Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Working in a research library wasn’t always the most interesting way to pass the time. In fact, some would argue that it was almost always the least interesting way to pass the time. (‘Some’ meaning Tim. And Melanie when she was in a bad mood and had been assigned to organize one of the sections that nobody ever visited, like Historical Landscaping.)

A typical day for an assistant librarian at Magnus College Research Library consisted of activities such as shelving books, re-shelving books, printing documents, scanning documents, uploading files, downloading files, politely telling visitors to quiet down, passive-aggressively telling visitors to quiet down just a little more, getting tea for Jon the head librarian, getting more tea for Jon when he forgot about the first tea and let it get cold, and helping students find what they needed for a research paper while making the search last an unnecessarily long time to delay having to go back to sitting at the information desk, where Tim was certainly going to get bored enough to start telling stories about his sex life that nobody wanted to hear. Well, sometimes Melanie was intrigued, but only when they were sufficiently weird. (Martin preferred not to dwell on memories of those particular anecdotes.)

It all added up to a rather tedious workday, and in situations such as this one they say you have to ‘make the fun’. And the Magnus College Research Library employees would do just about anything to make the fun.

“Have you seen how Jon looks today?” Georgie stage-whispered, suddenly appearing at Martin’s shoulder like a poltergeist with a non-work-appropriate sense of humor. Martin startled so hard he knocked a stack of binders on the floor, which prompted a cackle from Melanie.

“Georgie, don’t be weird!” he hissed, kneeling on the floor to collect the evidence of his clumsiness. One of the binders had fallen open, causing a slurry of paperwork to slide across the floor, dangerously close to the muddy combat boots Daisy had left under her desk (which presumably meant she was wandering around the library in socks, but Martin decided it wasn’t his job to care about that).

“I have,” Tim chimed in matter-of-factly, spinning around in his swivel chair to face Georgie. “I’ll admit I’m not that into Jon, can’t get past the personality, you know. But he definitely looks much handsomer than usual in those trousers. I think for the first time ever I can truthfully say I’d tap that.” He looked very serious and mildly awestruck. Martin rolled his eyes as he sat cross-legged on the floor, clipping paperwork back into the binder.

“Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed, Martin!” Melanie reached out to tug a handful of Martin’s dark curls and Martin dodged out of the way.

“I have noticed that he’s wearing trousers that actually fit him for once,” Martin answered primly. “But only because it’s a sign that he’s possibly starting to learn how to take proper care of himself.”

Georgie snorted. “Yeah, fat chance. I don’t know if you noticed, but his glasses broke about a month ago and he’s just been holding them together with scotch tape. I wouldn’t exactly call him a put-together man.”

Martin had noticed that, in fact. He’d also noticed yesterday that Jon had been wearing a band-aid across the bridge of his nose, presumably because the scotch tape was chafing his skin, and it had been so adorable that he’d immediately darted out of the break room muttering something about an emergency in Historical Landscaping.

Maybe it said something unfortunate about him as a person that he found disastrous personal care choices charming rather than pitiful. Martin decided not to think too deeply about that.

“Do you guys think Jon is attractive? Be honest,” Melanie mused, leaning back in her seat in exactly the way Jon was always telling her not to. It wasn’t really in Jon’s character to notice or care about things like that, but after the eighth time the chair tipped over backwards with her in it, even he couldn’t turn a blind eye any longer. (At least for the reason that he surely didn’t want to deal with an injury lawsuit.)

Tim and Georgie both looked thoughtful. Martin carefully ducked his head under the desk, pretending to be searching for another errant paper. He was paranoid that something in his face would betray his answer to Melanie’s question. Could other people sense when your heart was beating quickly? He didn’t think so, but just to be safe he wrapped his jacket more closely over his chest to muffle the hypothetical sound.

“Well, I used to date him, so I guess I have to say yes,” Georgie said, although she sounded somewhat doubtful. “I didn’t really date him for his looks, though. I mean, he’s not-bad-looking, but it was more about personality, I suppose.”

“What personality?” Tim grimaced, as Martin privately wondered at how anyone could think Jon was merely ‘not-bad-looking’. If only Jon was closer to ‘not-bad-looking’; maybe then Martin could concentrate on his work and he’d get better quarterly reviews. It should be noted that receiving mediocre quarterly reviews was exponentially more humiliating when you were deeply attracted to your supervisor.

