Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Tell me about this Martin of yours.”

Jon looked up from his bowl of takeout at Georgie, whose expression was one of curiosity.

“Sorry?”

“Your assistant, Martin,” Georgie explained. “You’ve mentioned him a few times. You seem to like him a lot.”

Jon hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He’s…well, he’s a diligent worker. Or at least, recently.”

“Oh?”

“Well, he wasn’t when we started in the Archives,” Jon admitted. “Not really. He was, er…he lacked experience. I thought he was just incompetent, or just not trying.”

Georgie hummed, spinning her fork in a cluster of noodles. “What changed, then?”

“He told me he lied on his CV,” Jon admitted, worrying for a moment that Martin wouldn’t want him to tell anyone. Then again, he supposed, it wasn’t as if Georgie could fire him. “He’d dropped out of school to take care of his mum a few years ago, and fabricated a degree to get a job at the Institute.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t fire him.” Georgie was staring at him now, her brow furrowed. “The Jon I know—or, at least, the one I thought I knew—would’ve sent him out of the archives on the spot.”

Jon nodded. “I suppose he would’ve.”

For a moment, Georgie was silent. Then, “I guess you aren’t the Jon I knew, then.”

Jon laughed dryly. “No. I suppose I’m not.” He sighed, though a smile crept onto his face as a familiar figure leaped up onto the chair to his left, before scrabbling awkwardly onto the table.

Georgie sighed, standing up and moving to pick The Admiral off of the table. He let out a soft mrrow of protest as she did, but didn’t argue further, instead electing to jump onto the kitchen counter and stare angrily at the two.

“Bad Admiral,” Georgie said sternly. “You know you don’t belong on the table.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Jon called from the table, earning him a glare from Georgie.

“He will listen to me,” Georgie said with an indignant huff. “You gave up custody years ago.”

“I was forced out of custody,” Jon pointed out.

“Whatever.” Georgie sat back down at the table, resuming her dinner—albiet with a few quick glances towards the kitchen, presumably to make sure The Admiral wasn’t trying to get on the table again.

As Jon continued to pick at the food in front of him, his thoughts drifted to Martin again. He’d probably be amused with The Admiral’s antics. He seemed to be fond of animals—that was one of Jon’s earlier impressions of him, actually—and Jon couldn’t help but wonder how he would take to The Admiral.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jon asked, “did I ever tell you that Martin once let a dog into the Archives?”

“You haven’t told me much of anything about your time in the Archives,” Georgie remarked.

“Right. Of course.” Jon shook his head. “God, I was so angry about it. I mean—Georgie, you’ve got to understand, this was our first day. I was incredibly stressed. And then Martin —he just walks in, asking me if I’ve seen a dog. A dog, Georgie! I was so confused as to what he was even there for in the first place—I’d only asked for Tim and Sasha—and he just goes on about how he’s accidentally let a dog into the place! And the way he said it, like he just…like he didn’t even expect me to know what he was talking about, or be angry, and then he just—”

“Slow down, Jon,” Georgie interrupted, holding up a hand.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbled.

“Don’t be,” Georgie assured him. “You seem to like him a lot.”

“You’ve mentioned,” he muttered self–consciously, unsure why exactly Georgie’s choice of words felt so strange to hear.

“You talk about him often.”

“Apparently.”

“More than your other assistants.”

“What are you trying to say, Georgie?” Jon asked, tired already of this. “Are you telling me I should, what, give him a raise? That’s not even in my power, so if you’re so fond of him you can take it up with Elias.”

“ I’m the one who’s fond of him? Jon, you constantly talk about him. I don’t know a thing about what’s been going on in the Archives, but I feel like I already know everything there is to know about Martin!” She shook her head in disbelief. “Jonathan. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Spell what out?” Jon asked. “Do you think I’m in love with him, or—” Jon cut off as soon as the words left his mouth.

“ Oh. ”

“Took you long enough.”

“Oh, Christ. ” Jon sighed, pushing his bowl away and burying his face in his arms. “This isn’t— no. I am not— ”

“There, there,” Georgie said, her voice betraying amusement. “It can’t be easy for you to realise you have emotions.”

Jon looked up, shooting her a glare. “I have emotions. ”

“Name one.”

“Irritation. Specifically towards you right now.”

“Two in one day. That’s a record.” Georgie chuckled. “Look, Jon. There are worse things than having a crush—”

“Good lord, don’t call it that,” Jon muttered. “It sounds so… childish. ”

“What else do you want me to call it?”

“I don’t…I don’t know, Georgie,” Jon admitted. “Look, I just realised this seconds ago. Can’t I just process this whole thing before I try to do anything else with it?”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Georgie protested. “Alright, then. I’ll let you wallow in your feelings. Just don’t spend the rest of your life wallowing,” she added. “I’m not going to pretend I know what you’ve been through. But you obviously really like this Martin guy. So…maybe just let yourself have this. Alright?”

“No comment, Georgie.”

Georgie sighed, shaking her head. “Alright. Whatever you say, Jon.”

Chapter Text

Martin couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He’d listened to the tape three times now, and still the words felt unreal in his head.

He could leave the Archives.

And beyond that, he could leave the Archives with Jon.

Would Jon even go with him, he wondered? The two had hardly spoken since Martin’s coma, and he couldn’t help but worry that Jon wouldn’t hear him out this time. That he’d just turn Martin away once again, leaving him back where Martin had always been. Unwanted. Alone.

He was surprised the Lonely hadn’t sought him. But, he supposed, the Eye already had claimed him by the time Lukas had taken over the Archives. He couldn’t imagine it was easy to switch which entity one served, what with—

No. Not the time. Right now, he had to find Jon.

He stood up, the tape recorder clutched in his right hand in case Jon needed proof. Maybe he was desperate—probably, even—but he needed to at least try to get Jon to leave with him. Of course he’d tell the others, they deserved to know, but…if he was honest with himself, he didn’t care. If they didn’t want to leave, then that was their decision. And of course Jon’s decision was still his own. But Martin knew he wouldn’t be able to do this if Jon wasn’t with him. Because what else was left for him? His mother had died while he was in the coma, and he’d no other family. What he did have—did sort of have, anyway—was Jon.

It could just be the two of them. They could run away, go somewhere else together with their middle fingers raised to the Institute. They’d lose their sight but they’d be free, and more than that they’d be together. He could see it in his mind now, and the image was beautiful.

And it was so close.

He approached the door to Jon’s office quickly, raising his hand to knock.

And then the door opened.

“Jon. ”

“Oh— Martin! ” Jon stepped back, his eyes wide. “Good lord, don’t—don’t do that!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Martin said quickly, holding out a hand to steady Jon. “Sorry.” He felt a pang of worry—not for the first time—as he studied Jon’s ever-thinning frame. Martin Knew that he wasn’t eating enough, and he felt a pang of guilt for every time Jon had brought something for Martin to eat without making any for himself. Martin swore right then and there that if they got out of there, he was going to wake up every morning to make Jon a proper breakfast and cup of tea.

“No, don’t be,” Jon assured him. “I was just…surprised, I suppose. Er…” he studied Martin. “You don’t look well.”

Martin let out a dry huff of laughter. “Thanks.”

“No, no, I just mean—” Jon sighed. “You look like you’ve…been through. Things.”

You don’t know the half of it. “Right. Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ve been…hungry, I guess. But the Archives have plenty of old statements, and, well. After your intervention…”

“You know we wouldn’t have had to if—”

“No, I know, I know,” Martin sighed. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t being sarcastic, or anything. It’s been hell, yeah, but…but you were right.”

“Oh.” Jon paused. “Right. Of course. A–and the others…?”

Martin chuckled. “Let’s just say that even if I did want to go looking, I wouldn’t get past the Archive doors without being questioned. Not like I leave much, anyway.”

Jon frowned a bit at that. “You don’t have a flat?”

“Not since the coma.”

Jon tensed. “Right.” He paused for a bit, before looking up at Martin, his brows furrowed. “Why did you come here, Martin?”

Right. He was here for a reason, wasn’t he? “I’ve found a way for us to leave,” he blurted, not even bothering to procrastinate any longer. Jon needed to know.

Jon blinked. “Oh,” he whispered, his voice hollow with disbelief. “Right. Uh…what…what is it, then?”

Martin hesitated. “Well…it’s not…” he gestured a bit, struggling to find the words. “It’s kind of…well, you can’t really…”

“Just tell me, Martin,” Jon interrupted.

“You’ve got to gouge your eyes out, alright?” Martin snapped. Then, softer, “you have to blind yourself.”

Jon sucked in a breath, staring at Martin. “ Oh. ”

“Yeah.” Martin sighed. “I mean…the Beholding’s connected to your eyes. You know. The Eye. ” He chuckled a bit, though Jon’s expression didn’t change.

“I guess that…makes sense.” He paused. “What did the others say about it?”

Martin hesitated. “I haven’t told them yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” because I don’t care what they do as long as you and I leave this place. Because I love you, because I have loved you, even though I don’t deserve you. Because it could just be us, together somewhere else, all of this behind us forever until it all just feels like a bad dream that we get to forget about. “Because I trust you. And because…because if I did leave, I’d want it to be with you.”

For a moment Jon just stared at him, and something in his eyes made Martin almost think that he was considering it.

“With me, ” Jon repeated quietly.

“Yeah,” Martin replied, his voice soft. “With you.”

Then Jon simply sighed, shaking his head. “No. No, Martin. You don’t want that.”

“ What? ” Martin stared at Jon in disbelief. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting after practically ripping his heart out and throwing it on the floor for Jon, but it wasn’t flat out denial.

“You don’t want to leave with me,” Jon repeated. “You want to save me. You think I’m suffering, working for Lukas. So you promise… that, and…”

“And then?”

“And then I’m ‘out’. Your…your saviour complex is satiated.”

Martin glared at Jon, stepping back a bit. “What, you think this is all because I think I’m supposed to save everyone?”

“Well, isn’t it?” Jon asked. “You went into the coffin for Daisy. The only difference here is that you’ll get something out of it.”

“This is nothing like—”

“Besides, I doubt you’d even survive, Martin! You’re so connected to the Eye that severing a connection might kill you, at this point!” He sighed. “Martin. Please, don’t try to martyr yourself.”

“I’m not— ”

“You are. ” Jon looked at him pointedly. “And I’m not going to let that happen.”

Martin opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. He sighed, looking at Jon, whose gaze was trained on the floor.

“The Lonely’s really got you, then. Huh?”

Jon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I think it always has, Martin.”

Martin sighed, turning away. “Right, then. Well…I’ll be here. If you ever change your mind.”

“I hope so.”

Martin turned slightly at the words, and—though the motion was barely perceptible—he could swear Jon was blinking back tears.

Martin nodded. “Just…don’t wait too long. Okay?”

And with that, he was out of the room, softly shutting the door behind him just as a soft “sure” sounded from behind him.

Once he was back in his office, he sighed, practically falling into his office chair as he buried his face in his arms. He wished that he would start crying, wished for some sort of outlet to all of this. But no tears came, and instead he sat there, with only the quiet hum of the air conditioner for company as he tried to forget his dreams about the two of them building a life together.

Chapter Text

“…but there wasn’t any way that could be real— none of what I was seeing was real. I knew that. But then if it wasn’t, then how could you explain it? What was—”

A knock at the door interrupted Jon’s recording. Jon paused, not keen to have another statement giver come in at this time, but he supposed he could always record it again if it was urgent. He sighed, pausing the tape recorder and pushing it off to the side.

“Come in.”

The door opened, revealing Martin. He was carrying a book with him, as well as something that looked like a tape. He smiled a bit when he saw Jon, and perhaps it was the relief of his guest not being another statement giver, but Jon couldn't help returning the gesture.

“Hey, Jon,” Martin greeted awkwardly.

“Martin,” Jon replied. “Come in. Is everything…?”

“Yep!” Martin finished. “I mean—everything’s good. I just…I found a statement?”

