Sometimes Jonah tells himself that it’s just the Eye that makes him check in on Jon in his hospital bed, wanting to see why one of its most important avatars is not where he is supposed to be. Sometimes he almost believes this - but he knows it’s just him, and his…
It would be incorrect to call it infatuation, much as he desires to erase the feeling. Affection isn’t quite enough either - it would be most accurate to say that he has, rather terribly and irrevocably, fallen in love with Jonathan Sims.
This is, of course, not something he can entertain. It wasn’t something he should’ve entertained, years ago when Jon was but a fledgling under Jonah’s careful gaze. It certainly wasn’t something to continue; a breakup would’ve fuelled his paranoia, and thus his desire to find the truth. It would’ve been fitting to break up with Jon after the confrontation, allow Jon some time away from the man dedicated to hurting him in as many unique ways as he can. Spend time away from the monster who intends fully to manipulate Jon to his own ends, and use him to destroy everything. Jon would’ve realised that he deserved better than Elias, and he could still find safety and comfort in Martin, or Tim, or even some stranger off of a dating app, much as Elias disapproves of not knowing his Archivist’s choice beforehand.
But he chose to continue down this dangerous and precarious path, this path that threatens to make him destroy everything he has worked so hard for every time he sees Jon smile when he thinks nobody is looking, or hears him genuinely laugh. And Jon chose to walk it with him.
He swear he knows that man.
It’s the middle of the 19th century, and everything is changing. Well - it is to most people, anyway. Jon’s not sure if he’s the only one that reincarnates or simply the only one that remembers it, but it doesn’t particularly matter. The specifics of it won’t change anything. Jon’s been here for a rather long time - since the Egyptians, at least. Before that it gets a little fuzzy.
But that man, the one in rather fancy clothing talking to some employee or another at this Magnus Institute - Jon knows him.
This is impossible. Nobody Jon has known is alive now, and he doesn’t befriend anyone, long since used to the cycle of getting close with people and then losing them to disease or injury or war or just plain old age. Inside of him is a well of grief that he has not touched in a very long time. And something inside of that well, perhaps the last part of him that is capable of retaining a desire for connection, is screaming “I recognise him!” like a baby bird begging to be fed.
He keeps catching on the eyes. Something about those eyes is pulling at him, trying to tear through the thick blanket he has covered his well of grief with, get to whatever is inside and pull it out, like a tree, or loose tooth.
Impossible.
The sensation is so strong that he barely remembers what he came here for, but he recalls it easily enough. The Magnus Institute is dedicated to researching the supernatural, the paranormal, the strange. He knows he’s a case of this, and he knows if he were discovered it would be very bad for him.
There are the Archives, supposedly real, first hand accounts of supernatural experiences or encounters, but they are likely to be rather bare bones, so he’s checking the library.
“Right,” he mutters to himself, and heads to the library, perhaps quicker than he must. This is why he misses the man’s eyes tracking him across the Institute’s lobby with curiosity and recognition.
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It takes them a week and a bit for Jon to be comfortable being away from Jonah. He clings, always touching Jonah in some way, unwilling to be made to deal with the full onslaught of Watching the entire world. Usually he’s sat on him, or leaning on him. He’s almost always Watching Jonah. It’s sweet.
Jonah had suggested making some avatars to outsource the work to - surely Jon would be able to make sure nobody would get hurt in the process - and Jon had almost bitten his fingers off, making a low rumbling noise that can’t exactly be called a growl and, for a few moments, convincing Jonah’s mind he was a very small prey animal outside of the den after dark. It’s the only sound he’s heard Jon make - he’s not sure if his body even has a mouth, although it certainly has teeth. He tells himself that this isn’t contradictory.
“It isn’t,” Jon says from a tape on the table.
Jonah simply hums, continuing to pet him. He knows he’s never going to be able to see the world as Jon does, and that’s fine. He can be content with it.
Every day, usually in the afternoon, he spends some time teaching Jon how to manage himself.
“Remaking the Crown would be the most useful thing in the short term. It’d also look good on you.”
“I’m not remaking the Crown.”
They talk about, and around, the topic of the Watcher’s Crown frequently, and never come to a conclusion. Jonah’s still not permitted anywhere but the very edges of Jon’s mind, and so has no access to this information. It bothers him - he wants to help, but also wishes that his Archivist would be more vulnerable with him, despite knowing there are plenty of reasons not to be.
Jon manages to get to the point where he can separate from Jonah. Not for very long, only an hour and a half or so, but he can. He sighs, staticky through the tape.
“I should be better at this.” Jon says.
“You went from comparatively nothing to being every single entity, and then you destroyed and remade the entire world, Jon, as well as much of the observable universe, and you did it on your own. I think that’s more than good enough. You’ve done very well.”
One of his favourite things to do is to tell Jon exactly what a good Archivist he’s been. And he has been - he’s worked very, very hard, and endured so much. Jonah couldn’t be more proud. Jon’s reactions are fantastic too, always getting so bashful, trying to internally disprove Jonah’s words whilst also desperately wishing for them to be true. Jonah loves him.