Georgie raised an eyebrow at Tim, twirling a slender box braid around one finger. “Well, what do you have to say, then? Out with it.”

Tim cleared his throat and puffed out his chest as if he were preparing to give a keynote speech. “First let me say that I would never date him. But I have to admit, he’s sort of physically attractive. In a way where he looks like he could be a model from some foreign country who does shoots for, like, ridiculously high-end designers. You know those people who are beautiful, but in a sort of strange and kind of off-putting way? Yeah.”

Melanie bit at her lip ring, considering. “You see, I agree with you about the dickish personality part, but I think the difference between you and me is that I’m not horny enough to bother looking past that, you know?”

Georgie cooed, patting Tim’s arm. “Aww, you think Jon is beautiful? You should tell him that, I think it would really boost his self-esteem!”

Tim glared at her. “I think it would really boost his current assumption that I’m off my rocker. And I didn’t say that, anyway! I just said that he looks a bit like those people, not that he could be one of them.”

“I don’t know, I still think it’s a compliment to say someone looks a bit like a model…” Georgie teased.

Under the table, Martin let himself relax, thinking they’d probably get off on a tangent bickering about what constituted a compliment and he’d be off the hook. This sort of thing happened all the time. Yesterday they’d tried to play Truth or Dare and then Melanie and Tim had wound up spending an hour arguing about whether you were “allowed” to dare someone to tell the truth about something. (Neither of them seemed to care that the rules of Truth or Dare were invented by the people who played it and not by monks inscribing indisputable canon on mystical stone tablets.) He couldn’t even remember who had been on which side, which was indicative of how productive the discussion had been.

He didn’t even know what answer he’d give anyway. He certainly couldn’t just tell the truth. Some of them probably suspected – Georgie and Melanie more likely than the others. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it openly. It was easier if he let them imagine that they might be wrong and it might not be true – if he let them imagine that they could cut him some slack. That he might have enough dignity not to fall for someone who was so hopelessly out of his league and who, as everyone could very obviously discern, would never, ever, ever, ever view him as anything but a quasi-competent co-worker.

“Martin? What about you?” Melanie piped up, bending over to peer at him. Well. So much for hopes and dreams and all that.

Hesitantly, he scooted away from the desk a bit in order to face them better. Georgie and Tim both stared at him expectantly.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, mind racing to think of something witty to say, or at least something that wouldn’t prompt any follow-up questions. Yeah, maybe the second one would be better – ‘witty’ had never really been his forte.

He took a deep inhale. “Well, I-”

To Martin’s eternal gratitude, he was rescued from having to continue what surely would have been a profoundly underwhelming and/or embarrassing response by the door to the assistants’ office opening, revealing – ironically enough – Jon himself.

Melanie and Georgie and Tim scrambled to affect a semblance of professionalism. Martin hurriedly closed his binder.

Jon arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the lot of them. He had very expressive eyebrows; they were dark and thick and curved in a way that mirrored the shape of his eyes very pleasantly.

“What on earth are you all doing instead of working? And why is Martin on the floor?” he asked, voice deadpan as it usually was, especially this many hours after his morning coffee.

Tim opened his mouth but Jon motioned for him to be quiet, which was probably intelligent on his part because he likely wouldn’t have appreciated whatever Tim had to say. “Actually, you know, I really don’t want to hear it. I just need someone to scan these and email them to Elias as soon as possible.” He handed a stack of papers to Melanie, who accepted them with clear distaste. “And Martin -”

“Yes, Jon?” Martin chimed in.

“Get off the floor, for Christ’s sake. We have chairs for a reason.”

Melanie and Tim snickered and Georgie patted Martin’s shoulder sympathetically. Jon ducked back out the door, letting it fall shut behind him.

Martin sighed. Deeply. No need to ‘make the fun’, he thought wryly, when his everyday life was already something of a joke.

&

Martin would always remember the moment he first met Jon. This was partly because he deliberately cultivated his recollection of the details so he could repeat them in a wedding speech someday (he was nothing if not an optimist). But also – it was just hard to forget.

This had occurred a few months prior, when he’d initially been hired at the library. Sasha was the one to give him a tour of the building on his first day of work – a Wednesday. He would make sure to mention that it had been a Wednesday in the wedding speech. People found details like that charming. Well, Martin did, at least.