Jon paused. “You… found a statement?”

“I mean,” Martin added, “I think I did. I was looking through artefact storage, to—to do some follow up on that one statement? The one about the, uh…” Martin chuckled. “The cursed cabinet. ”

Jon’s lips quirked up a bit, remembering the statement–giver from the previous week. He’d clearly been inebriated, which hadn’t been too surprising given it’d been a Friday night, and had spent the whole time prattling on about how the cabinets in his kitchen were trying to eat him. The statement had recorded fine on computer, so Jon had discarded it, but Martin had promised the man to check with their artefact storage staff about anything they might know, if only to placate him. Jon had assumed that Martin was just trying to get the man to calm down, but it seemed that it’d been a promise he’d intended to keep. It was funny, Jon thought. Months ago, he’d have thought Martin was wasting time. But now, he just found it rather…sweet, he supposed.

Sweet? Jon thought to himself, resisting the urge to grimace. Where had that word come from, he wondered?

“Jon?”

Right. Martin. He’d sat down in the seat in front of Jon, placing the book and the tape onto the desk, and was now staring at Jon intently, waiting for a response.

“Of course,” Jon replied quickly. “Yes, I…I’m surprised you actually went to check.”

Martin chuckled. “I mostly just went to catch up with Katie. She and I worked together in the library for a few years, before she got transferred there, and, well…” he shrugged. “A–anyway. Um, I found a tape there?”

Jon paused. “Martin, you really shouldn’t be touching—”

“No, yes, I know,” Martin interrupted quickly. “I talked to Katie, and she said it wasn’t in their records, so I figured it was there by mistake, and she said it was fine, so I sort of…brought it here?”

“Right,” Jon said slowly. “And the book?”

“Also not in their records,” Martin admitted.

“And you didn’t open it,” Jon said. “Did you?”

“Of course not!” Martin assured him. “But, I mean…I haven’t, I don’t know. Turned into a clown or anything.” Martin chuckled a bit at the joke, but Jon just shuddered, memories of the circus still fresh in his mind. Martin picked up on this immediately, his face draining slightly of colour.

“Jon—”

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “Let’s just…the book. Do you think it could be a Leitner?”

“When isn’t it?” Martin muttered.

“Good point,” Jon agreed with a sigh.

A brief moment of silence passed between the two, before Martin spoke.

“Should we open it?”

Jon stared at him. “What? Why?”

“I just mean—well, shouldn’t we try to find out what it can do?”

“Of course not! These books are cursed, Martin.”

“I know that!” Martin insisted. “I just…I don’t know. It was a stupid idea, just forget about it.”

Jon sighed, feeling a bit sympathetic for the man. He knew what it was like to want to know. In fact, he was almost certain he knew better than most others.

Damn fear gods.

“I understand,” Jon said. “You’re curious. A–and I am too, I just…we both know what happens when those books are opened.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Martin nodded. “Should I take these back to Artefact Storage, then?”

“Leave the tape,” Jon replied, shaking his head. He picked up the book, studying it closely. “As for this, yes. I think it would be best if it was handled by someone more…experienced in this field.”

Martin nodded. “Right. Yes.” He took the book from Jon, smiling at him. “Are we still on for lunch today?”

Jon felt himself smile back, just a bit. “Sure.”

Martin’s grin widened. “Alright then. See you at noon?”

Jon nodded, and Martin nodded back in affirmation before slipping out of the room. Jon sighed as soon as he heard the door click, staring down at the tape on the desk.

Noon. Just a few more hours. Not that he had any particular reason to look forward to it, of course. Just that the Archives weren’t a pleasant place to be, so of course he was excited to be out of them for a change. That was all it was.

He shook his head, picking up the tape and placing it into the recorder. He clicked play, feeling an almost sinking feeling at the telltale static that immediately filled the silent room. Almost immediately, a man’s voice sounded through the speakers, sounding quick and frantic.

“ This is day two. Or—three, technically. It’s repeated twice. Thursday, I mean. Sorry. This is…here, just let me start over.

“My name is Henry Becker. I work in research at the Magnus Institute—or, I do until all this is over. I’ll be quitting as soon as it is. Anyway. I work in the research department of the Magnus Institute, London. And for the past two days—I think, anyway—I have been trapped in a time loop.

“It was Thursday, March 6th. I know, because it’s still Thursday, March 6th. Some guy had brought a weird book with him, claiming it was cursed—or, that’s what Ruby said happened. She worked in Artefact Storage, so I took her word for it. I forgot about it for a bit, until I, uh…look, the details aren’t necessary, but I was messing around, and I ended up touching the book. Or, the book ended up touching me. I fell, crashed into the shelves, it landed on my head, whatever you want to call it. I’m sure that’s what caused it. Ruby was livid, and I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to have gotten a ban from Artefact Storage.

“Except the next day I woke up and went to work, expecting to get yelled at by Mr. Bouchard for being an idiot, and nobody even looked at me strangely. Nobody asked what I’d gotten myself into, or anything. And, look, I’m a pretty well–known guy in Research, so whenever I do something stupid, trust me. People pay attention. I even asked Tamara half–jokingly if people just forgot about yesterday or something, and she just gave me the weirdest look and asked me what I was talking about.

“By then I started to realise that everyone seemed to be doing exactly what they were doing yesterday, which isn’t too weird for research in general, since we spend most of our time at our desks—but it was the exact same cases that they were talking about, in the exact same ways. I even noticed everyone’s outfits were the same as the day before, and—look, I don’t usually care much about what people are wearing, but most people don’t wear the same thing two days in a row. So a whole department? I knew something was off.

“That was when I looked at the calendar on my computer, only half expecting what I saw. Thursday. March 6th. 2008, if that even matters. It isn’t like the year would change but not the day. Anyway. I bet you can guess my reaction. I didn't even bother refreshing the page. Felt like there was no point, I guess.

“I know it was that book. It’s always those damn books. I may not be down in the Archives where all of the action is happening, but I know how these things work.

“I’ll spare you the details, but it’s the second time this has happened. I even stayed in Research last night just to see what would happen, and sure enough I woke up in my bed again. I went to work because, well…what else am I going to do?

“I found this tape recorder, and I’m going to try to keep a record. I don’t think it’s going to do anything, but at this point it isn’t like I can do anything but wait. So…recording over, I guess. Until tomorrow. ”

Jon paused the recording, leaning back in his chair. He knew that if he had heard this back when he’d begun at the Archives, he’d not have believed any of it. But now…

It sounded like the Spiral, possibly. Putting someone through the same day over and over until…until what? They were driven insane? They died? Could someone even die in a time loop?

Then, of course, there was another salient detail that worried Jon.

There was little doubt in Jon’s mind that the book from earlier was the same one from this statement. He and Martin hadn’t checked, but he was almost certain that it was a Leitner.

Becker had also mentioned touching the book, something Jon and Martin had both done. Which meant…

Good lord. He needed to tell Martin. He stood up hurriedly, his vision fading out for a moment before he adjusted, before he realised that he’d only listened to the first bit of the recording. There was more, he assumed. Shouldn’t he listen to that before running across the Archives with some half-informed tale about time loops? And what if there was a solution? No, it was better to wait.

Jon sat back down, resuming the recording. Part of him wanted to hope that it would prove to be just a bad dream or a drunken rambling, but another part of him—the logical part, he liked to think—knew that he couldn’t do that. Not anymore, not with what he’d learned. He wasn’t going to try to play a dismissive scepticism card when it could be dangerous to himself and Martin. No, he was going to handle this like a researcher. Get all the facts first—and then he could act.

—

“So it all just… ended. ”

“Basically, yes.”

Martin’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was hanging ever so slightly open. The two were sitting at a table in the sandwich shop they always went to, the window right next to them and letting in a soft light between them. Jon had elected to wait until lunch to tell Martin, figuring that over a sandwich was as good a time as any to decide what to do.

“What, and that’s…that’s it? He woke up one day, and it was just…Friday again?”

“Well…yes!” Jon sighed. “Basically! I mean…I think it’s a Spiral statement, so maybe it just…got bored? By the end of the recording he seemed to have accepted his situation, and the entities thrive off of fear. If there’s no fear, there’s no need to waste energy on someone. Right?”

“Do these things even have energy reserves?”

“I don’t know, Martin!” Jon exclaimed, burying the side of his face in one hand. “I don’t…I don’t know. All I know is that if this book is the one from the recording, then we’re likely going to wake up tomorrow and be in some sort of time loop.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed. “I guess…hm. Well, we could do what Henry did?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just…not be afraid. I mean,” Martin chuckled. “We’ve sort of got the advantage here. We kind of know what the Spiral is, what it wants. We don’t understand it—”

“I think the point is that nobody does,”

“— but we have more of an idea than he did,” Martin finished. “All I’m saying is that maybe we’ll get out of this quicker than Henry.”

Jon hesitated. “And what if we don’t? ”

“We Groundhog Day it.”

Jon tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Sorry?”

Martin stared at him, brow furrowed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Groundhog Day. ”

“I don’t watch movies very often,” Jon huffed. He hesitated for a moment, adding quickly, “it is a movie, right?”

“ Yes, Jon!” Martin exclaimed. “Christ. I need to show you that movie.”

Jon felt himself smile a bit at the thought of watching a movie with Martin, for a reason he wasn’t entirely sure of. Something about the idea of the two of them sitting there, huddled together in front of the television in one of their flats, maybe covered in a soft blanket with a bucket of popcorn between them…

No. Nope. Jon was not entertaining that thought. Why exactly not, he didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t want to. He was about to be thrown into a time loop. A time loop. That should be his focus. Not cinematic daydreams—not daydreams, just idle thoughts—about watching movies with his friend. Unless Martin didn’t even see him as a friend. Coworker.

Oh. The conversation. With Martin. Which he was engaging in.

“I think I’d like that,” Jon replied, feeling his cheeks warm slightly as he did. “Maybe that’s a plan for when we’re in the time loop.”

Martin hesitated. “Jon…”

“Yes?”

“What if we don’t remember this? In the time loop?”

Jon paused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just—you said that nobody around Henry seemed to realise time was looping, and they always forgot the days before. Do you think—what if we forget?”

“We both touched the book, though,” Jon said.

“So did everyone in artefact storage!” Martin pointed out. “Maybe there are, I don’t know, separate time loops! I don’t…” he paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “I don’t want to go through this alone.”

Jon sighed, reaching a hand across the table and placing it on Martin’s, ignoring the decidedly nonexistent warmth in his cheeks. “I know. I don’t want to either.” He paused, not really sure what exactly to say, before a thought struck him. “Martin.”

“Yeah?”

“In artefact storage, what do they wear when handling the—”

“ Gloves! ” Martin exclaimed loudly, earning him a few odd glances from the people around him. “Sorry!” He added, before repeating in a whisper, “Gloves. They wear gloves. We made direct contact. Of course they weren’t in the loop!”

“Exactly!” Jon agreed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back in his chair. “I guess—I mean, separate loops is still a possibility— ”

“But so is a shared loop!” Martin finished. He let out a small laugh, relief written all over his face. “Alright then. Great.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And here I was about to suggest we watch Groundhog Day tonight.”

Jon paused. “We still could.” Benormalaboutthisbenormalabout—

“I get off work at six,” Martin teased.

“What a coincidence,” Jon began, feigning surprise. “So do I!”

“Well, I’ll see you after work, then,” Martin said, a bright smile on his face that made something in Jon’s chest flutter.

“I’ll see you,” Jon echoed, his brain suddenly barely processing what was happening. This wasn’t—it wasn’t a date, of course. Why was he even clarifying that to himself? Obviously it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t as if he was in love with Martin. Him, in love with Martin! The thought was…well, it was entirely…

Oh.

Oh.

What had Jon just agreed to?

