Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Abigail Minsen had been having a great night. Her boyfriend, Jake Cobb, had taken her to see a movie she’d been really excited about then they’d gone to a bar. It was late by the time they got off the tube, drunk out of their minds. The platform was empty, which wasn’t that odd given the late hour and the fact that it was a Tuesday, so no rational people would be out and about. Tuesdays are categorically awful.

They stood by the exit and Jake pulled her into a kiss. They stayed like that for a little while – drunkenly making out – until Abigail saw a form to the side of the platform, where the lights only cast dim shadows. She pulled away from her boyfriend and squinted her eyes to see better. When that didn’t help at all, she stumbled over there, to Jake’s confusion and disappointment. A pool of dark liquid was spreading out from the corner, which her drunken brain decided couldn’t be blood, since that stuff was supposed to be inside the body. She leaned down and touched the liquid. It was dark red and thick, and, being cis, she was plenty aware what blood looked/felt like. She almost screamed. And by that I, your narrator, mean she screamed, but was cut off by a retch.

Someone was lying on the ground, face down, limbs sprawled out in odd directions. Blood seemed to be running from their face or head, and their long, graying hair was soaked in it. Abigail rushed over to them and shook their shoulders, shouting for their attention. This, obviously, did not work. She reached over vaguely for Jake’s attention.

“J-Jake,” Abigail stuttered, checking their pulse. “Call 999.”

Jake nodded and pulled out his phone, almost dropping it as his trembling fingers dialed the number. “There’s someone bleeding out here… yeah… I don’t know…” Jake turned to Abigail. “Where’s the blood coming from?”

Abigail lifted their head gently and gasped, almost retching again at the sight. Their face was younger than she’d expected from the amount of gray in their hair, maybe in their thirties, and huge gashes cut across their features, bleeding profusely. Jake answered the operator’s questions and put his phone away, crouching beside the bleeding person. The two moved the person so they were on their back and used the sleeve of Jake’s shirt to wipe the blood off their face and neck, since it was the cleanest material they could find. They did an impressively poor job of cleaning, mainly just smearing the stuff around, but didn’t aggravate the wound, so ultimately they were harmless. The person had excessive amounts of weird scars covering their skin and one of their hands had a huge burn mark, but nothing seemed nearly as awful as the angry red wounds across their eyes. They were bright and angry and it looked like the poor Tube Man, as they were referred to by the couple every time they were brought up after that point, had been mauled by an angry beast with a sharp knife.

Abigail had done a pretty bad job at finding the Tube Man’s pulse, and started bawling her eyes out when she was convinced they were dead. Jake double checked and while the Tube Man’s pulse was erratic and weak, they were still alive. This made all parties involved feel a whole lot better, the Tube Man included, probably.

The couple sat there, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. They didn’t say anything, just stared at the Tube Man in collective horror. When the ambulance did arrive, the EMTs shot Abigail and Jack worried glances because they were at that stage of drunkenness where people couldn’t not shoot them worried looks, especially medical professionals. But they had more pressing matters -- the Tube Man -- and therefore let the couple wander off without watching them cling to each other for support and still wobble considerably more than the average person should for too long.

——

Basira hadn’t really noticed Jon was missing from the Archive. Well, she had she just hadn’t been concerned. He had a habit of being gone for a day or two or a couple months so she wasn’t worried. Of course, on many such occasions Jon had ended up getting kidnapped and almost killed, but he always came back healthy enough, physically if not mentally, and it had been a reasonable amount of time since the last kidnapping, so maybe that was no longer a trend amongst avatars? Either way, Basira wasn’t all that worried. Or at least, she wasn’t worried until her lunch break, when she planned on heading out to meet up with Daisy at a new coffee shop and was stopped by Rosie, who looked very upset.

“Basira!” She half-smiled. “I was just heading down to get you. Or Melanie. Or Daisy, I guess. Actually it doesn’t matter I just need one of you, any one of you, but you’re here, so that’s great! I don’t have to go down and get you.”

“Rosie,” Basira said calmly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jon. He‘s in the hospital. Apparently he’s asking for you. They said he should survive but that’s a really low bar and I got worried.”

And then Basira started to get concerned. Only a little bit. Jon had been in the hospital hundreds of times before, somehow every entity ever wanted him dead, and he had only been in a coma where doctors were convinced he was actually dead for six months once. So yeah, Jon being in the hospital was a pretty bad sign, actually.

“I’ll go check on him. Thanks.” Basira hurried out of the building, pulling out her phone to quickly text Daisy that she wouldn’t be able to meet her.

——

Basira entered the room. The nurse had warned her what to expect, he’d said Jon’s wounds were pretty bad and he was barely conscious, but Basira knew she could never be fully prepared for whatever Jon had managed to bring upon himself. She was right. The upper half of Jon’s face was wrapped in bandages and he was ever so much paler than he should be and seemed even more emaciated than usual, if that was even possible.

“Jon?” Basira said quietly, sitting at the foot of his bed.

“Basira? Is that you?” He asked, sitting up. Apparently it was too fast, because he reached up to clutch his head. His hand, the burnt one, had a cast on it and on said cast a doctor or nurse had scrawled a bunch of question marks. Jon confused doctors by the hospital. They were all fascinated by him, which made it much harder to get him out of hospitals than into them.

“Yeah.”

He smiled and reached out a trembling arm. In the wrong direction. His grin gave way to confusion as his hand closed around empty air, and he waved it about a little, clearly trying to find her. “Basira?”

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, moving closer to him. He cocked his head at the sound of her chair scraping across the floor.

“Basira!” Jon’s grin returned and he patted Basira’s head fondly. The nurse had also informed her that he was on lots of drugs and would probably be speaking nonsense for a while. She’d almost set up her phone so it would record him, but Jon wasn’t just lightly injured and it felt mean to laugh at him. “You came!”

“Yeah, I did.”

“That’s great. Is Daisy here?” He looked around even though there was no way he’d be able to see if she was. Old habits die hard. He’d be able to See if she was there, though, which he didn’t seem to be doing.

“No.”

“Shame. I like her, you know. She’s scary though. I was super scared when she tried to kill me. Like, super scared. Super duper scared. Super duper mega scared.” Jon said it with a smile and rubbed the scar across his throat. His face then went deadly serious and he turned his head so he was facing Basira. He would’ve been staring her right in the eyes, Basira realized. Everyone knew Jon avoided eye contact unless it was serious so she leaned in on instinct, her brain half-expecting large brown and/or bright green eyes to look back at her. Instead, she got to stare at a bunch of bandages. “You like her.”

“Yeah, she’s my partner.”

“No, you like like herrrrrrrrrrrrr.” He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever said. “Daisy and Basira sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” He sang happily, waving his hands and shuffling about a little.

“What? I—no.”

“Yes! You like her.” He grabbed her face and pressed his forehead to hers. The feeling of so many bandages against her skin was weird. He then whispered conspiratorially, “I think she likes you too.”

“Jon. You’re on a lot of painkillers.”

“Yeah. And I’m right. You two should date,” He said resolutely, then squealed in excitement. “Can I be best man? Ooh! Ooh! Can I be godfather? Wait no. I don’t get the vibes—” Basira almost laughed out loud at that and decided never to let Jon outlive saying ‘vibes’ in a conversation unironically — “That either of you are good with kids.” He closed his hands around thin air, as if checking their vibes. “Actually, Daisy might be. But you? No.” He pursed his lips, like this was a very serious matter. “Are you good with kids? Do you know if Daisy is good with kids?”

Basira sighed, then changed the subject. “How are you doing?”

“I’m wonderful!” He made thumbs ups with both his hands and cackled. “Can I do your makeup?”

“What? No. Jon, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Just peachy.”

“I brought a few statements for you, if you want.”

“Statements!” He laughed for a bit too long. It freaked Basira out a bit. “No no, the big eyeball can’t touch me! I don’t need statements. I’m going to die.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What did you mean, about the Eye not being able to touch you?”

Jon patted his bandages lightly. “The doctors took my eyes out,” he said, like that explained everything.

“And…?”

“And so I quit. And the Eye can’t eat from me anymore. And I can’t eat trauma anymore.”

“You… you found a way to quit.” He nodded vehemently. So that explained him not Knowing if Daisy was there, but… “But you were an avatar, won't it destroy you?” He ignored her, but she remembered what he’d said before.

“The doctors keep trying to give me fake eyes.” He frowned. “I don’t want them. No eyes!” He shouted, sweeping his arms out across the room. He cheered happily and fell back on his pillow.

It was silent for a while as Basira’s thoughts ran amok in her mind. He’d managed to quit. Jon had found a way to quit and it was so incredibly drastic he was fully aware, even heavily doped up on painkillers and a little out of his mind, that he would probably die. Jon suddenly grabbed Basira’s shoulder, shaking her out of her thoughts.

“Martin.”

“What about him?”

“Can you get him to come here?”

“Uh… maybe, why?”

“I looooove him,” Jon then collapsed into a fit of giggles. When he composed himself he said, in the most stable-person voice she’d heard him use during their interaction, “I wanna see him— well not see but…” And Basira didn’t really know if the first comment had been a joke or not, so she let it drop. I’d it was and she pressed it later, Jon might stray in the opposite direction with his feelings towards Martin, and if it wasn’t well… Basira’d help the two morons figure themselves out later.

They sat in silence for long enough for Basira to feel a poor parody of comfort. It was obviously difficult to relax when there was a delirious, eye-less man in the bed next to her.

“Can I do your makeup?” Jon asked again, breaking the silence.

“No, Jon,” Basira replied. “You’re blind and besides, I don’t have anything on me.”

She felt a wave of sadness and realisation when her words actually caught up with her brain. He was blind now. Not just blind, he didn’t have any eyes. Jonathan Sims didn’t have any eyes. He’d need a cane, or a dog or something along those lines but Jonathan Sims would never See — or even lowercase see again. And he didn’t seem upset about it. Admittedly, he was high out of his mind on painkillers, but still.

Jon smiled and let out a squeak then clicked his tongue, tearing her from her thoughts. “Can I braid your hair, then?” Basira frowned. He must be really out of it. Even if he couldn’t see now he’d known her for a while at that point and he most certainly knew she wore a hijab. “Jon? Are you… ok?”

