[ His childhood and adolescence had been spent contorting himself into whatever version of himself was most palatable for his ailing mother. Martin had done his best to minimize the space he occupied; head down, voice quiet. He’d prioritized caring for her, and it had never been good enough. She had never, not for a second, made it feel as if he was easy to love. Love was an arduous chore that exhausted and whittled you down until only begrudging tolerance remained.
An overly critical boss hardly compared to his mother hating him, and John was objectively attractive, so the tradeoff was a net positive (MARTIN PLEASE). The first cup of tea had come after he’d overheard Tim and Sasha gossiping in the breakroom about not seeing their fearless leader for hours. Murmurs damning Gertrude had leaked through the crack under John's door, according to Tim (God, he misses Tim. Sasha...). It had been a bit intimidating, knocking on his door and handing the mug over before John could snip at him (he wasn't a snake, for the venom in some of his criticisms, and yet, Martin knew to tread carefully). The flash of surprise on John’s face after handing it over had made something twist inside his chest -- not enough to make him brave enough to stay, but enough to start a routine.
The urge to care had never felt like an obligation. He would do anything for him. Had. That said, John was excellent in doing things that sent Martin's eyes upward, begging for the strength to deal with whatever risk he was keen to propel himself toward. They were both bad at that, but that was beside the point! ]
You can handle cute, better than adorable, hm? Noted.
[ He considers the question for a moment, shaking his head apologetically when John trails off. ]
I’m sorry, I don’t have more information... Kind of just – got up and had to hope I’d find you. Nothing else really mattered to me.
[ Martin has priorities. John is alive, and he will not apologize for letting that fact shine a soft glow of optimism on whatever finds them on the outside. There is ... trepidation; an ache of anxiety bone deep, but that existed long before he even stepped foot in the Institute. His whole life was a matter of survival. He’d never felt safe -- until John, who makes him want to live so badly it aches. ]
How are you feeling? We don’t have to rush— I think we’ve done enough of that for the time being. [ It is an inevitability that they will have to leave, but Martin won’t push. ] Guess we have time to mull over that whole... post-archive life. [ Since he wouldn’t stab out his eyes and run away with you while he could. ] What are your thoughts on getting a dog? [ He doesn't even know who he's trying to distract more. ]
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An overly critical boss hardly compared to his mother hating him, and John was objectively attractive, so the tradeoff was a net positive (MARTIN PLEASE). The first cup of tea had come after he’d overheard Tim and Sasha gossiping in the breakroom about not seeing their fearless leader for hours. Murmurs damning Gertrude had leaked through the crack under John's door, according to Tim (God, he misses Tim. Sasha...). It had been a bit intimidating, knocking on his door and handing the mug over before John could snip at him (he wasn't a snake, for the venom in some of his criticisms, and yet, Martin knew to tread carefully). The flash of surprise on John’s face after handing it over had made something twist inside his chest -- not enough to make him brave enough to stay, but enough to start a routine.
The urge to care had never felt like an obligation. He would do anything for him. Had. That said, John was excellent in doing things that sent Martin's eyes upward, begging for the strength to deal with whatever risk he was keen to propel himself toward. They were both bad at that, but that was beside the point! ]
You can handle cute, better than adorable, hm? Noted.
[ He considers the question for a moment, shaking his head apologetically when John trails off. ]
I’m sorry, I don’t have more information... Kind of just – got up and had to hope I’d find you. Nothing else really mattered to me.
[ Martin has priorities. John is alive, and he will not apologize for letting that fact shine a soft glow of optimism on whatever finds them on the outside. There is ... trepidation; an ache of anxiety bone deep, but that existed long before he even stepped foot in the Institute. His whole life was a matter of survival. He’d never felt safe -- until John, who makes him want to live so badly it aches. ]
How are you feeling? We don’t have to rush— I think we’ve done enough of that for the time being. [ It is an inevitability that they will have to leave, but Martin won’t push. ] Guess we have time to mull over that whole... post-archive life. [ Since he wouldn’t stab out his eyes and run away with you while he could. ] What are your thoughts on getting a dog? [ He doesn't even know who he's trying to distract more. ]