Chapter Text
“Let me get your coffee for you—”
“Oh, you definitely don’t have to do that—”
“After everything you’ve done for me? Truly, I insist. It’s the least I can do—”
“You know I’d do it for free, I don’t need a coffee to care about you, yknow—”
Jon played this conversation in his head over and over again. It had been a week since Jon and Martin had spent that long evening together, it had been a week since Martin had told Jon that he cared about him. Everytime he remembered this, he felt a smile come to his face. And just as soon as it arrived, he felt a gripping motion in his stomach. It had been a week since Martin and Jon had spoken.
Jon was fully aware of how his radio silence must be coming off to Martin, how it was hardly the best thing for Jon to be doing if he wanted any sort of future with Martin (which he did want, truly, terribly, badly), and yet he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Martin.
Every time he passed by Martin’s work area, he would do anything he could to cover his face, go a different route, while simultaneously desperately checking to see where he was, what he was doing…
He definitely had a problem.
Jon had found Martin annoying, all those years back when he had first met him. (When Jon thinks back to it, he thinks it was most likely because he envied the kindness that came to Martin so easily, his ability to make anyone laugh, or to comfort people without effort. That has never been something that came naturally to Jon). It had been when he first had awoken from his coma that he felt the beginning of a blossom in his chest when he would think about Martin— it was simple, it began mostly as an understandable curiosity ( what is he up to? Where is he? Is he alright?) and soon after it all of the sudden grew into something more needy— purposefully trying to run into Martin wherever possible, desperately attempting to keep what little conversation they might have on any given day to last as long as possible. If only Jon were a good conversationalist.
Now, however, ever since that night with Martin, where he had held his head in his hands, wiped away his tears, told him I care about you … Jon was desperately afraid to either ruin what they had by pursuing it when he shouldn’t, or by not pursuing it at all. He felt trapped.
He locked up the institute for the night, breathing out a sigh as he looked at his watch. 2 AM . Seemed about right.
“ We should do this again sometime, yeah?”
“Absolutely. Absolutely.”
Jon wasn’t raised to be kind. His grandmother has always been a curt, stern woman, and unfortunately this nature had rubbed off on Jon. Now that he no longer wanted to be this person he once pretended to be— unafraid, cynical, superior— he felt that his whole world had been turned inside out not just by these new abilities he possessed.
As Jon began to walk away from the institute, Martin on his mind, he had the strangest tingling in his mind as he felt his Knowing spark, not unusual around the Institute, and yet…
6’
Blue eyes
Favorite color red
Jon had a sinking feeling all of the sudden. These attributes, as far as he could place, reminded him specifically of Martin. Either Jon had gained a much farther reach for his abilities, or Martin wasn’t at home.
1987.
His mother has passed away.
His father—
Jon slammed a hand over his ears, as though that could possibly help, as he heard the Institute door open. Fuck , Jon thought, how did I not notice Martin was still in there?
Burning with shame, Jon pressed himself to the side of the building, trying to silence his nervous breathing— now is not the time for a panic attack, Jon, now is not the time— as he desperately hoped Martin hadn’t seen him leave the building.
“Fuck,” he heard Martin say. This sent an odd calm through Jon, as he felt his cheeks redden just from hearing Martin talk that way— it was all really embarrassing, how much he adored Martin.
Jon decided to spare a glance— he couldn’t help it, even before he had become this… non-human thing… he had always been too curious for his own good. He watched as Martin reached into his bag for his keys, grumbling to himself.
Why is he so frustrated? Jon thought to himself. In all his time knowing Martin, he had hardly ever seen him even a little irritated, much less frustrated as he was now. Jon became transfixed, watching Martin as though he was taking a long drink of water— more and more now Jon realized that Martin was an impossible dream, and that sooner or later, Martin would move on with his life, and Jon would be stuck here.