—

Jon knocked on the door to Martin’s flat at around eight in the evening, feeling fidgety as he did so. In just a few hours he’d found out he was likely about to be stuck in a time loop, agreed to go over to Martin’s flat to watch a movie about time loops, and…well, it’d been a long day, and he was hoping that this would be a nice enough conclusion to it.

The door opened almost immediately, and immediately Martin was standing in front of Jon, a nervous smile on his face as he stepped aside for Jon to enter.

The flat was small, but cosy. It was a bit cluttered, but in a way that felt lived in as opposed to messy. It was the kind of place that looked claustrophobic at first glance, but Jon knew that once he got used to the space it would feel almost homey.

“Sorry for the mess,” Martin was stammering. “I didn’t really have too much time to clean up—”

“No, don’t worry,” Jon replied, cutting him off before he tried to apologise further. “It’s…nice.” He hesitated. “It’s just you here, then?”

Martin nodded sheepishly. “I had a flatmate a few years back, but then he got a partner, and, well…rent’s all mine, now.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

Martin shrugged. “Don’t be. I was pretty happy for him. Actually, I think they’re getting married soon?”

“Well, good for them,” Jon replied. He hesitated, trying to look around the room so it didn’t seem like he was staring at Martin. “So… Groundog Day, then?”

“Right! Yes.” Martin nodded, leading Jon to the couch, which was nestled in front of a small television and covered in soft blankets that looked to be hand–crocheted.

“Did you make these?” Jon asked.

Martin nodded sheepishly. “I got into crocheting a while back, and, well…it’s calming, I suppose.”

Jon tilted his head. “I imagine it would be, with the repetitive motions of it.” He looked back down at the blankets. “They’re well-made.”

Martin smiled a bit. “Oh. Uh…thanks, Jon.” He paused for a moment, before seeming to remember something. “Right! Dinner. Did you want anything?”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not really hungry.”

“Well, you’re not going to not eat dinner,” Martin muttered. “Is Thai alright?”

“Sure,” Jon replied. “I don’t really get it often, though, so I’ll leave the matter of what I get to you.”

“Great,” Martin said with a nod. “In that case, you just get comfortable, and I’ll place our order really quickly.”

Jon nodded, sitting down on the old couch—and, after careful deliberation, wrapping himself in one of the crocheted blankets. It was a bit heavy, but the pressure felt almost comforting, and he let himself relax a bit. Perhaps it was his lack of sleep finally catching up to him, but he almost felt grateful for the situation he and Martin were stuck in. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but…well, Jon was here. With Martin. Whom…whom he loved. Apparently. About to watch a movie in his flat, eating takeout Thai food wrapped in crocheted blankets.

He was in such deep trouble.

The funny thing was, he didn’t really care.

A few moments later, Martin emerged, and something in his expression softened when he saw Jon. Jon folded a bit inward on himself, averting his gaze.

“I got cold.” Nice one.

“Alright,” Martin said with a small chuckle. “Ready to start the movie, then?”

Jon didn’t think he’d ever been more ready to watch a movie in his life.

—

“Jon?”

Jon’s eyes flickered open at the sound of his name, and for a moment his heart nearly stopped as an unfamiliar place surrounded him. He calmed down, however, once he remembered that he was in Martin’s flat, on his couch, and— oh.

Jon realised he must have fallen asleep. That was the only explanation for not only the fact that he had missed almost the entirety of the film, but the fact that his head was lying on Martin’s shoulder, with the rest of his body tucked against his side.

“Martin,” he began, yanking himself away from Martin. He was fully awake now, his surprise at the day’s events ripping him out of sleep. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” Martin replied softly. “You needed the rest.” He hesitated. “Jon, it’s late—”

“I know,” Jon replied. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave—”

“Wait,” Martin interrupted, holding out a hand ever so slightly. “I mean…the couch is a pullout. You could stay here.”

Jon blinked. “Really?”

“I mean…” Martin chuckled a bit. “You’ll wake up in your own flat, anyway.”

“True,” Jon agreed. “I mean…if you don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t,” Martin assured him. “Jon, you know I don’t.”

Jon nodded, awkwardly standing up as Martin began moving all of the blankets and pillows off of the couch. Within a minute, there was a semi-comfortable-looking bed in front of him, covered in crocheted blankets and throw pillows. It wasn’t the most lavish setup, but he didn’t care. It didn’t need to be lavish to be perfect.

He settled down in the bed, looking up at Martin, who was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, his head tilted slightly to the side.

“Do you need anything else?”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright,” Martin said with a nod. “I’ll just be a room over if you do.” He moved to enter his room, before Jon realised he did have one question.

“Martin,” he began, and Martin stopped to look back at him.

“Yeah?”

“How does the movie end?”

Martin let out a small laugh, and Jon felt his cheeks warm a bit.

“I’m curious,” he protested weakly.

“I know,” Martin replied with a small sigh. “Remember his producer, Rita?”

“Does she fall in love with him?” Jon asked, his voice flat.

Martin chuckled a bit again. “Yeah. She does.”

“That’s rather predictable.”

Martin nodded. “It’s sweet, though.”

Jon sighed, shrugging a bit. “I suppose so.”

Martin smiled, once again moving to close his door. “Good night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

—

The next morning, Jon heard the sound of movement near him.

He immediately bolted upward, memories of his—how many was it now? Three?—kidnappings flooding back to him. His eyes darted around, searching for something, before he suddenly processed where he was.

“This isn’t my flat,” he whispered to himself.

“No,” a voice behind him agreed softly. “It’s not.”

Jon turned around, seeing Martin standing in the kitchen in the flat he was in. Martin’s flat. He must have fallen asleep there. But if he’d woken up there, too, then…

“The time loop,” Jon sputtered. “I—I thought—”

“Maybe we were just too calm about it for the Spiral’s liking,” Martin said with a shrug. He smiled, gesturing towards the counter. “I’ve got muffins. If you want any. They’re store-bought, sadly, but…”

Jon shook his head. “That’s alright. I don’t mind.” He sighed as he walked over to the counter, leaning over it as he took a muffin from the box. He looked up at Martin, his eyes narrowed. “Did you check the date?”

“Three times,” Martin assured him. “We’re alright.”

Jon breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good lord. So we just…go back to work, then?”

“And let artefact storage know what they’re getting into, I guess,” Martin agreed. He sighed, letting out a small laugh. “I guess things worked out pretty well for us. We could have had to deal with yesterday repeating over and over, but instead we got a movie night and some mediocre takeout. I almost feel like we’ve cheated something.”

“Well, I for one do not ,” Jon replied with a grin. “I think we deserve a break after all of…well, everything, ” he finished, gesturing vaguely at the air around them.

Martin nodded. “I do, too.” He sighed. “Well… I had fun. Too bad the Spooky Fear God didn’t.”

Jon chuckled, not even bothered by Martin’s use of the word spooky.

He knew that soon he’d probably have to deal with his newly discovered feelings, and that when he did it likely wasn’t going to be pretty. But for now, he was with Martin, and he was honestly quite happy. So, he reasoned, maybe he could put that on hold for just a while longer. This was a moment he wanted to enjoy while it lasted.

Chapter Text

When Martin had been told that his quest was to find King Bouchard’s new Archivist, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Something about a knight being sent to retrieve somebody felt like something out of a chivalric tale, complete with romance and tall, winding spires where princesses lay.

He knew he wasn’t expecting romance, nor had he set out to search for a princess—but he supposed he was a bit disappointed by the lack of spires.

Where Martin had pictured a tower to scale, perhaps with cobblestone walls and ivy growing along the sides, there was simply a small cottage with a pinprick of light in the window. It was still covered in ivy, as well as a number of other plants, and the walls were still made of a rough cobblestone, but instead of being fifty feet tall with a singular window, it was small, with a few windows along the sides.

He supposed he should have been glad that this would be far easier. But it was just less poetic this way! No bard wrote songs about the knight who walked in a door to a cosy home. No bard that he’d met, at least, though he supposed he hadn’t met many.

I probably should have become one, he thought ruefully to himself as he made his way towards the wooden door.

At the top of the door, there was a small window, through which Martin could see the interior of the cottage. It looked almost bigger on the inside, with everything placed just so in a way that made the space feel larger. Everything was lit softly by candlelight, accommodating the sun’s slow descent from the sky, and in the centre of what he assumed was the sitting room, sat a man.

Martin was certain upon seeing the man that this was whom he’d been searching for. Aside from the obvious bit—he’d been given this map very specifically by Peter—but his walls were lined with bookshelves, and he himself was reading a book of astronomical size; his expression was focused, with his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Martin hated to think such a thing, as it was hardly what he was here for, but the man was beautiful.

Martin knocked once on the door, and the man startled, turning around. Martin stepped back from the door, and soon it opened, with the somewhat annoyed face of the new Archivist studying him.

“Hello,” Martin began awkwardly.

“Do I know you?” The man asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Well—no,” Martin admitted. “I’m here on behalf of King Bouchard.”

This seemed to catch the man’s attention. “What? Why?”

“Um…well…” Christ, how did one go about this? “The King’s former Archivist, Lady Gertrude Robinson, has died. He is now looking for someone to fill her position, and he thinks you are the best suited for the role.”

“Me? Why? ” The man repeated. “I’m not one of his subjects—I don’t even live in his kingdom!”

Martin began to fidget a bit with the hem of his shirt, once again unsure exactly how to respond. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “His husband—” he paused, thinking. “Well, I think they’re married right now—anyway, his husband-at-some-point sent me on his behalf to find you. All I was given was a map and a reason for going. He didn’t tell me why you or anything like that. I’m sorry.”

The man’s expression shifted slightly, and he sighed, stepping aside from the doorway.

“Come inside,” he told Martin. “I’ll…get this all sorted out.”

Martin nodded, stepping inside. The house, as predicted, had a seemingly larger interior than exterior. The furniture was sparsely placed, and the candles were positioned just so that the light only gently grazed the walls. It had looked almost comfortable from the outside, but that was by comparison to the dark, eerily silent forest. Now, against the fading light of the world outside, it looked only scarcely more comfortable.

The man studied him, his head tilted to the side. “You don’t like it,” he said matter-of-factly. It wasn’t presented as a question or something he was unsure of.

“What?” Martin startled a bit. “No, no, it’s lovely. I just—well, I mean—”

“I’m not offended,” the man interrupted. “I don’t know you well enough to care whether my personal living space is to your tastes.” He paused, nodding towards the kitchen. “Bread?”

“Oh, please, ” Martin sighed. “I’ve had nothing but travelling food since I left King Bouchard’s castle.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“I lost track after a bit,” Martin admitted. “The days kind of blur together when you’re travelling alone.”

The man hummed thoughtfully. “Well, then. I suppose if the King gets his way, you won’t be alone the next time around.” His words alone held no malice, but his tone was laced with irritation. Martin wished he could blame him, but he knew exactly how this man felt. After all, he too had been living his life regularly before all of this. He still remembered the day he’d told his mother the news. How she’d simply asked when he left. No congratulations, but no disappointment either. It was as if it was all the same to her. Perhaps it was.

Still, that wasn’t a thought for that moment. Right then, he was in a strange man’s home—being made food by him, no less. Christ, he didn’t even know this man’s—

“So, what’s your name?”

Martin startled at the question, finding it odd that it’d been asked just as he was realising the two hadn’t introduced themselves. Then again, weren’t Archivists supposed to be omniscient? Was he reading Martin’s mind right now?

“Don’t you already know?” Martin asked, feeling a bit dumb.

The man turned around. “What? No, of course not. What does that even mean?”

Martin felt his face flush with embarrassment. “I…it’s nothing. Forget it.”

The man shook his head. “No, tell me. Why would I have any idea who you are?”

“Well, you—” Martin shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I mean…you were chosen for a reason. To be an Archivist.”

“Unless Archivists are somehow all-knowing, then I still have no idea what you mean.”