He gasped a little and pressed a hand to his mouth. “Sorry,” he squeaked. “I forgot. Can I… braid your hijab?” “How?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Sure… I guess?”

He squealed happily and patted the bed beside him so Basira sat down, hunching a little so Jon could properly reach her head. Basira might only be a bit tall but the man was teensy. He hummed quietly and clicked his tongue every once in a while as he somehow found a way to braid her hijab, only messing up a couple times. When he was done Basira used her phone as a mirror and saw a neat braid made entirely out of green fabric.

“I— what? How?” Basira turned to look at Jon and he just shrugged, smiling a little.

A nurse pushed open the door and gently told Basira she had to leave. She climbed off the bed, grabbing her bag. “I’ll see if I can get Martin to stop by?”

“Thank you.” Jon waved. “I don’t know if he really likes me much, though. He probably won’t come.” He turned to face the nurse, settling in as she started fiddling with the little machine beside him and speaking in Doctor. Basira left.

Chapter Text

Martin was sorting through a pile of paperwork Peter had left on his desk when Basira came in.

“Martin,” she said firmly, making him look up.

“Basira?”

“Yeah. You need to go see Jon.”

“I told him—”

“He’s in the hospital. He asked for you. Go. See. Him.”

“He… what?”

“He found a way to quit. It’s… drastic. So stop moping around in the Lonely and go talk to the Archivist before he dies.”

Martin took a deep breath. “He went through with it, then?”

“You knew about this?”

“He told me about it. I… I laughed at him, said he came to me because he wanted an excuse to not do it. God.”

“Yeah, you’re going to the hospital and you are having a nice long chat with Jon.” Basira’s tone wasn’t outwardly threatening but he was convinced she would drag him to the hospital herself if the need arose.

“I’ll go after work.”

“No. You’ll go now. And I will escort you.”

“Basira, really, it’s fine. I swear I’ll go.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “Fine, I won’t escort you. But you’ll go now. All I’ll text Jon to make sure you’re there.”

Martin nodded and got up from his desk, grabbing his bag and hurrying to the elevator. He could feel Basira’s gaze on him as the doors closed.

Jon had done it. He’d blinded himself. Martin was honestly surprised, he hadn’t actually expected Jon to do it. Obviously.

Martin was dreading taking the tube. He hadn’t been around that many people in a while, preferring to walk to work now that his boss barely cared if he was late, but the hospital was a thirty minute walk away and he wanted… something. To see Jon? To get it over with? Martin didn’t know. But he took the tube.

——

The trip wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, but it wasn’t great. When he stepped onto the platform he took a minute to steady himself against a wall, forcing himself to breathe evenly. If he collapsed here Jon would tell Basira he hadn’t been to the hospital and she’d send Daisy after him. Or kill him herself. Neither of those were things he wanted to happen, at all. He kept moving.

——

Martin, stood outside the door to Jon’s room, took a deep breath, then pushed the door open. It barely made a sound but Jon sat up in his bed, turning his head to face the door.

“Hello?” He called out. Martin’s voice died in his throat. “Who’s there?”

“Who’s there?” Jon asked again, a hint of worry in his voice. Martin wanted to answer but the sound couldn’t make it past his lips. Jon was deathly pale, old scars fading into the background in favor of the new, red ones across his eyes. His eyebrows were torn apart by scars and they spilled from his eyes onto his nose and cheeks. Martin couldn’t see Jon’s eyes, his upper face was mostly wrapped in bandages, but he knew it couldn’t be anything good, from the look of the surrounding skin.

“I know someone’s there,” Jon said forcefully, drawing Martin from his contemplation. “I have a nurse on call and lots of heavy objects to throw, who’s there?”

“It’s—it’s Martin,” he finally said, walking over to Jon’s bed and sitting down in the chair beside it.

“Oh. Sorry about… that. It’s just…” he sighed. “I can’t Know anything anymore and I’ve been attacked one too many times and, well… sorry.”

“Jon…” Martin trailed off, looking at the man sat in front of him. “I can’t believe you did it.”

Jon smiled weakly and brought a hand up to his eyes. “Me neither, if I’m honest.”

“How…? How did you…” “Knife. Surprisingly enough, eyes do not want to be gouged.” He gently ran a finger over his new scars and winced slightly. “Stab your eyes and get atrocious scars for free.” His soft chuckle was humourless.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said, as if that made up for anything.

“You were right,” Jon sighed, twisting his fingers. “About why I came to you.”

“Clearly not.”

“I didn’t really know if I wanted to so I—I went to you. I figured you’d say no, but if, perchance you agreed? Well I would be happy to go through with it with someone I… know by my side.”

Martin tried to keep a straight face. He failed. “I’m sorry, did you just use ‘perchance’ in an actual conversation?”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “Yes? Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? No one had used that since, like, the medieval ages!”

“Well I just did so…”

“How are you a real human being?”

“I— what?”

“You’re so weird!” Martin laughed. He wouldn’t have behaved even rometely like this before but he missed Jon a hell of a lot and couldn’t be bothered to cover it up.

“I just had my eyes taken out! I think I’ve earned the right to say perchance!” Jon exclaimed, defensive.

“Mm…” Martin tilted his head and Jon punched him in the arm gently, laughing. Then his laughter was replaced by short, laboured breaths and he held up a hand, as if asking for a moment.

“Jon?” Martin asked worriedly. “Should I call a nurse?”

“No, I’m,” he took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m fine. The Eye takes out its anger on my body at random moments, the doctors couldn’t help all that much.” He took another breath, this one more stable. “It’ll pass in a moment.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“D’you think you’ll… live? Without the Eye? I mean, you were basically only kept alive by statements before and now…”

“I honestly don’t know. I hope so. But I don’t know. I can eat though. Actual food. It seems to help a little.” He sighed and looked away again. “Oh! I get released today. I can finally go home.”

“Finally? When did you get here?”

“Four days ago. It’s not that long but it feels like a while.” He pursed his lips. “I miss my flat.”

Martin smiled sadly and shook his head.

“Enough about me, how are you?” Jon tilted his head to face him properly, expectant.

“How am I? Really?”

“Well yes. You actually came. And you’re talking to me. I didn’t know how much the Lonely had gotten to you, but I feel like this is an accomplishment.”

“Basira threatened me. Well, not directly, but it was implied.”

Jon chuckled. “Of course she did.”

Martin found himself opening up to Jon about the Lonely. Not Peter’s plans, he wasn’t sure he should do that, but he told Jon about everything else and found he was surprisingly good at listening. Martin obviously knew everything the famous Archivist had been up to but he listened while Jon spoke all the same, intrigued by his point of view. By the time the nurse came in, they’d moved from the heavy, supernatural stuff to the funnier supernatural stuff.

“Jon, I have your release forms, you just need to sign.” The nurse, Elias (what a painful coincidence), said. He quickly read out what it said on the paper, since Jon couldn’t do it himself, now could he? And handed him the clipboard. Jon took it and held out his hand for a pen, which Elias gave him.

“Where do I sign?” He asked, pen hovering over the paper. Elias directed his hand to the dotted line and Jon scribbled his signature.

“You might want to escort him home,” Elias said to Martin. “Actually, you really should. Jon doesn’t have a cane yet or a seeing eye dog and patients often find going home with someone they know much more pleasant than going alone. Also, we’ve watched him try to get snacks and such without help, and, to be brief, he cannot.”

“R-right,” Martin stuttered, looking over at Jon. He had been pretty sure he was over his stupid crush — he was protecting everyone in the archives, and Jon just happened to be the one he knew best out of the lot of them, he’d reasoned — but Jon was being so nice, he seemed so happy to have Martin there with him, and the thought of escorting him home? Maybe Martin still had a few feelings for his former boss. “Yes. I’ll take Jon home. Yup. No problem.”

“Great!” The nurse seemed like a cheery guy, it was a pity his name had to be Elias. Bad luck came in all shapes and sizes. “You can go wait outside if you want, I just need to make sure your friend here is in tip top shape.”

Martin nodded and stepped outside. He had managed to convince himself he didn’t love Jon anymore. How could he, when he never spoke to him, saw him or felt anything at all, really? But he did. Clearly, he still did. Martin felt himself blush and buried his face in his hands. Now was not the time for this melodramatic romantic shit, he had to pull himself together because Jon was blind and probably dying. He was weak and needed help. And he had asked Basira to get Martin. And he had said he would be ok with being blind if Martin was with him. Martin shook his head. There was no way that Jon felt the same way. There was no way. He wasn’t going to this to himself again. Jon does not like you. And even if he did, Martin didn’t know if that would make anything easier. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing a life where he and Jon were together, then chided himself. With his luck, if they ever got together it would be during some Fear-induced apocalypse. And he shouldn’t even be thinking about that anyways. Because Jon didn’t feel the same about him. And Martin was perfectly indifferent to that, it didn’t matter to him at all. Why should it?

“Martin?” He jumped at the new voice and looked up. It was Jon. “If you’d rather go back to the Institute I’m sure I could find someone else to… escort me home.”

Martin wanted to shout bye! and run out of there, never to see Jon again so he wouldn’t have to deal with all his stupid feelings. But he couldn’t. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m already here. Let’s get you home.”

Jon smiled and held out his hand. It took Martin a second before he realised he was expected to take it. Which he did. And in that moment he was very glad Jon couldn’t see the bright blush on his cheeks.

Jon gripped Martin’s hand firmly, which he stubbornly pretended did not make his face turn red, despite the look Elias gave him when he walked past. Jon’s hand was cold and Martin could see the burn scar he got from being an idiot through his fingers. Martin led him down the hall to the elevator and pressed the button.

“Should I call a cab?” Martin asked. “Or should we take the tube?”

Jon looked up at him — Martin decided it was an action you could take without actually looking at anything — and furrowed his brow a little. “Cab.” Martin sighed with relief and stepped into the elevator, which’s doors had just opened. He really didn’t want to take the tube again.

Jon followed him in then grabbed his arm and pressed himself against Martin.

And that did absolutely nothing to Martin. His heart did not do a stupid little fluttery thing and his face did not go bright red (after it had been pursuance down into returning to what could be mistaken to maybe be its normal color) and he did not want to wrap his arms around Jon protectively and never let go. Because Martin was absolutely not romantically interested in Jonathan Sims. Nope. In no way shape or form. Impossible.

