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Martin worried his lip with his teeth, tapping his pen against his jaw in time with his rapid heartrate. Here he was, safe at home, swaddled in a hand-knit sweater and fleece blanket. A cup of calming chamomile perched steaming on the table besides him. He'd set things up how he usually did when he needed to relax, and his notebook lay open to a blank page ready to be filled with all the emotion he had nobody else to share with besides this book; so why the hell could he think of nothing besides his arsehole of a boss?
The man was physically attractive, sure. He'd noted his attraction and had been ready to brush it off like usual. He had brushed it off, and for some years now they'd worked peaceably side by side. Well, perhaps side by side was an exaggeration… They were in different departments and he only saw Jon in passing.
Maybe that's why he never picked up on what an utter prick the man could be? While his brusque attitude once seemed confident and even vaguely mysterious, working alongside him had quickly stripped away that illusion. Jonathan Sims simply did not care for the feelings of others. He made use of them, and if he deemed them of no utility (such as he had with Martin) their mere presence was enough to disturb him.
Sometimes Martin wondered if Jon had found out about his lie. That would be quite a problem if so… But as of yet he didn't seem inclined to report him to the higher-ups, so all Martin could do is play along and try not to get on Jon's bad side. Forget whatever silly crush he might still harbor, his livelihood was at stake here! He couldn't afford to screw things up or hide away like he usually did.
At the thought, Martin fell forward onto his open notebook and groaned. Maybe tonight he'd just watch some TV before bed.
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Ok, so today… could have gone worse? He'd been trying with all his might to prove himself to Jon, not that the man seemed to notice. That was the thing though. Martin was starting to think that Jonathan Sims just had absolutely no idea what was happening in anyone's head but his own. There was a selfishness to it, to be sure, but not an intentional and malicious kind… it was like he was locked in his own mind and didn't know how to bridge the gap to another's. Like it didn't occur to him to try.
He was almost certainly overthinking things. It was just, he had been bringing him tea for the last few weeks. Jon had never asked him to and frankly seemed somewhat bothered by the intrusions, but it was the only way he could think to assist Jon when nothing was asked of him.
(And just possibly he had appreciated the excuse to interact with him, but that was besides the point).
After a particularly snappy response the day before last he'd decided to stop with the ritual. But the next day… a few minutes after he'd made the rounds delivering to Tim and Sasha, Jon emerged from his office, and the expression on his face when he saw the tea on their desks. He looked like a kicked puppy: all hurt and pitiable shock, but with the slightest edge of guilt.
The discomfort was unbearable watching Jon shuffle through the motions of making his own mug. He took a full minute shuffling through the teabags, as if he couldn't remember which one he preferred. After he'd microwaved his mug(!?) and added the satchel, he returned to his office, and then Martin let out another groan of a sigh. He knew then that Jon would have to rejoin the rotation.
And so today he had brought Jon tea as if nothing had happened. Jon had gone unusually still when he entered the office, and over the soft clink of the mug settling on wood Martin almost missed the softly muttered
"...Thank you, Martin."
His heart shouldn't have leapt at those words. A thank you was the bare minimum, really! Tim and Sasha always called out their thanks when Martin brought them tea! But with Jon… that was the first time Martin ever heard Jon express gratitude towards him. Heard him express anything positive. And so Martin had stammered out his response and fled, spending the rest of the day staring blankly at an old newspaper article he was meant to be reading.
Oh, he really was in deep, wasn't he. It certainly said far more about Martin than it did about Jon, that interaction, the fact that the merest hint of approval was enough to set his heart racing. Maybe it was better he focus on his own desperate clinginess rather than psychoanalyzing his boss.