Martin paused, unsure what exactly to say. After a moment, the man’s eyes lit up with understanding, and a look of almost horror washed over his face. “Are they really? ”

“That’s what they say,” Martin mumbled.

“But I’m not—I mean, I can’t—”

“Obviously there’s training, or something,” Martin said with a sigh. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or why King Bouchard wanted you. I’ve told you this. What I do know is that I was given a specific location on a carefully drawn map, so unless somehow Sasha messed up royally—wait, you don’t know Sasha—look, unless the kingdom’s best cartographer in…I don’t know, however long somehow messed up, then this is where I’m supposed to be. You’re who I’m supposed to find.”

The man was silent for a moment. Then he just nodded, turning back to the counter to prepare the bread. “Right, then. You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Martin Blackwood. Knight under possibly-King Lukas. And you?”

“Jonathan,” the man replied. “Or just Jon, if you like. Sims. And, apparently…soon-to-be Archivist.”

“So you’re accepting the position?”

“King Bouchard isn’t famous for giving choices,” Jon remarked. “I don’t expect he’ll let me say no without some sort of punishment.”

“You think he’ll… kill you? ” Martin asked, suddenly nervous.

Jon huffed a small laugh. “No. I think he’ll kill a friend of mine.” He sighed, walking back to Martin with a small slice of bread in hand. “Here.”

Martin took the bread as Jon sat across from him, eagerly taking a bite. As soon as it hit his tongue, he suppressed a grimace, and took a moment to study it.

“How old is this bread?” Martin asked, going for as neutral as possible.

“You hate it.” Once again, stated as something Jon was completely certain of.

“Well, hate’s a strong word—”

“But accurate?”

“No!” Martin insisted. “Just…hm.” He tried it again, thinking for a moment. “I think it might be a bit stale, is all. How long have you had it?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said with a shrug. “I really don’t keep track.”

Martin nodded. “Right.” He sighed, taking another bite of the bread despite its being stale. “So…are you going to write to the King, or…?”

“No,” Jon said with a sigh. “No. If he sent you here, then it isn’t like he’s expecting some sort of clarification that I’m coming. Besides, letters take far too long to reach their destination, and you probably have a family back home waiting for you.”

Martin shrugged. “I guess there’s my mum…”

Jon nodded. “Exactly. Best I just go with you.” He paused, thinking a bit. “Should we leave tomorrow?”

This startled Martin a bit. “Don’t you have anyone to say goodbye to? You mentioned you had a friend here?”

Jon chuckled a bit, shaking his head. “Oh, this won’t be the last time I see him. He’s a traveller—he’s probably been farther than I’ll ever go in my life. If he never stops by Bouchard’s kingdom, I’ll be genuinely surprised.” He paused. “I think I will be stopping by to see him before we leave, though. If it’s all the same to you.”

“No, no, go ahead,” Martin said hurriedly. “Really. I wasn’t really given a timeline.”

Jon nodded. “Good to know. Well, then. I take it you’ll be staying the night here?”

“I mean—well, I don’t have to—”

Jon waved a hand, cutting him off. “I have a spare room you can use.”

“Oh.” Well, there was that problem solved. Martin hesitated, looking around the room, when suddenly a thought struck him. “What will happen to all of this?”

Jon shrugged, looking around. “I don’t know. It’s mostly just furniture here. I’ll have no use for it where we’re going.”

“But your books. I saw them, you’ve got dozens. ”

“I’ve read them all, though,” Jon pointed out. “More than once, at least for most of them. The ones I want to take, I will, and the others can go to my friend.”

“Does your friend like books?” Martin asked, realising the question sounded a bit dumb aloud. Of course his friend liked books. Why else would Jon offer to donate his miniature library to him?

Jon chuckled, but not in a teasing sort of way. He looked genuinely amused and almost fond as he replied “yes, he certainly does.”

That next morning, after a few items had been packed into a cloth bag, the two had set off.

The air carried a soft chill as an almost imperceptible mist settled around them, and bright colours streaked the sky as sparse clouds floated gently across the horizon. The ground beneath them crunched with frost as they walked, and tiny pine needles littered the forest floor. There was something so very picturesque about it, and Martin found himself wondering if Jon got to see this every morning. What was it like to walk outside and simply have all of this right at your doorstep? He almost felt jealous, wishing suddenly that he’d been allowed to have an upbringing in a place like this. Though Bouchard’s kingdom was not devoid of captivating scenery, something about the image in front of him filled him with a sort of longing that nothing back home ever had.

“Is it always like this?” Martin asked quietly, almost afraid to break the careful silence.

“Hm?” Jon followed Martin’s gaze, then nodded, a small smile creeping up his face. “Oh. Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Is it not like this where we’re going?”

“No,” Martin admitted. “No, it isn’t.”

Jon frowned a bit. “It’ll be a shame to leave it, then.”

The two kept on walking, the conversation lapsing into silence. Martin considered asking more about Jon’s friend, though he supposed if he was about to meet the man it was sort of an unnecessary question. Besides, the forest was still lovely—though the mist was beginning to fade and the sky was beginning to return to its normal blue gradient—and Martin felt that further breaking the silence might break the now-fragile scene around him.

Jon’s friend, as it turned out, seemed to live in a small cottage, just outside of what looked from Martin’s vantage point to be a village. There was a sign hanging from just above the door, though it was heavily weathered, and whatever was supposed to be written on it was long faded by sunlight. The windows were open, displaying high stacks of books, most of which were also faded and worn.

“This is a bookshop,” Martin said, the realisation dawning on him suddenly.

Jon nodded. “That’s why I’m giving my books to him. They’ll end up somewhere better used than collecting dust on a bookshelf.” He pushed open the door, and Martin followed him inside, feeling awkward at the thought of standing outside to wait.

The bookshop was warmly lit by candles, though Martin figured they’d probably be extinguished soon enough since it was, by then, almost completely light outside. There was a man behind the counter, and Martin immediately noticed just how pale he was. He also noticed that the man’s long, dark hair appeared to have been coloured by ink, or perhaps charcoal. Martin would have been fooled, except that the man had done a very poor job of it, and his natural hair colour showed through in random spots near the crown of his head. The man had seemed bored, leaning over the counter with a hand propping up his head, though his expression changed almost immediately when he saw Jon enter.

“Jon,” he greeted warmly. “Nice to see you here. Finally got bored of what you had in that dusty old cottage of yours?”

“If only, Gerry,” Jon said, shaking his head. “How have you been? I don’t think I’ve seen you since you went off to find that last one. What was it?”

“ Ex Altiora, ” the man, Gerry, muttered. “Not as bad as some I’ve seen, thankfully. Though you know Michael, over in the village?”

Jon sighed. “ Which one? ”

Gerry chuckled. “Right. Crew. Not my partner—I don’t think he’s ever tried to buy a book here, actually. He was pretty interested. Offered a lot for it, actually.”

“And did you…?”

Gerry shook his head. “No. You know those things are better burned.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, nodding towards Martin. “So. Who’s he, then?”

Martin flushed a bit, raising a hand in a half-wave. “Hi. I’m, uh, Martin.”

“He’s actually the reason why I’m here,” Jon admitted.

Gerry paused, narrowing his eyes, before a look of shock washed over his face. “ Damn, Jon, you’re actually getting married?”

“What?” Martin felt his cheeks warm, and he suddenly found himself trying to look anywhere but Jon. He failed, once, and saw that Jon’s entire face was flushed deeply, and he was glaring at Gerry.

“No! No, of course not!”

Gerry frowned. “Alright. But you didn’t forget our deal?”

“Never,” Jon assured him. “But, no, I’m not getting married. Actually, I’m…I’m leaving.”

Gerry stared at him. “ Leaving? ” He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning a bit closer to Jon. “You’re sure this isn’t a romance thing?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Jon snapped. He sighed, before continuing. “I’ve been asked to become an…Archivist. For King Bouchard.”

Gerry’s face drained of what little colour it’d had, his eyes wide with concern. “Jon—”

“I know,” Jon admitted. “He isn’t known for being the most… kind man. But what choice do I have? If I don’t go, he’ll probably go after you—”

“Oh, he’s already after me.”

“—or, hell, maybe he’ll do something to Martin for not bringing me back.”

Martin paused, not having even considered that possibility. Would King Bouchard be angry if he didn’t bring Jon back? He knew Peter would be, at least. 

Gerry sighed, seeming to realise Jon was right. “ Archivist, though. That’s just…damn. So that’s it? You’re just… going? ”

“You’re really the only thing keeping me here,” Jon pointed out. “And you’re always travelling. Surely you’ll be able to visit?”

“Well— yeah, probably,” Gerry admitted. “I mean, I’d have to be pretty covert about the whole thing, but…” he sighed. “You’re really leaving.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” Gerry agreed. “I wish you didn’t, either.” He paused. “How long until you’re gone?”

“As long as I’m in this bookshop.”

Gerry sucked in a breath. “Jon…”

“I know,” Jon sighed. “It’s short notice for me, too. I only found out last night. But I wanted to get a chance to let you know what was happening, and, well. Say goodbye.”

“Well don’t put it like that, Jon!” Gerry protested. “God, come here.” He circled the counter, and Jon stood up, the two exchanging a quick embrace.

“Write every damn day, you hear me?”

Jon nodded. “Of course. Make sure to sell the books in my house?”

Gerry pulled back slightly from the hug. “You want me to sell them?”

“Well I can’t very well bring them.”

Gerry paused, considering. “I guess not.”

“I don’t even read them,” Jon assured him. “They’ll be better off with someone who will.”

“Yeah, alright, I guess you’re right.” Gerry sighed. “So. This is it, then?”

“Well—” Jon paused. “I was also here for a book.”

“I knew it,” Gerry said, his tone laced with mock offence. “You never even cared about me.”

“Never,” Jon agreed. “No, I’m here for a book on, uh…well, Martin said that Archivists are somewhat omniscient. Does that sound familiar?”

Gerry nodded. “Sounds about right, yeah. Is that what you’re looking to read up on?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Jon said with a nod.

“Are you kidding? I’m not going to see you again until I can sneak into a whole Kingdom! If you need something from here, just ask.” Gerry smiled, clapping him once on the shoulder. “I’ve got something in the back somewhere, let me grab that.”

And with that, Gerry left the room, leaving Jon and Martin alone.

“So,” Martin began awkwardly. “That’s your friend, huh?”

Jon nodded. “Um…look, Martin about the whole—”

“Marriage thing? Don’t worry about it,” Martin assured him, even though in that present moment he himself was very much worrying about it. “I know how people can be. I think Gerry would like my friend Tim, actually. He’s about the same.”

“I see,” Jon said, relief on his face. “Well…good. Um…have a look around, I suppose. If there’s anything you might like to read…” he gestured around the shop, and Martin nodded, taking his advice and looking through the shelves.

One cover in particular caught his eye—a thin, deep red binding with faded words printed on the side. They seemed to be in another language, and combined with the fading of the words it was hard to discern what exactly they said. Martin stared for another moment at the book, before tentatively plucking it off of the shelf.

The cover, like most of the books in the shop, was tattered slightly, and the pages were stained yellow by time. The binding felt weak and worn, like flipping through it too fast may rip out a page. Martin made sure to handle it gently as he opened to the first passage, which was, to his surprise, in English.

The tale—for he immediately recognised it as a narrative poem—seemed to be of two lovers and their struggle to stay together. As he flipped through the pages, each one detailed a graphic loss that the two were forced to endure, be it of a friend, family member, and, on the last page, one another. Something about it, despite its desolate tone, intrigued him, though, and he carried it further to the counter. He looked at Jon, who glanced at the book.

“This one?”

Martin nodded, watching Jon as he studied the leather binding. Had his hair always fallen into his face that way, making him some beautiful mix between messy and put–together? Had he— wait. Martin shook his head once, clearing the thought. Where was he going with that? He’d been brought to escort Jon. He’d been kidding when he’d compared it to the romantic knighthood tales. He wasn’t here to fall in love with Jon. He was here to bring him somewhere and then, well…

And then, what? Would they just…not see each other again? He tried not to be put off by the thought. He’d only just met the man, honestly! What was he doing, imagining the two of them had any sort of further relationship ahead of them?

