#bare1ythere

!!! thank you :0!! god seriously gonta fans you guys are fighting for your lives out there. it is so dire. every time i see an interpretation of gonta as somebody completely and totally incompetent i shed a single lonesome tear

DEAREST BOY GONTA AAAAAAA <3 <3 He is perfect, and i'm lucky to interact with lots of gonta fans so i don't see anyone being mean to him or wrong about him!!!!

awww, thank you so much!! that means a lot to me! i’d say this made my day, but it’s been. several days. so i guess this made my day both when i received this, and now that i’m finally answering lmao

how do i do it, you ask? time for a semi-warranted art lesson with cait! under the cut, that is. it’s a long’un

In the wake of the end of the end of the world (there are less clunky things to call it, but this is Martin’s personal favorite), Jon doesn’t go out much.

Jon’s always been a little overwhelmed by noise, crowds, public places. Martin knew this even before Prentiss; he and Tim and Sasha (the Sasha he can’t remember) had dragged Jon out to pubs after work on occasion and although Jon had acquiesced, he never seemed fully comfortable even after a handful of drinks. He winced at loud music and yells across the bar, and always wanted to sit closest to the corner of the room, where he could see everyone, bracketed by friendly faces on either side. Martin pointed this out to Tim once, and Tim, who genuinely hadn’t noticed, made sure to only invite Jon to quieter pubs from then on.

With the time they had left, anyway.

Now, Jon has even more reason to be wary of the public; literally everyone knows his face, and although most recognize that he’s the one who helped save the world, plenty of others recognize him as the one who ended it in the first place.

Most of the time, he can walk around unbothered, especially if Martin is with him to glare at anyone who looks at Jon funny, but Martin knows that crowds still upset him. He can hear whispers of their fears, he tells Martin, like echoes of things you see during the day that remind you of a nightmare you once had. Not enough for a statement, not even enough to frighten him, but enough to make him uneasy. And when you compound that feeling coming from a hundred people at once, well . . .

They’re at the farmer’s market one day, and it’s busier than usual. Martin keeps surreptitiously checking Jon’s face, his body language, knowing if he asks him aloud Jon will just say he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.

And at first, he really does seem like it. He’s smiling slightly behind the large sunglasses he thinks are effective at hiding his identity, examining boxes of ginger and limes for the curry he’s planning on making tonight. Martin feels himself relax a bit.

But it’s a lovely day out, and as the morning wears on the crowds get bigger. Martin notices Jon turn around from a vendor and flinch, involuntarily, at the sheer number of people that have accumulated in the outdoor square. His shoulders tense up, his jaw locks. He runs a hand through his hair, starts looking for the nearest exit.

“It’s getting crowded,” Martin says, simply, without judgment. Just an observation. “Here, hold my hand.” He offers his right.

Jon stares at him behind the sunglasses for a moment, then slowly takes hold of it, hooking his elbow around Martin’s as he does. Locking them together. Martin smiles.

“I think I’ve got everything,” Jon says, which Martin knows isn’t true because he hasn’t bought the onions yet.

“Okay,” Martin says, and he points to the corner of the square nearest to them with an outlet to the street. “I think I parked the car somewhere that way.” They both know this isn’t true, but Jon nods agreeably.

There are still crowds to make their way through as they leave the vendor area, but Martin keeps Jon’s arm locked in his, squeezing his hand every once in a while. Jon likes the pressure, he knows, the feeling of something solid. He says it focuses him, reminds him that Martin is here. It’s the same with hugs; he’s always sure to give Jon the strongest hugs he can, holding him just this side of too tight before Jon melts in his arms.

As they make their way through the crowds, Jon will sometimes glance off to the side, his gaze locked on a passerby for a moment too long, and Martin will gently squeeze his hand, and Jon will come back, leaning against him a bit, in silent appreciation. They don’t discuss moments like this.

Soon enough, they’ve left the crowds behind, and Jon relaxes, breathes, lets Martin lead him around the long, more deserted way to where the car’s actually parked.