Chapter Text
Love at first sight was a conspiracy of capitalists, created to sell novels to teenagers and Disney films to children. Jon was onto them.
(Though he himself had very little expertise on the topic of relationships. He had kissed exactly two people in his life, and even then he only really counted Georgie. Which was fine, she was fine, it was fine. They had kissed a few times and it was-- well, it must not have been fine, because she had explained to him soon after that maybe they were just meant to be friends. He had just been relieved that she brought it up first. His first kiss was technically Yvette Marley when he was eleven. They had been dared to kiss at a birthday party, and he had locked himself in the upstairs bathroom immediately afterwards and cried because kissing was just…just gross. And how could people enjoy it? Was there something wrong with him? It was just one additional thing to add to the list of things that made him, in the words of Yvette when she discovered he had cried, “a weirdo.”)
In short, love at first sight was a myth.
And then it struck him like a poorly secured piano dangling over an unsuspecting pedestrian.
It had been an odd sort of morning from the start.
Jon had blinked his eyes open and the first conscious thought to solidify at the forefront of his mind was that he could not properly See.
Which was absurd. His eyesight was poor, yes, but he could still make out the ceiling above him (though it was not a ceiling he recognized at first…it was his ceiling in his flat, yet it didn’t feel like a familiar sight to wake to).
But it was more than just that. His head-- the world-- felt… quiet. Peaceful, almost.
Like his mind had the clarity of a radio that had been properly tuned after years of teetering between stations, shedding the static sounds of a hundred interfering channels.
(Like someone had picked out his brain with an ice cream scoop-- like his head had been hollowed out of all he once knew and now there was nothing. There were pieces of him missing.)
Well, that was an odd thought.
Maybe he had been eating too much sugar lately? He had once seen a documentary where they fed rats an excess of sugar, and watched as they stumbled about into the walls of their maze. Yes, that was probably it. He’d have to start cutting back from now on.
He turned in his bed to glare at his phone.
4:48AM.
Wednesday.
June, 2015.
He groaned.
Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. Department Meeting day.
Well, there was no getting back to sleep now that he was up. Jon threw back his sheets and began his morning routine.
Getting ready for work proved more a challenge than usual.
It was one of those mornings where Jon needed to manually input and process all of his actions: Remember where he left his glasses. Brush his teeth. Spit. Did he grab his keys? Yes, he put them in his back pocket already. Lock the front door behind him. Unlock the door to retrieve his forgotten Oyster Card. Did he leave the kettle on? Of course not, he didn’t brew anything. But now he wanted to double check just to be sure...
It reminded him of those text adventure games he and Georgie used to play until dawn back at uni. Zork, or whatever. Did she still play them? Did they remind her of him?
He would not begrudge her if they did not. He had not talked to her in years at this point (was that right? It couldn’t be. He could have sworn he had just talked to her recently) and that was fine. It was fine.
He managed to get to the Institute… well, pre-on time. No matter, he had lots of work to do. Probably.
There were a few other staff members in the front lobby, shuffling about like zombies in desperate need of the necromantic magic their morning cups of caffeine would bring. But thankfully he was able to sneak in without having to say hello to a single other soul. Perfect.
Jon made his way to his office. It was a little odd, of course, that he had a room to himself. He was just a researcher, and not even a senior one at that. Most of his peers had to share a space with one or two other people.
But Elias had pulled him aside after a staff meeting some time ago and offered him his own office. Elias assured him that he understood Jon enjoyed a bit of space and privacy from his coworkers, especially considering how gossipy most of them were (Jon hadn’t really thought of the other researchers as gossipy until Elias brought it up. What were they gossiping about? Why didn’t they gossip in front of him more? Unless--) and Elias appreciated Jon didn’t get wrapped up in all that, and dedicated himself to his work like a proper adult. Elias could certainly make an allowance for Jon. In fact, Elias insisted that Jon help himself to the old storage closet on the first floor of the Research Wing. It would be easy to fit a desk in there! Elias would ask Facilities to help Jon move his things over later that day…
And Jon accepted without hesitation.
Truthfully, Jon had no idea what inspired Elias to give him his own (cupboard) office, but Jon was hardly ever one to pass over an opportunity to hide from people.
Jon shimmied his way into his office, squeezing between the door and his desk. It had occurred to Jon many times that Elias had offered him the room because he was the only member of staff scrawny enough to fit. The desk took up most of the space, making it almost impossible to even slide through the door. Was that a fire hazard? It was probably a fire hazard.