…He was very pretty, though.

Jon opened the book, flipping through the pages. As he did, a frown etched its way onto his face, and Martin felt a bit worried by the sight.

“Jon? Is everything alright?”

Jon looked up from the book, something in his gaze changing a bit as he saw Martin. “I…yes. It’s just, well…I’ve never been one for poetry.”

“Oh,” Martin said, shifting a bit awkwardly. “Well, I really enjoy it. A–actually, I—”

“Found your book!” Gerry’s voice interjected, breaking through whatever strange feeling had settled over the room. He paused at the doorway, gaze flicking between them. “Uh…sorry, was I interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Jon said hurriedly, just as Martin was rapidly shaking his head.

“Right,” Gerry said slowly. “Well, like I said, I found a book for you.” He held out a large volume to Jon, who took it carefully. The cover was a dark green colour, and words were etched into the spine in what looked like gold—though Martin assumed it wasn’t real. Nobody could afford something like that.

“Got this one from old Lady Robinson,”  Gerry said, his expression mirthful but betraying something softer, more sentimental. “Strange to think that she’s dead now.”

“You knew her?” Jon asked.

“More than I like to remember,” Gerry admitted. “Anyway, this book probably has everything you’ll need to know.” He smiled, pushing the book further towards Jon. “Don’t worry about payment—you get a free pass today.” He paused, his gaze floating to Martin. “And the same goes for your friend. Anything for the man keeping this idiot safe.”

“I’m not an idiot! ” Jon protested.

“You are, but I love you anyway.” Gerry smiled. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Just because you’ve got a new companion doesn’t mean you get to forget your best friend.”

“You say that like I could forget you, whether I wanted to or not.” Jon returned his smile, moving to the door. “Goodbye, Gerry.”

“Until we meet again, Jon.”

And with that, Jon and Martin were back outside, books in their respective travel bags. The sky was fully blue now, and the mist and frost were both gone, the only trace of them left being the wet grass below their feet.

“So,” Jon began. “How far to go?”

Martin sighed, pulling out the map from his bag. “A long way, Jon. Are you ready?”

Jon hesitated, before nodding once. “I think I am.”

So, with no further deliberation, the two set off towards the mountains, their steps synchronised and their wills dwarfed by the journey ahead of them.

It was about one week later that Martin realised he was falling in love with Jon.

They’d been travelling constantly every day, only stopping for food and sleep. The task was clearly far more daunting to Jon, who Martin could tell hadn’t spent much time travelling in his life. Martin tried to make things easier on him; walking slower, making sure they stopped for food as often as possible, and letting him sleep in when he needed to. But Jon seemed determined, only really stopping to rest once Martin insisted. It was almost exhausting, just trying to get him to take care of himself. But Jon, to his credit, had a breaking point—and that point seemed to be Martin’s concern shining through just enough to make Jon realise how important it was to Martin.

Over the days, Martin had enjoyed Jon’s company more and more, and it seemed the feeling was mutual. Martin had been a bit worried at first—Jon hadn’t seemed to appreciate Martin’s being there when they’d first met. But then, Martin supposed that he had shown up at an untimely hour, uninvited and informing Jon that he had to leave everything he knew and loved behind. Of course Jon had been irritated—really, Martin wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d been livid. He knew that he himself might have been. Still, Jon didn’t seem to have the same reservations as before, and the two ended up getting on quite well. They seemed to never run out of things to talk about, and when they weren’t talking, the silence they lapsed into was comfortable.

And throughout it all, some pervasive feeling at the back of his mind had made his heart leap like a young deer every time Jon smiled at him, or said something thoughtful, or even sat closer to Martin than normal. So, yes, he was unfortunately very in love with Jon.

The worst part wasn’t even that he thought it was unrequited.

He was almost certain—perhaps from the way Jon looked at him, or the way he got just as fidgety around Martin as Martin did around him—that it wasn’t.

All of this came crashing down on him one afternoon, while the two were walking—and at first, the revelation had been something that, while inconvenient, he could worry about later. They would finish this quest, and then Martin could deal with all of the feelings that were suddenly becoming a problem.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t that kind, and when the two checked into the inn that evening, there were predictably only single-bed rooms left. They didn’t even bother arguing about who would take it—they’d been travelling for too long that day to even bother. Besides, Martin had reasoned, it was only one night. He could be normal about it, couldn’t he?

As it so happened, he could not.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, all that Martin could think about was the fact that he was currently sharing a bed with the man he was, unfortunately, very much in love with.

They’d left a good bit of space between the two of them, though Martin wanted so badly to close it, to wrap Jon in his arms and never let go. He didn’t, of course—just because he had a sneaking suspicion that Jon returned his feelings didn’t mean that he definitely did. And what was more, everyone had different boundaries. Jon might not like touch much. He’d hugged Gerry back at the bookshop, sure, but Martin assumed they’d known each other for years, at least. He’d known Jon for a week.

One week. It felt like so much longer. Was one week enough time to fall in love? Or was that only enough time for infatuation? Where was the line drawn between love and simply romantic admiration? Between romantic admiration, and simply admiration in its purest form? When had it changed for him? He’d admired Jon the moment he met him—when had that changed?

The bookshop, something in the back of his mind whispered, and Martin wondered if he dared to admit that it was right. They’d only known each other for a few hours then, but something in Martin knew that that moment was when he’d started falling for Jon.

Christ, he was in deep trouble.

“Martin?” Jon’s quiet voice interrupted Martin’s thoughts. “Are you still awake?”

“Yeah,” Martin breathed. “Can’t sleep either?”

Jon sighed, turning over to face Martin, who turned over as well.

“No,” Jon admitted. “I know I should. We’re going to be walking all day tomorrow.”

“But…?” Martin prompted.

“My mind is too… loud, ” Jon said with a sigh. “There’s just so much going on. I can’t think, let alone sleep.”

“I get what you mean,” Martin sighed. “Is it about the whole Archivist thing?”

“Partly,” Jon admitted, though he didn’t elaborate. “What about you?”

Musings on love, specifically towards you. “Everything, I guess.”

“How specific.”

“Oh, shut up.” Martin sighed, smiling despite his words. Jon really did look lovely in this lighting. It wouldn’t be difficult for Martin to lean over and kiss him—not that he was going to, of course, just that—

“Martin.”

Martin blinked once, focusing once again on Jon. “Yeah?”

Jon hesitated, seeming to be grasping for words. “Um…have you ever been in love before?”

I am now. “Yeah, I—I think so.” Martin paused. “Have you?”

Jon nodded. “Yes, I…I think I have.” He looked back up at Martin. For a moment the two just stared at one another. And then, as if some sort of unspoken agreement had passed between them, they shifted towards each other, immediately wrapping their arms tightly around one another.

Martin could barely believe what was happening. This all felt so fast . And yet he could hardly bring himself to care, because right then he was about to fall asleep holding Jon, and at that moment little else mattered to him.

“I think I might be falling in love with you,” Martin whispered, just in case Jon needed to hear it said aloud.

Jon nodded. “I think I…I think I may be with you, as well.”

The rest of the journey was a blur of tentative displays of affection and discovering of boundaries. Every moment felt like they were learning something new about who the other was, but also about what it was that they were building together. From their first kiss under a rocky outcrop on a rainy evening to their first proper “I love you”, just as they could see the kingdom in the distance and realised that their journey was nearly over.

It went without saying that when they’d entered King Bouchard’s castle, Martin had immediately requested to be assigned to help Jon settle in as the new Archivist. He’d attracted the surprise of both King Bouchard and Peter—who, at the moment, seemed to be married, or at the very least in one of their happy periods—but they had obliged, and soon enough Martin was not only allowed to see Jon every day, but required to.

And for months, it went on like that.

Jon and Martin spent nearly every day together, just as in love as ever, with Peter and King Bouchard none the wiser. It was easy—happy, even, despite their hidden relationship. They knew that Jon was, as the Archivist, meant to focus on his duties, as well as that Peter preferred for his knights to not have too many attachments. But they were far too happy to care—though not too happy to be completely careless. Time spent kissing or simply lying next to each other was always spent with doors locked or when their adversaries were otherwise occupied, and they always made sure to make it seem like they were simply complying with their respective duties. They knew that their happiness was fragile, and they were not keen to let it be lost.

Then, one day, a familiar face arrived.

They’d been walking, the two of them; the weather had been beautiful that day, and they’d figured it was a nice enough day for a stroll in the gardens outside the castle. They’d been idly chatting together, when suddenly they’d noticed a figure in the mass of trees on the border.

Martin stopped walking when they came into view. They were a bit far away, but something about them looked familiar, almost like he’d met them before. Still, he wasn’t sure how to pinpoint who exactly they were.

Jon, however, immediately recognised the figure.

“ Gerry! ”

A wave of recognition hit Martin as the pieces clicked into place. He did recognise them! He supposed the poorly coloured black hair should have given it away, but that hardly mattered now. After making sure that nobody was watching, the two rushed forward to meet him, though Martin’s pace slowed as he recognised the look of concern on his face.

“Where have you been? ” Jon asked, immediately wrapping his arms around his friend.

“Tracking down those damn books,” Gerry muttered, though his face betrayed relief as he returned the hug. “Looks like you’ve been thriving, though,” he added, his tone clearly facetious.

Jon sighed. “You were right to be worried. It’s…it’s difficult, to say the least.”

Gerry pulled back from the hug. “How?”

“Well,” Jon began. “It’s a bit exhausting, knowing everything.” Martin figured he was probably going for levity, though his voice was weary, and for what was hardly the first time, Martin could see how very exhausted he looked. Something in Martin’s heart twisted painfully at the sight, and he stepped forward to place a hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon glanced back at him gratefully, before turning back to Gerry.

“You aren’t just here to visit though, are you?”

Gerry shook his head. “I wish I were. Look, I don’t know how to say this, but I think I might have accidentally given Martin a Leitner.”

Martin tilted his head. “Leitner?”

“Remember when we met, how I was telling Jon about some cursed books that I needed to burn? That’s what these are.” Gerry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That book you got, Martin. The poem about the forbidden lovers. I was looking through my records, books I’d had here and—look, it doesn’t matter. I made a serious mistake, and…well, you don’t still have it, do you?”

Martin nodded. “Just upstairs. But, wait—cursed books? What exactly does it do? Nothing’s happened to me from reading it.”

“Well…” Gerry trailed off. “If my records are accurate—and they usually are—it sort of works almost like a…love spell, I guess?”

Martin felt his blood go cold, and he turned to Jon, whose face had gone slack. Surely what they’d built hadn’t been… fabricated by some book. But, Martin supposed, he had fallen in love with Jon in the bookshop. And it all had moved rather quickly…

“I’m assuming based on your reactions that you’ve probably seen the effects of it,” Gerry said slowly. “And I think I know where your thoughts are going. But if it’s any consolation, it doesn’t just…create love out of nothing.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, glancing anxiously between Gerry and Martin.

“I mean that it’s more like…” Gerry paused. “I guess you could say it just…takes existing feelings and sort of…makes them stronger, I guess? Like, if you already sort of liked someone, then instead of taking months to fall head over heels, it only takes you a few days.” Martin felt himself immediately relax a bit at the words, and he could see Jon do the same.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Martin sighed. “I was really worried I was going to have to re-evaluate my relationship.”

Gerry shook his head. “I mean, I don’t think so?” He shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I’m super happy for you guys. Also, Jon…”

“ Yes, I remember our deal,” Jon snapped, colour rising in his cheeks. “So, this book—”

“Nice pivot.”

“—we need to bring it to you?”

Gerry nodded. “I really am sorry, Martin. I know you probably liked it—I mean, you kept it, didn’t you?—but these books are dangerous. As much as I don’t like it either, they need to be burned.”

