Work Text:
Tim Stoker was always the guy who knew. He’d never had a big realization, and he’d never needed one. His friends in uni liked to talk about their “gay awakenings”, but a…bi awakening?
He could only shrug. It hadn’t felt odd to him to kiss Melissa Bram in the back of a house party when he was seventeen, and when his bio lab partner Roy invited him out on a date at nineteen, he said yes immediately, because Roy was just his type.
What type was that? Tim didn’t really know. People who looked cool, and kind, and smart, and interesting-looking. Masculine people, feminine people, androgynous people. People! People were great, and honestly, Tim was just down with that.
He joined a club for people like him—“queer and always here,” Maxine, the head of the club told him—and started painting his nails bright colors to match his shirts, and it all felt natural. No problem. He never even needed to tell Danny; Danny, too, seemed to just know, somehow. Tim knew who he was, and he was at home in his own skin.
Others, he quickly learned, were not always so sure.
Maxine went by four different sets of pronouns in the time that Tim knew zir, all of which were right for a while, but not forever. Tim’s second boyfriend, Justin, was kicked out of his house years before he and Tim ever met. Sometimes, even within the club, people would express disbelief at the idea of bisexuality or pansexuality, and while it bothered him, exclusionists were always shut down quickly. Even Patricia, who had introduced Tim to Maxine, had been unsure for years whether she was really asexual, or just a lesbian, and there were dozens and dozens more in every other difficult situation imaginable.
So Tim spent several years just trying to be himself, with lots of people who were trying desperately to figure out who they were, too. He was used to people being unsure; he was at home with it, even. Tim could empathize with unsure, even when he couldn’t completely understand.
And Jonathan Sims, in all the time they’d shared a desk in Research, never seemed like someone who was at all unsure.
“Listen, James, I’m just—I—I don’t really think this is the best idea—” Jon’s hushed voice bounced off the tile walls of the Institute’s library bathroom, and it did not hold the conviction that Tim was used to hearing. Jon usually sounded very certain—whether it was about demon snakes or whether glasses were better than contacts, he could be trusted to clearly state his opinion.
Tim paused, hand on the door of the stall he was occupying, an odd sixth sense telling him that something was off. Jon sounded…shaken, at least, and, well, if everything was alright, no harm done.
“Trust me, you’ll love it,” a voice that Tim identified as James (from Artefact Storage?) coaxed playfully.
“I’m not sure that you understa—oof!” Jon was cut off by James presumably tugging him forward, the shadows of their legs merging as they stood flush together. James gave a tiny snort of laughter.
“Really, James!” Jon sounded mortified, and Tim was sure now that some wires were getting crossed here, because anyone could tell that the shorter man was clearly uncomfortable for some reason.
“You worry so much.”
“Anyone could—ah! Don’t tug my hair, please, anyone could come in. This is a public restroom—”
“This is me helping you live a little, Jon, come on,” James wheedled. “I just want to suck you off, nothing bad, I promise—”
“I mean—I—I appreciate the—offer, but I. I don’t really, um, do that sort of thing, usually, uh,” Jon’s voice trembled, going a little self-conscious, and Tim had heard more than enough.
He flushed the toilet loudly, and they went deadly silent. Tim winced, but soldiered on, shoving his earbuds into his ears, the cord sticking into his empty pocket. He waited a moment, and then exited the stall with a flourish, head bobbing to music that wasn’t playing at all.
He turned the corner, widening his eyes in fake surprise at the sight of the odd pair standing awkwardly by the sinks and pulling one of his earbuds away. “Oh, hey, Jon!”
Jon was flushing dark with embarrassment, arms crossed over his chest, and James was standing a careful distance away, trying not to look amused.
Tim felt a flash of annoyance, and channeled it into an aggressively bright smile as he swept over to the nearest sink. “Finish that indestructible vase report, James?”
“Nah, not yet. Why, you got an addition to make, Tim?” James grinned, sticking his hands in his pockets like he hadn’t been pressuring a potential partner into sex just a moment before.
“Yeah, actually! I guess you haven’t been up to the storage room yet, then.” Tim ran the water over his soapy hands, eyeing James and his stupid orange hair in the mirror. “Sasha—you know Sasha James? She works in Artefacts Storage? She told me she knocked it off a table on accident yesterday and it shattered. So I think you’re gonna need to rewrite it, mate.”
“Shit!” James no longer looked so amused. “Are you joking? I’ve been writing that one’s case history up for a month!”
“Yeah, sorry,” Tim grimaced insincerely. “Also, maybe while you’re at it, just add a little note to yourself for the future that maybe you should actually try and listen when someone’s telling you they don’t want to get it on, alright?” He narrowed his eyes, straightening up to give James the full force of his best unimpressed glare.
Jon made an alarmed choking sound, but Tim didn’t look away from James’ slowly reddening face in the mirror.
“I, uh. Listen, that’s not what’s happening—”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Tim observed, turning to face him coolly. “I know what I heard, and I’ll thank you to not pester Jon when you should really be getting on those reports.”
“Hey! I’m not—Jon, I’m not—!” James turned to the other man in alarm.
“No, he’s right,” Jon interrupted, quietly, but firmly all the same. He eyed James up and down, gaze heavy with disappointment. “You weren’t listening. I was trying to tell you that I’m asexual, Jim. If that’s what you’re interested in, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I think we’re done for now.”
“I—” James gaped, mortification starting to show in his face. But he didn’t have anything left to say, so after an awful second of silence, he turned and pushed through the door, disappearing with alarming alacrity.
Tim cleared his throat awkwardly. “You alright?”
“Yes,” Jon sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, glasses pushed up to avoid getting smudged. “That is going to be horribly awkward, I’m sure. I forgot how bad it gets, trying to explain. He was supposed to be my rebound, you see.”
“Ah,” Tim empathized. “Well. Uh, sorry to get in your business. I just couldn’t listen to him ignore you like that. Is the man stupid? Anyone could tell you weren’t into it.”
“People tend to think that’s just my, er, prickly personality getting in the way,” Jon shrugged wearily. “You’d be surprised.”
“Shit, really?” Tim frowned. “I’m sorry, that sucks.”
“Don’t be. Not your fault.” Jon waved the apology away, and then glanced toward the door, wincing again. “Thank you, actually, for giving me a chance to get my bearings, as it were. Ah, you won’t…mention anything…?”
“Never a chance,” he swore, grinning and tapping his tiny bi pride pin. “Got your back, I promise.”
“I appreciate it.”
Tim almost thought that Jon looked really friendly, for once, as well as relieved, and winked to seal the deal. “Now, shall we get back to that lovely research? How’s the snake thing coming along?”
“It’s fascinating, actually—if it can be believed, of course,” Jon jumped on the subject change gladly, and Tim followed him out, feeling a little bit lighter, just for the moment.