He unloaded his bag onto his cluttered desk and drank in the space for the first time in what felt like years. How had he let this place get so messy? He was fairly certain most of the papers and post-it notes on his desk had been rendered obsolete by now. He looked at the two books he had borrowed from the Library and-- yes, of course. They were due to return this past Monday. He groaned.
Somehow the concept of it being Wednesday felt abstract. Tuesday was a distant memory. What had he even done this week?
Tea. Tea would help clear his head a bit. He was probably still just waking up. He did his routine shimmy to escape his office, and trekked his way back down the main staircase to the staff kitchen.
And that's where Jon ran into him.
Jon filled the electric kettle and leaned his forehead on the cabinet above the counter. He let his eyelids fall shut and prepared himself for an inevitable yawn. The staff kitchen was deserted, and would probably continue to be for a while longer. Maybe he’d just rest here a bit…
When the slam of the kitchen door damn near sent him toppling over.
He grabbed the edge of the counter, only just managing to keep himself from plummeting to the floor. He glared at the door, mouth already forming the shape of some barbed comment to whoever was responsible-- when Jon's eyes landed on him.
And it was love at first sight.
The thing was, Jon had seen this man around the Institute. More in his periphery, he supposed. He’d seen him at staff meetings, and had maybe squeezed by him in the Stacks once or twice. Jon had even been in his Harassment Training group a month or so ago. He remembered that because Tim from Research had refused to take the session seriously, and instead made a game of trying to ask the man out for a drink, completely missing the point of Harassment Training. The man seemed to think it was funny, at least.
So technically, it was not love at first sight because Jon had seen him before. This was just the first time Jon had been paying attention.
And Jon just stood there.
He had never thought the term 'lovestruck' would feel so literal. But looking at this man now, Jon could suddenly empathize with how the dinosaurs must have felt when the comet collided with the earth’s surface.
An overwhelming and cataclysmic sense of awe.
And yet, the sensation in his chest was so familiar. Like it was something he had experienced before, but he could not remember when. Like he knew this man, somehow, but the memory was just beyond his reach… Which was ridiculous-- Jon had not talked to this man before. Jon didn’t even think he knew his name. It began with an “M,” didn’t it? He was fairly sure it did…
It should be stated that all of these thoughts were merely flitting about Jon’s subconscious mind. A hum of ideas that sat just barely below the surface. Jon was hardly aware he was having them at all.
His conscious mind, however, was consumed by one word and one word alone:
Freckles.
The man had a light wash of freckles scattered on his cheeks and nose. So light that if you were not paying attention you might not initially realize they were there.
And here Jon was.
Looking dead at them.
Which felt wrong.
Like he was gazing upon some holy thing and he desperately needed to avert his eyes, lest he be caught.
No, no, no. He shouldn’t be staring because this was his coworker, and he couldn’t just go around staring at coworkers’ freckles. It created a bad work environment.
But they were so lovely. Jon could probably find constellations in them if he looked long enough--
Oh, God, the man was talking to him-- he was talking to Jon, and Jon had barely been listening--
"--thank God, I’ve been looking all over for you--"
Had he? Why? He had said Jon’s name too, at the start. Or Jon was sure he did, at least. That was what pulled Jon away from thinking about his freckles-- Oh God, and now he was thinking about his freckles again! He could not go off on that tangent. The man was talking to him, and he was a professional, dammit. Now was not the time for freckles--
“--I’d have called, but I realized I don’t have your number yet--”
His hair was a dirty blonde, but Jon knew that if they were in the sunlight it would ignite gold. Damn these fluorescents. It was blasphemous to treat him in this way--
“--believe we’re back! And Gertrude’s alive--”
Jon was too far gone from the conversation to ever recover. What was he talking about? Gertrude? The old woman down in the Archives?
The man was walking towards Jon, positively beaming at him. No one, in all of Jon’s memories, had ever looked at him like that. With such raw affection. Maybe he had the wrong person.
And the man had stopped talking.
Jon needed to respond. That’s how conversations worked. But the man was smiling wide enough for Jon to see a slight gap between his two front teeth and Jon could NOT think about how cute that was because he needed to respond or he would look like an idiot-- and, oh Good Lord, he had been silent for too long and needed to say something now--
"I-- um… sorry, w-what?" Was all Jon managed.
