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“So…you’re coming, right boss?”
“No, Tim, I’m not.”
Martin snuck a peek towards Jon’s office from his desk, where Tim was currently leaning in the doorway pestering Jon about the Institute’s annual Halloween party. Not that Martin would have really noticed, being in a different department than Jon in years past, but according to Tim and Sasha Jon never went to these sorts of things. But Tim was dead set on having the whole archives team doing a group costume this year “to help break the ice a little bit, you know? Since we’re all working together, now.” Apparently, he and Sasha were already pretty close before being transferred, and they’d both known Jon, but they hadn’t really been more than acquaintances. Their first week in the archives together, Sasha told Martin that Jon had always been a bit of a hermit, so not to take it too seriously if he seemed a bit asocial. Clearly, though, they were hoping that working together on such a small team would change that — but they’d had little success making progress with Jon so far, who had definitely turned out to be quite grumpy sometimes.
Martin was glad that Tim and Sasha had been welcoming to him, at least.
“Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal,” Tim was now saying. Martin still hadn’t completely turned his head towards them, not wanting to be caught listening in if Jon happened to spot him over Tim’s shoulder, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in how the conversation would play out. He might have been secretly hoping that Tim would be persuasive enough to convince Jon to attend. Maybe Tim was right, and it’d be a good opportunity to break the ice – and more importantly, while Martin was pretty nervous around Jon during day-to-day life, maybe a bit of alcohol would be enough to loosen him up enough to at least try to start a conversation with the man he may or may not find attractive.
“If you come to the party,” Tim continued, one hand in his pocket and the other pointing at Jon. “I won’t bother you for anything unrelated to work for a week. What do you say?” By Tim’s tone of voice, Martin guessed he was flashing Jon what was supposed to be one of his most charming smiles.
Jon didn’t answer right away, and when Martin snuck another glance he saw him considering Tim with narrow eyes, hand clenched around a pen and resting on the table. He looked Tim up and down once, then sighed, seemingly coming to a decision.
“...Fine. But I’m not going to wear a matching costume,” He conceded. Martin hid a smile behind his hand.
“I’ll take it!” Tim exclaimed, and ventured further into the office to clap Jon on the shoulder — who then frowned and shook him off. “See you tomorrow night then, boss! Looking forward to seeing your lame, not-matching costume.” He finished with a salute, to which Jon grimaced and turned back to his work, and Tim retreated from the office.
“Close the door, Tim.”
“You got it.”
Now less worried about getting caught listening, Martin fully turned to look at Tim, who looked back with a wild grin. He put a finger over his lips as he pulled his hand out of his pocket to reveal that his index and middle fingers were crossed. Martin covered his face with his hands as he stifled a laugh, wholly entertained but also a little bit terrified of Jon’s reaction once he found out. He was going to be, Martin was sure, royally pissed.
—
Martin ended up doing the group costume with Tim and Sasha. He was a bit hesitant at first – Zombies? Really? – but Tim and Sasha had been insistent that he join in, and honestly? Martin was just so flattered that they genuinely wanted to include him that he found it hard to say no. So there he was on Saturday afternoon, sat on the floor of Tim’s flat, ripping up some old clothes for his last-minute costume.
“I’ll bet you both ten pounds that Jon doesn’t show up,” Sasha announced after a while of pleasant, but casual conversation.
“Pfft,” Tim rolled his eyes as he finished tearing apart the shoulder seam of an old band t-shirt. “I’ll bet you twenty that he does. I was quite convincing, if I may say so myself.” He shoved Sasha in the arm with his elbow, who responded with a hey! and shoved him back. Tim fell dramatically onto his side, limbs splaying out on the floor. “Sasha! How could you wound me like this?” He exclaimed, casting an arm over his eyes as if he couldn’t stand to look at her.
“You started it.” Sasha looked back down at her work with a grin. Not long after, she turned her gaze over to Martin with a glint in her eye. “What about you, Martin? Wanna place a bet?”
“O-oh! Well…I don’t really know what I think? You both know Jon better than I do.” He busied himself with the holes he was cutting into a pair of jeans, taking a decent chunk out of the knee, not really sure what else to say. The jeans were looking quite holey at this point, he decided. He’d probably call it good there.
“Not by that much,” Sasha corrected him. “And we already told you he has a track record of skipping out of these things. So, if we look at the established pattern, it’s more than likely he’ll skip out again.”
