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Jon hated crying. He hated how his eyes became bloodshot and puffy. He hated how his face would turn noticeably blotchy. He hated how his nose would drip like a leaky faucet. Jon hated the headaches he would consistently get, no matter how much water he tried to drink. Worst of all, he hated how he had no one to comfort him equally as much as he hated showing weakness. Jon hated crying, and he hated waking up with tears in his eyes and a knot in his chest.
It was the morning of his 28th birthday. 30 October, 2015. Six years after he last spoke to either of his sisters. Six years since he killed his younger sister. Six years after he tried to k- Stop.
Jon shook his head violently to stop himself from spiralling. He didn’t need that. Not today. Going through his morning routine was difficult enough as it was, he didn’t need another reason to hate himself. He washed his face, brushed his hair, and brushed his teeth without actually looking at his reflection. He was skilled at that. He waffled back and forth about making himself something to eat, but ultimately decided to pick something up on the way to the Institute.
Nastya would’ve dragged him to a restaurant that served breakfast food and demanded he took the day off.
Nikki would have offered to make him food even though she was just as bad as he was in a kitchen.
Stop it.
His morning continued in the same pattern. His brain offered him pessimistic and depressing facts that he tried dutifully to ignore. It didn’t work very well. His various trains of thought were all derailing rather quickly, and he regretted not picking up a refill of his migraine medication sooner. It wasn’t until he was only a few blocks away from the Institute, hot coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other did he realise his other mistake. He hadn’t taken any of his meds that morning. He clenched his jaw tightly enough to hear a squeaking noise from his teeth grinding together. He cringed and resigned himself to having yet another awful fucking birthday.
Woo hoo, Jonny. Really doing well for yourself now, aren’tcha?
Jon sighed heavily and tried to open one of the large, needlessly heavy doors to the Institute with his hands full. Luckily enough, no one was around to make fun of him. Unluckily, no one was around to help him, either. Whatever. Jon made his way towards the small door with frosted glass and “ARCHIVES” written in big, bold lettering. He groaned and thunked his head against the glass. At least this door had a handle and not a doorknob. He leaned all of his (admittedly rather little) weight on the handle using his elbow. The door creaked open slightly, enough for him to shove the door open with his foot and open it fully with his hip. The amount of accessibility in the Magnus Institute was simply groundbreaking, Jon snarked to himself. The amount of stairs leading down into the Archives proper only reaffirmed his previous thought.
Once down in his office, he slumped into his chair. He felt exhausted already. Damn his fucking life. This was why he tried to e- No.
“Hey, Boss?” Jon startled badly, jumping in place and banging his knee on the desk. His heart pounded in his chest. He held his palm to the place over his chest and counted out his heartbeats. Through the blood rushing in his ears, he heard Tim apologising for scaring him.
“It’s- It’s quite alright, Tim,” Jon said as his heart began to calm. The last thing he needed today was passing out because his fucking heartrate was too high. “What did you need?” Tim awkwardly stepped into the room, holding a gift-wrapped bottle by the neck.
“Happy birthday? I know Sasha and I were busy last year and never got you anything, so I got you this to sort of make up for it? And- Uh- here.” Tim pulled a card from his back pocket. He set both gifts on the desk in front of Jon. Jon opened the card and snorted. A cartoon cat glared from the card wearing a birthday hat. The other side of the card held a gift card.
“Really funny, Tim. Thanks for the- Barnes & Noble? Really?” Tim shrugged.
“Back in research, you always talked about how hard it was to find books you liked, so...”
“Thank you very much. You didn’t need to, but thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, Boss! Happy birthday!” Tim left with a wave, closing the door behind him with a click. Jon huffed and stood up slowly. He moved both gifts to one of the half-empty bookshelves in the room. No drinking on the job, after all. He sat back down and pulled his laptop from his bag. Time to get to work, he thought.
Jon groaned at the headache blooming behind his eyes. He pushed his glasses up onto his head and pressed his palms against his eyelids. His stomach made a rumbling noise, which prompted him to remember the sandwich he bought earlier. He got up, suddenly feeling weak.