His father—
Jon slammed a hand over his ear again, before realizing too late he was making too much noise. Martin looked up when he heard the noise, and Jon pressed himself anxiously against the wall as much as he could (not that it was hard, considering how skinny he was lately… he had tried to start eating normally again, but it was hard, especially since it didn’t... feel right anymore). When Martin huffed to himself, seemingly dismissing the odd noise, Jon breathed out the smallest sigh of relief. God, I’ve shaken hands with monsters, I’ve met horrific beings, I’ve had a rib taken out by a horrific monster, and yet this is somehow the most anxious I’ve been in months, Jon thought to himself with what little humor he had left in the moment.
Jon was drawn away from himself as he heard a clicking noise, the snap of a lighter pulling him from his thoughts. Wait a minute, is Martin… smoking?
Jon watched, transfixed, as Martin brought a cigarette to his mouth, his expression scrunched into an unreadable emotion, holding the smoke in long enough that Jon knew it wasn’t his first cigarette. Martin stared off, flicking it absentmindedly as he stuffed his other hand in his pocket, leaning against his car.
Jon took this moment, this blessed moment, to appreciate Martin. God , Jon could hardly contain his affection. He had always loved the way Martin looked, years before he would be able to admit he liked him. He had always tried to push it from his mind— after all, Jon was still technically Martin’s boss, and had been for a while now. Jon didn’t want to be unprofessional.
And yet, Martin’s handsome, broad shoulders, his ruffled dirty blonde hair, his multitude of freckles, the softness he possessed— Jon knew Martin hated his body, but he could hardly fathom how he didn’t see him the way Jon saw him, and he desperately wished he could spend the rest of his life showing Martin just how much he loved his body, every inch of it.
Even thinking about Martin in this way reddened Jon’s cheeks to an embarrassing degree. Pathetic. He continued watching after Martin, thinking back to that night they had shared, already a week ago. Jon had more than a sneaking suspicion that he would never have a moment like that with Martin ever again.
There were a thousand reasons they could never be together, the horrific transformation taking over Jon only one of many.
Another one?
Jon shook his head, that strange tingling entering his head. Had that been his thought? It didn’t feel like Knowing… it wasn’t a fact, so how could it be?
No. Better not.
Jon felt a lurching feeling, his heart jumping to his throat, as he tried to wrap his mind around— what was this? What was he Knowing? Panic started to overtake him, his breathing quickening.
I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to catch him out here.
Jon felt his face pale. No. It couldn’t be .
Drive thru tonight? Best not. Best watch my weight for the time being.
Jon felt himself backing away from where he could see Martin, hardly able to process the reality of his situation. It couldn’t be. Knowing couldn’t work that way. It couldn’t.
Before Jon could catch himself, he heard a deafening noise— the sound of a trash lid hitting the ground.
What the fuck was that?
Jon didn’t know what to do. He felt his fight or flight kick in, but instead of choosing either he froze in place, trying to wrap his mind around the horrific discovery he had just made.
“Jon?”
Martin sounded incredulous. He did not sound happy. He sounded angry. Very angry.
Jon tried to respond, but he felt his jaw drop, and he still couldn’t move.
Martin walked forward, cigarette still in hand. He stared at Jon, his face contorted in a way Jon had only seen a few times in the many years he had known Martin. Jon felt a thousand different forms of grief flood through him— the life he could dream of having, with Martin, as a person, as a human being—
“Why the fuck are you back here?” Martin yelled, clenching his fists in what seemed more a nervous tick than a threat. “Are you— spying on me?”
Jon still couldn’t speak. He was trying to wrap his mind around what was happening—
He can’t bother to talk to me in an entire week, and yet he has time to spy on me?
Jon threw his hands to his face, trying desperately not to pry into Martin’s thoughts. How had this happened? How did he deserve this? He scrunched his eyes closed, he plugged his ears as best he could, he tried to back away from Martin—
“Jon, what’s— are— are you okay?”
Jon felt himself walk into the trash can, losing his balance and falling to the ground before he could catch himself. Martin reached towards him instinctively, and Jon was no longer frozen.
He scrambled upwards, and he began to run.
Martin had had… a very strange night.
Firstly, he had smoked last night— a dreadful habit he would absolutely not allow back into his life— then he had seen Jon spying on him. Not only was this an incredibly bad sign for Jon’s mental health, considering the way he reacted once he was spotted, but now Jon knew he smoked on the occasional and that… was also embarrassing.
