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Pale moonlight filtered in through the backdoor, shimmering on the freshly polished floors. Once scattered papers lay in neat piles, test tubes lining the shelves in proper order, books and precious research tucked away into shelves and cupboards, his bed pressed and tucked to the standards of an expensive hotel. There was not a speck of dust or other filth anywhere. Even the huge potted plant seemed clean, the very dirt it sat upon patted down to a perfectly smooth surface. It all screamed of the upper class, shimmering and shining with what someone with time and money could afford. And what would an ekon have if not time?
Jonathan Reid was a man of class, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and raised with all the privileges in the world. He carried himself with pride and an air of nobility, but never left behind the attitude of a gentleman as so many men of his calibre did. He had the brains to match the shimmering riches, a talent in the art of blood transfusions that he developed with his mentor-A technique that he had mastered, and built an honourable reputation upon. His name travelled farther distances than he would ever visit. People he would never know were speaking words of praise he himself would never hear. And for those that did meet him knew of his charm, for he was near impossible to dislike. His heart bled for every sob story that landed at his feet. His hands, with all the power they had were always outstretched to offer help. The poor, the rich, it was as if he were blind to the societal hierarchy. If the war didn't ruin him, becoming an ekon was nothing.
For all the cleanliness he applied to himself and his surroundings he found himself antsy. His pen clicked against the top of his desk, unanswered questions laying on paper he neglected. The air was clean. Far too clean. His backdoor stood open, allowing anything that could reach this high in. Yet not even smog tickled his nose. The pandemic was wiped clean so long ago, with blood and fire. For a while he could smell the ash, it haunted him, tearing into his skull and sinking its cruel fangs into his mind. He hadn't truly smelled it in so long, no skals, no disasters, no epidemic. It was clean, and it made his blood roar. His life was chaos, fed off it. For those few short weeks his life had regained a new definition as an ekon, a hero of London, fighting beasts and monsters of all flavours in the filthy unsafe streets. He had snubbed out the problem, fled to Scotland in chase of his lady and returned to London with the ash in his nose. Clearing the remainders of the skals and ekon fanatics took mere weeks, having a mutual understanding with McCullum if only temporarily left the job easy. In record time London streets grew silent, a combination of Priwen and Jonathan's specific skills a force to be reckoned with.
And now, silence. Every few weeks there was a stupid ekon, or a skal that dragged itself from the sewers, but there was no longer a huge threat shadowing above them all. The Ascalon Club even remained quiet, holed up in their mansion where they acted like mortal rich men at a club. McCullum himself wasn't even in London anymore, left with a string of curses and threats back to his homeland with most of his crew. For a while Jonathan felt the watchful eyes of Priwen on him wherever he went, administering medicine to the slums of the city and nursing them to healthy standards the best a lone man could. But even that faded, some bitterly placed faith keeping them away. And now his hands itched, twitching with pen in hand. He was not a violent man, he would never apply that label to himself. But there was undeniably a beast lurking within.
He was a powerful ekon, manipulating blood and shadows with a flick of his wrist. To learn and exercise such great powers and then leave them dormant made him feel as if he were filled with ants. They crawled through his skin and infuriated him, tickling and biting and pulling until he had to leave his office. He would snarl and slash aimlessly into the night, and sometimes on particularly bad ones he would find a nearby rat and tear it to pieces just so he was reminded what it was like to feel flesh under his claws. All the coping mechanisms were temporarily visits into clarity. He felt useless, helping crumbling districts and performing night surgeries at the Pembroke only took him so far. He was no longer doing anything. He was so hungry these days too, with no skals or overzealous Priwen soldiers he was left with rats and the occasional blood bag. His stomach screamed at him to sink his fangs into every patient ,but he always restrained himself, a wall of professionalism keeping his darker desires sated. He only licked the blood from his gloves when no one could witness it.