After readjusting his glasses and smoothing out his clothing, he walked out of the room. The Archives were strangely quiet. Checking his watch, Jon concluded that his assistants must have been off on their lunch break. He hesitated before entering the break room, just in case one of them would be in there, but seeing that the light under the door was off, he pushed the door open.
Tim, Sasha, and Martin jumped out at him with a call of “Surprise!” and a click of the light switch. The door slammed closed behind Jon. He stumbled back, gripping the door frame for support. Once again, he felt his heart pumping violently in his chest. Tim at least had the decency to look guilty.
“Jesus,” he cursed, holding one hand over his heart. He felt his skin moving as his heart beat, muscles jumping in time with his pulse.
“Happy birthday, Boss!” Tim said with a wink.
“Happy- Oh, are you okay?” Sasha asked, reaching out to steady him. Her eyes crinkled in concern even as she laughed a bit.
“No, I-! Christ, one second.” Jon thunked his head back against the door frame, inhaling deeply to regulate his heart beat. Martin held out a book for Jon, who took it curiously. He flipped through quickly. The book was one Jon had read before, so he wasn’t too interested in it, but the pages were glossy and a nice texture, and they were edged with gold foil.
“Sorry! Sorry, Tim wanted to surprise you, and-”
“Snitch!” Each chapter seemed to switch perspective, and the pages with the chapter titles changed the style of decoration to match the character from whose perspective the chapter was told.
“No, no. It’s fine, thank you. Just a- shock.” Jon glared at Tim, who shrugged sheepishly.
“Well, that’s the idea.” Jon closed the book gently, setting it down on the table. It must have cost a significant amount of money with how high-quality it was. He pulled out a chair and sat down. Finally, his pulse calmed.
“Indeed. Though, honestly the bottle of wine was just fine.” Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Yeah, as a decoy!”
“Yes, well, thank you. This is all very,” Jon opened the book, took a bunch of expensive-feeling pages in hand, and flipped them with his thumb, “ elaborate of you.”
“Plus it was kind of fun, giving you a heart attack!” Jon frowned, closing the book and rubbing his thumb over the cover. He certainly felt close to a heart attack. Not that he’d ever had one. He probably needed to see a doctor soon-
“Mm. I’m sure. I notice you didn’t jump out at Martin when he had a birthday.” Martin winced slightly.
“No, he’s way too jumpy as it is.” Jon glared at him as if to say, ‘And I’m not?’ Martin made an offended noise. “We were worried he might damage himself!”
“Hey!” Martin crossed his arms. Jon suddenly looked away, the angry pout on Martin’s face making him uncomfortable. “Well, I preferred going out to ice cream, anyways.”
Jon cocked his head to the side. “You went out for ice cream?” Something wiggled at the back of his mind, but he didn’t know what it was.
“Yes, you were there,” Sasha prodded. Jon racked his memory, but couldn’t recall the event.
“You had- rum and raisin, and taught us all about emulsifiers.” Jon’s face erupted with heat. He remembered that part, at least.
“Oh. Right. Yes, I- I remember.” He still didn’t remember anything else, but damn if he could go on about emulsifiers.
“Liar,” Tim’s smug face leered.
“Well, thank you anyway. This is all- very touching.” Jon just wanted his sandwich and to escape back to his office.
“We just wanted to do something to lighten the mood, you know?” Jon’s face coloured, feeling rather embarrassed with himself.
“Yes, I’m- aware it’s been a– rough start...” He cringed at his own behaviour the past few months.
“That’s not what this is about,” Sasha reassured, “we just thought you could use a chance to unwind!” Jon stared at her, still uncomfortable.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
A knock at the door interrupted the tense moment. Elias poked his head through the door with a smarmy grin. Jon glared at him slightly. He hadn’t felt comfortable being in the same room as him since his “promotion.”
“Knock knock,” Elias sing-songed. Ice shot through Jon’s veins. Such a simple phrase... Beady eyes momentarily replaced Elias’ grey ones, but Jon shook himself out of it quickly enough.
“Doubleboss!” Tim cheered, though a quick glance showed Jon that no one was comfortable about him randomly showing up.
“Elias?” Sasha questioned, confused at his appearance in the Archives.