Oh, bloody fuck, who was he kidding?

Chapter Text

“Curb. Curb, Jon. No—” Martin sighed as Jon tripped over the curb he’d literally just warned him about. He knew he was supposed to help him but he’d wear his throat to death before Jon actuallylistened to him. “I’m so glad we took a cab, you’d be impossible on the tube.”

“I’m trying!” Jon complained, grabbing Martin’s arm to steady himself. Martin felt like retorting that he was doing no such thing and that he’d gone blind not deaf, but Jon looked like he was actually trying and just failing miserably. “Where, exactly, are we?”

“Right outside your building,” Martin said.

“Ok, I live on the sixth floor, the apartment closest to the elevator,” he said, stepping ahead and pulling Martin with him into the building. “I can’t read braille yet. Press the buttons for me?”

Martin did so and stood awkwardly while they waited for the elevator. Jon still held on to him. Martin wondered when he’d let go. Not that he minded, but it was scrambling his brain a little, which making t rather difficult to be of any assistance to the man he was supposed to assist.

Jon made a little, slightly duck-like, ‘gap gap’ noise, then put a hand over his mouth and let go of Martin quickly, looking away. Martin would’ve asked about it but Jon clearly didn’t want him to so he pretended he hadn’t heard. He had noticed Jon doing odd things then freezing during the cab ride and every time his face became so wary that Martin couldn’t bring himself to question it. But he was really curious. Maybe the Eye had bodyhopped over to him? (The thought had been ironic but Martin banished it immediately because it was awful.)

The elevator dinged and Jon walked stiffly inside. Martin pressed the sixth floor button as Jon had asked. The elevator was tiny but Jon somehow managed to stay a good distance from Martin, standing perfectly still and not looking up from the floor.

“Jon?” Martin said softly. “Are you alright?”

“What? Yes. I’m fine,” Jon shook his head and Martin recognised that tone of voice better than he would’ve liked. It was the ‘leave me alone, Martin’ voice. Some part of Martin’s brain took this as an opportunity to chime in. See? He doesn’t like any more than he did before. Give up on this wretched little man and go home. Martin tried to ignore it. He wanted to think that Jon might at least not hate him. And even if that was the case, it hadn’t stopped him before and it wouldn’t stop him now.

——

Jon groaned and slammed his head into the door. Martin had been watching him try all of the keys on his keychain for at least two minutes and none of them seemed to work.

“The stupid key refuses to work sometimes,” Jon said. “I’m sorry. You can go, if you want, I’m home now.”

“What does the key look like?”

“Round top, there’s some blue nail polish on the top corner?” Jon held out the keychain. Martin spotted the key and put it in the lock, wiggling it around a bit before it made a promising click noise. Martin pushed open the door and Jon sighed. “Needing your help there wasn’t a blind thing, it’s a ‘my door doesn’t work sometimes and you’re strong’ thing.”

“Right. Of course.” Jon seemed to be preemptively defensive about his new disability, which was perfectly on brand for him.

“But… thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Martin replied, looking around Jon’s flat. It was small and cluttered. Random papers covered basically every surface, dishes were piled up in the sink and the walls were littered with posters and paintings that he was definitely going to ask about because they were all of a consistent style so either Jon had a friend who painted or he had painted them himself. There were books scattered about everywhere, not only on the overstuffed bookshelf that took up half a wall of the living room. A guitar was propped up in one corner, base resting on a fluffy rug that was littered with empty coffee mugs and energy drinks and yet more papers. There were three tape recorders that Martin could see, but they were all off and stuffed with tapes that had labels on them. The door to Jon’s bedroom was open and Martin could see a desk with barely any free space on it, another bookshelf and a small bed that was covered in files and books and clearly hadn't been slept in for way too long.

“Do you uh… wanna stay? For dinner?” Jon asked cautiously. “I-I mean, it’s getting late and I was just thinking because you’re already here?”

There was a moment of silence before Martin’s brain finally reactivated itself (it had shut down when Jon asked him to stay) and he nodded, only to remember Jon couldn’t see. “I… ’d love to. If it’s no trouble?”

“Not at all.” Jon smiled. “My pleasure. What do you like? I don’t really have anything but I could order something. If you want. Or… I have pasta.” He chuckled but in a self-deprecating way. “I shouldn’t have offered this, I don’t even know if I have anything human.”

“Pasta—pasta is all right,” Martin interrupted, noticing Jon was getting agitated. He didn’t like what Jon was implying by saying ‘anything human’, because Martin would die on the hill that said, in giant, bright letters (and also braille, now) JONATHAN SIMS IS STILL PLENTY HUMAN. “Pasta is good.”

“Oh. Great. I’ll get that ready, then. Make yourself at home.”

Martin watched as Jon made his way to the kitchen then crouched down and felt the cupboards, muttering under his breath. He opened one and pulled out a large pot and a lid. He brought the pot just a little too far to the right of the tap and the water poured down the drain. Jon kicked the oven in frustration then grabbed his foot and yelped in pain, clearly having forgotten how tiny and weak his body was.

“Need help?” Martin asked awkwardly. It hurt his heart to see Jon struggle like this. The man was very carefully trying to figure out where exactly the tap was in relation to his pot.

“No!” Jon practically shouted, filling the pot with water. “I don’t need help. I don’t need help. I am still fully capable of functioning, god damnit!” He forcefully placed the pot on the stove then fumbled around with the dials to get it to turn on. “I can make bloody pasta!” Martin would be hurt but he got the feeling Jon wasn’t angry at him. “I don’t need help. I can figure out how to live like this, even if I don’t have long, cause if I can’t… no. No, I’ll get the hang of it.” Jon bowed his head and Martin stepped up to him, noticing how his shoulders were shaking. Martin didn’t know if Jon could still cry cry but he was shaking like he was about to let everyone find out.

“Jon,” Martin said softly, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder. When Jon didn’t protest he stepped closer. “You’ll get it. It’s all right. You have to remember that you only just got your surgery, it’ll take some time to adapt. But you’ve always managed. You are a stubborn man, I practically had to carry you out of the archives after Prentiss, remember? Give yourself a little time and you’ll be fine.”

“I probably don’t have that time available, Martin,” Jon snapped shakily then took a deep breath. “I was barely” — he said ‘barely’ like he’d been reprimanded for not adding it before but didn’t believe it — “human before and now, without the Eye sustaining me, I… I feel so weak. Like I lost my sight and a whole other sense along with it. Everything is a struggle.”

Martin didn’t say anything, what could he say, but he rubbed Jon’s shoulder lightly.

“The police want to interrogate me. Did you know that? They think I was attacked. Even if a sectioned cop takes over my case I’ll be branded crazy and sent off to a mental institution the second they learn what actually happened. I couldn’t take that. I don’t know what to do. Why are our lives so complicated?” He sighed. “What a stupid question. An eldritch god took a liking to us and boom! here we are. No one did anything to deserve it except make a few decisions that didn’t seem unwise at the time.”

“Well, if you ever need anything, I’m right here. Ok?” Jon didn’t respond. “Jon. Seriously. I’m here for you, and if you need help with anything I will be here for you.”

“Even murder?” He asked, mouth forming a tentative smile.

“Even murder.”

“What about kidnapping?”

“Mmm, depends who.”

“Children?”

“Jon!” Martin protested.

“You said anything!” Jon shot back, bumping into the pot. Water sloshed out of it, spilling onto the hot stove with a loud sizzling sound. “Maybe we should move away from the stove.”

“Yup.” Martin quickly moved the pot back into place then followed Jon into the living room.

Jon swept his foot across the floor, found that there was nothing in his way, then sat down. Martin followed his lead.

“What do you want to do, while we wait for the water to boil?” Jon asked, stretching his legs out in front of him. “We could… uh… I don’t have much by way of entertainment.”

“What about the guitar? Is it yours?” Martin asked. He’d been curious since he spotted it. It looked nice. It was an all black electric guitar with two weird knobs and a switch thingy. A strap hung at it’s side and a red pic was balanced on the spiky part. Martin clearly knew very much about guitars /s.

When Jon nodded Martin beamed. “Can you play? Without looking, I mean?”

Jon nodded again, a bit less confident, and got up to get it, putting the strap over his head so the guitar was hanging from his shoulders. Jon grabbed the pick and placed his hand on the metal part at the end of the strings, fingers hovering.

“What are all the buttons for?” Martin asked.

“My amp is in my room so it won’t actually affect the sound, but this one—” he twisted one of them—“is the volume. This one—” he twisted the other—“kinda mutes the sound. The switch here is what controls the different mics.” Jon explained the guitar to him. He seemed very proud and it made Martin want to ask lots of stupid questions so Jon could explain it to him and look that content.

“What can you play?” Martin asked when Jon finished naming out the strings (and tuning a couple).

“A lot of things. Any requests?” Jon drummed his right fingers against the instrument.

“Surprise me.” Martin felt his heart do little somersaults when Jon grinned mischievously and set his fingers on the strings in a way that looked like it should be painful.

All was quiet as Jon tapped out a beat with his foot for a second, before strumming the chords quickly. Martin sat and watched, enthralled, while Jon played a full song, occasionally mouthing the lyrics but never once faltering. When he was done he looked at Martin, beaming. He looked so proud of himself, which was an expression Martin rarely saw on Jon – one that Jon rarely made, what with his awfully low self esteem.

“What was that?” Martin asked when his voice started working again.

“Broken Horses,” Jon replied. He strummed the guitar absentmindedly.

“By who?” He prompted.

“Oh uh… the Mechanisms.” Jon said the name quietly, like he was hoping Martin wouldn’t hear. He stashed this information away for later, determined to know exactly what was up with this band.

“You’re really good,” he said, because it was true, and he was tired and he was a bit overwhelmed by the lack of loneliness he felt and he’d HELD JON’S HAND. Jon’s cheeks darkened and he looked away. Martin was yet again grateful for Jon’s blindness because there is no way the man would’ve missed how he positively melted at the sight. He was too gay for this. Too gay for all of this. How was he supposed to function with Jonathan Sims standing in front of him, having just played a piece on the guitar, and blushing?. It was unfair, really, how adorable he was.

