Chapter Text
There’s a new guy in research and honestly Tim is not the most fond of him. However they share one singular bond in that windowless, cramped office. And it’s that they’re easily the two youngest guys in there. They sit at the same desk, Tim flanking one side and the new guy the other. Clunky desktops separate them and they manage to drown each other out by the sound of their keyboards.
Tim caves first. Because the new guy leaves the office every hour on the hour for a smoke break and honestly he wants a breather. His research into the Circus is going nowhere and he’s working himself into anger. Maybe he can bum a cigarette of of him. Tim puts on his mask of charm and leans against the sturdy brick of the Institute, only a foot of distance between himself and the new guy.
New guy gently holds a cigarette between his fingers, lost in his own world. His dark eyes are focused on nothing ahead of him, blank and unseeing and clearly into whatever thought he’s having. Tim clears his throat and those big black eyes are on him. New guy’s gaze is seriously intense and it feels like he looks into the very depths of Tim’s soul.
“Think I can bum one off you?”
“Smoking isn’t a particularly good habit,” new guy sniffs, tucking his hair behind his ear and fishing his pack out of his pocket. Tim snorts at him,
“Doesn’t seem to stop you.”
“I’m trying to quit,” new guy says, handing Tim the cancer stick and offering his lighter. New guy strikes the flint wheel with ease and Tim dips the end of the cig in, bringing the filter end to his lips. The cigarette is good and sweet in its own painful way. He chokes down the smoke and exhales as smoothly as he can.
He’s never liked cigarettes. Always liked the aesthetic of smoking, the nicotine high, and the drama of it all but he hates the act. The smoke always burns and coils in his lungs like a violent serpent and the smell reminds him of some rather unpleasant run ins he had while at uni.
But new guy makes smoking look pleasurable. He takes his drags in measures and Tim can count exactly 24 seconds between each drag.
“You’re staring,” new guy looks at him again and Tim flashes him a smile. There’s a lot to stare at. The casual way new guy leans against the building, shaded by the old roof and in perfect view of the busy London street for prime people watching. Even his clothes make him a bit interesting. Tim can’t tell how old he is just by looking at him. New guy has a somewhat ageless quality to him. Bags under his eyes and a cursory wrinkle near his mouth show that he’s at least aging. But then his hair is long, like really long. New guy’s hair is beautiful, inky, and dark. It stretches down past his shoulders to the middle of his back and Tim swears it’s always kept in a very neat braid or ponytail but right then it’s out and moving slightly in the humid breeze like a curtain down his back.
“Sorry ah-,” Tim clears his throat. New guy widens his eyes at him and Tim takes the cue to explain himself, “We share a desk, don’t we? I never introduced myself. I’m Tim, fellow researcher for the Magnus Institute,” he sticks his hand out and for a moment new guy regards him with a look of disgust. It flickers across the sharp features of his face before ultimately he reaches out to shake Tim’s hand.
“Jon. Also a member of the research team. I’m not particularly good with people,” he admits with an honesty so blunt it cuts through Tim like a knife. Jon. Jon. New guy’s name is Jon and he is small and intense and from what he’s heard in the breakroom, kind of an uppity prick.
But he smokes cigarettes and wears playing card earrings in his ears along with black onyx studs embellished with silver. His nails are painted oil slick back and he has the most intense gaze Tim’s ever felt. When Tim talks he can tell he has Jon’s full attention.
“What brought you into the job?” Tim asks, deciding to make do with small talk. Jon snorts and plucks another cigarette out, clenching it tightly between his teeth before removing the butt of the first one. Interesting.
“I dunno,” Jon shrugs again, casting his eyes to the ground.
Tim hums, “Well I like to do research on haunted architecture. You’ve heard of Robert Smirke, right?”
“Greek revivalist, yes,” he nods at him, “Why?”
“All his shit is haunted,” Tim says with a wink. Jon scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s true! And I’m going to prove it,” Tim stubs his cigarette out. “There, I’ve told my case. I want yours. We share a desk so it’s only fair that we get to know each other. C’mon, out with it.”
