Chapter Text
Jon, March 2015
It was always surprising how much colder the world became after getting a haircut. Just one of the many things Jon would have to get used to in the coming weeks.
His promotion to the archives was rather sudden; something about the previous head archivist no longer being able to carry out her duties anymore. Jon just guessed she keeled over without warning due to her old age. Such were the hazards of a job in academia.
Upon the news of the promotion, Jon decided it was about time he went to visit the barber. His hair was not by any means long, but it was on the verge of getting unruly. Even if he was only going to be the boss of two other people, he wanted to look as professional as possible. He would be the head of a department after all. It made little difference that his subordinates could technically be called his friends. He still wanted to make a good impression, get ahead of the worming feeling of inadequacy already taking root.
It certainly didn’t help that the promotion felt ill gained. Sasha had been working at the institute far longer than Jon and certainly was more qualified. Probably the most qualified at the Institute, given the Archives were bereft of any staff other than the late head archivist herself. Jon almost felt guilty stringing Sasha along, like he was rubbing it in her face that he got the promotion over her. He needed assistants to help him in the archives though, and he wasn’t the most sociable person around. Thus, Tim and Sasha were his only choices.
The pair were also rather good at their jobs in research and Jon hoped some of their skills could transfer easily enough into the archives. Not that he really knew much of what they were meant to be doing in the first place.
After arriving at the institute, Jon made his way down into the archives. He must have been the first person to set foot in its dark halls since the janitors that cleaned the head archivist’s office. It was a lonely looking place, a heavy coating of dust over every surface.
After some time, Tim and Sasha also appeared, setting up their spaces at their new desks in the bullpen office. When Jon went out to see them from his own little private office, Tim immediately noticed Jon’s haircut.
“Looking fresh, boss,” Tim smirked as Jon walked out into the assistants’ area.
“Mm, yes, well, it was starting to get a bit long.” Jon hummed, fiddling with the back of his neck. “Oh, er. Thanks.” He tacked on awkwardly, remembering compliments usually begot gratitude.
Tim wasn’t phased at the belated thanks, just another aspect of Jon he’d grown to understand about him. “Nervous about how your employees will perceive you?” Tim teased lightly.
“Hardly, given their choice of work attire seems to almost exclusively contain patterned button-ups,” Jon huffed. Inwardly he was relieved that he didn’t also shave his beard. He would never hear the end of it from Tim.
“My, they do sound rather unprofessional,” Tim gasped in mock surprise, pressing a hand to his chest, currently covered by a brightly coloured button-up printed with tropical flowers.
“I certainly wouldn’t be able to focus on my work with such blatant ignorance of the dress code,” Sasha interjected, walking to her desk and setting down a box filled with papers.
“Wow, did everyone just decide to get makeovers during the weekend and not invite me,” Tim crossed his arms over his chest in mock betrayal, gesturing to Sasha’s hair. She had recently got it done in braids that went down to the middle of her back.
“Didn’t you get a haircut, like, last week?” Sasha huffed out a small laugh as she sat back in her chair, tucking a stray braid behind her ear.
“Oh, that’s beside the point,” Tim rolled his eyes before leaning forward over his desk again, shuffling some papers around.
Jon smiled inwardly at the comfortable atmosphere of the space before insisting they get back to work. He was glad to have his friends with him while he was struggling to figure out his new job. He hoped it would always be this way.
Martin, March 2016
The archives were not- by any extent of the word- luxurious. But it felt far safer than Martin’s flat. Plus Martin loved the solitude of the Institute after hours, even if it still creaked in ways that set off alarms in his head. At least they’d find his body quickly if Prentiss did get to him.
After settling into the archives, he was hit with the realisation that he hadn’t brought anything from his flat with him. In his rush to escape all he had were the clothes on his back and he wasn’t about to go back any time soon. Luckily, the Institute did have showers so all he needed to do was buy some travel toiletries for his impromptu stay. He also bit the bullet and bought a couple jumpers and nice-enough looking button-down shirts from a charity shop nearby just so he wouldn’t be stuck in the same clothes for who-knows how long. Jon was being kinder to him now, sure, but Martin still had that nagging need to look well-put together to fend off whatever distaste Jon had for him.
It was after going to the pharmacy to pick up his testosterone that he realised he should probably get stuff to shave his face. His facial hair didn’t grow super fast, so it entirely slipped his mind when he first came to buy toiletries. Before leaving, he mulled it over.
He had started shaving his facial hair because his mother had, inexplicably, hated it. It was easier to just shave than argue with her about it. He had extinguished any dreams of a full beard some time ago, but now it was starting to seep back into his mind. Maybe he could try it out, even if only for a little while. He left just with his prescription in hand.