The water started making an angry bubbling noise and Jon quickly put down his guitar to go and put the pasta in. He held the back of macaroni in one hand and held the other over the stove, clearly trying to find exactly where the pot was. He poured the macaroni – successfully! – in, then grabbed a spoon to stir it with. Martin joined him in the kitchen, even though Jon really wasn’t far away at all, he’d been practically glued to Martin’s side for the past twenty minutes and the distance felt disorienting and almost painful.

“So,” Martin started, for the sole purpose of filling the silence. He didn’t actually know what he wanted to talk about.

Jon sat on the countertop beside the stove, keeping carefully far from the burning surface. He nodded at Martin, clearly also looking for something to say and started snapping his fingers. He didn’t even seem to notice what he was doing. And Martin was getting really, really curious about the man’s fidgeting.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, trying his level best not to sound judgy or annoyed because he knew just how easy it was to get Jon’s guard up and he really wasn’t either of those things. Just curious.

The smaller man looked up, going still. Martin could practically hear him deliberating what to say. Then he took a deep breath, looked down at his hands and spoke, “Stimming.” Martin hoped his silence could be interpreted as an invitation to keep going, because he had no clue what Jon was talking about and therefore didn’t know how to respond. Thank the evil entities that ran the world, Jon seemed to understand and kept talking. “Self-stimulatory behavior, often shortened to ‘stims’ or ‘stimming’. It’s… I… I’m autistic so… it – it helps? With… with dealing. With everything.”

“Oh.” Martin didn’t really know what to say. He desperately didn’t want Jon to regret having told him, because that would undoubtedly ruin all his progress. “Cool. Tell me if there’s anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable… whenever, okay?”

“What if, say, there was a loud child? And the only option would be to, say, kidnap it?”

“Jon! I’m not kidnapping children for you!”

“You keep saying ‘anything’, I’m just trying to find the limits to that ‘anything’!”

Martin mentally gave himself a standing ovation for not making Jon regret telling him. And then they joked together. Martin felt he deserved a medal for that. For one thing, Jonathan Sims was joking! Oh my god! That’s crazy! But also: he was still a functioning human despite the man he was totally very in love with joking around with him! He also made a mental note to study about autism, because he wanted to be a good friend and that seemed like the right way to go about it.

“If you ever do want to kidnap someone, I know just how to do it,” Jon said, smiling.

“Uh…”

“Not that I’ve kidnapped anyone! I just mean, well, I’ve been kidnapped a bunch and–” Before Jon could explain any more – because he could and would go on for hours – Martin interrupted.

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jon let out a sigh of what might have been relief but might just have been a Jon SighTM and returned his attention to the pasta, stirring it gently every once in a while.

“You made these?” Martin pointed at one of the paintings, which he’d been examining.

“Depends. What are you looking at?” Jon craned his neck in a random direction, as if to illustrate his point.

“Oh, I— right. Yes. The paintings.”

“No, a friend from Uni made them. I guess I just haven't had the time to take them down.”

“They’re really good,” Martin said, voice filled with awe. “I mean, they’re really spooky and what are they doing on the walls when it’s not Halloween, but they’re… beautiful.”

“I— oh. Thank you, I guess.” He blushed again. Martin’s heart stopped in his chest for enough time for him to notice it and he wanted to grab Jon’s face and kiss him senseless. But he didn’t. Obviously. Now was not the time to shoot his shot. Not that there was a shot to shoot. Well, there was but the man he would shoot it at would probably not be all that happy about it.

They had their pasta then Martin left, not wanting to intrude more than he already felt like he had. He knew he probably hadn’t been a bother, Jon invited him to stay in the first place, but still. Not much one can do when anxiety has made its decree. So he left. And thought about Jon for the rest of the night, tossing and turning in bed. Whoo, fun./s

Chapter Text

Martin was glad Peter wasn’t there because he was getting no work done. Apparently being around Jon so much had permanently short-circuited his brain. He could remember what his burnt palm felt like against his own, the way Jon seemed so at ease when he played his guitar and he clung to the memory of his smile and his blush, never wanting to forget it.

He’d looked up the Mechanisms and decided not to share that information with Jon because he didn’t want to admit just how much he loved it to him. It was… marvelous, to say the least. Maybe Martin was biased, sure, but that didn’t change the fact that their music was great. What it did change, on the other hand, was the way the butterflies in his stomach went crazy when Jonny d’Ville came on. Because Jon was an excellent singer and storyteller and guitarist and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—

Basira had barged into his little office for the second time that week while he was melting into a puddle of gay mush while listening to Once Upon a Time (In Space) and given him a very critical look.

But that was Friday. Now it was Saturday. Jon had asked if Martin would go with him to figure out how to use the cane he’d just gotten and obviously, Martin had eagerly agreed.

Jon clutched his cane in one hand, holding it out tentatively. They’d chosen a perfect spot in the park, somewhere reasonably quiet but with plenty of obstacles, for Jon to try and figure out how to use it.

“What do I do?” Jon asked, holding out the cane like it was secretly a venomous snake.

“I don’t know!”

Jon scowled at him, but in a way that bore no real anger, and arced the cane in front of him, the way Martin had seen it used before.

“There’s nothing in the way?” Jon said tentatively.

“Nope.”

He nodded and took a step before doing it again. “Still nothing.”

“Nope.” Martin was right beside him.

Jon stepped again and made a face when his cane hit a small wall that separated the path from the trees around it. He took a small step away from it and grinned when he realized he’d successfully pinned down its location.

They spent a while like that and Jon was learning quickly. Martin understood why the Eye had taken a liking to him when, instead of sitting down where they were like Martin had offered, Jon insisted on heading off somewhere to find to sit to make sure he could actually move about outside the confines of their chosen area.

Not that Jon aced it immediately. He hit lots of stuff and Martin was glad he was there to keep him from tripping and to patch up the few wounds that he managed to sustain. But he did cross almost the entire park, getting all the way to the playground before deciding to finally sit down. Martin chose a spot a little up the hill, under the shade of a tall tree and far enough from the playground that very few kids were running about making noise, something Jon had complained about when he realized where they were.

“Basira was thinking about getting drinks tonight?” Martin said when they were both settled.

Jon nodded like he didn’t know what to say.

“And I was inviting you? To come along?”

“Oh! Uh… who’s going to be there?”

“Melanie, Basira, Daisy and Georgie. And me, of course.”

“All right, that sounds nice.” Jon said ‘nice’ the way one might call a shark ‘beautiful’, which was fair, since half of the people listed had tried to kill him.

“Right. Cool. I’ll tell her.”

Jon laid down and stretched himself out across the grass, head resting by Martin’s hand. “But that’s not for a while, right?”

“No, that’s much later.”

“Do you have any other plans for today?” “Uh… no.” Martin didn’t like where this was going. Not because he didn’t want to spend the day with Jon, but because he was going to be very disappointed when that was not, in fact, what Jon was offering, which it probably wasn’t.

“So can we stay here? Just for a bit. If you want to, I mean.”

“Of course.” Martin felt himself smile as he looked at Jon. He looked so comfortable in the grass, the leaves casting beautiful shadows across his already beautiful face. At the start the scattering of scars across Jon’s skin had disturbed him a little, since he’d never seen Jon with unmarred skin and they brought with them the memory of all the pain they’d come from, but now he could barely even imagine Jon without the little circles that marred his flesh or the thin line across his throat.

They sat in silence, silently pining for one another while thinking their feelings were unrequited. Until two kids came up the hill, making enough noise to startle Jon into sitting up again.

They were twins, clearly, though one had a cheerier face, better suited for smiling whereas the other looked petulant and a little sullen. Martin smiled a little as they play-fought with sticks, shouting something about dragons and warriors. The petulant one seemed to win and the other stuck his tongue out and ran off. The little girl stood proudly with his stick then turned to face up the hill and his eyes landed on Jon.

Martin looked at Jon, who’s face, he noticed, had marks from where he’d been lying in the grass. It was oddly endearing. His hair also had a dead leaf in it and — focus, Martin. The girl had run up and was staring at Jon, close enough to be too close but too far to really be intruding on personal space.

“What’s on your face?” The girl asked. The question was clearly intended for Jon, who whipped his head around and bristled. Martin was about to ask the girl to leave when Jon schooled his features into a mask of neutrality Martin had seen almost every day while they were working together.

“Bandages,” Jon responded, much to Martin’s surprise.

“Why?”

“I don’t have any eyes.”

The kid gasped. But it was an interested gasp, and the girl beamed like Jon had just given him the best gift ever. “Why not?! Was it a shark? Are you a pirate? No, pirates have one eye. Were you attacked?”

“A doctor took them out.” God, Jon must’ve been the most annoying child.

“But why?”

A look crossed Jon’s face that Martin had never seen before and he leaned forward, towards the girl. “You really want to know?” He whispered.

“Yes!” The girl shouted. Then he noticed Jon had whispered and repeated the exclamation but quieter. “Yes!”

“I used to work at this place called the Magnus Institute,” Jon said and Martin leaned in a little, interested. Which was stupid, becuase he’d been there through it all, but Jon was an incredibly good storyteller and he wanted to hear his view on everything that had happened. “And it was awful. We got attacked at least once a week by monsters.”

“Monsters! I don’t believe you.”

Jon smirked, then gestured to all the scars scattered across his skin. “Where do you think I got these, then? They’re scars. From monsters. Monsters that bury into your flesh, monsters made of wax that can burn you with a single touch, monsters with too long fingers and doors connected to nowhere, monsters that take people you know and make them into people you don’t, monsters that can hunt you down anywhere, monsters that—”

“Jon.” Martin stopped him, noticing the girl was looking a little scared. Martin didn’t blame him, Jon could be really intense. “He gets it. No more examples.”

“Right. Well it was terrible and I couldn’t quit.”

“What does quit mean?”

“It means I couldn’t leave my job. It was impossible to leave. My boss was a monster too, he could See everything I did and I was…” Jon faltered. Martin knew what he was thinking about, the whole Archivist-and-technically-one-of-the-aforementioned-monsters thing, and he put a hand over his, hoping that it would help. And maybe he wanted an excuse to hold Jon’s hand again. “I found a way to quit. I had to make myself blind.”

“That means when you can’t see, right?”

“Exactly.”

“So did you quit?”

“Do you think I can see now?”

“Not if you don’t have any eyes.”

“Then you’ve got your answer.”

The girl beamed then turned to Martin. “And you?”