“So this is the assistants’ office; you’ll probably be spending a lot of time in here, so I hope you like it,” she’d told him, gesturing around the cramped office where, indeed, an ungodly number of hours of his life would eventually pass away, never to be returned.

“And that’s the break room,” she’d continued, pushing her rimless glasses up her nose. “I won’t show you around there right now; you’re going to see it at lunch anyway.” She’d peered at the array of empty desks. “Looks like nobody’s here at the moment. Well, you’ll meet them soon enough. Oh – hello, Jon.”

Martin had glanced over at the doorway, hearing a grunt of acknowledgement. A man stood there, holding a mug in one hand and a beat-up manila folder in the other, face frozen in an expression that looked half as if he’d been caught shoplifting for the umpteenth time and half as if he’d accidentally showed up in the wrong classroom for the umptwentieth time. He was lean and compact, maybe an inch or two shorter than Martin, with black hair that Martin guessed had been cropped short and neat at some point in the past but had simply never been cut for many months, and was now overgrown and wavy and pulled back in a haphazard knot – just a bit too effortless to be deliberately so. Wispy, subtly greying flyaways framed his glasses, which sat slightly crookedly on a long, elegant nose over large, deep-set almond eyes, offset by gaunt cheekbones and a scruffy jaw that spoke less of a preference for sexy stubble and more of ‘I keep meaning to shave but then forgetting’.

His shirt was buttoned wrong and his trousers were cut for a slightly taller person, rumpling a bit where they met his scuffed loafers. His sleeves had probably been rolled up past the elbow earlier that morning, but were now unfolding loosely over surprisingly toned brown forearms that stretched to bony, square-knuckled, slim-fingered hands.

He looked like he could play a grizzled detective in a noir film. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks because he was up late thinking about his dark past, or possibly just grumbling about the incompetence of young people these days despite being roughly their age. He looked like he read dry nonfiction books for fun but also didn’t know how to find the settings menu on his phone. He looked like he had to be reminded to put on a tie, and this morning no one had reminded him. He looked like a disaster.

Martin was utterly charmed.

“Martin, this is the head librarian, Jonathan Sims,” Sasha had explained, gesturing vaguely at Jon, who looked into his mug and seemed surprised to find it empty. Martin stifled a giggle.

“He’s sort of our… manager? Or something? I don’t think we technically answer to him because Elias, the dean of the library, is everyone’s boss, but Jon is meant to, like, supervise us and make sure we’re staying on task and all that. Which we always are,” she added. Jon caught Martin’s eye and gave a slight shake of his head to indicate his disagreement. Martin blinked rapidly, trying not to show how flustered he was.

“Jon, this is Martin, the newest hire. Martin, Jon, Jon, Martin, et cetera et cetera.” Sasha pushed a dark ringlet off her forehead.

Martin held his hand out and Jon awkwardly tucked his empty mug into the crook of his left arm so he could accept Martin’s handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Jon,” Martin beamed, attempting to limit the non-verbal expression of his adoration even as he felt it increasing exponentially moment-by-moment.

Jon shook Martin’s hand. His palm was very dry. Martin wondered if he needed some lotion. He mentally added it to the list of potential Boyfriend Gifts.

Jon was smiling in a sort of stiff way that seemed to indicate he didn’t smile very often and his cheek muscles weren’t used to the exercise. “…Pleasant to make your acquaintance as well. Matt, was it?”

Martin felt his face falter just slightly. Okay, so not off to a flawless meet-cute start. But he wouldn’t take it to heart. Lots of people were bad at remembering names they’d just been told, and they still ended up happily in love, presumably. He cleared his throat to hide his nerves. “Ah, Martin, actually. Easy mistake to make!”

“Yes. Quite.” Jon let go of Martin’s hand and his eyes slid away in a manner that cast doubt on his ability to retain the name he’d just heard for the second time. He turned to Sasha to ask her about some work-related thing Martin didn’t understand back then, but Martin wouldn’t have absorbed it even if he had – he’d been too busy focusing intently on Jon’s profile, the shape of his hooded eyelids, his unusually rounded upper lip, the silky shadows below his eyes, the faint birthmark on the side of his neck, the way his stubble was slightly pricklier under his chin as if he’d missed a spot the last time he shaved, the way he impatiently blew a stray lock of hair out of his face after he finished speaking.

