Chapter Text
Rain and thunder soaked Martin thoroughly through the bone. His jumper hung heavy against his skin, the coat held over his head doing nothing to guard him from the downpour anymore. He only hoped that his messenger bag was waterproof enough. The thought of rewriting all of its contents was worse than the uncomfortable squelching of his wet socks against his shoes.
He raised a hand to try and wipe his glasses and groaned at the futility. Remembering the last street sign he passed, Martin figured he was at least twenty more minutes away from his flat. Twenty more minutes of enduring this horrible weather before he was in his flat. He so badly wanted to pull a quilt around his shoulders and huddle up with a tall mug of well-deserved tea.
There was a crosswalk coming up. Martin leaned against the signpost and waited when the red blur turned into a green blur.
Martin hardly noticed the beating of rain against his head ceasing, but he did notice the thin hand that was struggling to hold a dark umbrella over his head.
The man holding it was almost a full head shorter than him. He had ashy brown skin and streaked, dark hair pulled into a half ponytail, the rest left free to curl over his shoulders. He was dressed like a librarian, complete with reading glasses connected to a tarnished silver chain. As Martin met his eyes, he was struck by just how vibrant they were in contrast.
They were strikingly green, no hint of hazel or blue tinting it’s hue. It reminded him of fireflies.
Martin tugged at the hem of his sweater. “Uh, I - thanks. For this.”
He looked surprised at the attention. A moment passed where it looked like he was debating whether or not to respond.
Then, he held out his left hand. “My pleasure. Jonathan Sims, and you are?”
“Martin. Martin Blackwood.” As he reached to shake it, he noticed it was covered in a sheer, black glove. The texture was something rich, velvet or maybe silk.
“This may seem a bit direct, but my residence is rather close by. At the very least I could offer you something hot to drink. Maybe the rain will let up once you leave.”
It was a very forward invitation. But between the frustration and the cold exhaustion, he welcomed the stranger. His dream of a hot cup of tea grew tantalizingly closer. He knew logically that it wasn’t a very smart idea to be led to some unknown location by a random stranger, but his curiosity told him to indulge himself.
“Just don’t lead me into alleyways and we’re good.” He grinned, nervousness plain and clear.
Jon only shook his head and adjusted his grip on the umbrella. Martin was about to offer to hold it for him, but was struck with the odd thought that the smaller man would balk at the idea. So he held his tongue as he was led down the street, making sure to keep his strides even so he didn’t step in front of him.
He was led to an area somewhere between the normal urban sprawl and the more upstate neighborhoods. It was where the wealthy bought their children summer flats and well-off families made their homes. Martin found himself wishing even harder that he wasn’t an idiot and had the foresight to bring a better coat. Trailing behind Jon made him feel distinctly like a dripping, disproportionately large and lost puppy.
“We’re almost there.” Jon commented, fishing through his jacket for something. “Thankfully I don’t open on most Sundays, so we’ll have the luxury of relative privacy.”
Martin wanted to make another joke about luring him away to stab, but he knew the words would just knot themselves on his tongue. Instead, he focused on the building he’d stopped in front of.
The first though that came was that this didn’t look like a house. The entrance was framed with tall marble columns, chipped with age and all the more beautiful for it. The windows were blocked with heavy red curtains and the lights framing the tall oak door were wrought iron and looked more like torch sconces. It gave Martin a very distinct, victorian feeling to the place and it fit smoothly into the image of Jon he had in his mind.
The interior only further proved his point. As Jon flicked on a light, Martin quickly realized that this wasn’t a normal house at all. It looked to be of average size judging by the entrance, but almost every free space was lined with equally stuffed bookshelves. There was a matching receptionist table at the front with Jon’s name on it and a small scattering of different chairs decorated the leftover room.
“Um, are you sure it’s okay if we stay here?” Martin had to ask.
“Of course, you’re a guest.”
The gears took a moment to click. “Wait, so you live here? In a library?”
Jon threw him a very dry smile. “Believe me, I’ve heard all the jokes about being married to my job. Stay here. I don’t want you dripping all over my books.”
Martin waited dutifully, taking a seat on one of the wooden benches and continued to absorb the ambiance. The few lights that were on were low, casting wispy shadows across the carpets and around the corners. He tried to read one of the closest bookshelves, but the rain had yet to clear from his glasses. The most he could make out was that Jon kept a fair collection of old looking tomes and modern books, as well as several posters with cartoon eyes and slogans discouraging stealing.
Jon soon came down with a towel draped over one arm and a tall thermos in the other. “I hope it’s to your liking. I don’t carry a very wide selection.”
Martin did his best to dry himself off, ruffling up his hair and squeezing out as much water as he could from his jumper. To his surprise, Jon had even carried down a pair of fuzzy grey slippers for him to replace his soaked sneakers. He could almost laugh at the odd domesticity. He laid the towel around his shoulders and spared a glance at the tea tag.
It was, to his surprise, his preferred brand.
“This… wow. It’s good. Really good.” He sighed, feeling the warmth leech back into his skin. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Jon took a seat beside him, seemingly content to relax beside him. “Tell me, what exactly kept you out so late? It must’ve been important.”
Martin hummed into his cup, happy to converse. “ I, uh, work for the Magnus Institute. Archive Assistant. Now I know they have a… a reputation, but it pays well and I enjoy most of it. A bit boring sometimes, but Tim is good fun.”
“I understand perfectly.” Jon said curtly. Martin thought he saw the hint of a crease between his eyebrows. “You collect statements on the paranormal, correct?”
“Yea. My boss - well technically Elias is my boss but Sasha’s Head Archivist - wanted me to check out an address in one of the statements. Something about an antiques dealer, I don’t remember his name. Mikaele - something. She wanted to see if I could find some of his associates since a lot of the weird stuff in Artefact Storage comes from him.”