His cleanliness was a poorly crafted mask that only he seemed to see through. And how he despised what he found behind it. Letting out a growl that was far more animalistic than human he stood abruptly, straightening his coat with pointed aggression as he stalked towards the back door. He needed to hunt, it would be rats as it always was these days but it was better than sitting in silence with a screaming head. Hand on the doorframe he was preparing to shadow jump when an eager knocking sounded at the other door. Exhaling sharply he turned, blinking the world into muddled grays. He had learned to identify most of the people he saw on a regular basis by their veins and heart patterns. He recognized Dr.Strickland immediately. The bright red pulse was at a faster rate than usual, drawing a stir of concern in his belly. The tension ebbed from his shoulders as his mind began racing through the causes of an elated heartbeat, brisk pace taking him to the other side of the room in only a few strides.
He clicked open the lock and opened it without hesitation, blue eyes meeting hazel immediately. It was almost flooring to see all the emotion that resided within his eyes. They were bright, shining with a childish joy and unshed tears. His grin was to match, a face that was far too happy for London. He clenched the doorframe, unnoticed by the cheerful shorter man before him. Realizing he had not greeted his guest he smiled, sheepishly, and spoke "Dr.Strickland, to what do I owe the pleasure? Is everything alright?" He spoke clinically, like a doctor to a patient and not two colleagues that had befriended each other over the course of over a years time. It didn't dissuade the other doctor at all.
"Good evening Dr.Reid! Yes all is fine-Wonderful in fact!" He replied, excitement seeping into his every word. He leaned forwards and his tone grew hushed like a child's would when telling a secret "I've done it. I've really done it Reid."
Jonathan quirked a brow in return, cocking his head curiously to follow. Dr.Strickland had changed greatly since their first meeting, improved his skills with his unofficial mentorship and advice. He had watched with pride settling into his bones as he sincerely listened and applied his advice to his everyday practice. People had a way of being stubborn and ignoring him, especially the fellow doctors in his life, so it was a refreshing case. "So," he began, leaning in to whisper as well "Wish to tell me what you've done then Dr.Strickland?"
A stupid toothy smile took over his face and his tone grew far louder, "I did it. My blood transfusion technique, it worked Reid, it worked!" He stepped back, pushing his round glasses against the bridge of his nose. His joy was infectious, bringing the ghost of a smile to Jonathan's face as well. "Two nights ago I used it on Mr.Abraham, who was suffering from a strong case of anemia. Tonight the colour has started returning to his skin, he ate a proper dinner-by himself too, he didn't need any assistance at all really." He continued, eyes widening with every word "And it's thanks to you Dr.Reid. Without your help… I might have never gotten here."
To see such joy from a man in London that was not in the West end was rare. It was nearly a palpable thing in the air, such a refreshingly pure sight that Jonathan wished he could bottle it. If the nights had more of this, and less of the silence and the gray colours hiding behind cleanliness, perhaps the ants in his skin would leave him alone. He sighed wistfully and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a firm squeeze and a wider smile, his fangs hardly concealed. Experimentation on patients was a gray area, but they had the discussions of precautions and safety regularly. Since the unsafe practices of attempting to cure the influenza outbreak he had proven himself to be resourceful, and dedicated beyond belief. While Jonathan had been wary, Dr.Strickland was eager to prove any of his doubts wrong. He was a good doctor, and truly only wanted what would help his patients. "It was only a matter of time, you are a brilliant doctor and I knew you were capable of perfecting your techniques." He spoke softly, in the same tone he used to comfort those that had lost hope and awaited their deaths in the streets.
"Well, I wouldn't say it's perfect-Not yet, but it's working." Modesty made its way into his tone, and he looked away a moment in thought. After a brief hesitation he stepped forwards, and wrapped Jonathan in an awkward stiff hug. With his hand on his shoulder he was pushed to halfway hug him in return, arm draped down his back as if it were useless. Jonathan took a moment to even react. He had not hugged nor been hugged in a very long time, since he turned he didn't have meaningful contact with people at all really. His mother sometimes hugged him-when she wasn't miles off in her own delusions-but outside of that there was nothing. He realized, quietly to himself that he was becoming touch starved. Suddenly relishing in the heat of a body with a beating heart he wrapped his arms around him properly, a loose hug between coworkers. That was all.