People liked to debate whether love at first sight was real. Martin never bothered to join the argument, because he knew the truth from personal experience.

(That was how he would finish the story. At the wedding. Optimism, and all that.)

&

Jon had never been good with names. It took him roughly half a year on average to consistently recall the names of all his co-workers in the library, and he had given up hope of ever being able to recognize any of the staff from elsewhere in the university.

Well, Martin was an exception, because he made mistakes so frequently that he needed to know his name fairly quickly in order to effectively complain about him to his cat when he got home from work every day. And he’d learned Georgie’s name relatively soon after she’d been hired, too, but that was because she asked him on a date and even he wasn’t so misanthropic as to go out with someone while failing to pay attention to the most basic details of their identity.

His relationship with Georgie had eventually fizzled out because it became gradually apparent that their personalities weren’t compatible in a romantic sense. They were very compatible in a platonic sense, though. His cat was his favorite person to complain to, but Georgie was a close second.

“And so then this morning I told him that the spreadsheet needs to be organized alphabetically by section, not as a whole. And mind you, I’ve told him this about seven times now, I’ve counted, but it just never seems to stick. He keeps sending it to me, done the wrong way each time. And so I said, ‘Martin, if you can’t do this correctly, I won’t allow you to play that silly game with the other assistants where you throw wads of paper in Tim’s mouth’. I mean it this time. Oh, don’t think I don’t know about that,” he added, glaring at Georgie, who held a book in front of her face in feigned shame.

“You wouldn’t, Jon!” she gasped, peeking at him from behind the book, eyes widened in feigned shock.

“I would,” he affirmed gravely.

“You can’t do that to him, he’ll be devastated. He respects you the most out of all us, you know.” She slid the book on the shelf and grabbed another from the re-shelving cart.

“That’s funny, because his work is the least competent. Not that I’d give any of you glowing reviews. Maybe the data shows that I should encourage you all to respect me even less.”

Georgie playfully swatted him on the shoulder with a book. “Oh, you love us, you just won’t admit it. And none of the rest of us respect you at all, anyway, so no need to worry about that.”

“I suppose I should have figured,” he sighed, replacing a book that had been shelved in the wrong place. He could guess by whom. “By the way, did Martin organize this section last?”

She flashed him a look that was half withering, half fond. “You shouldn’t be so hard on him, you know. He’s trying his best.”

“Is he? That would be news to me.”

“Jon! We’ve talked about this, remember? Trying not be an arse all the time? I added it to your list of New Year’s Resolutions. Last year.”

“The list that I did not ask you to make.”

“Have you made any progress at all on it?” she asked skeptically, lips twitching with concealed mirth.

He thought about it. He wasn’t good at names, but he had a decent enough memory for lists, provided he came up with a mnemonic acronym for the items. “I’ve had breakfast nearly every morning this year,” he informed her, just a little proud despite himself.

She stared at him appraisingly. “What if I told you coffee in the break room doesn’t count as breakfast?”

He sighed heavily. Long-sufferingly. (Was that a word? It should be; he needed it to describe his daily experiences.) “You have told me that. Many times. And in that case, then no, I suppose I’m not quite as good at that goal as I led you to believe.”

“Well, what about the one about leaving work on time? I don’t think you were doing that pretty much at all earlier this year, but in the past few weeks I’ve seen you clock out by five thirty occasionally. We even rode the bus together that one time.”

“It’s because lately Martin has been staying past five and I’d rather go home early than abide with him.”

“Jon, going home at the end of your shift is not ‘going home early’ and I do hope you’re joking and you actually understand that,” she said, gripping his shoulder and speaking slowly as if he were a child. “And what do I keep saying to you about being an arse? Martin is nice, you know! I’m sure you’d like him if you gave him a chance.”

Jon snorted. “I’ll give him a chance when he gives ME a chance to sleep easy knowing he hasn’t misfiled the purchase records for the thousandth time.”

“I think you just care about work way too much. Some things are more important, you know. Like kindness, and decency. Martin has plenty of those, and I’m not sure you’ve got any at all.”

He leaned away from the shelf to glare at her. She grinned back at him, brown eyes twinkling.

