#notsolonely

*Martin fumbled with his keys with his left hand, knowing that he could easily have opened the door already if he let go of Owen and used both hands, but absolutely refused to do that. Eventually, the door swung open to reveal a small but cozy flat with a small kitchen to the left, a main room with a couch in the centre, tv against the far right wall with a door on either side, and bookcases dotted around. The furniture was all very old and certainly bought second hand, but there was an air of familiarity and comfort. Martin gestured for Owen to come in, pouting softly when he let go of his hand.*

Make yourself at home, I can go put the kettle on if you like, or we can put something on the TV or… really anything…

[Owen was at his desk, legs propped up and reading a book. He was so engrossed in it he almost didn't see martin. He took a sip of his tea and saw his friend from the corner of his eye]

Martin! Hello! What, er- what are you doing here? I'd assume they'd have officially put you in research by now.

It’s hard not knowing

What you are.

When there’s some who claim you belong with them,

And there’s some who say

We’re our own classification.

Our own community.

All I do know is

If I can’t hear the sand crunch,

The birds chirping,

Or the melodic piano of my favourite song

In a few years’ time,

I won’t belong anywhere I do now.

It’s a community I’ve never been allowed in

Never met another like me,

Hard of hearing,

Never met someone who struggles with identity-

At least not like this.

Never met someone who struggles

With hearing,

The thing we’re meant to be able to do from birth.

Such a simple thing,

But I’ve never been able to accept it.

How do I call myself disabled

When I still have ability?

Can I even call myself that?

I wasn’t raised in a community,

One prided by differences, joined by hard times,

I was raised by lonely thoughts.

Isolated by my differences.

How do I feel pride for something I don’t have?

How do I look at that hearing aid

With anything except questions?

[something about me being HOH]

Mmmmmmmmm.... wha' time izzit....

@loneiibrarian

*Martin yawned, glancing over at the clock on his beside table. He rubbed his hand in gentle circles on Owen’s back, pressing kisses to his hair*

Martin? are you in there?

*Martin stood, opening the door for Owen and smiling nervously.*

Uh… hi! D’you want to- to come inside? So we can.. talk?

Martin please open the door we need to talk

@loneiibrarian

Coming !

*Martin called from behind the door. A moment later, the lock clicked and the door swung open. He looked sort of… rough. He had changed out of his work clothes, instead wearing a pair of worn looking pyjama bottoms and a loose fitting Cambridge Uni t-shirt. His right hand was wrapped in bandages, and he was holding an ice pack in his left.*

Oh- Owen! Er… Hi, love. Look if this is- if this is about Tim I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit him. It’s just he- Hold on come inside and sit down so we can talk properly.