It’s still terrifying to admit that to himself. He’s been more than content with being the monster. Being a monster has meant being powerful, and power is safety. If he doesn’t care about anyone, he can’t be upset if they leave, or despise him. If he hurts people before they hurt him, they’ll be too scared of him to try and kill him.
Well, except Jon. But Jon also brought him back.
The vulnerability of it all - the fact that he loves Jon, and Jon loves him back, in whatever way he can now that he’s comprised of dirt and rot and darkness and death and eyes and viscera and teeth and fog and blood and madness and strangers and stars and threads - is almost too much to bear. Whatever muscle allows him to be vulnerable has long since atrophied in both of them, and it hurts to be using it after all of this time, all of this fear.
But he will, because Jon needs him to be. Jon needs him to be vulnerable, needs him as a frame of reference for humanity, and as a source of emotional fulfilment.
The first time - where Jon had told him I needed you and Jonah thought he would die (again) from how beautiful he was - was the only time Jon had been vulnerable with him. Nowadays he just… doesn’t, which is fine - Jonah will keep pushing him as he always has - but it does make him a little upset. He feels, strangely enough, like he’s been rejected, even though he hasn’t.
Now that Jon can spend time away from him without adverse side effects (or without very many adverse side effects, as Jon won’t tell him if he’s still in pain or not) he wonders what he’ll do with it. Perhaps he’ll go on walks. Maybe he’ll get up before Jonah does, make breakfast for himself.
He doesn’t, though. He still spends as much time as he can pressed up against Jonah, head in his lap or on his shoulder or using ethereal Eyes to nuzzle against his face like a cat. Adorable.
It is a little worrying, though. The cottage is, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere, and he’s concerned that Jon’s… stagnating somehow. He does very little - Jonah does most of the housekeeping, and Jon mostly sleeps or rests - and Jonah can’t tell if he’s bored, or depressed, or just no longer has any interest in human activities.
“Do you think you can use your Threads to knit things?” he asks. Jon glares at him - it’s another one of Jonah’s inane questions - but considers it for a moment.
“Yes.”
“…well? You could make some gloves. Maybe a hat. I think a scarf would fit you, even with the fur.”
Jon sighs, and summons some Thread and knitting needles. He probably takes a moment to Behold the necessary information to knit, and begins to work. The Thread seems difficult to work with, especially with paws instead of hands, but he starts to get the hang of it.
Jonah knows this won’t be enough to bring him out of whatever funk he’s in - not on its own, anyways - but it’s a good start.
He continues with this - convincing Jon to breathe fire, at least once, just for fun; gets him to learn how to use the Dark to turn the lights on and off, which Jon immediately takes full advantage of to not have to get out of bed and to scare Jonah; insists he uses the Vast to make an especially detailed landscape painting, which he does. Upon closer inspection, there are eyes everywhere in it, which makes Jonah smile.
It seems to have a tangible effect, too. Jon goes from being made of god-knows-what (or Jon-knows-what?), darkness or ink or simply nothing made real shifting in impossible ways to accommodate his existence, to an actual animal. When Jonah touches him he isn’t near freezing, and doesn’t make his hand go strangely tingly. Now Jon is warm, and Jonah can feel muscles shifting, a heartbeat. Jon still manifests Eyes around the place, but his body typically has two, and in the correct place. Jon’s teeth get smaller, still sharp and impressive but less Hunt-ish, and his antlers lose their fractal qualities. His fur is impossibly soft, and gets tangles in it that he works out with his hands. Jonah takes great delight in informing Jon that he should probably be bathed, and even more delight in adding to his internal list of catlike qualities Jon now possesses, an aversion to water.
Jon sits very still through the whole process - carefully wetting his fur, and then shampooing him, and then washing him off, and then insisting on clipping his claws, which earns Jonah another growl. This, too, has changed - it’s, curiously, far more animalistic than the first growl had been, and doesn’t soak him in primal terror down to his very marrow. It’s also much more adorable than it is intimidating. Jon glares at him, and tries to bite him for that thought. Jonah uses a hairdryer instead of a towel to annoy him even further.
Jon fills the house with paintings. There’s no real theme that Jonah can distinguish. Some of them are landscapes, nature, some of them are people. Some of them are incredibly photorealistic, some are just blocks of colour composing an understandable image. The ones of people (which are rarer than the others) aren’t people he’s ever met.
He asks, once, about a woman in the living room. She’s not hanging over the fireplace - that is reserved for an entirely blank, slightly off-white painting (would it be called a painting?).
“She was important once.” Jon says, cryptic as ever. Jonah doesn’t ask again, and instead decides to take this as a good sign, that Jon is decorating.
They’ve been working on his control throughout, and they’ve gotten up to almost an entire day before Jon needs to rest. Jonah goes on walks more often, learning their surroundings. Jon wakes up before him, and makes breakfast. Jonah walks in on him doing this once, and is rather startled to find out that Jon - having difficulty standing on his hind legs - has simply deigned to use the Vast (he thinks, it might be a very complex web that he’s using) to telekinetically control everything he needs from the comfort of the sofa. Jonah’s sort of jealous, if he’s being honest (which he is, because Jon needs him to be honest).
And, despite still not having a mouth, Jon smiles much more often.