He hadn't pondered his relationship with Dr.Strickland all too often, they spent many nights together arms deep in a patient's ribcage, and break times spent sipping coffee(Jonathan never drank or snacked on anything, and always had to dodge around the topic) and idly chatting. They had poured hours over research before, and this was certainly not the first time Dr.Strickland had come to his office while the stars were out. Though the visits were not always professional, sometimes, on quieter nights he would visit and they would talk like old friends. Laugh and smile like that sort of thing belonged in London. The realization had him pull the man closer, the loose awkward hug dipping into something more meaningful. Jonathan's heart ached.
When they pulled apart, he began to observe again. He could tell by sound cues alone that Strickland's heart was beating at an elevated rate. His smile was crooked and nervous, and a faint pink dusted across the highs of his cheekbones. For a moment Jonathan thought he might have ruined the moment, might have taken an extra step that pushed against some unspoken boundary. Apologies perched on his lips he met his eyes, and found that he hadn't ruined anything. Strickland's eyes were always so telling, and now they were shimmering with untold emotions. A fondness, a warmth that had not been there before.
He sharply takes in a breath, staring down at the shorter man with hesitation. He had never thought of him romantically before, and had it been a year ago he would have dismissed this as hero worship from the younger male. Yet their relationship had changed so much since then, opening new possibilities that had him swallowing nervously. How had he allowed this to happen, to develop right under his nose without noticing. The fond smiles and long looks they had shared, how long had the other harboured these feelings. And how long did he plan on hiding them?
"Well, I suppose I better let you get back to your paperwork Jonathan." His voice was soft, achingly so. His first name being spoken so gently made him melt, his mind racing to decide what to do. So instead of thinking he let himself run on instincts. As Strickland turned away he stepped forwards, reaching out and catching his shoulder. He turned him back, receiving no resistance and catching his curious gaze. Ash caught in his throat a moment, but he dismissed it, threw himself into the depths of his eyes instead. Took in the details of his face, the shine of his glasses, the tiny flecks of yellow that shone in his hazel iris if you looked deep enough.
He wasn't sure if he had any feelings even mildly romantic before now towards the man. Emotions were so difficult, and he had been so caught up in self reflection and criticizing his every action that there hadn't been room to ponder such trivial things as affection. But now in this moment he had all the time in the world to figure that out. Prior feelings or not he now had the undeniable urge to kiss him, and he was letting his instincts run the moment. Pressing forwards wordlessly he placed his other hand on his face, cradling it gently as he swooped down.
Strickland jumped when their lips met, surprise practically punching him in the face. Then he's leaning in, a hand on Jonathans hip, the other rising to sink itself into Jonathans hair. The kiss is gentle, testing the waters more than anything. He pulls away, reading the flustered face of his kissing partner with ease. He must feel so cold to the other man, his lips only warmed from the heat the other man offered. Yet he didnt comment on it. He never had, and he doubted he ever would.
He swallowed, both of them still wrapped in eachothers arms. The hand in his hair cards through it and he leans into the touch, gaining a small smile from his coworker. This was dangerous territory. He shouldn't start this with a coworker, with a human. But that was his head speaking, and he was getting a little tired of writhing alone inside of it. Drowning in ash and all that comes with it. His instincts were saying to kiss him again, to pull him close and keep him there. Diving in again he supposed he couldn't really call him his friend anymore. Though, grinning into it he found he wasn't really complaining. The ants in his skin were calm, he smelled no ash, and his heart was singing joyously.
Tonight he no longer felt tormented, did not need to hide behind poorly hidden veils, and he would hold onto this moment as long as he could.