Ever observant, Tim was the first to notice. “So, are you just going all in on the homeless look, or…”
Martin absentmindedly scratched at the side of his face, huffing out a small laugh, “Yeah, well… honestly just kind of forgot to get stuff for shaving. Also the bathrooms are kinda cramped,” Martin grimaced. The half-lie rolled easily enough off his tongue, he didn’t need to get into his whole dilemma on a random weekday afternoon with Tim.
He hummed in understanding, leaning back in the breakroom chair, “Y’know I think a beard would suit you quite well,”
That elicited a genuinely bashful chuckle from Martin, feeling his face warm, “Wh- well, hm. I, ah, certainly have thought about it but…” He let himself trail off, bringing his tea up to take a sip.
“Yeah, just keep at it. You’ll look like a right bear,” Tim grinned and winked.
It took all of Martin’s will power not to snort into his tea, “That… certainly would be something,” He looked down into his drink, unable to keep the grin from his face. He was definitely growing a beard now.
Jon, August 2016 - February 2017
Someone killed Gertrude Robinson. Some one . Not some thing . Not a monster coming out from the dark. It was a person. A person with a gun. Jon was, understandably, on edge.
As he was prone to do when stressed, he threw himself into his work. He cleaned his flat almost daily. He was even more meticulous about how he organised his desk. He needed to take control of these little things or else he’d have to sit in that horrible feeling that everything was falling apart around him.
He considered shaving off his beard again. But it covered some of the scars and it felt better to leave it that way. His hair was also a candidate for the proverbial and literal chopping block, just to rid himself of the tickling feeling at the back of his neck and against his ears that would send him into a fit of scratching at his arms and face. Tim seemed to have taken that route for himself, his hair now closely cropped on the sides so as not to brush against any part of his face or neck. Martin and Sasha kept with their usual looks: Martin with his short curly hair and Sasha with her severe bob, cut just above her shoulders.
Despite the scratching fits, Jon instead decided to grow out his hair. That facade of professionalism didn’t feel as important to keep up anymore, and he really did like having longer hair. He kept it short since his last year of uni, finding long hair didn’t really suit him at the time. Now that he’d been on testosterone for quite some time it gave him a boost of confidence, and the idea of growing it out started popping up in his head again. It also did feel like he was having every crisis at once, so it was as good a time as any to try a drastic change in appearance.
Of course, it would be painfully slow, like watching paint dry. It would also be something to look forward to. A nebulous goal he could cultivate into whatever he wanted. It was nice to have control over the little things.
Martin, August 2016 - February 2017
Everything was going wrong. Martin was the one who brought Jane Prentiss to the Archives and now everything was horrible. Because of him. The once cheerful workspace he shared with Tim and Sasha was all too often filled with a tense silence. They barely went out together after work anymore and conversations remained short and solely work related. It felt easier to only go into the break room if no one else was currently occupying it.
Still, that urge to make sure others felt better would not quit him. He still brought everyone tea and even tried to continue the tradition of drinks after work on Fridays, but quickly learned it was easier to just leave it be. He didn’t think it would feel all that great anyway. Tim and Sasha weren’t as easy to talk to anymore, and Martin couldn’t blame them. He was the reason it was so tense now and why Jon was acting so paranoid.
Martin decided to give up on his attempt to grow out his facial hair again. It just didn’t feel right anymore. He was also falling back into his habit of trying to look as clean cut as possible, to offset how disastrous he really felt. It was a small thing to give him more confidence that felt so fleeting most of the time.
It also made it seem less hypocritical when doting on others. He was outwardly put together, better able to ignore the building pressure in his chest.
Jon, February 2017 - August 2017
So Jon was on the run for a murder he didn’t even commit. Like things couldn’t get worse. At least showing up on Georgie’s step, frantic for somewhere to stay, went far smoother than he was expecting. But Georgie was always like that: ready to help, no questions asked.
They settled back into a comfortable enough existence together, even though their parting before was… less than ideal. Still feeling guilty for having randomly dropped in on her, Jon had taken it upon himself to almost obsessively clean the flat as he once did, years ago, in a different life. It also gave him something to do throughout the day other than worry over everything that was happening; it was a welcome reprieve.
After a few days of settling in, Georgie had asked Jon if he wanted her to cut his hair. Just like old times . Jon declined. He knew he was starting to look a bit scraggly, but he was actually starting to like his longer hair. He tried his best to make his hair look presentable at least, often opting to tie it up in a small ponytail.
Then he was back in the archives. He barely had time enough to breathe, let alone get his hair cut. He tried his best to keep everything else about himself looking put together: ironed shirts, neatly trimmed beard, somewhat rested eyes (aided to a degree by concealer which he invested in mostly as a futile attempt to get Martin off his case for not sleeping). Between the kidnappings and worrying about the Unknowing it was hard to be put together in any sense of the words.
