said, a little too loud for the empty front hall. He hung up his heavier jacket on the hook. “I’m back. It’s nasty today, isn’t it?”

The silence he’d tried to break stood firm, the tiniest reverberations of his voice hitting him like a brick. 

So he walked lightly, gently, down the hall, passing the living room to peek inside the dark toilet. Nothing hung from the shower rod. 

Something rose like panic in his chest, and he shoved it down. Backtracking, he reached the living room and found it empty. No long-forgotten mug on the side table, the blanket once crumpled now folded politely, and the laptop sitting closed on what had become Martin’s side of the couch. 

He backed into the hallway and turned his head towards the front door, careful not to look into the kitchen. His wet tracks formed a path outside for him to follow.

Starting at the base of the front steps were footprints, smaller than his own and faded to almost nothing. And they went straight towards the water. Martin couldn’t see where exactly they ended with his field of vision limited to ten, maybe fifteen feet at most. So Jon wasn’t kidnapped. That was something.

Right. He should go make dinner.

It wasn’t the plan, but they could eat first. Jon would probably be back soon, and he imagined swimming was physically taxing no matter what form the man took.

Air filled his nostrils and his shoulders went slack. A few minutes to breathe and let himself calm down in the night air would do him good after all the pointless worrying he accomplished that day. He sat on the top step, damp seeping through his clothes from the wooden porch. It wasn’t as cold as he expected it to be, especially after the walk down. It was almost pleasant.

He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his legs and tried looking up at the overcast sky and saw nothing at all. He breathed in, and out, and the remaining panic seeped out of him on the exhale.

Jon wasn’t in the living room, waiting to listen to Martin’s slapdash presentation on why he would be better off anywhere else. Why would he be where Martin expected? What reason did the universe have to follow Martin’s stupid little notes?

What plans could he possibly put into motion? The world moved without him, and as he looked up, time didn’t seem to move at all. The clouds didn’t move across the sky, backlit by the moon. It was just the grey, the mist, the fog. Not the kind that pushed him to Simon’s house of threats and mockery. This was Martin’s home, where the air burned his lungs until he was clean.

He wondered idly whether he would be entirely smoothed out from the inside if he stayed there long enough. He didn’t think so. His mother had come out so often for so long and, well, he didn’t know what was in her head. He didn’t know her at all. But she never became smooth and calm from sitting in the night. The cold was too much and she had been so sensitive to it.

But he was younger, and stronger, and she had run off somewhere he couldn’t. Wherever Jon had run off to. How much later was it? Certainly late enough to assume the best. Now he didn’t have to put effort into dinner, or argue with himself. Jon made the right choice, thankfully. He was a smart man, a smart and funny man who was nice enough to keep Martin company in the days after his mother left. 

When did the breaths stop burning? He wanted to be angry about her being right, but it wouldn’t do anything. It wasn’t as if he was going to shout, or get up and stomp around like a child. 

How much would it take to skip ahead and find out if Tim or Sasha could save the day? Could he sit there until the time came? Would they come to see him? To say goodbye? Would Jon go to them when it was safe? He hoped so. They must’ve been so worried about Jon those long weeks while Martin assumed the worst in his well of self-pity. And Tim didn’t need another missing person in Jon.

His shoulders began to shake. He wasn’t laughing, or crying, all the moisture on his face coming from the air and sticking to him like dust. It clung to his glasses now, and dark shapes slipped away from focus beyond the lenses. It was disorienting, and he frowned, trying to blink away the images.

They refused, coming just a bit more into focus and merging together into one mass, moving his shoulders with a force that threatened to push him onto his back if they let loose their grip-

“-k at me, okay? Did something happen? Can you- no, he can’t, of course he can’t, shit-” Something cold rested on Martin’s face. “Okay, since you’re sitting up you might be able to stand? No, that’s stupid, I’m not nearly strong enough to pull him onto his feet. Um-” 

Martin blinked hard, a droplet of water slipping into his eye at the wrong time. Instinctively, he reached up to rub it and bumped against a bony hand that had been pressed against his cheek. Before him, Jon jumped at the sudden movement and released Martin, bag and seal skin nearly slipping from their place around his shoulders.

Looking around, Martin found himself completely soaked and surrounded by new puddles on the ground. His loose ponytail sagged under its new weight, hair tie pulling double-duty to keep things together. Above him, clouds drifted past a thin sliver of moon.

His mouth felt oddly dry as he tried to speak. “What’s going on-”

“I’d like to know the same thing, but first-” Jon stood from his kneeling position and tugged Martin up by the elbow. “-we need to get you inside. For once I’m better equipped for the weather.”

Martin looked down at his jumper that worked wonders for layering and not much else. A shiver ran through him like a breath released. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

Keeping a hand on Martin’s arm, Jon led him out of the cold.