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Sometimes the Lonely rolls in so heavy and fast that Martin can’t do anything but sit there. Jon will try to help, of course he will, but for Martin, it’s like he’s behind a sheet of glass, untouchable, unreachable. All he can think, as Jon looks at him with concern, says kind, hopeful, soothing things to him, is that he doesn’t know Martin, not really.
He doesn’t know Martin, and Martin doesn’t know Jon, and they shouldn’t pretend like they can understand each other. Isn’t that really what human connection is? Just people, pretending to know, to understand, to empathize, when in truth they are each living their own separate experiences of reality, side by side but never touching. Even Jon, with all his power of the Beholding-he can’t really know, either. But he tries, and Martin supposes that counts for something.
And then, eventually, the Lonely lifts, by degrees, until the words Jon is saying stop being just sounds and start to have meaning. Until the care in his eyes starts to warm Martin, just a little-not as much as it once would have, but enough. Until there are sparks of heat at his fingertips, where Jon is gently, gently holding on.
“You came back, “ he whispers, voice full of emotions Martin can barely name right now.
“Yeah,” says Martin, and then “thank you.”
He might fade again. It’s a very real possibility, it’s happened before, and will happen again. But all he can hope for, right now, curled up against Jon, is that he’ll come back again.
It’ll have to be enough.