Chapter Text
It starts, like it always does, with something small. Just- a text.
You read it without thinking- just an instinctual reaction to the buzz of a notification, besides, you’d been working on this statement for hours- how much research can you do into.. supernatural delivery companies. Jon did preface it with ‘I really don't think this one is going anywhere’, but then again, they do that with every statement.
Ah- the text. Got it.
God, Jon would be mortified if he saw you on your phone. Something about- improper conduct, individual responsibilities, etcetera, etcetera. But- well.. No-one really cares about that. He’s- nice enough, but Tim’s face when he saw someone actually turn their phone off on the way into work-
Your eyes skim over it, and the casual glance quickly turns to mild panic. You automatically click your phone off, putting it face-down on the desk quickly in immediate regret, and with just the tiniest bit more force than would be strictly necessary. You try to cast your eyes back to your paper, at that maddeningly hard to write report (what do you even say?) but it means even less now than it did before.
You find yourself skimming over the relevant documents, and your unfinished (well.. barely started) draft, eyes barely registering the words that you somehow forced onto the page. But your mind keeps wandering back to that text. (Didn’t you block that number? Or could you just not bring yourself to..)
No. Work. You’ve got follow-up to do, a report to write… (never mind that there’s more or less nothing to report on) ..and you think you saw the time on your phone, before- well, it’s surely late enough that you need to get back to work now. You consciously try not to think about it, and you almost manage to forget. Almost.
Just focus on the words. You’ve got this.
You lose track of when you start fiddling with that one nice pen you have- too nice for writing work reports with, of course- just taking the cap on and off, while you write the rest with your other hand. Well.. not really writing now- just.. Figuring out what to say. Yeah, okay. It’s nothing to do with the sting in your eyes that forecasts tears, or that your relatively small office seems somehow larger than before, exposing you, making you feel vulnerable. Just wipe your eyes, (why does it feel like someone just saw you do that? Like it knows now, what’s wrong with you?) ..and keep writing. Well- start writing, that is.
It starts to get dark- it must be getting closer to the end of autumn than you remembered, because the sun seems to set quickly- in that, you notice after what feels like only a few minutes, and the sky is already fading into that shade of mid-blue that tells you it’ll be properly dark soon, and you should probably get going.
But you’ve barely made a dent in your work. Come on, you’ve got to finish this! Last time you finished your follow-up this late- your mental health was never that great to begin with, and having to explain yourself- not to mention that really judging glare from Jon.. no-one ever noticed that you wore a lot more of your more long-sleeved shirts after that- or if they did, they didn’t say anything about it.
There’s no clock in your room- that god-awful ticking would give anyone a headache. Never mind that everyone else’s office has one.. It almost seemed like the one in Elias’ office was set louder than anyone else’s, somehow. (Can you even do that?) That is, on the off chance that anyone other than Jon ever goes in there, of course. But- no, you left your watch at home- and there’s no way you’re checking your phone now. So the sky keeps getting darker, that text keeps popping into your head, and your page remains just as empty and unfinished as before.