“I…” Martin didn’t know how to follow up Jon’s story. He’d told the truth but there was something to it that Martin didn’t know if he could achieve, a way of turning it into a narrative.

“He works there too,” Jon explained for him.

“Then why doesn’t he have all the scar things that you have?”

“I guess I’m just unlucky.” Jon smiled grimly.

“Are you also going to become blind?”

“I…” Martin thought back to when Jon had asked Martin to do it with him and he’d actually laughed at him. Jon clearly noticed something was off and took Martin’s hand. Not that that helped him think, it just gave him a new, more pressing thing to think about. “I don’t know.”

“But the monsters! They’ll kill you!”

“Actually, Jon is really the one who got hurt most. I’m usually safer.”

“Huh.” The kid didn’t find Martin very interesting apparently because he turned back to Jon. “You have no eyes? Where did they go?”

“I don’t know, actually. The doctors took them out because they didn’t work anymore.”

“Can I see under your eye patches?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please?”

“No, sorry.” Jon paused. “What’s your name?”

“Juno.” The girl smiled. “What’s yours?”

“Jonathan Sims, the Arch— oh. Just… just Jonathan Sims.”

“Ok.” He looked between Martin and Jon. “Are you two in love?”

“I— uh— what?” Martin spluttered, feeling his face turn red as he looked anywhere but at Jon. Jon let go of his hand and retreated a little, clearing his throat. “No! No, no we’re not.”

The girl, Juno, was about to say something else when a woman came up the hill and grabbed his hand. She took one look at Jon and ushered Juno behind her, her face a mix of ill-hidden disgust and misplaced pity. Martin assumed she was his mother and wondered how a kid who’d been so sweet and curious had come from her. “I’m so sorry he bothered you,” she said to Martin, like Jon hadn’t been the one Juno was talking to. Jon had heard her come up and looked in her direction curiously, clearly aware he wasn’t being spoken to. “Juno, we’re going now, you little monster.” “But mom! Jonathan was telling me how he lost his eyes! He worked at the Maggie Instrument—” “Magnus Institute,” Jon corrected quietly and Juno nodded gratefully. “The Magnus Institute and there are monsters and—” “That’s quite enough, Juno. I’m sure this man has got some nice stories but you were supposed to stay with your brother.” She side-eyed Jon like he was insane, which in her defense, he definitely sounded. And also probably looked, what with all the scars. But still, Martin couldn’t help but feel defensive on Jon’s behalf. “I was! But we were playing Andromeda and I won and he ran off.”

“I feel like I made it clear you shouldn’t bother people.”

“You didn’t say that.”

The mother and daughter headed down the hill, arguing, and Martin turned to Jon.

“I’m going to assume she wasn’t as lovely as she sounded?” Jon joked, but he seemed uncomfortable. Martin guessed it was Juno’s question about their relationship. Oh god what if that stupid little girl had messed things up between? Martin would kill him. But Jon was making a joke so it wasn’t that bad, right?

“Wouldn’t even look at you properly.”

“Great.” He sighed. “Let’s go? I think I’ve had enough of this place.”

When they were back on the pavement Jon held out his cane and walked beside Martin. He had to admit, he missed having Jon hold his hand, but he wasn’t about to tell him to put his cane away so Martin could pretend his stupid crush was reciprocated.

“Archivist—” Martin cut himself off when Jon looked up like someone had called his name. That was what he’d been starting to ask about, but seeing Jon react so instinctively was enough to answer his question. “Wow.” “I… It’s practically my name at this point,” Jon said, picking up on what Martin had meant to ask. “More people, if you can call them that, call me ‘Archivist’ than ‘Jonathan’, for example.”

“I know, but it’s…” Martin didn’t know what it made him feel but it was nothing good.

Jon sighed. “It’s how I start statements, too. And I think I know more avatars than humans at this point and almost all of them call me ‘the Archivist’.”

“Who are the exceptions?”

Jon opened his mouth as if to say something, then staggered suddenly and collapsed. His legs just gave in like a newborn colt’s and he fell to the pavement, cnae clattering to the ground beside him. Martin was fairly certain he shrieked Jon’s name but all he knew was he was holding his body, fingers pressed against his neck to check his pulse. A crowd slowly gathered. A couple kids pushed to the front. Martin could hear the chatter of adults saying they’d call an ambulance.

“What’s wrong with his eyes?” One of the kids asked.

“Nothing is wrong with his anything.” Martin practically growled. He was distantly aware that was not how one was supposed to speak to children but he also didn’t care because he was freaking out and a random child insulting the man he was in love with – who had randomly passed out – was not something he was going to be dealing with very well for a while. “Is he dead?” Another kid asked, reaching out a hand to touch Jon. Martin swatted the hand away.

Jon’s heart was beating and he was breathing. He seemed to just have passed out. But how could Martin be sure that was it? Jon had been out for what felt like hours and he had repeatedly stated he didn’t think he’d survive for long without the Eye. But no, he was breathing. It wasn’t like last tu— he was alive. That was enough, right? That was a start.

Martin tried to keep the memory of Jon’s seemingly dead body lying in a hospital bed, somehow not dead. He failed. Miserably. Trying to get rid of the image made it even more persistent. Martin had been in that room almost every day for months, he’d read statements to Jon’s unmoving not-quite-corpse and hold his hand, sometimes, if he felt particularly desperate.

The adults – who’d arrived in a herd – grabbed their kids and shooed them away, forming a concerned circle around Jon and Martin. One of them said they should call an ambulance. He didn’t know if any of them ended up doing it or not.

Chapter Text

Jon came to slowly. His head hurt. He’d hit it, he decided. He tried to sit up, only to notice he couldn’t. He was being held.

“Jon!” Martin’s voice. From right above him. Warm arms wrapped around him. Martin was holding him. Martin Blackwood was holding Jonathan Sims. He managed to keep his emotions in check but internally he was screaming. A moment of pure gay panic.

“Martin,” Jon managed to say. His head still hurt.

“Are you ok?” “I’m fine. I’m fine. What happened?”

“I don’t know, you just collapsed.”

“I… oh.” Martin let go of him and Jon had to admit he wasn’t too happy about that. “I tried to Know something. Out of habit. The Eye didn’t really like that, I guess.”

Martin handed him his cane and helped him up. Jon’s legs shook a little and he leaned into Martin. Just so he could stand up. Not for the comfort of having Martin near him.

“Ok, he’s all right.” Martin said. Not to Jon. To the murmuring people who shifted about around them. He hadn’t noticed them.

“Are you sure he’s fine?” One of them asked.

“I’m ok. Really,” Jon spoke up. He didn’t like being spoken about like he wasn’t there.

The crowd dispersed and Jon decided he should stop leaning into Martin. He stepped away and found that his legs could now hold him. Which meant he had no more excuse to be close to Martin.

“You tried to Know something?” Martin asked. They’d walked far enough that Jon could no longer hear children or their chittering parents.

“You asked what the exceptions were,” Jon explained.

“Oh. Right.”

Jon felt a familiar tug at the back of his mind but shut it down quickly. He was probably imagining it. There was no way he could Know anything. He’d destroyed his eyes. He’d quit the Institute. He’d passed out when he tried.

“What time is it?” Jon asked, to change the subject.

“7:45.”

“When and where are we supposed to meet up with the others?”

“10, pub right by the Institute.”

“Plenty of time, then.”

“Yeah. Plenty of time.”

Jon wanted to break the silence, he just didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.” Was what he settled upon.

“What? Why?”

“I…” And there it was again. So familiar to him. The knowledge that knowledge was so very close by. He knew he could Know exactly why he should be sorry. Exactly what had upset Martin so much, But he had to be imagining it. Because if he wasn’t… No. It was a weird hallucination. He was too used to feeling it there and now he was struggling to adapt. Phantom pains. “It was stupid to try to Know anything. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Hey. No. Absolutely not. No saying sorry for that. You passed out—which was not your fault—and I freaked out—which was not your fault either—and so if you dare apologise I am walking away and you will never find me again because I am an expert hider.” There was a pause. “Also because you’re blind so all I’ve got to do is walk away quietly.”

Jon gasped in mock horror and pressed a hand against his chest. “I can’t believe you’d take advantage of my disability in such a way!”

“I’m sorry!” Martin said through a laugh.

“You are such an evil, evil man,” Jon teased, whacking him in the ankles with his cane.

——

“You came!” Georgie cried when Jon and Martin walked into the pub. “Basira said you were coming but honestly I didn’t expect you to follow through. Which would be perfectly reasonable, of course.” Jon felt Georgie’s hands on his shoulders and suddenly he was wrapped in an embrace.

“Hey,” Jon said, hugging back loosely.

“How are you? You quit the Institute, that’s great!” Georgie took his hand and led him to the booth everyone was sat at.

Jon sat down where Georgie had indicated and felt Martin sit beside him.

“Back up,” Melanie practically growled from right beside him. Jon obliged and moved away. “Just cause you’re blind and probably dying doesn’t make up for anything you’ve done.”

“Of course not.”

“Melanie—” Georgie started to interrupt but Jon shook his head. She had every right to hate him.

“I’m not going to forgive you just cause you’re all weak,” Melanie continued. “But, since your magic powers are gone, I will have drinks with you. Just no more creepiness.”

Jon nodded. That apparently settled that, because Georgie went to get them drinks and the group started chatting. Well, Martin, Basira and Melanie chatted. Jon would join in if prodded and Daisy stayed so silent he wasn’t sure she was actually there. Georgie came back and everyone drank. It was loud, but he was spared the lights and constant movement around him, which made it a lot nicer.

——

When the Institute staff and their friends drank, they did not do it halfheartedly. A very drunk Georgie had (somehow) dragged a mildly drunk Daisy off to do karaoke (they were singing some duet that probably wasn’t meant to be that shrieky), a sober Basira had gone off to get water, only to have to escort an incredibly drunk Melanie to the bathroom so she could puke. Only two of the six people who had entered the pub not even an hour ago still had their wits about them.

Which meant Martin was alone with Jon, who was approaching Melanie-level drunkness. He grabbed his glass and put his face up to it, as if trying to tell if there was anything left.

“Martin?” Jon said, after draining his glass.

“Mhm?”

“I missed you.”

“Uh…”

“When you were working for Peter? I missed you.”