Jon looks distinctly uncomfortable and he shifts awkwardly. His weight moves from one foot to the other and then he rolls his eyes, “To prove that ghosts aren’t real.” His tone is serious. Tim feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Seriously?”
“No,” Jon’s lips twitch into a small smile as he flicks ash onto the ground, “I dunno. Just the usual case of seeing something weird as a kid and wanting a bit of closure.”
Tim puts a hand on his shoulder. The hand is meant to be a reassuring gesture but Jon immediately looks offended. Tim backs away.
“I don’t need your pity about it,” Jon sniffs, stubbing his second cigarette out, “I’m not a case.”
“Wasn’t implying you are mate-uh,” Tim watches Jon stalk back into the institute and is left wondering just how he managed to offend his desk partner, “Good talk.”
Jon does not turn around.
~*~
Tim finds a truce in trying to get Jon to take his lunch break. It didn’t take long before the office began noticing that Jon doesn’t so much as get up during their hour long break period. He seems to get too into his work, eyes glued to the computer screen, fingers moving impossibly fast against the keyboard.
And perhaps it’s the inner big-brother still left in Tim but he finds himself.. Worried? Maybe it’s because Jon’s a slight man. Nearly a head shorter than Tim to begin with but he’s also just small. The older women of the office have regarded Jon’s figure with envy several times and Tim can see why. Jon’s about as skinny as a rail and could probably hide behind a light post if his life depended on it.
So Tim rolls his way over to the edge of their desk. Jon is utterly focused on his work, eyes only moving to scroll through lines of text on his screen.
“Do you eat?”
Jon blinks and stares at him, “What?”
“Do. You. Eat?” Tim asks, adding as much emphasis to his words as he can. And honestly he half expected Jon to recoil, get offended and storm off like he had the other time they talked. Instead Jon sits there and slowly leans back in his chair.
“Do you mean today or in a general sense?”
Tim’s turn to stare, “What?”
“Your question is vague!” Jon sighs, “Obviously I eat!”
“..So you haven’t today?”
Jon takes a deep breath in and then deflates, “No- I’ll eat when I get home. It’s not a big deal,” he tries to return to his computer. Tim sneakily reaches an arm under the desk and hits the power button on Jon’s computer. Jon kisses his teeth, “Real mature, Tim.”
“Never said I was mature to be fair. C’mon, there’s this spectacular cafe across the street. You’ll like it.”
“I’m not even hungry,” Jon insists. Doesn’t matter though. Tim heaves him up by the shoulders and drags him down the hall, “You can’t be serious!”
Tim only laughs, trying hard not to compare Jon to Danny. Maybe the feeling of affection is a little similar. Maybe Tim just needs someone to replace the void Danny left behind, or he needs someone to take care of. Jon is definitely someone who needs a bit of care, only a bit. A few not so gentle pushes into better behaviors like taking a lunch break and eating a real meal. Tim can’t judge the guy but he also doesn’t enjoy the idea of Jon smoking so much as a way to repress that vital signal.
They make it to the cafe in one piece. It’s a cozy little corner shop nestled between a costa and some sort of tailor.
“You have to try the almond croissant, Jon, it’s to die for.”
Jon huffs wordlessly next to him. Tim glances over and tries not to psychoanalyze him. He fails. Jon’s arms are crossed over his chest and he examines the contents of the pastry case like making the wrong decision will kill him. His chipped nails edge towards his lip like he wants to bite them and suddenly the nail polish makes a little bit more sense.
“It won’t kill you, y’know?”
“You don’t know that,” Jon snaps, on edge for some bizarre reason. Tim chalks it up to hangriness and approaches the nice barista with his own order. A cappuccino and a chocolate croissant. He throws in a few one-liners just for fun. She giggles and hands him his pastry without much fuss.
Jon looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he orders quietly. He speaks in hushed tones and seems more nervous than he ought to be about ordering food. Tim decides not to make a deal out of it and tries his damn best not to worry so much about Jon’s well being.