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This domain was desolate. But what else would you expect from the lonely? The waves crashing against hollow sand provided the only noise within the realm. Jon could not help but curse his mind as though he was intrinsically connected with The Ceaseless Watcher, he cannot find Martin. He was somewhere in this horror, yet Jon could not find him.
The pure white sand of the beach tangled itself within Jon’s heavy boots thudding against the ground. His feet scurried through the sand frantically, his head whipped back and forth, his eyes trying to focus on something. Although his eyes were wide open, The Archivist couldn’t help but try to open them even more. And they did.
It felt like there was something lingering underneath his skin. Eyes that he could open. Eyes that coils see Martin. His skin began to fizz as he commanded the eyes to open. Blood bubbled through his skin, and down his slender fingers, but Jon couldn’t find it in himself to stop the searing pain. Instead he let out a shout as he kept opening his eyelids. Blood was dripping from his fingers, staining the pale sand into a deep crimson hue. They did not last however, the waves swept away any evidence of himself that Jon left. This dreadful place was making sure Martin could find no trace of him. This though only made Jon push harder.
As bright green light started to illuminate through his pale skin Jon questioned everything. The Elias he knew before everything made sense. When Gertrude’s death was simply a mystery, not a murder. What the world would’ve been like if Tim was still around. Who the real Sasha was.
Logically he knew he couldn’t answer these questions. But as his skin bursted open it felt like his mind was on the precipice of answering them. A thick green liquid oozed out of the gaping wounds littering his body, mixing with his blood.
Jon’s mind was reeling. But strangely, the thing that caught his attention was blinking. His eyes widened, yet he could still feel the rhythmic blinking of his skin. The pupils embedded in his muscles move sporadically until their gaze fixed upon something moving in the water.
“Martin!”
Jon’s voice split through the silence which consumed the domain. Suddenly Jon’s feet were sprinting towards the water. The sand beneath his feet fell over dunes as his heavy boots met the ground. As he ran into the water he couldn’t find himself to care about the sting of salt water invading his fresh wounds. Soon the water consumed his legs, quickly reaching his hips as he frantically splashed towards Martin. When Jon reached the seemingly lifeless body he grabbed him, and began to struggle back to land.
“M-Martin, it’s okay!” Jon repeated hurriedly like a mantra as he dragged Martin's body to shore. All of his eyes were focussed on the man. The only indication he was alive were the tears streaming quietly down his face, accompanied by a soft smile. The rest of him shivered meagerly, wet clothes sticking to his wrinkled skin. He looked dull.
“I want to stay.” Martin whispered quietly. His voice pleading, just on the verge of begging. Here Martin need not worry about Peter Lucas. He didn’t need to worry about Elias, or the Extinction. He could just relax.
But Jon could see through his hollowness. Through the convincing, and the manipulation. He could see Martin. The man who would bring him tea every morning, no matter how standoffish Jon had been. The man who, even while isolating himself, found time to subtly help Jon. The Martin who he loved.
“No you don’t Martin,” the Archivist said gently, all of his eyes softly looking at the man. His hands slowly and carefully caressed the crying man’s face.
“You just want to be loved. Let me love you, please.” Martin’s teary gaze met Jon’s eyes slowly, as they filled with warmth.
“Okay.”
As Martin’s hand reached towards the back of Jon’s neck he tugged the other man down, their lips meeting softly. The kiss was not aggressive, nor quick. But instead it was slow, and tender. Jon’s fingers delicately caressed the other man’s jaw, lingering on each freckle they met.
After their lips broke, the two men’s eyes met. Martin looked lovingly into the eyes of his Jon, but his soft gaze soon turned concerned as his eyes wandered down the other man’s arms. His eyes widened in horror as he made eye contact with Jon’s arm.
“Jon, what the fuck happened?” Martin’s eyes shifted nervously back towards Jon’s face. Martin expected to see shock, fear even. But all he could see was delusion.
“I-It’s fine! Martin, you're fine! That’s all that matters!” He said nervously, his eyes darting across the other man’s face. The rest of his eyes blinked wildly, pupils moving without a second thought.
“Jon, you can’t–”
“Tell me, tell me that you’re okay, and, –and I'm fine!” Jon quickly blurted out. His eyes were wide and frantic, and his breath stuttered slightly.
“Please listen to me Jon.” Martin’s steady voice laced itself within Jon’s mind, as he nodded uncertainly. Martin raised his hand and placed it on the other man’s jaw, slowing the frantic nodding.
“I won’t let you do this to yourself.” Jon’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Martin gave him a pointed look.
“This is important Jon,” he sighed gently, “You can’t just go neglecting yourself for my sake.” Martin pleaded. At this point the panic in Jon’s eyes had calmed. All his eyes watched Martin intently, he was consuming every word the man uttered.
“Okay, I promise.” Jon said quietly. “Good,” Martin leaned forward and gave the Archivist a quick peck on the cheek.
“Let’s get out of here and fix you up.” As Jon stood up, he held out a hand for the other man. Martin firmly grasped his hand as he hauled himself up. He tried to dust the sand off himself, but his damp clothes held onto it tightly. Jon began turning around in different directions trying to find an exit.
“So, where is the –oh, there’s a door.” The man said cautiously. He looked suspiciously at the door, before approaching it slowly. Martin then walked ahead of him and shrugged.
“Nowhere else to go.”