Her gaze slid to his ponytail and her lips parted in recognition. “Oh, hey that’s mine!” she said, reaching to yank out his hair tie and snap it onto her own wrist.

He scowled at her in annoyance, but she was probably correct. She was prone to leaving those things around his flat when she visited, and he was notoriously bad at differentiating his personal possessions from random unknown objects. He tucked his hair behind his ears as it fell loose around his face.

She quirked a smile as she pushed a stray curl out of his eyes, acrylic nails brushing his eyebrow. “Promise me you’ll be nicer to Martin, ‘kay? Do it as a favor to me.”

He grumbled, batting her hand away with no real conviction. “Fine. I’ll try, I GUESS.” He probably owed her about a dozen favors, anyway. And even if he didn’t, he just liked her anyhow.

&

“Bye, Jon!” someone called as Jon slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. He was clocking out at around six today, which was early for him. Georgie might be impressed. Well actually, she probably wouldn’t be, because she generally expected him to clock out at five like a normal human being.

This train of thought caused him to remember that someone else was still here, and they had just said something to him. “What?” he asked distractedly, glancing around the office. Daisy’s coat was still over the back of her chair, which meant she was in the library, although he didn’t see her in the room. She was rather hard to miss, what with being well over six feet tall and built like a pro athlete and other such imposing characteristics.

“I said, ‘bye’.” A hand waved to catch Jon’s attention. Oh, it was Martin. That made sense.

“Ah. Hi, Martin.” It took him a moment to register that Martin had been saying goodbye to him. “I mean, bye.”

Martin quirked a smile, tipping his head back to better meet Jon’s eyes. Jon observed that he looked a bit tired; his dark curls were parted unevenly as if he’d been running his hands through them frequently during the day, and his maroon sweater was inside out. Jon found the second thing particularly concerning because it meant that every time he himself had worn his shirt to work inside out and reassured himself that no one would notice, it was actually much more of a conspicuous phenomenon than he’d thought.

Martin watched him for a moment longer and then turned back to his desk, seemingly realizing that Jon didn’t have anything else to say. ‘Be nicer to Martin,’ Georgie’s voice whispered to him, like the proverbial angel on his shoulder. Or the devil.

Jon cleared his throat and Martin peeked back up at him expectantly.

“Would you, ah. Would you like some tea?” Jon asked stiffly.

Martin’s hazel eyes widened in shock, which Jon would suspect of being facetious if he weren’t suddenly uncomfortably aware of how many times Martin had fetched tea for him and how many times Jon had returned the favor (the latter number was zero and the former was probably upwards of a hundred).

“Sorry, what was that, Jon?” Martin asked.

Jon frowned. This ‘being nice’ deal would be difficult to maintain if Martin was going insist on making it into a Whole Thing. “You heard me.”

Martin’s face did something complicated. “I – why, yes, I suppose I did. Erm, some tea would be lovely. If you would be kind enough to – if you’re offering to make it for me.”

“I just said so,” Jon grumbled, but he stumped off to the break room anyway. At which point two things occurred to him, the first being that he had never actually made tea for himself at the library before, and the second being that he had somehow never noticed there were multiple types of tea available in the library (which was probably related to the first fact). “Ah, do you want black or green, or… strawberries and cream?” he called back to Martin, reading the label on the floral-patterned bags at the back of the tray. “Hardly seems like a proper tea…” he muttered to himself.

“Oh, strawberries and cream, please! That’s the one I brought from home,” Martin’s voice echoed from outside the break room door.

Jon made a face he was glad Martin couldn’t see. But he prepared the tea anyway. And Martin was disproportionately pleased.

“Thank you so much, Jon. Really. I can’t thank you enough,” he gushed, holding the cup up close to his face to breathe in the steam, which Jon thought was a bit over-the-top.

“All right, all right, simmer down,” Jon groused. “All I did was make some tea. Least I can do.”

And then Martin fixed him with an expression of such unmitigated fondness that he had to break eye contact and pretend to clean his glasses on his sweater.

“You’re so much nicer than people give you credit for, Jon,” Martin commented softly, taking a sip.

“Oh, now really, that’s enough.” Jon put his glasses back on and realized the broken bridge had gotten uneven again. Dammit. “And who says I’m not nice? I’m plenty nice.”