“Oh. I…” Martin felt himself blush like crazy. It did not help that Jon then decided to nestle into his side, letting out a contented sigh.

Melanie and Basira came back and Melanie cackled at how red Martin was, at which Jon threw a crumpled up napkin in her general direction. She shrieked and threw it back, hitting him in the chest.

“That’s not fair, I can’t see!” He shouted, picking up the napkin from his lap and holding it aloft, clearly trying to figure out where Melanie was. She poked him in the face and he slapped her.

Jon got up and reached out for her, but she had moved. She called out to him from a little further away and Jon raced over, stumbling and crashing into her. Basira sighed, watching them fight like little kids.

“Melanie! Careful with Jon!” She chided when Melanie shoved Jon and he fell over.

“Oh Christ should we—” Martin started, only to be cut off.

“She probably won’t actually hurt him. And he deserves it. Let them play.”

“Right.”

“Plus, Daisy’s got an eye on them.” Basira scoffed. “Literal children, those two. Petty, drunk children.” She then turned her full attention on Martin, which was intense. “Do you still like Jon?”

“I— wh— what?” Martin spluttered, taken aback. He was entirely sure she meant romantically but if she didn’t then his reaction wasn’t ideal.

“Do you?” She asked again. “I’m not going to tell him, if you’re worried. But Jon is… well, he’s a friend. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“Get hurt…?”

“Do you still like him, Martin?”

“Yes! Alright? I do. But he has so much going on right now and I think we’re actually friends now and I don’t want to ruin that.”

Basira hummed a little and looked over at the corner of the pub, by the men’s bathroom, where Daisy and Melanie had ganged up on Jon. Martin would’ve gone over to rescue him but all three of them were very drunk and from the way Melanie was wadding up tissues and throwing them at him lightly, he doubted Jon would end up too hurt.

Martin turned his attention to Basira but she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on Daisy, a small smile on her lips as she watched the friendly, drunken fight in the corner.

Georgie appeared out of nowhere with a couple shots, sitting beside Basira. She too, noticed the way Basira was watching her partner and a teasing grin spread across her face.

“Basira,” Georgie said in a singsong voice. “What’s going on with you and Daisy?”

“Nothing,” Basira answered quickly, bristling.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you were looking at her all ‘oh I love you so much I just want to give you kisses and hugs all the time’,” Georgie was slurring her words. She downed all six of her shots in rapid succession. “Like the way you—” she pointed at Martin “—look at Jon.”

Basira let out a laugh before shutting her mouth, realising she had just been compared to him. Martin decided not to take offence.

“You know I used to date him, right?” Georgie continued, to Martin. “Yeah. In Uni. Only a bit less of an arse back then, but he was in a band and didn’t have gray hair or weird scars… anyways. A little rough around the edges but he’s a nice fellow. Sometimes. To some people. He’s an acquired taste.” She suddenly got very serious and stared Martin right in the eyes. “You hurt him and I’ll punch you. No! I’ll have Melanie punch you.”

“I am not planning on hurting Jon because I am not planning on putting myself in a position where I can hurt him.”

“Oh please,” Georgie scoffed. “You could break his heart in an instant. One word is all it would take.”

“I…” Martin was spared from having to answer her by a high pitched scream from the bar, where Melanie, Jon and Daisy had sat.

Jon had his hands on his brow, wiping something off it. Melanie and Daisy were cackling loudly. Oh god, what had they done?

“MY EYES!” Jon shouted, trying to dry himself off with his sleeve.

“YOU DON'T HAVE EYES!” Melanie shouted back while Daisy cackled.

“MY EYE SOCKETS, THEN!” Jon shoved Melanie off her stool.

“Look at us,” Georgie said, taking Martin and Basira’s hands in her own. “Three gays watching our beloveds squabble.”

Clearly ignoring the drunk woman sat beside her, Basira looked at Martin. “You might want to go and check on Jon. Whatever it is, it probably shouldn’t be under his bandages.”

“Yes!” Georgie cried, sticking her fist in the air. “Be his knight in comfy sweaters!”

Martin ignored Georgie’s comment and put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. He yelped and elbowed Martin in the arm.

“Hey! Whoa! It’s Martin,” he rubbed his wounded arm. Jon’s bony elbows hurt.

“Oh.” Jon looked like a scolded child. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Let’s get the alcohol away from your eyes, how does that sound? Is it in your bandages?”

“Nope.” Jon hopped off the stool and grabbed Martin’s arm, pointing his middle finger at Daisy and Melanie as he walked alongside Martin into the men’s bathroom.

Jon hoisted himself onto the counter and Martin wet some tissue paper before wiping his face off. Jon’s hair was soaked and hanging limply over his shoulders. Martin had to assume Daisy or Melanie had taken it out of the bun it had been in when they’d arrived.

“You don’t have to let them torment you, you know? Two strong lesbians against one scrawny blind man isn’t exactly fair.” Martin wasn’t too worried that Jon would take offence. And if he did, he was far too drunk to remember the next day. Plus, he didn’t mean it in a mean way, he wasn’t sure if he could, given he loved everything about Jon’s tiny little body.

“I deserve it.” Jon shrugged casually. “I was a dick.”

“Well yeah, I’m not going to argue that, but if whatever Melanie poured on you—”

“Margarita.”

“Right, well if it had gotten in your eyes—”

“Don’t have any.”

Martin ignored him. “—You could’ve gotten a serious infection. Maybe you deserve it but you got a major surgery not even a week ago and it really isn’t fair of them to gang up on you like that.”

“I guess…”

“I mean, you were a jerk, but you’re improving quickly. Just have a nice long chat with them, and if they still hate you afterwards then that’s their problem.”

“It’s also my problem. Because they will stab me.” His fingers traced over the scar on his neck.

“That’s illegal,” Martin said, which seemed to really shock Jon. The face he made was quite comical, but given his body was covered in scars and none of the people who’d inflicted them had had many repercussions for hurting him, it made sense that Very Drunk Jon may not have considered the legality of stabbing. Also, he was known to not exactly follow the law all the time.

“Can I go home now?” Jon asked when Martin had dried off his face and tied back his hair so it wouldn’t drip onto his clothes. Martin was really surprised Melanie had managed to pour that much vodka on him.

“Of course, why are you asking?”

“Because you’re going to come with me?” Jon said it like it was an obvious fact, which made Martin’s stomach do that stupid thing with the butterflies.

“Uh…”

“Right?” His voice filled with worry and he gripped onto Martin’s sweater, like there was any chance he would just leave him there. “You’re coming with me?”

“Of course.”

Jon smiled drunkenly and hugged Martin, then wandered out of the bathroom. Or, well, he tried to. Jon ran into the wall and stumbled back, surprised, like he’d forgotten he couldn’t see.

“Help?” Jon turned around, not facing Martin, but the door to the bathroom. Not that he could be aware of this.

When the got back to the booth where Jon had left his cane, Basira and Georgie were talking seriously with Melanie and Daisy. Basira was the only serious one, actually. Georgie and Melanie were staring at each other in a way that Martin could make some pretty good guesses as to what they were thinking about. Daisy was cackling at whatever Basira had said, which did not seem to have been the sober woman’s intention.

“Jon’s back!” Georgie squealed, looking away from Melanie suddenly.

“Jon’s leaving,” Jon said, holding out a hand as if he could use the force to draw his cane to him. Martin grabbed it and placed it in his palm.

“Jon’s talking in the third person. It’s weird,” Melanie said. “Jon knows.” He grabbed Martin’s hand again and made it out of the bar with a little assistance.

Martin pushed open the door to Jon’s flat and the smaller man stumbled inside, kicking off his shoes and falling on the carpet face first.

“Jon, get up,” Martin sighed, crouching beside Jon.

“No.” His protest was muffled by the carpet he still had his face in. “I don’t want to.”

“I can’t let you fall asleep here, it’ll ruin your back.”

“Who cares? It’s already ruined.”

“Jon. C’mon. Please?”

“No.”

“Fine, what do you want to do? Just lie on the carpet?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“Movie.” He lifted his face out of the carpet and rolled over, grinning drunkenly.

Chapter Text

Over the course of the two weeks after his surgery, Jon had come to an awful conclusion. He was still the Archivist. He hadn’t managed to quit the Institute. Which was awful, because he’d massacred his eyes as given himself a good deal of new scars in an attempt to do just that.

Which left him with very few options: either he returned to his post as head archivist of the Magnus Institute or he pretended he hadn’t noticed and tried to live a normal life. Given his experiences with being the Archivist, it was a choice that would be made for him by a paranormal entity or one of their servants.

Since he was probably going to be forced back into the official role of Archivist wether he liked it or not, Jon choice was actually more akin to whether or not he should tell Martin.

Of course, if he went back to working at the Institute, Martin would know, but he wanted to tell him face to face. Jon felt like he should.

Right. So now he just had to text Martin and ask to meet up.

There was still the matter of Jon’s feelings for Martin to be dealt with but he wasn’t really planning on acting on those. They had recently become friends, he didn’t want to ruin it with feelings he didn’t fully understand and that Martin might not reciprocate. Jon listened to the tapes, he knew Martin had had feelings for him, but he’d been in a coma for a while and Martin had spoken to him as little as possible since he woke up. Obviously Jon could Know whether or not Martin felt the same way for him, but he didn’t want a relationship (who said anything about relationships?) that started with him intruding on Martin’s privacy like that.

Martin had texted back almost immediately, saying they could meet in the park, the place by the playground that had quickly become ‘theirs’. Jon had to pretend the term didn’t make his heart flutter every time it was used.

Jon sat down on the grass, tucking his cane behind him. He was a bit early, maybe, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

He heard footsteps coming up the hill and assumed it was Martin at first.

“You’re the guy without eyes!” A vaguely familiar voice cried out, way too close to his face.

Jon was bad at recognizing faces and voices but the Eye saved him from a potentially awkward conversation by informing him that this was Juno, the girl he’d met about a week ago. Jon was momentarily confused as to how the girl recognized him before remembering what he looked like. Not exactly the most average-looking person out there and not in an especially good way.

“Yes, yes I am,” Jon replied. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood to deal with an overexcited kid, maybe this was just the distraction he needed before he stressed out too much and had a heart attack. “And you’re Juno.”

“You remember me!” Juno squealed happily, sitting down beside him. Ok, so they were going to talk. Jon could probably manage that.

