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Jon threw his bag against the wall, an exhausted sigh on his lips. “Sorry I’m late.”
“S’alright. Dinner’s in the fridge.”
Gerry’s curled up on the couch, a worn paperback novel in his hands. He looks so cozy, like he’s been there for hours. He probably has. They usually have dinner around six most days and it’s nine right now. He can hear the shower running- must be Martin. It’s so achingly domestic. The two of them work all day at the bookshop, trading off the evening shift so they can have dinner together. Dinner that Jon never makes it to. He feels jealous only for a moment before it turns into guilt. What right does he have to be upset? He’s the one who comes home late, who spends more time at work than he does with his spouses. It would be inevitable that they’d grow apart, that Martin and Gerry would naturally become closer. It wouldn’t be anyone’s fault but his own.
He must have been standing in the doorway for far too long, as Gerry looks up from his book with a concerned glance. “You alright, love?”
Jon feels his face heat up at the name and tries in vain to stop a sniffle from escaping. “M’fine.”
Gerry gives him a dubious look. “No you’re not. C’mere.” He opens his arms and Jon makes his way over, falling into them with another sigh. He hides his face in Gerry’s worn t-shirt, trying to leech any warmth he can get. “God, you’re tense,” Gerry remarks as he runs a hand down his back. “What did Bouchard do today?”
“Nothing,” Jon replies, the answer muffled as he refuses to relinquish his spot on Gerry’s chest. “It’s my fault, really. I’ve got deadlines and I’m not meeting them. Need to put in a bit more work.”
“Jon, you’re there every night,” Gerry sounds exasperated, a tone that’s used by most people when it comes to Jon. “You don’t even get overtime. Can’t Tim and Sasha help?”
“It’s not their problem,” he tries to explain, lifting his face to meet Gerry’s eyes. It’s hard to look at them, so full of unwarranted worry and care. It’s almost enough to make him tear up again.
“They’re your assistants. You should let them assist you.”
Jon hears the shower stop; Martin will be out soon. He has to get his emotions under control, he’s acting like a child. That’s the last thing the two of them need at the end of the day.
“I might have to work this weekend-”
“No. Not again.” Gerry sits them up, giving him a stern and slightly angry gaze. Jon moves back instinctively, though he doesn’t mean to flinch.
“I-I’m sorry,” he starts, getting a bit choked up. Damn it. He casts his eyes to the ground as if it’ll help control the tears. “I know I haven’t been the best partner as of late, but it’s been r-really hard at work and I’m t-trying-”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gerry’s voice immediately quiets, his eyes going soft. He runs a hand down Jon’s side and he shivers at the touch. “Of course we miss you, but we’re more worried about you. You’re always stuck at work, Martin’s going around making phantom cups of tea-”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hush, don’t apologize.” Gerry pulls him close again, the touch grounding him. “It’s just- you’re wasting away, Bouchard’s running you ragged. You’ve got to push back against those deadlines, it’s not like the archive’s going anywhere. I know you look up to the man but really, it isn’t right what he’s got you doing-”
“I heard unnecessary apologies. Is Jon home?”
Jon looks up to see Martin in the hallway with his flannel pajamas on, running a hand through damp hair. He must look a mess because Martin’s face instantly falls. “Oh, Jon.” The tender way he says his name restarts the tears in earnest.
“G-God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”
“Jon-” Martin’s settling against his back and he can feel that comforting warmth on all sides now. And yet he still can’t control the panic of having disappointed his partners, the only ones who care enough to help him when he’s like this.
“S-Sorry. I mean-” He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut. “God, I hate that I get like this, I don’t mean to- to be-” Jon can feel his fingers digging into his palms, filling in the familiar crescent-shaped indents from times before.
“Hey, what did we say about that?” Gerry’s got his hands around his, gently but firmly uncurling them until his palm lays flat. Martin hisses in sympathy at the sight of the inflamed red marks.
“Sorry,” Jon whispers out again, before wincing at the word choice. “I’m- I’m always so dramatic. I don’t know how you two stand it.”
“Okay, one, I love your drama,” Martin insists, giving him a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “But that’s not what this is. Elias is taking advantage of you, and that’s not okay. You see that, right?”
Jon shakes his head. They don’t understand- he didn’t deserve this promotion, and now he’s got to prove that he’s worth the trouble. Elias is trying to help him, not hurt him. It’s just going to take a bit of extra work, a few busy weekends. Elias assured him that once everything was up and running, he’d be able to relax. Never mind that it’s been months- he has no frame of reference for how long these things take. Elias would know.
“It’s my job,” he whispers, leaning back into Martin's chest in an attempt to get him to play with his hair. It works. “It’s what’s expected.”
“Did you forget I used to work there?” Gerry’s doing that thing again, massaging Jon’s hands in a way that’s guaranteed to make him melt. “And I have spies on the inside. You do not have a healthy work environment.”
“I wish you wouldn’t gossip with Tim and Sasha,” Jon mumbles, his eyes half-closed in contentment. It’s hard to stay awake when faced with this much tenderness. “Very unprofessional.”
“That’s one thing I’ve never claimed to be.”
“You know,” Martin starts lightly, as if what he’s about to suggest hasn’t been said a million times before. “You could always work at the shop with Gerry and me. We could use your help with the remodeling. You can organize the new non-fiction section!”
“We’ll even let you put the poetry section in the back, by the toilet-”
“We will not.”
The banter is comfortable and familiar. Jon smiles. “Would be nice.”
Martin does that dreamy sigh of his as his fingers gently run through Jon’s hair. “Reckon it would.”
“In the meantime,” Gerry yawns and leans back against the cushions, though he doesn’t let go of Jon’s hands. “Could always call Gertrude. We didn’t part on the best of terms, but she’d never miss a chance to put the fear of God in Elias Bouchard.”
Jon snorts, though the idea isn’t half-bad. “That’s unnecessary.” He settles back against Martin, reveling in the quiet peace of the evening. It’s the first time he’s relaxed all week. Perhaps he won’t go into work on Saturday, maybe he’ll just lie here forever. He pretends not to hear Martin whisper ‘Do it!’ and closes his eyes as Gerry pulls out his phone and begins to text.
It’s nice, being at home. He should do this more often.