Martin couldn’t help the smoking, in the same way he couldn’t help his stress eating. He had already been stressed at work, what with the world-ending antics that happen far too often to be comfortable, but now he had confessed his feelings to his years-long crush who was also his boss, and now Jon had been avoiding him for an entire week.
That is, until last night. On accident.
Martin had spent the better part of an hour trying to track down Jon, but hadn’t been successful. It would help if Martin hadn’t already had a long day at the office…
And if you weren’t so goddamn overweight.
Martin tried to repress this thought, as he always did, but this week had made it all the harder for him to do so. Going out for coffee with Jon and having been told by Jon you’re very handsome, and I care for you … it made Martin question what had changed his mind.
Martin tries not to hate himself, he tries , but the last time he and Jon had talked, he had been eating a donut and drinking a caramel macchiato… had that been what drove him away? Had he watched him eat and thought to himself, nevermind, I could certainly do better. It's not like Jon had always thought favorably of Martin… maybe he realized that Martin wasn’t worth his time.
Martin had been beating himself up over the entire thing for the better part of a week, but now that Jon had been spying on him last night… well, that changed things. He had no idea what to think of Jon’s strange behavior.
Even stranger was the fact that Jon called in sick that morning. With Elias gone, and Peter Lukas an oft absent boss, it was Martin who had picked up the phone when Jon had called in that morning.
“Magnus Institute, this is Martin, how might I assist you today?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a long time, to the point that Martin was fairly sure it was a telemarketer.
“Hello?” Martin said half-heartedly, his finger hovering towards the hang-up button.
“H…”
“Hello?”
“Martin,” Jon said quietly. There was something so unsettling about his tone, Martin immediately felt fear grip him.
“Jon? I’m glad you’re alright—” Martin froze, “unless, of course, you aren’t alright? Is everything okay? Why aren’t you at work?”
“I’m—” there was another long pause, and Martin imagined a gun being held to Jon’s head (anxiety tended to insert images such as those, but also Jon had had a significant number of concerning run-ins with otherworldly terrors and their over-enthusiastic fanatics), “sick. Today.”
“Sick!?” Martin didn’t even attempt to hide his dubiousness. In the many years he had worked with Jon, he had never seen him take a sick day, not even on days where he was very clearly sick.
“Yes,” Jon said, his voice raspy. Martin thought he sounded very much like he’d spent the last few hours yelling, or crying.
Martin waited for further explanation, but Jon said nothing.
“O...kay…” Martin said, unable to grasp this reality. Something was very obviously wrong. “I… hope you feel better.”
“Thank you,” Jon said quietly. Just as Martin was about to hang up, he heard Jon whisper one last thing.
“I’m… so sorry. Martin.”
Before Martin could ask any questions, he heard the line click.
Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat, his keys, and ran out the door.
Jon didn’t just feel unwell. He felt as though his world was ending.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, as he had for the past ten hours. I will never have a life with someone. I will never have a life with Martin.
Jon had been making a list for the past ten hours (or, that is, expanding on a list that had already existed prior to last night’s discovery).
Reasons Jon Will Never Be Able to Date Martin
- Able to read thoughts (eternal invasion of privacy that would ruin any relationship)
- Needs statements for sustenance (not needing to eat… that puts a damper on any sort of romantic evening, doesn’t it?)
- Skinny… sickly so. Ribs poking out (what’s left of them, anyway), and even prior to not eating he had been basically skin and bones.
- Scars… everywhere. A significant burn scar on one of his hands, a body freckled with holes which had been burrowed into my Jane Prentiss’s… companions.
- Compulsion. Another form of privacy invasion… and if Jon couldn’t control himself well enough, he would never be able to ask Martin any sort of question, and Jon so desperately wanted to learn more about Martin without forcing him to tell him.
- Jon was… unkind. Even on the best of days, he struggled with empathy, he struggled with romantic gestures, he had never had a successful relationship.
If Jon kept thinking of things to add to the list, he was actually going to be sick.