Martin nodded, ignoring the slight pang of loss at the idea. “I understand.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gerry replied. “If it makes you feel any better, I brought another sappy romance for you. And don’t worry—I checked this one properly.” He reached into his bag, drawing out a cloth-bound book and handing it to Martin. “This one’s about a pair of women who, unlike your current one, actually end up getting a happy ending. Thought you might enjoy it?”

Martin took the book, studying the cover as a small smile crept up his face. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said softly.

“I wanted to,” Gerry assured him. “Now, I really hate to rush you, but the sooner that Leitner is burned, the better, so…”

“Right! Of course.” Jon nodded, turning to Martin. “Shall we, then?”

“Don’t you want to stay here with Gerry?” Martin asked. “You two have a lot to catch up on.”

“I do,” Jon admitted. “But…I think we might need to talk? I mean—even if it’s not completely fabricated by a book, I think it might be good to maybe discuss…everything.” He paused, turning to Gerry. “Sorry, is that—?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gerry assured him, waving a dismissive hand. “Go talk it out. I did sort of drop that on you two without warning, now that I think about it. Sorry about that.”

“There wasn’t really a better way to do it,” Jon pointed out.

“But we appreciate the care,” Martin added.

“Of course,” Jon agreed. “So…we’ll be back in a bit, then?”

Gerry nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

“It was at the bookshop, wasn’t it?”

Jon looked up at the question, tilting his head slightly. “What?”

“When you…you know. Started to fall in love with me. It was at the bookshop.”

“I suppose it was,” Jon admitted. “That was when I opened the book. A–and for you? Was it…?”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed with a sigh. “It was.”

“Right.” Jon paused. “So…is that going to be a…a thing now?”

“A-ha!” Martin muttered as he recognised the dark red binding, plucking the book off of the shelf just as he had so many months ago. “I mean,” he began, turning to Jon. “Do you want it to be?”

“No,” Jon admitted. “I don’t.”

“Good,” Martin agreed. “Neither do I.”

“I mean—it was based on real emotion.”

“Yep.”

“Just…sped it up, a bit.”

“Really just enhanced it, if anything.”

“It would have happened eventually, even without it.”

“Exactly!”

“So we’re…normal?”

“Normal as can be.”

The two were silent for a moment, before a soft laugh escaped Martin’s lips, soon evolving into full laughter which was joined by Jon’s own. The situation felt so ridiculous, somehow. Anticlimactic, almost. They had been truly expecting to find out that their relationship had been based on the influence of a cursed book, and while it certainly had been helped along by it, it really had just been them all along.

“I love you,” Martin said quietly when the laughter subsided.

“I love you, too,” Jon echoed, smiling at him. “Now, should we get this book to Gerry before it causes any more confusion?”

“Definitely,” Martin agreed. “I think he’ll be glad that—” he paused suddenly, cut off by the sound of quickly receding footsteps.

Oh.

“The door,” Jon whispered.

“Do you think…?”

“No, of course not,” Jon said, though his voice was unsure. “It was…it was just a servant.” His tone turned relieved, and he visibly relaxed. For a moment, Martin was confused, before he realised it must have been something Jon Knew.

“Oh,” Martin breathed, relief washing over him as well. “Okay. That…that’s good. They probably don’t even know who we were. Or—or that we’re not supposed to be together. We’re…we’re okay.”

Jon nodded. “We’re okay,” he echoed, and the surety in his voice left no room for doubt in Martin’s mind. They would be alright.

The next morning, a loud knock at the door startled Martin from sleep, causing him to bolt upright as he looked around for the source of the sound. When it became clear that it had, in fact, just been the door, he relaxed, getting up to see who it was.

He’d been expecting a servant, or perhaps even Jon, but to his surprise it was Peter. He was staring at Martin with an unreadable expression, and as soon as the door was open he strode into the room casually as anything. Martin nearly rolled his eyes at the pure confidence of it, even though Peter technically was his superior—married to the King or not.

“Good morning, Martin,” Peter greeted jovially. “I hope you slept well?”

“I did,” Martin said slowly. “May I ask why you’re here?”

“Well, I wanted to have a chat with you.” Peter smiled, and something in Martin’s gut twisted with dread. Surely this wasn’t what he thought it was.

“You didn’t…I mean, you usually call me to the throne room.”

“Yes, well,” Peter began, rolling his eyes. “Elias is in one of his moods. Don’t want to catch him while he’s angry.”

“He’s upset with you?”

“Oh, not me.” Peter’s smile widened. “With his Archivist .”

Martin’s blood ran cold, and he felt his legs grow weak. It took everything in him to keep a straight face as he asked, “and why is that?”

“Well,” Peter fixed Martin with an almost cold stare. “I thought you might know something about that.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, come now, Martin.” Peter’s smile didn’t waver, and something about it made Martin feel more afraid than if Peter had scowled and raised his voice. “Don’t lie to me. Not here. Not now.”

Martin stepped backward. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Peter chuckled. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll just come out and say it. I caught wind of a rumour, you see. About you and King Bouchard’s Archivist. Now, I knew you two were close, of course. But Martin, think about this. You know that I don’t like for my knights to have connections like these. They make you vulnerable—prone to the worst kind of destruction.”

“If this is you trying to tell me that love is a weakness—”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” Peter interrupted. “People will do anything for love. It’s one of our greatest strengths. But it also makes us fallible.” His smile fell, and his gaze travelled to somewhere beyond Martin. “Being in love, you see, is like having a demon’s voice in your ear. Being so devoted to a person gives them immense power over you. Power to change you, to control you. Reverence like that, putting someone on a pedestal—oh, the things you’ll do for them.”

“He’s not—it isn’t like that—”

“Do you know that?” Peter narrowed his eyes. “You’ve known him for a few months now. How long does it take a person to show their true colours, do you think? Days? Months? Years? Who’s to say?” His gaze turned warm, and once again he smiled at Martin. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

Martin glared at him. “You’re doing a poor job of it.”

Peter tilted his head, before nodding once. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He turned towards the door, placing a hand on the handle before glancing back at Martin. “I’m not heartless—we’ve agreed to let you two have a moment to say goodbye. But after that, you two are not to see each other again. Is that clear?”

Martin suddenly felt the weight of dread in his stomach. “You can’t. Peter, you can’t .”

“Can’t I?” Peter asked. “I told you once, Martin. I only mean to protect you.” And with that, he was gone, leaving Martin alone.

That evening, Martin was escorted into the throne room, where Jon was waiting for him. The two immediately caught each other in an embrace, holding on so tightly that Martin almost thought they might never let go.

“They found out,” Martin whispered.

“I know,” Jon replied. “I know. God, Martin, this is all my fault—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare do that. We’re not—this shouldn’t have to be our fault. We deserve to be happy. They just—they just want to—”

“I know,” Jon interrupted softly. He paused for a moment, seeming to think.

Then, “We could leave.”

Martin pulled back slightly to stare at him. “ What? ”

“I’m serious,” Jon insisted. “Look, I don’t know where we’d go. Maybe back home. My home, I mean. But—” he sighed. “Look, I’m not going to just accept this. Whatever plan they’ve got for us, I’m damn sure by now that I don’t want to be a part of it.” He looked up at Martin. “If I did leave. Would you go with me?”

Martin didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

“Tonight, then.” Jon decided. “We’ll meet in the gardens, where we met Gerry.”

Martin nodded. “And we’ll go back to your village?”

“If that’s where you want to go.”

Martin chuckled a bit. “Where you go, I go. Besides—I do remember the scenery there being lovely.” He paused for a moment, suddenly remembering something. “I don’t have my map.”

“That’s alright,” Jon replied. “I Know the way.”

Martin was opening his mouth to reply, before the doors opened, revealing Peter and King Bouchard.

“Time’s up, you two,” Peter said, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Say your final goodbyes.”

Martin looked at Jon, hoping his expression properly conveyed his thoughts. Be convincing.

“Goodbye, Martin,” Jon whispered, and for a moment Martin could almost believe from his tone that this really was the end.

“Goodbye, Jon.” Martin echoed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It wasn’t a goodbye, Martin reminded himself. It was the opposite of a goodbye.

It was a beginning. It was a promise .

That night, he found Jon quickly enough as they stepped into the moonlit forest outside of the castle grounds. The two didn’t exchange any words for fear of being heard—and a quick nod and a clasping of hands was enough to say all that they needed to. They were getting out tonight, and they were getting out together.

Martin let out a deep breath as he closed the book, slowly lowering it to his lap. He turned to Jon, who was reading a book of his own, staring for a moment before Jon looked up, putting a small leaf of paper in his book and setting it aside.

The two had settled into a small house on the edge of the village. Not Jon’s—it was risky enough staying in the village where he’d lived before, so staying in that house? Practically out of the question. It was small, but comfortable, and Martin found that he quite preferred the almost-boring domestic life to their old one of hushed voices and locked doors.

“Did you finish it, then?” Jon asked.

Martin nodded, his eyes wide. “That twist at the end, Jon.”

“Was I right?”

“ So right.”

Jon smiled. “And?”

“And you guessed the end exactly.” Martin sighed, leaning back a bit in his chair and crossing his arms. “You’re certain you didn’t Know it?”

“Completely certain,” Jon replied with a smug grin.

Martin shook his head in disbelief. “I refuse to accept that. You obviously— ”

A knock at the door cut Martin off, and he immediately turned his gaze to the door.

“Is that Gerry and Michael?” He asked. “They’re here a bit early.”

Jon shrugged. “Maybe. Michael’s never had the most straightforward sense of time. Though he usually has Gerry to keep him in check…”

“They probably got excited,” Martin said with a shrug. He nodded towards the door. “Well, go answer it, then.”

“What? It’s your turn!” Jon protested, earning him an eye-roll from Martin.

“Alright, whatever,” he replied, though his tone held no malice. He stood up, heading to the door and opening it. When he saw who stood behind it, whoever, his blood ran cold.

“ Peter. ”

“What?” In moments, Jon was at Martin’s side, staring down the man grinning smugly in the doorway.

“Hello, Martin. Archivist.”

“Get out,” Jon snapped. “You aren’t welcome here, Peter.”

“Aren’t I?” Peter asked. “Alright, then. I suppose I’ll just send in the knights I brought.”

“ What? ” Martin stepped back. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Martin,” Peter said with a sigh. “You know why I’m here. Elias wants his Archivist. I knew he wouldn’t exactly come back willingly, so I brought backup in case I needed to be more… persuasive. ”

Jon glanced at Martin, panic in his gaze. “What do you want?”

“I think I’ve made very clear—”

“I mean what will you take?” Jon snapped. “What can we offer to make you leave?”

“Nothing,” Peter said, not even hesitating. “If it makes you feel better, I really don’t care whether you two stay here or not. But, well. My husband has made his feelings very clear, and I’ll be fulfilling his wishes.”

Martin glared at him. “You won’t have him. God, I am so damn tired of you two thinking—”

“Martin.” Jon placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder. He sighed, looking up at Peter. “I’ll go.”

“ Jon! ”

“Excellent,” Peter said, a content smile on his face. “You’re making the right choice.”

“Yes, whatever. Just…give us a moment?” Jon asked, glancing back at Martin.

Peter considered his words for a moment, before nodding. “I suppose so. But you’ll have one of my knights watching you, in case you try to make any daring escapes like before. It truly was an oversight of ours, really—though I suppose you’ve made your fair share of oversights, what with settling here.”

“Just get out,” Jon muttered, glaring back at Peter.

Peter nodded, stepping outside. A moment later, a knight walked in, stopping next to the door and shutting it.

Martin turned to Jon, cheeks burning with fury. “What are you doing, Jon?”

“If I don’t go, they’ll attack as soon as he gives the word!” Jon snapped. “You know that.”