Jon watched as the man’s smile, which had bloomed on his face only moments ago, decayed and fell away. His eyebrows knit for just a moment in confusion as that sunny expression was replaced with a blank canvas.
Jon was ready to die now, thank you very much.
The man was looking-- really looking at Jon now. Jon shifted under the weight of his gaze, turning his own eyes down to his feet, as though this man had caught him in the middle of doing something bad. Like he had suddenly realized he had been talking to the wrong person and was going to accuse Jon of being an imposter.
Which was fair. The idea of him looking for Jon of all people was ridiculous.
The man’s recovery was so fast that Jon would have missed it had it been anyone else.
He offered Jon a smile. It was gentle, and patient, and clearly a performance he had rehearsed many times in his life. Jon wished he wouldn’t make that smile at him. Jon wished the man had just walked away.
"S-sorry. You're Jon, right? Jon Sims?"
"Y-yes," Jon offered. Maybe he could still recover from this and not come off like a total dunce.
"I’m not actually sure we’ve met yet. Sorry, I should have thought of that before coming in and spouting complete nonsense at you.”
"Oh, well, we’ve sort of met? We were in the Harassment Training thing a month ago, I think. And um… Tim kept-- flirting with you. But it has been some time, so I’d understand if you didn’t remember me--”
“Tim!” He exclaimed, and a hint of a real smile tugged on the corners of his lips. Oh, stupid, idiot Jon. Of course he had a thing for Tim. Everyone had a thing for Tim.
"Y-yes. He's very, um… fun." He had not meant for his tone to sound so defeated. He was probably coming off like a total prat. That’s when his brain finished processing the man’s earlier comment, and before he had a chance to think it through, the question had risen to his lips, "Sorry, did you just ask for my number?"
The man blinked at Jon. "What?"
Dear Lord. Now he sounded like he wanted this man’s number-- which he did, but you couldn’t just go around asking people for their numbers.
"You said you… were planning on calling me? For work purposes, I assume."
There. Nice and professional. No, wait. Was that too professional?
"I mean, not that I would be opposed if you wanted it for other purposes. Not that you do-- I just mean-- having people’s numbers can be useful--" If Jon were to be struck down with lightning at that very moment he would have considered it an act of mercy. This was awful. It was unbearable. Here he was, tripping over his own tongue, while this man watched him crash and burn. He could feel heat growing beneath his collar. “W-what I mean is-- is that if you require my number or a-any help with anything, I think it would be appropriate for me to give it to you.” Oh, wonderful, now he was stuttering. Just perfect. And--
And the man looked like he was going to cry.
Jon had totally miscalculated somewhere. Jon knew that social skills were not a strong suit of his, but he had absolutely no idea what he had done to invoke such a pained reaction. Like Jon had stabbed a dagger into the man’s heart and the more he spoke the deeper he twisted the blade.
But again, the man recovered with that not-so-genuine-but-oh-so-patient smile.
“Ts’alright. I wanted to have a researcher look over some material we dug up in the Library and Tim, actually, told me to talk to you. He said he was going to put us in touch, but I guess he never got round to it,” he gave a slight shake of his head. If it was a lie, he was doing a damn good job of it. Jon was almost certain it was a lie, “but, to be honest, it’s really not a big deal. And I’m sure you’re busy anyway, so I wouldn’t want to bother you with it--”
"I mean, I wouldn't say it would be a bother," Jon wanted him to stay. To confide in him. He knew there was more going on here, but it felt just out of his reach… out of focus. "Are you working down in the Archives, now?"
"What?"
"It's just you mentioned Gertrude-- and I know most people avoid her if they can help it. Are you working with her now, or…?”
"Oh. No. I'm in the Library." His reply was short. Concise. He was looking down at the floor, doing that shifting thing that people did when Jon had gone on talking for too long.
"Ah. Yes. I see. That's probably for the best. I can’t imagine working in the Archives. Have you been in the Stacks down there? It's an absolute maze. I hope they consider hiring assistants for Gertrude. She could probably do with a few more people helping her.” He was rambling. This man clearly wanted to leave and Jon was holding him hostage in an awkward social interaction.
But the other man’s expression suddenly grew dark, his voice distant. "Believe me. Gertrude Robinson is more than capable by herself."
Well, what was Jon to make of that? This man definitely knew Gertrude. You don’t just talk about someone in an ominous tone without knowing them. And now Jon was the one shifting about, scratching his palms, not entirely sure how to break the heavy silence that began to fill the void between them.