“Oh, come on, Sash! Have some faith in the old man,” Tim chided as he pushed himself back up off the floor.
“He’s definitely younger than us, Tim.”
“Doesn’t stop him from acting like an old man. I swear I’ve heard him say ‘blast’ as a curse word.”
“Don’t forget ‘good lord.’ ”
“How could I forget ‘good lord?’ ”
Martin couldn’t help but laugh quietly, endeared by Tim and Sasha’s friendly bickering. There was a part of him that wished he felt confident enough to join in, but maybe he would be in the future. That would be nice. They’d just started working together, after all.
“So…what’s your bet, Martin? Is the old man going to show up or not?” Tim asked him again.
“Stop calling him that,” Martin said before he had a chance to think any better of it. Fuck. He did not need these two to know about his…interest, in Jon. “I-I mean, he said he would, so, um. It’d be nice if he followed through. I’m not betting on it though.”
Tim and Sasha exchanged a look as he finished speaking, the way they wiggled their eyebrows at each other and quirked their lips seeming to convey words in a silent language Martin didn’t speak. Martin did not like it. He felt a blush coming on and hoped to god it was subtle enough for them to miss it.
“Alright then!” Sasha clapped her hands together once she and Tim were done telepathically commenting on Martin’s answer. “Are we done with clothes? I need to start on your make-up soon or we might run out of time.”
“Think so,” Martin nodded at the same time Tim gave an enthusiastic “Yes!”
“Wonderful. You two get dressed and I’ll grab my supplies.”
Martin fondly rolled his eyes as Tim exclaimed, “Yes, ma’am!” As Martin got to his feet, grabbing his newly-distressed clothes and heading towards the bathroom, he let himself hope he didn’t look too ridiculous when Sasha was done with him. He might have been hoping Jon would like his costume. Just a little bit.
—
The trio arrived at the Institute at almost exactly seven-thirty, half an hour after the party had started. They were “fashionably late,” according to Sasha. Martin took a deep breath before they went in, taking another look at Tim and Sasha with only a little bit of jealousy. They were both so attractive , even with their arms and faces dotted with Sasha’s incredibly realistic bruises and dramatic contour, making their skin look pale and gaunt and yet they still looked good.
(“Christ, Sasha, where did you learn to do this?” Tim had asked, astounded, as Sasha had worked to apply similar makeup to Martin’s face. Sasha had shrugged, citing some am-dram classes from uni.
“I’d offer to give you guys some scars, too — but I was never very good at those.”)
“You two ready?” Sasha asked, back in the present, swinging her arms around their shoulders. “I’m dying to know who won the bet.”
“Aren’t we technically dead already?”
“Smartarse. You know what I mean, Tim.”
The party was fairly crowded once they got inside. They certainly weren’t the first people to arrive, and Martin knew the Institute had plenty more employees; assuming they even wanted to come in the first place, they probably wouldn’t be the last people to show up either. Tim steered them off to the side pretty much immediately, waving and tossing out casual greetings to people that he recognized until they reached a couple tables draped in tacky, Halloween-themed plastic tablecloths. There was a fair amount of food — an entire charcuterie board that someone must have worked very hard on, some biscuits, a bowl of chocolate candies, and various other plates of typical party food (or at least, Martin assumed it was typical party food — he hadn’t been to many events like this in the past). On the furthest table to the right sat the alcohol, which of course, Tim made a beeline for.
“First drink of the night,” He said, passing Martin and Sasha pre-filled plastic cups of what looked like some sort of citrus-y cocktail. Once he’d grabbed his own, he held it out towards them expectantly, and Sasha exclaimed “Cheers!” as they clinked their cups together. As they all took a sip, Martin looked around anxiously. Was Jon here? He was definitely still hoping he might be brave enough to talk to him…
He hadn’t been able to take in too much of the crowd before Tim elbowed him, then Sasha. “Sasha….” He sang as he tipped his head over to a corner. “Looks like you owe me a twenty.”
“Oh my god. Is he actually here?” Sasha gasped, and Tim gestured again to the corner. Martin turned to look and sure enough, there was Jon, making small talk with a couple people with an expression on his face that Martin immediately recognized — as it was one he’d almost certainly made before in uncomfortable social settings — that read subtly as “please stop talking to me.” Before Martin got a chance to feel sympathetic, though, his heart nearly stopped as he took in Jon’s outfit.