He considered, again, cutting his hair short before the Unknowing. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe as a symbolic gesture, like cutting hair before going into a battle. It felt a little silly thinking of it like that, so he didn’t do it. A small part of him noted that a Tim of the past would have laughed at the idea.
Martin, October 2017
Martin never paid much attention to his hair. Well, that was a bit of a lie. He paid quite a bit of attention to his hair, but he never really thought about it when he got it cut. He’s been getting it cut the same way for almost ten years now. This haircut was safe. It affirmed his gender and he thought it looked nice.
He hadn’t gotten it cut in almost a year and it was starting to get pretty long. It wasn’t that he didn’t think about getting it cut, it was just that between worrying over Jon and his mum and the tug of agoraphobia growing stronger since working with Peter he never got around to it. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.
That was fine, though. Martin always prided himself on being self-sufficient, so he tried to cut his own hair. It was messy, of course, but his hair was also curly, enough so that it would cover up the smaller mistakes and hide the unevenness of some particularly bad cuts.
He was also growing out his facial hair again. Martin now knew why his mother hated it so much. He wasn’t entirely sure if that made it hurt more or less. Either way, she wasn’t here anymore so… he grew it out.
He had the feeling it made Peter happy, too. Looking more like a Lukas , Martin guessed. The thought of that made him slightly sick, but he tried to focus on how the beard was for himself. How it made him feel better about himself. He tried to ignore how it was a blatant lie.
Jon, February 2018
When Jon awoke from his coma, he realised his hair now reached his shoulder blades. That was the first indicator that he’d been out for quite some time.
He liked his long hair. And that filled him with an uncontrollable amount of guilt. After all, it was like a symbol of all the time he had missed. It reminded him of his inaction as everything seemed to be falling apart at an increasingly rapid pace. His hair was also now far more streaked with grey than before. He no longer got that misguided pride that it made him look more mature, it made him feel old ; he was worn-down and world-weary.
As he caught more fleeting looks of himself in the mirror, he tried to think of his long hair as a symbol of how he had survived (even if that meant he had lost some of his humanity). He embraced it and did his best to make it look more presentable. He hadn’t taken care of long hair for almost six years but he tried to get back into the habits that kept it healthy.
When he stayed with Georgie, she had insisted he try some fancy shampoo and conditioner. It made his hair feel and look rather nice. He couldn’t remember what it was exactly and he wasn’t about to call her up after what she said to him and- oh. He Knew the exact brand and dejectedly grabbed it from the shelf.
He took to tying up his long bangs in a bun, just to keep them out of his face. He liked the half-up-half-down look quite a bit. The long hair did not have as much of an adverse effect on his self-image as he had predicted almost two years ago. If anything it made him feel… better . It was nice, having long hair but not feeling those pangs of otherness when he caught a glance in the mirror. He clung to the small victories.
Martin, September 2018 - October 2018
After settling into the safe house, the first thing Martin did was shave his beard. He remembered the shocked expression Jon gave him as he walked nonchalantly out of the bathroom, grabbing a book and pretending to read, like nothing had changed. He didn’t really want to explain himself. And Jon didn’t push it.
During Jon and Martin’s first visit to the shops in the village, Martin discretely bought some box dye. He stood in front of the bathroom sink, idly turning it over in his hand, trying to avoid looking at his reflection. He doesn’t remember how long he stood there, but he does remember Jon silently taking the box from him, setting it on the counter.
Then they were sitting on the sad, lumpy couch in the middle of the cabin. They sat there, silent, for a while. Then Martin began to talk.
He recounted how his hair began to turn a stark white. It was a little worrying at first, then he decided to take it in stride. He cut the tips of his hair that still held their natural colour himself. He couldn’t even remember if he felt sad. Probably just… resigned. It was hard to feel much of anything then.
Since being pulled out of the Lonely by Jon, Martin had started feeling everything far more acutely. His feelings about his hair cut him deeper than he thought they ever could and he bought the dyes, hoping it was another problem he could plaster over. Something else he could ignore until an inevitable boiling point. But as he stood there with the dye in his hand it just felt like… too much.
Jon was never much good with comforting, but he did his best. He thought back on his own hair after the coma. Think of it like a symbol that you made it through . Now we can grow together . Martin smiled a little bit at that. The box dye was in the bin the next day.
A week later, when the first sprouts of his natural hair started coming back, Martin was ecstatic. Jon was happy too, of course. But it felt bittersweet to him. He felt a bit guilty to be jealous that Martin would just get to discard the way a fear had marked him.
Of course, he knew logically that Martin would have to face the indelible psychological mark it would leave on him either way. The joy from Martin easily washed away those jealous feelings, though. How could he not be glad that the one he loves need not suffer with scars like his? Jon smiled with him.