And Martin… if all of Jon’s flaws weren’t enough proof that he could never have a happy relationship with Martin, then all of Martin’s wonderful traits were enough to convince Jon to leave him alone. Martin, kind, handsome, selfless Martin needed someone who could take care of him, who could show him the love he deserved.
Jon heard a knock at the door, and felt more confusion than he did anything else. It had been a long time since anyone had come to Jon’s flat. Who on earth could it possibly be?
“Jon?”
Jon froze. That was Martin’s voice. He would know that voice anywhere. Why was Martin here?
“Jon I know this is… unconventional but it turns out I can’t stay at work while you’re sick— ah… call it a motherly instinct or, really, just, a general worry that maybe you’re being holed up by some sort of avatar— I mean, I know you’re— you’re an avatar, so you can handle yourself— but— y’know— I worry.”
Jon hoped that maybe if he was quiet for long enough, Martin would think he was dead.
“Okay! I’m coming in,” Martin said with finality. Jon heard the doorknob begin to twist before Jon felt his voice leave his throat.
“Wait!” Jon said. His voice still sounded raspy. It had been a long night.
“Ah, there you are!” Martin said. “I’ll leave you alone once I see you’re okay, yeah?”
Jon wasn’t listening very closely, he was mainly attempting to clean himself up as much as he could. He ruffled his hair into something that looked somewhat managed, he threw on clothing that covered the most skin as possible, he threw a piece of gum into his mouth…
As he headed for the door, he saw his headphones sitting on the coffee table, and he briefly debated whether or not it would be ruder to come to the door wearing headphones, or to pry into someone’s thoughts without permission.
Jon decided the latter was far worse, and threw his headphones into his ears, plugging it into his phone and switching on the loudest music he could think of. Maybe this will help , Jon thought miserably.
When Jon opened the door, Martin saw a very disheveled, tired looking Jon, who was obnoxiously blasting what sounded like heavy metal through some standard crappy headphones. Martin had a thousand thoughts at once, such as how does he still look so goddamn handsome despite the fact he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week? And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jon use headphones, or even listen to music, or even use a mobile phone—
“Martin,” Jon yelled, clearly not gauging his volume properly.
“Uh- hi- Jon,” Martin said, unsure if he should yell as well. He pointed to his ears, “maybe take those out?”
“I can’t hear you,” Jon remarked loudly, looking oddly panicked, as though taking out headphones was similar to plucking an eyeball out— well, that wasn’t a very tasteful thought.
“...Okay…” Martin said slowly. Now that he had shown up at Jon’s flat, of all places, he had less answers than he had before.
Jon stood inside his kitchen, looking at Martin with an odd tenderness and underlying anxiousness, wringing his hands nervously as he winced at the music in his ears.
“Jon, why don’t you—
“Would you like some tea?” Jon yelled, and Martin noticeably reacted to the volume.
“Sure. Yeah. Sure,” Martin said with a dismissive wave of his hand, feeling far too confused to process the situation. He sat down at Jon’s couch, feeling an odd wave of sadness at the emptiness of Jon’s flat. He saw only a few books— no tv, no movies, no trash or personal items lying around. It gave him an unexpected sense of melancholy.
Jon placed a cup of tea in front of Martin, and Martin didn’t miss the way that his hands shook as he placed the tea down on the table, sitting down next to Martin (with enough distance in between them for two people, Martin thought with a frown).
“Jon… are you quite alright?”
Jon’s face contorted in a way Martin didn’t understand. “Yes.”
“Hmm,” Martin said, “I don’t believe you. Can you please turn that music off… or— or, down at the very least?” Martin asked with frustration. Jon’s face went pale— what an odd response to such a simple request , Martin thought to himself. If he knew Jon, he knew he was strange, but not unreasonable.
“Jon… what’s wrong?” When Jon refused to look Martin in the eyes, music still blaring, Martin knew that he had been right— something was seriously wrong. “You know you can talk to me, right? You know you can’t surprise me anymore.”
Jon still refused to look at Martin, ringing his hands miserably. Martin decided that no matter what Jon’s radio silence had meant for the past week, Martin knew he needed someone right now. He reached out a hand to touch Jon’s hands, and felt his heart drop when he pulled away.