“They won’t hurt you,” Martin pointed out. “The King needs you alive. ”

“Of course they won’t hurt me, Martin!” Jon exclaimed. “But what about you? I don’t trust them to make exceptions for you just because you used to be one of them.”

“Actually,” a muffled voice interjected, stopping Martin from snapping back. “We totally would.”

Martin paused, hope suddenly rising in his chest. He knew that voice.

“ Tim? ”

Martin watched in disbelief as the knight at the door took off their helmet, revealing that it was, in fact, his friend underneath. “I—you’re here?”

Tim nodded. “Look, we don’t have much time. I want to help you guys. Jon, you’re making the right call—if you stay now, Peter’s going after Martin. But,” he continued, “you don’t have to stay there. Peter’s going to have you under extra security, but lucky for you, most people here like me—and, more importantly, like Martin. I can get everyone on board with getting you out—but this time, don’t get caught.” He sighed. “Look, I’ll give it to you blunt—it was a stupid move going back here. And next time, you’re going to have to go somewhere else. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Martin breathed, taking all of it in. “You’re…you’re really going to do this?”

“Of course ,” Tim said. “You deserve to have this, Martin.”

Martin glanced at Jon, who nodded, hope in his gaze.

“Will you be alright?” Jon asked quietly. Martin knew that his answer wouldn’t change anything—and he knew Jon knew that—so he simply nodded, though he figured they both knew he didn’t mean it.

“I’ll be waiting,” Martin insisted. “If it’s you, I’ll wait as long as you need.”

Jon nodded, moving forward to wrap Martin in a tight hug. Martin returned it, burying his face into Jon’s shoulder.

It would be alright. Martin had to believe that. After all, it was just like before.

Not a goodbye, but a promise.

Chapter Text

“I think we should redecorate in here.”

Jon looked up from the book he was reading, looking at Martin curiously. “Hm?”

“We should redecorate,” Martin repeated. “I mean, it’s kind of sad in here, isn’t it?”

“It was used for murders,” Jon pointed out.

“That’s only a theory!” Martin protested.

Jon paused, unsure if he should tell Martin exactly what the Eye had so helpfully shown him. Unfortunately, just as he’d decided on “no”, his silence apparently had communicated enough.

“Really?” Martin sighed. “Well, great, then. Fine. All the more reason.”

“You think we should…override the history of the place?” Jon asked.

“Sure,” Martin agreed. “I don’t know. It just feels a bit depressing. And, well…we’ve had enough depressing things in our lives up until now. I guess it feels like a transformation of this place will make it better. You know?”

Jon paused. He supposed he knew what Martin meant. The safehouse really did feel a bit empty, and the idea of making it something more their own felt like maybe they were somehow reclaiming more than just a house. Like maybe they were on track to reclaiming their lives.

“Alright,” Jon agreed. “Where do we start, then?”

Martin smiled, almost like he hadn’t been expecting Jon to agree. Jon returned the expression, hoping to convey just how he felt. Martin was right—it was a transformation of sorts. It wasn’t about the safehouse, not really.

“There’s a souvenir shop in the village,” Martin suggested. “It’s mostly throw pillows, mugs, things like that, but maybe that’s the kind of thing we’re looking for.”

“Alright,” Jon said, standing up. “Let’s go, then.”

Martin stared at him. “What, right now?”

“Why not?” Jon shrugged. “It’s a nice day. We might even see some of those cows you told me about.”

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Martin agreed. “You need to see those cows, Jon. It’s a must.”

Jon chuckled. “Well, then. Lead the way.”

The countryside was, as Jon had predicted on the drive there, impossibly peaceful. Being surrounded by the open fields and the clear air, it was almost difficult to recall the constant bustle of the London streets. Jon was reminded of growing up near the coast in Bournemouth, but even those days hardly compared to what Jon was somehow living now.

That day in particular had been especially beautiful—the sun was, for once, finally peeking out from behind the clouds, and a light breeze drifted along as the pair walked, almost as if keeping pace with them. It was so very picturesque that Jon could hardly believe that this was his life now—and what was more, it was his life with Martin. They weren’t just here, they were here together, in both the physical and metaphorical sense of the word. This was theirs to have, after everything.

How did I get so lucky? Jon wondered fondly.

“Jon,” Martin said, interrupting his reverie. “Jon, look.”

Jon lifted his gaze to where Martin was gesturing, and oh.

There, standing in the field, was about fifty cows, all covered head to toe in shaggy brown fur. Jon stood there, gaping at them as they lazily walked about.

“So,” Martin asked. “Do you believe me now?”

“Yes,” Jon replied. “Good lord. Those are…those are good cows.”

Martin let out a short laugh at that. “‘Good Cows’?”

Jon flushed a bit. “Well—they are.”

Martin shook his head, a small smile creeping up his face. “Yeah. They are.” He sighed, turning back to the cows with a fond expression. “‘Good Cows’.”

“Good Cows,” Jon agreed. He looked up at Martin, taking his hand. “So. The shop?”

“Right,” Martin said quickly, turning back to the road. “To the shop.”

The two resumed walking, hand in hand, and once again Jon marvelled at just how lucky he’d gotten to end up here. He was in the Scottish countryside on a lovely day, watching Good Cows on the way to buy furniture with the love of his life.

For the first time in so long, everything felt perfect.

Chapter Text

Martin knew Jon hadn’t meant to Ask the question.

He really hadn’t—Martin was certain of it. Because that wasn’t him, wasn’t Jon. Jon cared about Martin, and about Martin’s privacy, and he would never intentionally compel Martin.

The two had been next to each other on the couch, closer than Jon had expected, considering they still hadn’t talked about what exactly they were at the moment. They’d been sharing a bed for three nights, and it’d been clear that there was something that needed to be discussed. But still, they remained in some sort of limbo, dancing around each other but always remaining just barely out of reach—an excruciating distance, by Martin’s standards.

Until Jon turned to Martin one day, eyes filled with a sort of forlorn curiosity. “ Why do you stay? ”

And though Martin would have replied willingly, probably would have said just as much if not more if he’d been replying without the Eye’s assistance, the words were ripped out of him, far too candid and surprising even him, before he could stop them.

“Because I love you, Jon. Because despite how incredibly self destructive it was, I fell in love with you and now I would follow you anywhere. Because I don’t know who I am without someone to essentially tie myself to, someone to care for, and you need a lot of caring , Jon. Because I think that I can help you, that I can fix you, even though thinking of the word itself makes me feel guilty. But more than that, it’s because I trust you. You could have tried to compel me, or could have taken advantage of the things the Eye has shown you about me. But you don’t, because you care about me. I trust you, Jon, and I love you, and I stay because I’m afraid to ever be away from you again.”

Jon stared at Martin in horror as the words finished. “I didn’t mean to,” he said immediately, panic in his voice. “Martin, I’m so sorry— “

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Martin muttered, curling a bit inward on himself to try to alleviate just how exposed he felt. He knew Jon hadn’t tried to do it. But he’d forgotten just how awful of an experience it was.

“No, it’s not. I should have—“

“Should have what , Jon?” Martin snapped. Jon flinched, and Martin immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He sighed, continuing more softly, “you didn’t try to. I know that.”

Jon hesitated. “I still—“

“Nope.” Martin shook his head. “No ‘I’m a monster’.” Then, going for levity, he added, “We’re nice to my Jon in this household.”

Jon’s lips quirked up a bit at that. “‘Your’ Jon?”

Martin paused, feeling as if he was effectively going through the five stages of grief in the span of one second. “ Ah .”

“You, ah…you did just say you loved me.” Jon said hesitantly, as if afraid to mention the compulsion’s effects.

Martin took a deep breath, looking anywhere but Jon. “I did,” he admitted.

“And was it…I mean, did you mean it?”

“Can you even lie under compulsion?” Martin mumbled, his cheeks burning. Christ, he felt like he was back in secondary school again. He wasn’t a teenager, so why the hell did he feel like he was confessing to some boy in his English or Maths class?

“No,” Jon admitted. “So you… oh. ”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Jon began, his voice nervous but matter-of-fact, “I love you too.”

Martin turned to look at Jon sharply, his brain suddenly malfunctioning. “You what? ”

Jon gave him an almost indignant look. “What? You just told me you loved me. Shouldn’t I be allowed to say it back?”

“I—well—hm.” Martin paused for a moment. Then, softly, “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I mean it, Martin!” Jon insisted. “After all that we’ve seen, the one thing you refuse to believe isn’t Jane Prentiss or Michael, but that I actually love you?”

Martin didn’t know how to reply to that. Jon wasn’t wrong—and Martin got the feeling that he hadn’t needed to Know anything to know that—but it still felt odd hearing it all said aloud.

“I saw Jane Prentiss,” Martin protested weakly.

Jon sighed, shifting closer to Martin and resting his head on his shoulder. “Then I’ll make sure you see this, too. Alright?”

Martin nodded, his eyes trained on Jon, who was looking up at him with the kind of fond expression that Martin had never dared to hope would be turned towards him.

He knew that they’d have to talk about everything he’d said moments ago—there had been quite a bit in there that probably warranted some discussion. But for now, he didn’t want to think about any of that. 

Because for now, he was here, with Jon no less—Jon, whom he loved, and who, by some miracle—some lovely, wonderful miracle—loved him back.

Chapter Text

This was it. Jon was going to tell him today.

He was.

He didn’t think Martin would be angry. Tim had once made a joke when they’d started in the Archives when Martin had gotten a date, asking if the night had been eventful. Martin had simply shrugged it off, asking why people cared more about sex than the actual relationship. He didn’t think Martin would break up with him, or try to change him like people had in the past. He’d had plenty of time to be manipulative like that, what with the literal apocalypse happening, and he’d never done anything to even insinuate that he might be like that. He wasn’t even worried about Martin being silently upset, really. They’d been Somewhere Else for almost a year now, and even though things had been hectic, they’d had enough quiet moments where Martin could have asked for sex, but didn’t. So all things considered, he felt pretty confident that the conversation would go over fine.

He supposed it was just that as soon as he told Martin, suddenly it would be different. Martin’s perception of him would change. And that didn’t mean it would be for the worse—it would almost certainly be for the better—but still, the thought filled him with anxiety, in a way that didn’t even make sense to him.

The lock to the front door clicked, interrupting Jon’s reverie as he sat on the couch, staring at a blank page that was supposed to be the next chapter of his novel.

Martin was home. Jon was going to do it today.

The door opened, and Martin walked in, arms full of groceries. He sighed, placing them down on the counter.

“Jon, okay, the woman at the checkout today— Linda, I think her name was—I swear, she serves the Spiral. I mean, not actually, but she might as well.”

“Oh?” Jon asked, his voice tight. He was going to do it today.

“I mean—I really don’t want to be one of those customers, because, like, I’ve been there, I get it. You know?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Like, I understand that those people don’t get paid enough to deal with people like me, I’ve heard it a thousand times before! Hell, I’ve said it! But you don’t just—“

“I’m asexual.”

Ah. There it was, then.

Martin paused, mid-rant, staring at Jon in confusion. “I—okay?”

Jon hesitated, suddenly feeling awkward, and Martin seemed to realise exactly what had just occurred. “Oh. Oh, god, Jon, I’m so sorry—you just came out to me. ” He set down the carton of eggs he’d been putting away, hurrying to the couch to sit down beside Jon.

“I mean—it’s not a big deal,” Jon said with a shrug.

Martin tilted his head a bit. “Do you want it to be a big deal?”

“Do you? ”

“Jon,” Martin sighed. “I’m not the one coming out.”

“I know that,” Jon protested. “I just—well, how do you feel about it?”

“I feel like an idiot for replying with ‘okay’ after my boyfriend came out to me!” Martin exclaimed, though his expression changed a bit when he saw Jon’s reaction. “Right, no, okay, uh…look. I’m not upset, if that’s what you’re worried about. I mean—I sort of already suspected , but I guess with the apocalypse and—“

“Wait,” Jon interrupted. “You knew? ”

“Well, I didn’t really know,” Martin said quickly. “I just…I heard some gossip? About it?”

