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Jonathan Sims was a man who prided himself on being eminently sensible. He did not have time to cut his hair, so he’d taken to tying it up out of the way. He had swapped his brown loafers for trainers after the Prentiss incident, just in case. He did not go in for grand romances, never had done. Georgie Barker had been the closest he’d ever come to that, and they had both come to the conclusion fairly quickly that they were better off as friends. It wasn’t that he was incapable of romantic feelings or attraction, not in the same way that he had no interest in sex. He’d simply come to the conclusion that romance was not something it was worth wasting his time on, and since it wasn’t likely to come up in his life any time soon, that was clearly the most sensible way of thinking about it.
And it was. Until Martin Blackwood.
Martin Blackwood was not a sensible man. He was a kind, caring, slightly clumsy man, with shaggy blonde hair that flopped into his eyes. He had memorised how every member of the office liked their tea within three days of starting work. He absolutely adored grand romance, but had long come to the conclusion that it was never going to be something he was allowed to have in his life. Instead, he wrote about it in poetry that he kept tucked away in his bedside cabinet, and dreamed about being swept off of his feet by some imaginary prince charming. And he convinced himself that was enough for him.
And it was. Until Jonathan Sims.
It was the smile that did it. Martin had brought him a cup of tea, as he always did at around 11am, and Jon had absentmindedly smiled at him and said “Thank you, Martin.” And that was it. Martin’s heart jumped out of his chest and handed itself to Jon, without any warning whatsoever. Martin had left the office that day owning one less of his organs, and somehow feeling so much heavier for it. Because he knew . He knew that Jon didn’t feel that way about him. He wasn’t entirely sure Jon could feel that way about anyone really. But even if he did, it would never be Martin. Stupid, bumbling Martin. Incompetent, waste of space Martin. No, Martin was just going to have to learn to live with the fact that Jonathan Sims had his heart, and that he was probably going to crush it.
It was the smile that did it. Martin had brought him a cup of tea, as he always did at around 11am, and he’d smiled at Jon as he set it on the desk. It was like looking directly at the sun. And Jon returned the smile without needing to think. His mouth opened and as he said the words “Thank you, Martin,” his heart fell out with them. Directly into Martin. Martin left the office with a part of Jon he hadn’t even thought he knew how to give away, and Jon felt empty. Because he was never going to get it back. How could he? Martin would never return these feelings. Martin was just being nice. It was just the way Martin was . It didn’t mean anything, because it couldn’t. Martin deserved someone better than Jon. Bitter, crusty Jon. Awkward, sniping Jon. No, Jon was just going to have to learn to live with the fact that Martin Blackwood had his heart, and that he was unintentionally going to crush it.
“Jon?”
Too eager, dial it back, be more careful.
“Yes, Martin?”
Sigh, cover it up, don’t let him see how happy you are he’s here.
“I, um, I made you a cup of tea,”
Stop stuttering, you’re not afraid of him, you’re afraid of how much you-
“Oh, thank you,”
Thank you for the tea, thank you for caring, stay.
“Did you need anything?”
Anything, at all, any excuse to stay here where you are a little longer.
“No, thank you,”
You, I need you, all of you, please don’t leave
“Okay then, I’ll be, um, here if you change your mind”
Change your mind
“Alright, Martin.”
Don’t go .
Jonathan Sims was a man who prided himself on being eminently sensible. And this was not sensible. He couldn’t keep dancing around the way he felt, it was becoming inefficient. He was going to have to say something, even if it killed him. It was going to kill him.
Martin Blackwood was not a sensible man. And he was starting to feel reckless, like his heart was calling out to him, daring him to do something. Daring him to come and get it back maybe. He couldn’t keep up this facade forever, it was exhausting. He was going to have to say something, even if it killed him. It was going to kill him.
“Jon?”
Don’t answer, don’t be there, I don’t want to do this
“Yes, Martin?”
Go away, I’m not ready, don’t make me do this yet
“I, um, I made you a cup of tea.”
To have something to hold, a barrier, a shield, I don’t know what to do with my hands
“Oh, thank you,”
Why do you have to be so sweet, so perfect, so caring, I can’t do this
“Did you need anything?”
Send me on a task, any task, somewhere other than here so I can run away
“No, thank you,”
I need to tell you, I have to tell you, why is it so difficult
“Okay then, um”
Come on, I have to, just say it
“Did you have something to tell me, Martin?”
Here it comes, the final blow, the seal on my fate
“Actually, yes, I wanted to tell you that-”
“Actually, I had something I wanted to say fir-”
“You first,”
“No you,”
The silence is so heavy. It’s full of expectations of anguish, and fear. Fear of breaking the silence, fear of breaking a heart. But someone has to. Silence cannot last forever.
“I just wanted to tell you that, well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’ve reached the conclusion that, I think, no that’s not right, I know. I know, I am, well, I’m in love with you, Martin.”
There it is. Words in the air, heart in your hands. Please don’t break it. You will. But don’t.
“Oh.”
Oh.
“Yes.”
Do it quickly. I cannot stand being shattered slowly.
“Me too.”
Not eloquent, but it will do.
“What?”
What?!
“I mean, I’m in love with you too. I have been for a long time, actually.”
Okay, maybe that wasn’t enough. But I’m struggling to care, you have my heart and somehow, against every odd, you gave me yours back?
“Oh.”
Oh. Oh!
It’s the smile that does it. Jon tells Martin he loves him and he can’t look at him. He’s waiting for the sword to fall, eyes fixed on the floor, neck exposed like a dutiful sacrifice. But the blow doesn’t come. Instead, Martin tells him he loves him too. And when Jon looks up, he’s smiling, The most brilliant, blinding smile, brighter than any star that ever dared to shine. Smiling back isn’t a proper choice, it’s just the only sensible thing to do. Neither one of them knows who moves first. They are kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing, and the world stops moving, and neither of them notice. The kiss breaks eventually, centuries later, and the world begins to spin again. Between them is a new kind of fear, one that none of the entities will ever be able to fully grasp. It is the fear of being loved, truly accepted, being enough. Not the fear that these are things you cannot have, or the fear of losing them. But the trembling, all consuming joy that these things bring that tips just a little into terror.
It doesn’t matter. It matters so much. And each of them is whole again, with a brand new heart beating in their chest, a treasure they will protect for the rest of their lives. Because it’s his heart, and it’s more precious than anything else in the world.