So it is true , Martin thought. He’s done with me.
“ No.”
Martin was taken aback, shaking his head with a sort of foggy confusion. He tried to understand what Jon had been responding to.
“No… touching?” Martin asked unsurely, pulling his hand further away from Jon. Suddenly, Jon’s shaky hands reached up to his headphones, tore them out of his ears. He placed his head in his hands, a disturbing silence setting over the flat as Martin tried to comprehend what had just happened.
Oh.
Oh.
Martin felt a pang in his chest so strong he nearly doubled over.
“Jon… can… can you…”
Can you… hear me?
Jon didn’t respond, he only quietly began to sob into his hands, his back shaking with the force of it.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Jon tried to imagine a life where he had never joined the archives, this painful juxtaposition of being able to spend the rest of his life with Martin without ever having worked at the exact place he met Martin. He tried to imagine a time, a place, where he and Martin might be able to coexist, to live a life where Jon might be able to come home and see Martin sitting on the couch, or typing away at his computer—
In these few moments that Jon spent buried in his hands, he felt every last piece of strength within him leave through sobs too powerful to reign in. He felt a life he had always wanted leave him in an instant, he remembered those moments with Martin in the coffee shop as the last truly happy moments he might ever have for the rest of his life.
“Jon…” Martin said, placing a hand on his back. Jon felt himself jerk away with a force he hadn’t meant to expel.
“No, Martin— no. I don’t— I don’t want you to be lead on. I don’t want you to think— to think we might have any sort of chance ,” Jon sobbed out, hardly understandable, Jon was sure.
“What are you talking about Jon? What has changed?”
“You know what’s changed,” Jon said miserably, “even before… before… this , happened… you deserved better than me. Someone kinder than me— someone… more attractive. Someone with far less baggage.”
“Jon, I don’t mind the ‘baggage’—” Martin said, before Jon curtly cut him off.
“It’s not about baggage anymore, it’s about you having any sort of privacy in your life— how can you ever be happy if you can’t even have your thoughts to yourself? How can you ever feel safe around me if you can never have any sort of privacy— and— and— and I— I’ll never be able to go out on romantic dates with you— not the way you deserve. I won’t be able to give you what you deserve— I—”
Suddenly, Martin was holding his face. Suddenly, they were kissing.
Jon felt an unspeakable joy explode in his chest, accompanied by an unstoppable fear,
a fear that this was more of a parting than a hello.
Martin cupped Jon’s face with his strong, soft hands (how could they be both? He
couldn’t know). Martin traced his jaw, the scars that ran up and down Jon’s cheeks, he placed a hand on the back of Jon’s hair. Jon melted into his touch, it had been so long since he had been kissed, been touched, been wanted.
Jon hoped desperately that he was wanted.
Once Martin pulled away, Jon said nothing for a long time, staring at Martin unabashedly, trying desperately to catalogue everything about this moment, the redness on Martin’s face, the smile that was far too wide, far too happy for Jon to comprehend. It was Jon who was the lucky one here, it was—
“I’m guessing your abilities are somewhat offline?” Martin asked suddenly. Jon blinked after a few seconds, coming back to himself.
“Wh—,” before he continued, he realized he wasn’t hearing Martin’s thoughts. He felt a huge smile spread across his face. “I— I guess— un-unless you’re not— having any thoughts?”
“I was thinking the big black bug bit the big black bear and the big black bear bled badly, so I’m guessing that this isn’t an every second of the day type of ability.”
Jon tried not to let his worries get to him, but he knew it couldn’t be that easy. Without his permission, he felt his mind begin to wander towards Martin’s thoughts, and he must have physically grimaced as he felt himself lose control.
“Woah, hey now, what’s wrong?”
“I— I can’t be that lucky,” Jon grimaced as he physically felt himself hold back from Knowing. It was harder than he had wanted it to be.
“What if I kissed you again?” Martin asked sweetly. Jon felt his face, his neck, every inch of him redden at the implication, his heart racing— he tried to cover his face somewhat subtly.
“I— I—” he took a deep breath, he was
not
good at this type of thing, “I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t say no.”