Jon grimaced as he remembered the tape he’d found. “According to Georgie, Jon ‘doesn’t’.” He’d actually been quite upset that Georgie had given out that information, and he’d called her after he heard it to ask her about it. She’d apologised, admitting that she’d told Melanie years ago, and Jon had forgiven her, deciding that, all things considered, out of all the secrets he had, that was the least damning one to be revealed.

“Well, then,” Jon said with a sigh. He looked back up at Martin. “And you really aren’t upset?”

“Do you want me to be?” Martin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What? Of course not!”

“Then believe me when I tell you that no, I’m not upset, Jon. It isn’t a problem. I don’t really care that much about sex, honestly. I mean—I know I’m not ace, I still feel attraction that way. It’s just not that important to me. And, sure, we might need to talk about boundaries, though we’ve been together for a while and, as far as I’m aware, none have been crossed?”

Jon shook his head. “Everything we’ve done so far has been fine by me.”

“Good to know,” Martin said with a nod. “The same is true on my end.”

Jon nodded. “Also good to know.”

Martin smiled, wrapping Jon in a tight hug and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Jon agreed, feeling a bit sheepish even after all this time as he shifted closer to Martin. “I love you, too.” He sighed, looking up at his boyfriend fondly. “So. Tell me about Ms. Linda the Spiral avatar.”

Martin let out a groan of frustration. “Oh, I almost forgot about her!”

“Well, you got me invested!”

“Fine, fine, okay. So, it started when I was checking out the lettuce…”

Chapter Text

“And it’s such an interesting distinction!” Jon exclaimed, throwing his hands up emphatically as he paced across the room. “You would think that the flame bowerbird would be the one to go all the way with its bower—if it’s so showy, you’d think that it would be the one to have the extravagant bower to attract a female. But the thing is, it doesn’t need the extravagance! Female birds are already attracted to its bright feathers, so its bowers are usually just..extra work, if you will. Really, I can’t help but wonder why they even build a bower, if they already have such eye-catching plumage. Still, I guess it’s not like I created them, so…anyway, the MacGregor’s bowerbird has more muted tones, and so of course he’ll build a bigger bower, because otherwise nobody’s going to notice it. Or, at least, nobody it wants to notice it. And—” Jon paused, suddenly feeling self conscious as he glanced at Martin. “Sorry,” he added quickly. “Do you want me to stop?”

Martin shook his head, his eyes wide. “No, no. Keep going. Really.”

“I’ve been talking about bowerbirds for…” Jon paused, checking the analogue clock mounted on the wall. “Thirty minutes. Aren’t you, well…bored, I suppose?”

“Why would I be?” Martin asked.

“I don’t know,” Jon admitted. “Most people get irritated after the first ten minutes or so.”

“Well, maybe if you were droning on,” Martin remarked. “But you’re clearly passionate about this, and you make it interesting to listen to.” He smiled fondly, before adding, “besides, even if I were bored, the least I can do is listen to my boyfriend talk about his special interest.”

Jon felt himself flush a bit at the word boyfriend —the development was new, borne out of a somewhat awkward confession their first night at the safehouse. It’d been a few days since then, and though they’d finally broken past the unsure stage where they were constantly figuring out how exactly to do this, there was still that strange feeling whenever either of them referred to the other as their boyfriend.

That aside, however, another part of Martin’s comment caught Jon’s attention. “‘Special interest’?”

“Yeah,” Martin replied slowly. “I mean…that’s what most autistic people seem to call it?”

Jon stared at him. “I’m not autistic, Martin.”

Martin’s eyes widened, and he gave Jon the strangest look. “Wait, you’re not? ”

“Did you think I was?”

“Well…yeah!” Martin exclaimed. “I mean, I don’t know everything about it, but I knew a few people on the spectrum back in the library, and…well, you have a lot of the traits that people seem to talk about? But, I mean…I guess I just assumed you knew.” He shook his head, leaning back a bit against the couch. “You’ve really never been tested?”

“No,” Jon said, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “Nobody saw any reason to.”

“You were also raised by your grandmother,” Martin pointed out. “Most people in her generation aren’t exactly renowned for knowing a lot about neurodiversity.”

“Well—I had teachers —”

“Who also were in a generation that didn’t know a lot about that kind of thing,” Martin remarked. “Look, I’m not…I’m not diagnosing you. I just think it might be worth looking into.”

“Maybe,” Jon muttered. “But, Martin, I really don’t think I…” he paused, trailing off as a rush of information flooded his thoughts.

Oh.

“Jon?” Martin prompted.

“Uh…” Jon replied slowly. “The Eye, um. It just…”

Martin stared at Jon in confusion for a moment, before understanding washed over his face. “Jon. Did the Eye just diagnose you with autism?”

“I— maybe? ” Jon sighed, sitting down beside Martin. “It, well…it told me—”

“That you’re autistic.” Martin finished.

“I—I guess?”

Martin paused for a moment, studying Jon carefully. “Alright. How do you feel?”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t…I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know what any of this means? I mean, I only just realised it was possible today, let alone true. I don’t even fully understand what being autistic entails.”

“It’s different for everyone,” Martin admitted. “But maybe when all of this is over, and we’ve got less on our minds…we can try to figure out what it means for you?”

Jon hesitated, considering the idea. “I think I’d like that.”

Martin nodded. “Alright, then. File that under ‘list of things to do when we’re not running from the horrors’, then?”

“Oh, we have a list, now?” Jon asked teasingly.

“Absolutely. Step one, get therapy. Step two, learn more about autism. Step three, get you professionally diagnosed, since I don’t think most places will take ‘the eldritch entity of knowing’ as proof.”

Jon chuckled a bit. “I suppose not, no.”

Martin smiled. “Yeah. Well, until then…want to tell me more about those bowerbirds?”

Chapter Text

Martin flicked his wrist anxiously as he rushed through the campground, looking for any sign of speckled-brown fur. People were out by their campfires, sitting in front of tents and trailers, and some even had dogs of their own—but none of them were the one he so desperately needed to find. The retrievers and terriers scattered across the site were cute, and in any other situation he might go say hello, but right now he had to stay focussed. After all, whoever this dog belonged to was probably worried sick, and it was his fault that it was missing. The least he could do was try to find it for them.

Though it would be so much easier, Martin thought as he sprinted through the grounds, if he wasn’t doing this completely by himself. Blackberry Campgrounds was, as he was discovering, a very large place, and he was only one person. At the very least, it’d be nice to have a second pair of eyes on the lookout for this dog.

He’d considered asking his aunt Cindy, but she was probably busy working on dinner for the two of them. Besides—he barely knew her. She’d taken him on this trip as an effort to, how had she put it— relieve his mother of parenting duty for a while —and, to his surprise, given her phrasing, had been nothing less than kind to him. Not that his mother wasn’t, of course—he loved his mother, obviously—just that when he spoke, Cindy seemed to listen—and furthermore seemed to care —and whenever she saw him approaching, instead of sighing and begrudgingly asking what he wanted, she smiled and greeted him with a hello. So, all things considered, he found he rather enjoyed her presence.

Still, that wasn’t important at the moment—well, it was , but not to his mission—because he still hadn’t found that dog, and was still going at it alone.

After a bit, Martin stopped running. It was getting him nowhere, obviously, so he needed a different approach. He decided instead to try to think about what he knew about dogs. They liked food, they liked attention, and they liked playing. So, hypothetically, if a dog were to run off, its destination would be a place where one of those things could be found. Right?

Martin sighed, sitting down by a tree on the side of the path. He was never going to find it. A place with food, attention, and play —as if at least one of those three things didn’t apply to every square inch of the campground, he thought ruefully. Besides, it wasn’t as if he could use any of them to lure the dog. In any other place, maybe, but there were at least fifty dogs in this entire campground. And sure, most were tethered, but that still left plenty that would run to Martin, therefore plenty for him to sort through looking for the dog he was after.

He was about to let out another defeated sigh, when something caught his eye. A boy, looking about his age, sitting on a tree stump, book in hand and expression focussed. He seemed completely lost in whatever he was reading, and though he really wasn’t doing anything special, the canopy of trees parted just above him, causing him to be somewhat illuminated in a way that looked outside of a picture book.

Martin had to admit that from where he sat, the boy looked kind of cute, but that wasn’t his primary focus at the moment. He had a dog to look for, after all, and this boy could be his second pair of eyes. He told himself that there was absolutely no way that he was using this as an excuse to talk to the boy, and that even the idea of such a thing was absolutely unthinkable.

“Hey, sorry,” Martin began quickly, approaching the boy. “You haven’t seen a dog, have you?”

The boy looked up, expression somewhere between irritation and confusion. “I–I’m sorry, what?”

“A dog,” Martin repeated. “A–a spaniel, I think?”

The boy blinked. “In…In general, or…?”

Martin had no idea how to reply to that. Especially because something about the boy’s response paired with his expression reminded Martin yet again just how cute the boy in front of him was. “I—no, in the campground.”

“Oh.” The boy paused. “Uh…no. Did you lose one?”

“Well—” Martin sighed. “I mean, yes? It’s not—it’s not my dog, I just, well—I was over by my campsite, and it came up to me, so I started talking to it, and it seemed to like me, and—” the boy was now looking at Martin with the most confused expression Martin had ever seen, and it occurred to Martin that he was probably rambling. “Anyway, sorry, just…a sound scared it off, and now I’m not sure where it is. And, well, it doesn’t belong to me, but it belongs to someone , so…”

The boy paused, studying Martin for a bit. After a moment, he nodded, going back to his book. “Well. I hope you find it.”

Martin hesitated. “I was sort of…hoping you could help me?”

The boy looked back up again. “What? Why?”

“I need another pair of eyes!” Martin protested. “You have good eyes— look like you have good eyes. Eyesight! That’s. That’s what I meant.” Whywhywhywhywhy— “And you’re not—I mean, you’re not busy are you?”

“Yes, I am,” the boy said, giving him the strangest look. “I’m reading.”

Martin’s heart sank a bit. “Right. Yeah, okay. Okay. I’ll…I’ll see you later then.”

He began to turn away, before he heard a sudden “Wait. ”

Martin turned to see the boy, sighing and putting a small slip of paper in his book as he stood up. “Alright. I’ll…I’ll help you.”

Martin smiled. “Oh! Great. Thank you!”

The boy shrugged. “You’re welcome. Where are we looking?”

“I guess I was just…looking around,” Martin admitted.

“Well, I’m not surprised you haven’t found it,” the boy said. “It isn’t like the dog is just going to stay somewhere. Do you know its name?”

Martin shook his head, and the boy sighed.

“Well, what about who owns it?”

“Also no.”

“Well, you’ll want to find that out. Dogs reply to their names, especially if it’s their owners calling.”

“So, what, just…go around asking if people are missing a dog?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“Right,” Martin said with a nod. “No, I guess I don’t. So, where should we start?”

“With the nearest campsite?” the boy said. “I don’t know. It isn’t as if I do this often.”

Martin nodded. “Okay,” he said, and for a moment he hesitated, before asking, “by the way, what’s your name?”

“Jonathan Sims,” the boy replied, and Martin almost laughed at just how formal it was. “But ‘Jon’ is fine,” he added, and Martin was glad for the confirmation that using his full name was not, in fact, necessary.

“I’m Martin,” Martin offered. “Blackwood. No nicknames for me, unfortunately.”

Jon nodded. “Alright. Pleasure to meet you, Martin.”

Again with the formal, Martin thought amusedly. “Pleasure to meet you, Jon.”

At that, Jon smiled, just a bit, and Martin felt his heart glow a little. “So,” Jon began. “Shall we go find this dog?”

Martin nodded, and he realised he’d never been so excited by the prospect of searching for a missing animal. “Absolutely. Let’s.”