Work Text:
Jon came into work on Monday with a sore throat. He could barely talk, and his instructions were hoarse and whispered.
He assured them all that he wasn’t sick, just woke up like this. None of them believed it, of course, because they weren’t stupid, but they didn’t push it. He was much nicer than usual that day, even eating lunch in the break room with them as he chuckled quietly at their jokes.
“He does have a sense of humour!” Tim crowed triumphantly when he realized that Jon was laughing.
His boss rolled his eyes and finished his tea, thanking Martin and letting their fingers linger together for a second too long, the way they always did. It was a fairly average day, all in all.
And then it ended.
Jon dismissed them from their afternoon meeting and told Tim to stay back.
Nervous that he was in trouble, Tim watched in trepidation as Jon opened something on his phone.
“Would you like to know,” he asked, casually, “why I actually have a sore throat?”
Tim’s eyes widened. Was he about to unlock another doorway into the enigma of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute? Would he find out something about his personal life? He already couldn’t wait to tell Sasha.
“Yes!” He may have responded a little too enthusiastically, but Jon just grinned (wow, ok it wasn’t actually so shocking that Martin liked him with a smile like that) and walked towards him. He passed Tim his phone, open on a picture of someone in a strange steampunk pirate outfit and copious amounts of eyeliner. He had the same hair and eyes as-
“Is this you?” Tim couldn’t believe it. Sasha was going to go mental.
“Yes. This weekend, I met up with my old college band and we did a few songs.” Jon took the phone back and swiped a few more pictures across the screen, ending on a video of himself belting out something about gunfire and explosions, alongside a group of people in similar outfits.
“I was the lead singer,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s increasingly shocked expression, “so I got a little worn out. Emo steampunk songs can really take it out of you, you know.”
There was no way Jon was just saying this to him. There had to be a game plan here, Tim decided, and he asked.
“Why are you even telling me this?”
“Because,” Jon said with a smirk as he deleted every photo, every video, all the evidence gone, “nobody is going to believe you.”
And then he walked out, leaving the keys on the desk.
“Lock up when you go, would you Tim? Thank you.”
Tim didn’t move for about 2 minutes, frozen in place with the knowledge he now had. The son of a bitch was right, he realized. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, no one was gonna believe it.
“Un-fucking-believable.” He cursed as he locked the door behind him and left the Archives, the echo of that song snippet on repeat in his head.