“Fascinating. Did you find anything significant?”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “I spent most of the morning just running around pawn shops asking for people. Came across a few interesting places and one really weird taxidermy shop, but no one knew Mikaele. I think one of the shopkeepers looked at me funny. Said something cryptic around the lines of ‘You don’t deal with a man like him, m’boy.’ I didn’t stay there for long. Two big guys with cockney accents came in carrying something and I could tell they didn’t want me around.”
“Mhm, as far as I am aware, Mikaele Salesa possesses many artefacts with supernatural abilities. He isn’t someone to be carelessly prodded at.”
“Given some of the statements I’ve heard, I completely agree.” Then, Martin squinted. “Wait, did I tell you his name?”
“You did.” Jon said gently. “And I said that I know of him. I’ve had no personal dealings with the man myself.”
“So… do you believe in the supernatural?”
“I do.”
There was something about the way Jon spoke so casually about it that made the damp hairs on the back of Martin’s neck prickle. The smaller man watched for a reaction, green eyes expressing nothing but passive patience. It was accompanied by a feeling of intense scrutiny made him pull at his jumper.
Martin had to admit, it was also a welcomed surprise to hear from someone who presented themselves as an academic. He didn’t think he’d met anyone at the Institute who had a lot of faith in what they found. Tim seemed to be broadly unflappable and he didn’t know Sasha well enough to guess. He wondered if Elias believed any of the things they categorized were real. He doubted that.
“Well, um, it’s been getting pretty late. The sky must’ve cleared up a bit.”
“It’s still raining.” Jon gestures to one of the windows, curtains parted to let in a crack of grey light.
His ears went red. “Ah. I mean, it’s not a far way from my flat. Thank you for the tea but I shouldn’t keep intruding.”
“Do you want to leave?”
Martin paused at the lip of his mug, the pleasant buzz of silent static and tea filling him with contentment. All anxieties notwithstanding, he liked Jon’s company; he liked the quiet and attentive energy all focused on him. He realized how creepy that sounded and took a larger gulp of tea.
“I… don’t.” He said slowly. “But are you sure it isn’t a bother?”
“Of course not. I keep plenty of spare clothes in my office. You’re welcome to take a couch or I could set up a cot for you.”
Jon didn’t wait to see Martin turn crimson at the thought of sharing his clothes. He stumbled after the other man, following him through the stacks of books and to the staircase. Martin wondered if Jon had bought the place as it was, or just knocked out all the walls on the first floor.
“My accommodations aren’t anything spectacular, but they suffice. I prefer to keep my collection close to my chest, so to speak. Speaking of books, how much do you know of Eurgen Lietner?”
“Oh god, him. We’ve had a few cases with his name. One with that actually took place at a library and a book called ‘The Boneturners Tale’. Creepy stuff. Apparently it made all the other books around it, uh, bleed. And when someone actually got their hands on it, their body started to warp like they were bending all their bones from the inside.”
Jon mumbled something under his breath and the larger man caught sight of him tugging his right glove.
Martin continued to freely ramble, caught somewhere between embarrassed and grateful Jon was willing to put up with him as they ascended the stairs. He was led to a room facing the street with a large, circular window facing him as he entered. Compared to the library, this place was a mess.
There was a small bench under the window and he noticed a box stuffed with notebooks, a retro CD player and a small collection of disks. On a desk, he could see several stacks of loose paper and a cup full of chewed pencils. At the foot of the chair, Martin could see a waste bin piled high with paper coffee cups and the rare muffin wrapper.
“Sorry about the mess.” He confessed. “I should be keeping my notes more orderly.”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” Martin glanced again at the waste bin, trying to count the number of cups that looked fresh. He didn’t like his estimate. “What about you?”
Jon gave him a curious look. “Pardon?”
“I’ve been doing nothing but talk and you’ve hardly got a word in. What’s something you like? It can’t all be creepy books and sweater vests.”
In the muggy light from the storm, Jon looked even more pale. He opened and closed his mouth several times, green eyes darting around the room.
“Jon, please don’t tell me all you do is stay locked up in here all day.”
“I do go out.” He pouted, looking just shy of crossing his arms.
Whatever mysticism Jon had fostered evaporated in an instant. He turned towards the closest, sparing himself the embarrassment of letting Martin see his flustered expression. He tried to take a peek at it’s contents, but Jon had apparently caught on to his scrutiny and kept the door closed enough so he couldn’t see. He held out a grey t-shirt that was speckled with tears that looked slightly too artful to be moth holes and a loose pair of sweatpants.
“I might just show up to drag you out of this stuffy place. It’d probably do wonders for your skin. Do you even remember what the sun looks like?”
“I am perfectly capable of being amiable without your assistance.” Jon snapped.
“Mhm.” Martin remained thoroughly unconvinced.
“I do.”
“Jon, I’m being serious.” Martin hovered his hand over his shoulder, hesitated, then fell back to his side. “Being cooped up like this can’t be good for you. Not with all - all this around you.”
He caught a nasty glare and Martin took an involuntary half-step back. Then Jon reached up to rub at his eyes.
“You hardly know me.”
“And?”
Jon looked at him like he was an idiot. Martin considered for a moment if he was, being so insistent on this point.
“And?” He repeated.
“I don’t need to know you to care.”
Something crossed Jon’s expression then. He wordlessly hung the clothes over the chair and turned his back to him.
“I’ll… you should get some rest. Sleep well, Martin.”
“Jon?”
He reached out, only for Jon to slip away and close the door. Even if the man was still in the building, it felt like Jon had disappeared entirely from his senses, leaving nothing but the confused blend of emotion swirling behind his eyes. The bed was looking enticing at least.