“I’m not too late for cake, am I?” he asked, staring straight at Jon. A shudder ran down his spine.
“There’s cake?”
“How did y-?” Tim whirled on Martin. “ Martin! That was a secret!”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“He didn’t have to. Nothing escapes my notice, and I like to keep an eye out for this sort of thing.” Dread pooled in Jon’s stomach the longer he was in the small break room with Elias. The Head of the Institute seemed to leer at Jon in a way that made him actively uncomfortable. His face was so familiar, but those eyes...
“Well, it’s good to see you,” Tim lied.
“Yes, come in?” Jon stammered. Martin and Sasha simply stared at Elias.
“So, how old is the birthday boy?” Jon cringed at those words.
“Thirty-eight,” he said quickly. Sasha flicked him on the arm.
“Liar,” she teased. Everyone laughed, but Jon scowled.
“How would you know?” Tim leaned over Jon and ruffled his hair childishly.
“What, does someone need to change their password again?” he teased in a sing-song. Jon was getting sick of his fr- coworkers treating him that way.
“I- What?” he stammered. “Sasha, have you been going through my computer-?” She interrupted him with a laugh.
“Definitely not! No idea what he’s talking about!”
“Course not,” Tim played along. Jealousy ate at Jon from the easy joking nature they were able to exist with. He muttered about appropriate behaviour, but Elias interrupted them with a reminder about the cake.
“Somebody mentioned cake?” Sasha side-eyed Elias, her face falling slightly.
“Uh, yeah. You did,” Tim pointed out.
From there, Tim brought out the cake, they sang the ‘Happy Birthday’ song that Jon had hated since childhood, and Tim lit the candles despite Jon’s protests. Jon did notice the way Elias creepily called him “Archivist” instead of his name. Tim brought out another bottle of wine, Jon disagreed again, but then Elias said he’d allow it, so Jon decided to indulge. He wouldn’t be making this a habit, though. That would be a dangerous downward spiral, he knew. At some point, however, Jon heard a rather familiar sound.
“Hang on- Have you been recording this?” he asked Tim. Tim smiled lopsidedly and pulled a tape recorder from the inside of his jacket.
“Oh! Yeah! I– just thought it might be nice, you know, something to look back on when we’re all old and sick of each other,” he explained, holding the recorder out to Jon.
“You probably should have told us, Tim.” Jon eyed Sasha for a moment.
“What, are you afraid we’re going to get sued over the Happy Birthday song?” Tim joked, though his voice was audibly strained.
“Oh, oh, well I am now!” Martin played along, eyes flicking back and forth between the recorder and Tim.
“It’s just a bit of a privacy thing,” Sasha explained. Jon huffed and pulled the tape recorder to his chest.
“Hypocrite,” he muttered.
“Alright, alright, fine, look. I’m turning it off,” Tim said, reaching for the recorder. “Any last words for your future selves?”
“Yes,” Jon said. “Fire Tim.” He clicked the recorder off and held it away from Tim. “Anyways, with that all done, I’d like to eat my lunch, if you’ll let me.”
Jon stared at his phone on the coffee table. Tears streamed down his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to just pick it up. He wanted his sisters. He wanted to call Nastya, he wanted to reach out to his friends, he missed Nikki so fucking much. Happy birthday to him, really.
He scratched idly at his left wrist. He missed having people he could talk to. He missed not being alone.
He sobbed into the emptiness of his "living" room, the bare walls seeming to press into him. He dug his fingernails into his skin, wishing desperately that he could just go back in time and stop himself from fucking up. He wanted to stop himself from ruining everything and ruining everyone and ruining his life and ruining everyone else's lives and he just wanted to be happy damn it and he wanted to fucking kill-
He reached forward with shaking hands. Not to grab his phone, but to pick up the piece of cake he'd brought home. Still crying (and hating himself for it), he slowly ate the sweet, and when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Nastya and Nikki, beaming at him as he ate the cake they’d baked for him. Nastya had done most of the work, Nikki had admitted to him later, but she was happy just being able to help. All he could do was hate himself a little more.
Happy Birthday, Jon. Maybe next year won't be so bad.