"I should get going, then." The man said suddenly, straightening up to leave.
“W-what? Oh, yes. Of course,” Jon's heart plummeted at a velocity that would make a brick jealous. "Oh. Well, then. I see. And if you do need any help with-- with research or anything, please feel free to find me. It really isn’t any trouble.”
Another gentle smile, though this one was softer. More sincere. And… sympathetic?
"Thanks, Jon. But, honestly, I can probably handle it on my own. It’s not worth getting more people involved than needed, you know? And I know you’re busy with work, so you should just… definitely just focus on that for now, yeah?”
“Um… alright, then.”
“Anyways, I should go find Gertrude. She’s probably around by now. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept down there.”
“Upside-down from the ceiling. Like a bat,” Jon added.
Martin snorted at that. Jon congratulated himself.
“I always thought that was more Elias’s style.”
It was Jon’s turn to laugh, he was a bit rusty at it. “They share a room in the attic.”
“Oh, I’d love to see that sitcom.”
“Bring it up to Elias. He’d probably turn it into a scheme to raise revenue for Institute funds.”
The other man laughed at that too, relaxing a bit. Then sighed. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around, then?”
“Y-yeah. That would be…” Jon let the thought trail off, not sure what word would be appropriate to say in this situation, “Like during lunch hour, or something?” When did people see other people here? Jon was practically a local cryptid, keeping to quiet nooks and crannies when it was busy. If Jon wanted to see him again, that probably meant eating in the dining hall during lunch hour. Which he would do if he had to, but...
“Oh, I mean… yeah. But, I… listen, you probably might not see me around much? For a few weeks, at least. So, please don’t worry or-- or go looking around for me, okay? I know that you… I mean… I’m looking into an assignment, and it might take a bit, so…”
He was leaving so much out. Jon ached for him to say more, to be included in on the secret. He knew there was more, if only he would just say.
“Alright, then.” Jon’s voice was small, seeped in disappointment. The other man flinched. “You’re sure you don’t want help?”
The man pursed his lips. He was reconsidering. Jon could see him reconsidering. But after a moment, the man squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, “Nah, it’s really not that important.” He began to step back to the door, “It was good to see you though. You’ll, um.... Just, look after yourself. Please. Okay?”
“Wait!” It was such a desperate cry, a bit too dramatic in tone for what the conversation entailed. It made the other man jump and look back, “You, um… I didn’t catch your name.”
And that was too much.
The other man really looked like he might cry now. Jon kicked himself, he had known Jon’s name. It only made sense that Jon should know his. Why had he asked? Why had he not just consulted the Institute Employee Directory like a normal person?
“Martin. Martin Blackwood.” It was a strained delivery.
“Oh. Martin.” Jon did not know what compelled him to repeat the name. Like he needed to taste the vowels and consonants in his mouth. Of course his name was Martin. It just seemed right. “Well, I’m Jon. Which you already knew, I guess, because you said it just now-- but since we are actually introducing ourselves, it seems only fair I say my name too--” He wanted to stop talking, but honestly, at this rate he had already done so much damage that it probably did not matter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And he offered up his hand for-- oh Christ, no, what was he doing-- he offered up his hand for a handshake.
Martin blinked down at it.
Martin was aware of how awkward it was. Jon was aware of how awkward it was. And now it was just an awkward, terrible, uncomfortable situation.
Martin accepted the offer.
“You will take care of yourself?” Martin gave his hand a tight squeeze like he did not want to let go.
“Y-yes. You too, Martin.”
They held it a bit too long.
“Okay, then. I should probably go now.” Martin broke the handshake and stepped back to the door. Their eyes were still locked.
“I’ll see you around, then?”
“Yeah. I hope so.” Martin spared one more moment to look at Jon, then averted his eyes to the kettle, which had clicked off automatically some time ago, “And if you’re having the white tea you’re supposed to add a bit of milk to it. Just--not too much. And for Christ’s sake, let it steep for at least two minutes. It takes a while, okay?”
And with that, Martin left.
Jon blinked. He had no idea how Martin knew his preference for white tea, but followed Martin’s advice and added milk and let it steep properly on his way back to his office.
It was one of the best cups of tea he’d ever had.
And, unfortunately, it was the last bright spot in a week that was about to completely unravel the world around him.