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As his hair settled in its fresh ponytail against the nape of his neck, Jon continued his process of preparing his desk for a statement recording. The entire office was quiet; everyone else had gone home hours ago. The exact time was neither known to him or important at this point.
He took a sip of tea for the sake of his throat and then hit the record button.
“Statement of Lena McNeil, regarding her repeated interactions with a peculiar woman in Japan, early September, 2008. Original statement given October the 16th, 2008. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.”
“Statement begins.”
“I feel the need to preface this by saying that I am not a pretty woman. I've included a picture of myself for reference, which seems a little weird in hindsight. I promise there’s a reason for it. At least, I’m pretty sure there is. In case this picture has been lost, I’ll give a brief explanation. My eyes are too far apart, and a boring shade of brown; my nose is too big, lips too small; my hair is thin, and I’m heavy. No one has ever called me pretty, except for my mother, may she rest in peace, and I’ve come to terms with it. It was an unhappy childhood on account of it, but that’s aside my point.
Actually, maybe it isn’t. Sorry, I should have planned this out better before I started writing. I think it’s important to note that I’m a very awkward person, likely due to not having many friends growing up. I usually panic a little when unexpectedly spoken to, and I always have to prepare myself for an interaction. That’s part of the reason it’s taken me this long to bring this statement here. That and, well, it just took a while for me to really settle with the fact that maybe something more unusual was going on. I don’t think I wanted to admit it to myself.
Last month, I went on a trip to Japan. It’s a lovely country, I’ve always thought so, and I’ve always found the history fascinating. Temples; traditional theater; folklore; all of it. This was my once in a lifetime vacation. I went for two weeks, and the first three days went surprisingly well. No issues with my flight, no struggles except for some minor language barrier - I know a good few of the important things, but not enough to be anything like fluent, and no huge problem with jet lag. I was enjoying myself greatly.
The fourth day, though, I was in a quieter corner of one of the markets of Osaka when I was approached by a woman. She looked to be from the country, a little shorter than me, and younger too. Overall, there was nothing really odd about her, except for maybe the medical mask, though even that was easily explained. It’s very common to wear masks for even just a cold in Japan.
She looked at me for a long moment, then her eyes crinkled, as if she was smiling under the mask.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” She asked.
She had the oddest voice, somehow. It felt like she was speaking directly in my head, a soft breath of a whisper that I really shouldn’t have been able to hear over the background noise, even in a quieter area. And her voice was layered, as if many women were talking at once, in unison but with no increase in volume despite the different tones. In hindsight, maybe it was a little odd that she spoke in English, but maybe not. After all, I was clearly a foreigner.
I panicked, as embarrassing as that is to say. I hadn’t been prepared for any questions that day, and especially not something so awkward. What ended up coming out of my mouth was “Are you?”
She paused, brow furrowing in thought. I took the opportunity to back away quickly and almost stumbled as I merged back into the crowds. I couldn’t tell you why, but I had to get away. I’m glad I did, I suppose.
I didn’t see her again until two days later. I had moved on to Kyoto, a quick trip. It was the middle of the day, and I was somehow alone at one of the temples. That was what got me on edge. The place was packed; but I had turned a corner and found myself alone. I could still hear the crowd, but it was almost muffled.
She was there. I felt something settle in my stomach; deeply unpleasant. It wasn’t completely irrational for us to meet again, but the way she looked at me said it wasn’t coincidence. Something about her was almost distorted. Her fingers seemed just a touch too long, and the color of her eyes a little too wide.
“Am I pretty?”
I couldn’t quite get myself to respond right away, my breath catching in my throat. The noise of the crowd seemed nearly gone amid that whisper of her voice.
I finally managed to answer-”
The door slammed open and Jon jumped in his seat, knocking over his tea and nearly spilling it onto the tape recorder.
“Jon?! Oh my god, you’re alive!” Martin’s voice was shaky and all too loud for the hour. He was dressed as he usually was when he slept; a white tee and sweatpants, and he had a touch of bedhead, all unimportant when it came to the terrified look in his bagged eyes.