He looked good.
It wasn’t a very extravagant costume. Jon wore a pair of black slacks that Martin was pretty sure he’d seen before, and oxfords he’d also probably seen before — but the shirt was what really did it for Martin. Tucked into the slacks was a deep red long-sleeve, lace billowing at the cuffs, and with a v-neck not too revealing (but just deep enough to make Martin flustered) with some sort of ribbon that laced it up to Jon’s collarbone. And, christ, was it velvet ? His shoulder-length hair hung loosely around his face as he glanced away from the people trying to talk to him, seemingly not having noticed the rest of the archival crew just yet.
Oh god. Martin was definitely blushing now.
“God damn,” Tim mumbled with a whistle. “He looks good in that shirt.”
Martin choked on his drink, which he’d been sipping in the hopes that it would hide the redness in his cheeks. “T-Tim! You can’t — you can’t say things like that about our boss !”
Tim turned to him with a capital-L Look . “Don’t tell me you aren’t thinking the same thing.” Martin sputtered again and hid back behind his cup as Tim laughed. God damn it. Tim absolutely knew about his crush.
Sasha, currently standing on Martin's other side, nudged his arm with her shoulder. “You gonna go talk to him or what?”
“Not you too,” Martin complained, squeezing his eyes shut in exasperation.
“Hate to break it to you, Martin, but you’re not subtle,” She replied. She nudged him again, a little more forcefully. “Go on, lover boy.”
“Do not call me that.” Martin was properly embarrassed now. He did want to talk to Jon, and again, had gone into this party with that specific goal in mind, but… “Christ. I think I need to get a bit tipsy first.”
Before he could think twice about it, Martin downed the rest of his drink, cheered on by an exclamation of atta boy! from Tim. He tossed his now-empty cup in the nearby trash can before grabbing another one, chugging half of it, before deciding he’d bring the rest with him, worried it might be awkward to approach Jon empty-handed. He might end up wringing his hands anxiously or picking at his fingernails or something equally as embarrassing. Sasha reached up to pat him on the shoulder encouragingly.
“We’ll come join you in a few minutes,” She said with a wink, then pushed Martin forward.
Go on, Tim gestured with his hands when he looked back at them.
Christ, Martin thought to himself. It’s just a casual conversation. Just go say hi and don’t do anything stupid.
And with a deep breath, he was off.
Jon, now standing alone, noticed him coming when he was a little over halfway across the room. He quickly pushed himself off the wall that he’d been leaning on with a shoulder, and brushed at his slacks as if they’d been dirtied. “Oh, Martin,” He said once Martin was close enough to hear him over the loud conversations surrounding them. “H-how are you?”
Martin was sure his heart skipped a beat. Now that he was close enough to see it, he noticed that Jon was wearing fangs. Bloody fangs. Martin was going to die. He was going to melt into the floor. The sight of Jon like this was going to fucking kill him.
“V-vampire,” He said stupidly, and cursed himself for not even managing a bloody hello . “I-I mean, you’re a vampire. It, um. It looks good. I’m good. Y-yeah. Um, how are you?”
He tried not to wince at his fumbling speech.
“Oh. U-um, thank you,” Jon nodded, his eyes studying Martin’s costume. “I’m…also good. And…you’re a zombie…?”
“Y-yeah! Matching with Tim and Sasha.” Martin attempted a nonchalant smile as he gestured over his shoulder, glancing back to his coworkers. They’d found a friend from research, it seemed, and were too busy chatting with them to notice. “Sasha did all our makeup,” He explained further, only a bit desperate to keep the conversation alive. “Learned how to do it when she did am-dram in uni, apparently.”
“Oh, I did some am-dram too, for a while,” Jon replied, and that’s when Martin realized that Jon might be a bit tipsy too, because there was absolutely no way he’d share that information normally.
“Really? I don’t think I ever would have guessed that,” Martin suppressed an affectionate smile, then took a sip of his drink in the hopes that it’d grant him some more liquid confidence. God knows he needed it. The thought of Jon doing am-dram was incredibly attractive for some reason.
“Well. S-suppose I was a bit more outgoing, back then.” Jon rubbed the back of his neck with an unsure half-smile. Silence fell, a silence Martin was still very much desperate to fill, unfortunately causing him to ask the first question that came to mind.
“Where’d you get that shirt?”