“Why aren’t you playing with the other kids?” Jon asked. Was that a thing he could ask? Were there rules that he should know? He'd never learnt them as a child. He barely knew how to interact with adults, he didn't have enough space in his brain for yet more rules.

“I don’t like them. It's just me and my brother and he's busy.”

“Oh. Yeah, it was the same for me. Well, not the brother thing, I didn't have a brother but the... other people. I didn't like them either, at your age.” Should he have tell Juno that? Maybe?

“Do you know how old I am?”

“Not a clue. I’d say like, eight or something?”

“Seven and a half!”

“I was close.” Then Jon remembered something. “Your mom didn’t want me talking to you last time.” Which was fair. If he had kids he’d probably be opposed to them talking to a weird man covered in scars sitting near a playground. But he wasn't doing it in a creepy way, there were lots of other people out picknicking in the field, it was a nice spot.

“Yeah but she's at work and Ben is hanging out with his stupid school friends. So it doesn't matter, really.”

"Oh, ok..." He wasn't sure that was good enough reasoning but Juno was nice enough and he was pretty sure it would be quite rude to tell him to go away.

“You don’t have the bandages on your eyes anymore,” Juno pointed out and Jon felt him poke his glasses.

“Gah!” Jon moved backwards. “No touching.”

“Sorry. Does that mean you can see again?”

“No, no. It’s just been a while since my eyes were taken out so I can wear smaller bandages now.” Jon lowered his sunglasses. Juno gasped and Jon feared he’d reach out and try to touch him again. Or be too unsettled and run away, though that didn't seem on-brand for the girl.

“They look like band-aids! Like eye band-aids.”

“That’s exactly what they are.”

“Why are you here? Where’s the other guy?”

“I’m waiting for the other guy to show up, actually. He should be here soon.”

“Why are you waiting for him?”

“We agreed to meet here.”

“Ok. What do you think I look like?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve never seen me, so what do you think I look like? In your head.”

“Oh. I... don't know? I don't really have an image.”

"There must be something!" Juno protested.

He could obviously ask the Eye for the exact description of Juno, but that would be strange. So he blocked out the knowledge and went with what he felt like, even if it was preposterous. Kids don't care about that, he was pretty sure. They'd laugh a bit, if it was weird, then let it drop.

"Ok fine. I think you... are short. You have curly hair? I feel like it's purple and I'm pretty sure that's wrong."

"I can have purple hair?" Juno gasped, like Jon had just revealed the secrets of the universe to him.

"I mean... yeah. There's this thing called hair dye and it changes the color of your hair for a little bit. It's kind of hard to maintain long-term but for a short thing yeah, it works."

"That's awesome."

"I guess."

"Well you were entirely wrong!" Juno cried. "I'm super tall and I have long, straight hair like yours and I have the Universe's Best Smile and a face that isn't made to be grumpy!"

"Oh yeah?" Jon was willing to bet his entire fortune on this being incorrect, partly because the Eye had supplied him with the context for Juno's claims and partly because no average person would list those things in that order when describing themself.

"Yeah!"

"What do you really look like?"

"...fine." The girl sighed. "I have curly hair and it's short and it's not black it's dark brown. My skin is darker than yours, and I don't have any creepy scars. And I have eyes. And I'm not short, everyone else is just tall."

"Right. Same for me. They're all just freakishly tall."

"Exactly!"

Jon chuckled before freezing when he felt a small hand on his arm. It was Juno's that was the only logical explanation, but that didn't keep his mind from flashing to all the people who'd harmed him over the years. The touch, even though it was light, burned him with the heat of a branding iron and he flinched away. “No touching. I'm sorry.” Juno sounded genuinely apologetic, which was nice. He'd never get used to people not telling him to just suck it up and let people touch him, like his grandmother had (his touch aversion hadn't been caused by trauma, only enhanced).

“No, it’s alright. I just don’t really like people touching me.”

“The other guy was touching you last time.”

“That’s different. I’ve known him for a while, he’s my friend.” Which was true, of course. Martin was different. He wasn’t about to get into feelings he’d tried to barely acknowledge with some little girl, but just that statement — admitting that he didn’t mind if Martin touched him whereas usually he would flinch away — felt like a confession of undying love. Which it wasn’t. Or, it shouldn’t be.

“Aw, look at you having friends. Who would’ve guessed?” Martin’s voice asked from right beside him and Jon jumped, scrambling away only to bump into Juno.

“How long have you been there?” Jon asked when he regained his composure. He realized after that he should’ve been watching himself so he wouldn’t compel Martin but apparently the Eye took mercy on him momentarily because Martin’s response was perfectly natural.

“Since you were playing guessing games about Juno's appearance.”

Jon turned to Juno, who was laughing a little more than Jon felt was necessary. “You knew he was there and didn’t tell me?”

“How do you know I knew he was there?”

“Because you can see!”

“He told me to be quiet. It was a prank,” Juno cackled.

Juno left soon after Martin arrived. Jon didn’t know if he found the conversation boring, found something else to do or just felt like he should go, but he wasn’t too upset about being left alone with Martin.

“So… I wanted to talk to you about something,” Jon started, fiddling with his hands.

He heard Martin shuffle and just had to hope that he wasn’t moving away. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes um…” Jon didn’t know how to go about this. Where should he start? “Do you remember, about a week ago, when I collapsed?”

“Yes?” Martin sounded confused as to why he would bring it up, but worry laced his voice. “I remember, yeah.”

“Well, uh, since then I’ve regained the ability to Know. And See. The Eye… took me back? Maybe? Or... or it never let me go and I just needed to restart it. Like a computer with a bug.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m still the Archivist.”

“So… I’m sorry, what? How do you know?”

He felt annoyance flare up in him. He'd been asked that question a few too many times and while Martin probably meant well, it was still irritating. “It’s who I am, Martin, what do you mean ‘how do I know’?”

“It’s just… Can you still compel people? Have you tried?”

“No.” Obviously he hadn’t tried. Why would he have done that? He just knew. Because it was his mind, his powers, and he knew that they were back. That was it. He didn’t have to prove it to anyone. Except... it should have worked. He couldn’t blame Martin for being startled. “But I don’t need to have tested it to know I can. It’s a part of me, Martin. You know that you can walk without having to test it out every morning.”

“You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.” Martin sighed. “What do we do, then?”

‘We’. It wasn’t what Jon would do, because Martin was with him. His anger faded down almost immediately. Martin was with him in this and it was so obvious that it didn’t even need to be said. Jon had to take a second to sort his feelings out after that, but the question was rather pressing, so he managed to focus on it after only p.a couple seconds of distraction.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of going back to the archives. Officially returning to my post, you know?” He sighed.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I’ve survived so far.”

Martin made a sound like he was going to protest but then fell silent. “Why do you think it didn't work?”

“I’m not sure. It should have worked.”

“How can you be so—”

“I read a statement about it. And the... the Eye told me the other day. The exact logistics of why it should’ve worked, of how it would’ve worked on anyone. Anyone but me, apparently. I’ve noticed that my physical condition never really affects my powers, they don’t get weaker if I’m weak or stronger if I’m — well not strong… stable. So maybe it just doesn’t matter what condition I'm in. Maybe the Eye is just too firmly rooted in my mind. Maybe Jonathan Sims is gone, maybe I'm just the Archivist at this point. The Eye is basically the only thing keeping me alive, Martin. I don't have to eat, I don't have to drink, I just have to consume people's trauma and I'm fine. I'm not even human, I'm a mon—”

"Hey," Martin interrupted firmly. "No, stop it. You are not just the Archivist. You're Jonathan Sims and you are more than an avatar of the Eye, ok? So much more. I don't care if you're not exactly a human or if you don't eat the same things I do, you are not a monster."

Jon opened his mouth but Martin sighed heavily, stopping him before he could argue. “Do you want to go get coffee?”

——

The caffeine definitely helped. Martin watched Jon down his coffee like he hadn’t had anything to drink in years. When he was done he looked down at the empty cup, brow furrowed. Martin watched him in silence.

The new scars across Jon’s face had settled into a light pink, on their way to joining the rest of the marks that covered every inch of his skin as ‘normal’. They weren’t normal, obviously. An archiving job isn’t supposed to result in… Jon's current state. But it was normal for him. ‘Jon got kidnapped’, ‘Jon’s in the hospital’, ‘Jon was attacked by an avatar’ had all been pretty normal things to hear when Martin still worked in the archives. He'd never gotten used to them, of course, every time he heard Jon had gotten himself hurt his heart stopped and he waited for the worst. It never came. He always pulled through.

Jon broke the silence. “So, what do you think? What do we do now?”

“Did you ever officially quit the Institute?”

“I… suppose not. I’ve been busy, it... well.” Jon pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead, shaking his head.

“Well then you can go back anytime you want. Peter doesn’t care much about the archives and even if he did he can’t fire you.”

“God, I’m such an idiot,” Jon mumbled.

“Hey, no.” Martin took Jon’s hands by the wrists, forcing him to look up. Not that it made much difference, really, since it wasn’t like Jon could see him either way, but it’s the thought that counts, right? "You're not an idiot. You've been busy recuperating. You got a massive surgery, of course you didn't immediately fill in work forms. And it's not like you could've, if the Eye is still attached to you. You're not an idiot."

Jon sighed. “Well, I guess I have somewhere to be on Monday. I’ve missed that.”

“You’ve missed work?”

“What? Yes, of course!”

“I’ve never heard anyone say that genuinely before, you crazy, crazy man.”

“I’m not—” Jon sounded indignant before he cut himself off, probably realizing Martin was kidding.

“It’ll be nice to have you back.”

Jon hummed noncommittally, rocking back and forth a little. Martin didn’t want to go back to how it had been before, at work. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't want Jon to go back to the Institute. The pull of the Lonely was too strong there, he probably wouldn't be able to resist it again. He’d miss being able to talk to Jon without feeling that ache deep in him, telling him he was better alone, telling him that he ought to just leave. Which is probably why he made a decision he was convinced he’d regret later.

“Would you want to have lunch together? On Monday, I mean. If you’re not too busy…” Jon was grinning. Was that a good sign? Probably.

“I’d love to,” he said. There was no way Martin could back out now. Jon seemed genuinely happy about the plans and not even the Lonely could get him to leave the poor man on his own when he was smiling like that. “Could we… Could we meet in the library?”