After grabbing for the napkins he kept in his desk just in case, Jon shot him a withering glare. “Yes. I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” He said coolly, exuding annoyance.
Martin seemed to shrink into himself as his cheeks reddened. It was reminiscent of a scolded puppy, Jon found himself thinking, and almost smiled at the thought of such a large, tall man having such mannerisms. He didn’t, though, and simply leveled his glare at him, holding the dripping napkins away from his desk.
“No reason, of course,” he answered after a second, looking desperately like he wanted to vanish into a hole in the floor. “Just… nothing.”
“Why are you even awake? It’s… well, it’s late.”
He wrung his hands slightly, looking away from him. Before answering, he turned on the overhead light, flooding the room. Jon almost hissed as it burned at his eyes; he had adjusted too well to the low light of his lamp.
“Sorry!” Martin blinked himself, squinting until he got used to the brightness. “Um… Well, why are you awake?”
Jon sighed deeply. “I’m usually awake. You’re aware of that. Again; why are you awake?”
After an awkward, heavy pause, Martin finally spoke, staring at the ground. “I just… I had a nightmare. And you died. So, it freaked me out a little,” he said, as if he were confessing to a crime.
For a brief moment, Jon let an inch of sympathy soften his glare. Not any longer though, as his annoyance at being interrupted returned in full force.
“I am not dead; as you can see. So, please, go back to bed and leave me alone.”
He again hesitated for a long moment. Finally, he backed out of the room, nearly falling when he stumbled on air. Jon rolled his eyes and went to dispose of the napkins and wash his hands. When he got back, he realized with a fresh wave of annoyance that the recorder had been on the whole time. He shut it off and contemplated keeping it or not.
On one hand, he hated to waste the tape; on the other, it probably wouldn’t rerecord very well. Usually, when interrupted, he would just start up again, but he didn’t even remember where he had been. Not to mention how long it had been, four minutes of silence as well as the conversation.
With a long suffering sigh, he set the used cassette aside and placed in a new one. He stifled a yawn before pulling up the statement.
“Statement of Lena McNeil, regarding her repeated interactions with a peculiar woman in Japan, early September, 2008. Original statement given October the 16th, 2008. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.”
“…moved on to Kyoto, a quick trip. It was the diddle of the may, and I was somehow alone at one of the temples. That what was got-”
Jon paused, squinting at the paper that he was no longer properly reading from. He shook his head in annoyance and cleared his throat.
“Excuse me. It was the midd-”
A yawn got him this time, refusing to be bitten down. He growled softly in annoyance and shut off the recorder. Maybe he would go get a fresh tea.
When he returned from the break room, Martin was peering around the room anxiously. Jon sighed deeply and took a loud sip of his tea.
Martin jumped and spun around with an expression like he’d been caught red handed. “Oh! Jon!”
“I’m still alive.”
“Yes! Yes, of course you are, I wasn’t worried.” He started to wring his hands slightly, once again not meeting his eyes.
He let out another sigh. “Okay. What do you want?”
“I- I just… Well, it’s late.”
Jon slunk over to his desk and sat down heavily, his tea in his lap. “Yes,” he said flatly, giving him a condescending tilt of the head.
Martin padded over to the desk. He was wearing socks, Jon noted, and he wrinkled his nose at the concept that the man slept with them on.
He looked at him with a light wave of concern. “I really think you should get some sleep,” he said quietly. “You were up all night last night, too. It’s not healthy.”
Jon took another sip of his tea and glared up at him. “I’m not a child. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”
“I know that.” He hesitated, still wringing his hands. “But… really, you can always sleep on the other cot, instead of at your desk.”
Jon did not care to go sleep on the cot. This sort of conversation had been happening more and more often. It seemed to him that Martin was crossing at least one boundary in his insistence that he sleep. After all, they were both grown men and could manage their own sleep schedules.
“I don’t want to wrinkle my clothes,” Jon lied in his same flat tone. “I’ll sleep when I go home tomorrow night.”