Christ, Martin, could you fuck this up any further?
“Oh! I, um. Had a bit of an…unfortunate goth phase in uni, if you can believe it. Never really got around to getting rid of everything, I suppose. I uh, found it in a box in my closet,” Jon explained, and Martin swore he was blushing. It was a bit harder to tell, with Jon’s darker skin tone, but even the idea of it set Martin’s heart fluttering again.
“No way!” Martin exclaimed, entirely forgetting his attempt to be casual in his disbelief. Jon brought a hand to his face, dragging it over his eyes, and laughed self-depricatingly.
“Embarrassing, I know.”
“N-no! Not at all! Christ Jon, that’s incredible .” An image of Jon, dressed in flowing black clothes, sitting on a stage reciting Hamlet popped into his head. Oh god. That was definitely not helping his little crush. “D-do you have pictures?”
“Lord, no. Not on my phone, a-at least. Maybe on my personal laptop, somewhere…?” Jon mused, his brow furrowing in thought, before he shook his head. “As I said, though. They’re, uh, certainly a bit embarrassing.”
Impossible , Martin thought to himself. He was absolutely giddy with all this new information about Jon. He wished he could talk to a tipsy Jon more often.
Thankfully, before he could embarrass himself further, a hand landed on his shoulder. Tim arrived with a “Hey, boss-man! How’re you finding the party?” as Sasha appeared on the other side of him with a beaming smile.
“Tim. Sasha,” He acknowledged them. “It’s, well. It’s…certainly a party.”
“That it is,” Tim agreed, holding out his drink in what might have been another attempt at a toast, but Jon didn’t move to meet him.
Tim and Sasha quickly took over the conversation, and Martin breathed a sigh of relief at their help. Jon used to be goth. Jon did fucking am-dram . Oh, how he wished he could have seen it.
Soon enough, the clock ticked past eight, eight-fifteen, eight-thirty; as others came and went, popping into the conversation as they pleased. To Martin’s delight, Jon continued to stick with himself, Tim, and Sasha throughout the night, clearly disliking the idea of wandering off on his own to start a conversation with anyone else. A few minutes past eight-thirty, though, he decided to excuse himself.
“I, um. Really should be heading home now,” He said, for some reason glancing at Martin , setting off yet another swarm of butterflies in his stomach. “Martin. Tim. Sasha.” He nodded at each of them, seemingly a bit more comfortable now that he’d decided to leave. “I’ll…see you on Monday.”
“Proud of you for coming, boss!” Tim lifted his drink once again in farewell.
“Gonna be honest, Jon, I’m a bit surprised you actually showed up at all,” Sasha nodded back, and Jon looked just the slightest bit put-out at the comment.
“Yes. Well. I-I did say I would. Uh — goodnight,” He said, before slipping past Martin to make his escape. Martin let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding once he was gone, and rubbed the side of his face with his empty hand.
“That,” He started, laughing abashedly. “Was bloody terrifying.”
“Aww, Martin. Proud of you, too, you know.” Tim assured him.
“Ugh. Thanks, I guess. I, uh, think I’m done for the night, too.”
“Tired of us already?” Sasha joked, but Martin knew it was light-hearted.
“Yep, you’ve worn me out,” He bravely teased her back, smiling just a bit when Sasha laughed.
At the same time, Tim reached up to ruffle Martin’s hair. “See you Monday, lover-boy. Hope these guys don’t keep you up too late, with you still living in document storage and all.”
“I-I’m sure it’ll be fine. And seriously, don’t call me that,” Martin groaned, embarrassed once again and absolutely not sure it would be fine. Mentally, he prepared himself to be up for a couple more hours. He gave Tim and Sasha another round of goodbyes before they let him slip away, and he managed to escape to document storage without running into anyone else who wanted to talk to him. Normally, that might have made him a bit sad, but he was too busy thinking about Jon again to care.
In the safety of document storage, Martin plopped himself down onto his cot and dropped his face into his hands with a grin. He did it. He talked to Jon. He had undoubtedly been awkward, and he might be a little bit flustered when things returned to normal come Monday, but Jon didn’t seem to hate him when he’d left — so all in all he considered the night a success.
“Christ, Jon,” He laughed, looking up at the ceiling as he flopped onto his pillow and let his arms fall haphazardly to his sides. “You are going to drive me bloody insane, aren’t you?”