“Yeah, of course.” Martin smiled carefully.

On one hand, he had a strong defense against the Lonely, on the other, LIBRARY— LUNCH— JON— AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAY[etc…]

Chapter Text

Martin was not nervous. At all. It wasn’t a date. It was just lunch. With a friend. Who used to be his boss. Who he’d had feelings for since they first met. Ok, so maybe he was a bit nervous, but it wasn’t like he’d been late to work because he’d been trying to find something to wear. No. That would be crazy… he’d been twenty minutes late.

But in his defense!… he had no defense.

Martin still had hours though, and he could calm down during — or not, ok. He had five minutes. Where had the time gone? Seriously. The audacity of time, just leaving him like that.

He packed up his stuff and stared at his desk, wiping his hands — which probably weren’t even as sweaty as he thought they were — on his trousers almost constantly. He had no time to convince himself not freak out. Uh oh.

Maybe it was the Lonely, maybe it was the pure and utter terror that comes with having a crush, but he did not want to go to the library at the moment. He also desperately wanted to go. He knew he would go. He couldn’t do that to Jon. Martin had been stood up a couple times, it sucked. Not that this was a date. Of course not. Why would it be? No. No. It’s not like he was having lunch with a man he was incredibly fond of in a place he knew said man adored, a place that happened to often be unoccupied during lunch hours, so it would be just the two of them. Why would that be a date?

Jon probably hadn’t meant it as a date, right? It was probably just Martin making a huge fuss about something that wasn’t actually that big. Jon probably just wanted to spend time with his friend. In the library, because he’d rather die than leave his place of employment unless it was strictly necessary.

Probably.

He wouldn’t let himself consider the other option. Nope. Not happening. If he got his hopes up and Jon didn’t like him more than a friend, he might die on the spot of embarrassment. Or sadness. Can you die of a broken heart? No. Not unless it's literally a broken heart. As in, clefted in two. You can die of things like that

I'm going to ruin any chance I have if I act like this around Jon. I've got to pull myself together.

Martin took a deep breath, wiped his hands yet again and headed down to the library. It was huge, which he feared would prove to be an issue. It was not. Jon was the only person there and he was sitting on the floor beside the doors. That couldn’t be where he intended to eat, could it?

When Martin walked in Jon looked up, curiosity painted on his face. Jon’s other senses had improved to make up for his lack of sight and Martin had learnt how to read facial expressions made by someone with no eyes (he’d also done a hell of a lot of research on autism but that wasn’t directly relevant, he was just awfully proud of himself with how well he was doing).

“Hey, Jon,” Martin said, confirming who he was and greeting his friend. What a great multitasker, hew was. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Waiting for you. I felt I shouldn’t hide in the back of the library if I wanted you to have any chance of finding me.”

“Oh… how long have you been waiting?”

“Not very long, it’s ok.” Jon got up and idled beside Martin, as if waiting for something.

“Lead the way,” Martin said and Jon immediately made his way through the shelves, further and further back until he stopped in front of a bench tucked around a corner, in what was essentially a cave made of books. Jon sat down on one side and leaned against the wood, leaving enough space for Martin to sit beside him, which he did without any panic at all /s. The bench was too small for them to not touch slightly, and having Jon's lag pressed against his was frazzling his brain a little.

Looking around, Martin could see why Jon liked the place. The ‘ceiling’ was a little low for his tastes but Jon fit perfectly, given how short he was, and the only thing you could really see was books. The shelf in front of the nook was filled with them, the wall behind the bench was filled with them, the walls were filled with them… it was wonderful.

Jon pulled out a tupperware from his bag, rummaging through it for a little before triumphantly pulling out a fork as well. Martin himself had leftover pasta that he’d made way too much of the night before.

After making sure his tupperware was the right way around, Jon opened it and started eating. Martin had half expected it to be empty; he’d never seen Jon eat at work, ever. Tea, coffee, sure, but actual food? Never. But hey, look at that, Jon had curry. And he was eating it. And it looked good. The curry, not Jon. Not that Jon looked bad it's just that he wasn't...

Christ, I'm a mess Martin sighed to himself.

They didn’t talk while they ate, but not in an awkward ‘I'm eating because I don’t know how/want to talk to you’ way, just because they were eating and didn’t need to talk while doing it. Which was a nice, albeit new experience for Martin.

“So,” Martin said when they were both done. He couldn’t really think of anything that could follow. “How’s work?”

Jon scoffed but not in a mean way. He just found Martin’s attempt at small talk humorous, because they both knew he didn't want to talk about Jon's work. He was being laughed with, not laughed at. Though this was happening more and more often as Jon got used to being around him, it was still great.

“Melanie hasn’t killed me yet so I’d say it's a success,” he joked, putting his empty tupperware away. “She wasn’t the happiest that I can read minds again, though.”

Martin nodded slowly, humming awkwardly. Small talk sucks, he understands why Jon hates it. He was usually better at it, though. Jon was making it hard for him to access his regular amount of mental capacity.

He looked around again, searching for inspiration and noticed how at ease Jon seemed here, how quickly he’d made his way to this spot. Who knew how many lunches he’d spent right here, alone, not eating. That was a great topic of conversation, good job, Martin, you should totally talk about that /s.

“How many of the books from right here have you read?” He asked.

Jon frowned a little then said with certainty, “57.”

“And… are they any good?”

“Depends which ones…”

Apparently, it had been a great thing to ask, because Jon talked for what felt like hours, waving his hands to punctuate every syllable, giving very sincere, if scathing, reviews of the books he’d read. It was truly adorable to watch. Not that Martin hadn’t seen him infodump before, but it was different there, sitting so very close to each other in a place that was clearly very special to Jon.

At some point Jon had gotten up to get a book, guided by the Eye — complaining about how they didn’t have anything he could actually read if the Eye refused to cooperate — and had sat back down considerably closer to Martin. Probably by accident. When Jon turned to excitedly discuss the book, their faces were way closer than Martin’s poor little enamored heart could handle. But it’s not like he could move away, that would be awkward. And, on the off chance that Jon was fully aware of how close they were and was doing it on purpose… were those advances he wanted to rebuff? No. Either way, it’s not like he minded the proximity.

Martin pulled himself from his thoughts when he noticed Jon had asked a question. What was it? Uh oh.

“So?” Jon prompted, clearly unaware that Martin had been busy thinking about how if he leaned down a little bit—

“Um…?” Was the best answer Martin could come up with. “Would you— do you want to read it?” Jon repeated, holding out the book he’d held clutched to his chest. It was Jon’s all-time favorite paranormal novel, Martin remembered from his rambling. It was technically nonfiction but he thought it would be interesting even for people who didn’t like nonfiction because of how it was written. Etc… Martin had been hanging off of Jon’s every word before he’d gotten distracted and he could probably quote everything he’d been told. And yes, he would love to read one of Jon’s favorite books ever. He took the book and opened it, flipping though the pages without actually reading the words. He'd do that later, over and over again, because it was Jon's favorite and it felt very personal to be offered it. He looked back up at Jon, who was smiling tentatively. “If you don’t want to that’s fine, or if you don’t like it, but I was just thinking you might like it—”

If Martin could, he’d lean in and kiss Jon so the idiot would shut up, but sadly, that was not the case and he had to interrupt him with words that conveyed his feelings. Not that any words ever could. “Jon. I’d love to read it. How could I not? It's gotten a glowing review.”

Jon smiled through pursed lips and seemed to move closer, somehow. Their faces were really close at that point. Jon had to know, right? He had to feel it, even if the Eye wasn’t telling him.

Martin didn’t move. Neither did Jon. They stayed like that, ever so close but not fully touching, a couple centimètres away from kissing but not making a move to bridge the gap, for what felt like eternity. Both men were fully aware of how close they were to the other and both desperately wanted to lean in and get the anticipation out of the way, but neither could find the courage to say the words — not that they knew what the words even were.

Finally, Jon broke the silence. He spoke quietly, so quietly, partly out of fear that he’d be rejected and partly because anything louder would’ve felt like a betrayal to the moment of proximity and nervousness.

Martin almost had to strain to hear Jon’s words but the second he did, God, it was like something finally snapped within him. He cupped Jon’s face gently in one hand and brought their lips together. Jon’s hands went to his neck and he could’ve sworn his soul left his body. "Can I kiss you?" Jon had asked, voice fraught with nerves. But it was alright. Because of course Martin would kiss him. What was he supposed to do? Say no? Not kiss the man he’d had feelings for for literal years?

They were kissing. Martin was kissing Jonathan Sims. His brain wasn’t working. Or, it was working perfectly well, it had just left him behind while it made its decisions. Not that it made bad decisions. By no means was that the case. Great decisions. It just took Martin a second to catch up. His eyes were closed and Jon’s lips were pressed softly against his. OH MY GOD JON’S LIPS WERE ON HIS. They pulled apart and Jon smiled. A large, goofy grin. Martin didn’t know if Jon was planning on kissing him again or not but that didn't matter. His anxiety had evaporated, he just needed to feel Jon’s mouth against his own again.

Martin leaned back in and Jon obliged, pressing his body as close as he possibly could to Martin’s. The second kiss was a little less gentle, but not rough and unpleasant either. Somewhere in between. Not that it mattered much, because it was Jon and kissing Jon would never be unpleasant.

There was something so freeing about finally kissing Jon. He’d wanted to do it for ages and he finally, finally could.

When they broke apart for the last time, Jon pressed his forehead against Martin’s shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. Martin no longer knew what to do with his hands. The anxiety was setting back in.

Was he allowed to hold him? Was that… ? They’d just kissed, that didn’t necessarily mean Martin could wrap his arms around Jon. What could he do, then? He decided to use Jon as reference for what amount of physical contact was acceptable.

Jon was practically sat in his lap, face buried in his shoulder and arms still around his neck. Conclusion: Martin was definitely allowed to hold him, which he promptly did.

Jon hummed a little and leaned back, a smile on his face. He was blushing profusely. Martin probably was as well, all things considered.

“So uh… want to go on a proper date?” Jon asked hesitantly, clearly aware of the irony to be found in the situation. But when had they ever done anything the right way?

“I’d love to.”

And Jon kissed him again. Martin could get used to that.