“Tonight,” Martin corrected off-handedly, apparently knowing that it was already past midnight. He looked him up and down, and Jon knew he was seeing that his clothes were already fairly wrinkled. Sleeping in them really couldn’t make them all that worse.
Jon pressed his lips into a thin line. “Tonight.”
As they made eye contact, and then quickly avoided said eye contact, Martin’s cheeks pinkened again. “...you… you could take your clothes off?”
“Excuse me?!” He nearly choked on his tea as he reacted to that question, barely keeping the hot drink from spilling all over him.
“It’s not that weird! We’re both guys, and I won’t look anyway, and…”
Jon just glared until Martin trailed off awkwardly, embarrassed discomfort all over his face as he shifted on his feet.
“Never mind. You’re right. It’s weird.”
Silence hung in the air until Jon took another sip of tea until Martin spoke again. “You could borrow my clothes,” he said, sounding a little uncomfortable with the idea.
Jon felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment and… something else? No, nothing else. Just the ridiculous idea of him in Martin’s clothes. They wouldn’t fit worth anything, and who knew if Martin had gotten them washed recently enough for them to be deemed clean.
“No,” he said, voice ice cold.
“...please?”
Jon blinked at him. Please? This really was getting ridiculous.
“Why should I?” He asked, and suddenly realized how dreadfully tired he sounded. Maybe Martin did have proper reason to push the issue. Not that that made it more agreeable.
Martin gave him a look that managed to be sad, concerned, and tired all at the same time. “Jon, please?” He asked again.
That made him pause a little, for some odd reason. The sound of his name on those lips circled in his mind for a slow second. Probably the sleep deprivation making it linger. Martin had said his name dozens of times; it wasn’t important.
Why did it feel important?
He took a deep breath, then downed the rest of his tea in one slightly scalding gulp. The caffeine wouldn’t keep him up at this point, as much as he wished it would. “Fine. But my alarm goes off at four thirty, and it stays where I sleep,” he said, giving one last weak attempt at making him give up.
He certainly didn’t look thrilled by the idea, but he shrugged it off with a surprisingly bright smile. “Alright, I’ll take that.”
Jon emerged from the bathroom with his hair loose and his expression twisted in a severe scowl. The white undershirt Martin had provided him with hung to his mid-thighs and kept slipping down over his collarbones, despite his attempt to tie it behind his neck with his hair tie. None of Martin’s pants would have stood a chance at staying up on him. He had yet to take his shoes off, because he certainly didn’t trust the cleanliness of the Institute’s floors; bathroom or otherwise.
As he slunk back into his office, his hands remained stiffly at his sides to make sure it stayed down on his body. When Martin looked over with the start of a smile, Jon made a quick noise to cut him off.
“Do not look at me. Especially not my legs.”
The other man quickly stifled a snort and looked firmly at the desk, though his eyes had definitely been around while Jon was talking. He nodded, biting down a smile as he did. With that smile slowly spreading, he waved his hands in a flourish toward the storage room.
Jon grumbled a little, but made his way into the room. He stepped over the fire extinguisher on the floor and over to the cot in the corner. The other one was a little too close for comfort, if it was up to him, but he really didn’t care enough.
As soon as he was down, he felt the exhaustion hit him. It was a little much, honestly. Sure, he was tired, but this felt excessive, to be so exhausted he no longer felt like he could move his limbs. He draped an arm over his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Of course Martin had to be right. Annoying.
“Do you want the blanket?” Martin asked softly, probably standing right next to the cot.
Jon gave him a slight nod, but still didn’t expect it when the blanket was carefully pulled up over him. For a moment, soft fingers brushed his jaw as the blanket was pulled all the way up, and he felt something in his stomach.
Just sleep deprivation. Surely.
Moments later, the other room darkened as Martin flipped the lights off. The other cot creaked as he laid down, and then silence settled. Jon listened to him breathe for a few long seconds before he drifted off. And he didn’t mind it as much as he had thought he would.