Martin side-eyed him slightly nervously in a way that clearly indicated he was too polite to express dissent.

“Well, anyway,” Jon said, reaching up to pull his hair back into a sort-of-bun – he’d inexpertly chopped off the ends of it over the weekend because the length had been getting on his nerves, and now it was more uneven than ever and actively resisted the containment of hair ties. (Which worked in Georgie’s favor, he supposed, because now he couldn’t justify inadvertently co-opting hers.) “I’d better be going. Grocery shopping to do and all that. But I’ll see you… tomorrow. I suppose.”

Martin beamed. “Yes indeed. See you tomorrow, Jon.”

Jon arranged his face into a suitably friendly expression, and Martin beamed bigger. He had the sort of smile that caused his face to appear to glow when he was happy, as if he were a character from a children’s cartoon. It was rather difficult to look at directly, much like the sun. It wasn’t… bad, though. In fact, it was somewhat pleasant. Maybe this ‘being nice to Martin’ thing wasn’t a wholly futile effort after all.

Was he feeling a sense of gratification from making Martin smile? ‘By God, Sims,’ he thought to himself wryly. ‘You’re going soft in your old age.’ He supposed this was what it meant to be pushing thirty.

&

Martin studied Jon’s back. Well, three quarters of his back, because they were sitting sort of diagonal to each other. There were lots of reasons to stare; for one thing, his shirt today was a shade of blue that cast his complexion in a warm tone – almost creating the illusion that he received direct exposure to sunlight on a semi-regular basis. (Martin still thought he was very handsome, though.) Someday they would go on dates outdoors, he thought to himself, and Jon’s skin would flourish with a much-needed dose of Vitamin D.

Of course, in order to go on those aforementioned dates, he somehow had to become Jon’s boyfriend in the interstitial period, and he had no idea how that was going to happen. He knew what his goal was, at least. Wasn’t that what manifesting was? Visualizing your dreams until they became realities? Basira had been talking about it the other day but he couldn’t recall the details. To be fair, she’d been making fun of it, so maybe her description was suspect.

It would probably help his dreams become realities if he started things out by talking to Jon. But he just kept getting distracted by the way Jon’s shoulder blades were subtly visible through his shirt. Because this shirt apparently fit! He’d been on a kick of wearing clothing in his size lately; Martin was quite proud of him. If they were boyfriends, he’d tell him so. (It might be weird to do it now, though.)

“Are you staring at me?” Jon droned without looking up from the text he was annotating.

Martin startled hard, nearly falling out of his chair. “Ah – No! No, I wasn’t! Erm… why would you… think that?” Smooth save, Blackwood, he chastised himself.

At this point Jon did glance up, pushing his glasses up his nose. Almost immediately, the bridge fell apart and the two halves clattered onto the desk as Jon hissed a curse.

Martin was almost certainly in love with Jon, but the broken glasses thing was getting old, even for him. “Don’t you think you should… get those fixed?” he asked gently.

Jon scowled at him and opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to think better of it, shaking his head wearily. “You’re right,” he sighed. “I had an appointment to get new ones a couple weeks ago but I, ah… I missed it because I was working late and I forgot about it.”

Martin scoffed incredulously. (A bit affectionately. Whatever.) “Jon, that’s ridiculous! If you can’t see properly, how do you expect to be able to work with any sort of efficiency?”

Jon seemed ready to shrug off the question, but then looked at Martin in surprise. “That’s funny,” he said. “Most people tell me I shouldn’t be working so much that I neglect my other commitments.”

Martin shrugged. “Well, I agree with those people, of course. But I figured – correctly – that you’ve heard that argument before. Thought I might try a tactic that appeals to your values. Your rather warped values, if I may be so bold.”

Jon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘You may not’. But he appeared chastened and even a little impressed; Martin was quite proud of himself.

“And besides,” Martin continued. “I didn’t put those words in your mouth; you’re the one who expected me to tell you you were working too hard. Which seems to indicate that the thought was already in your head, don’t you agree? Even if you don’t consciously accept it yet, it’s in your mind, and part of you is considering that it might be true. That’s progress if you ask me.”

He licked his thumb to turn the page of his book, not looking at Jon. There was a not-insignificant chance he was being very annoying right now, but knowing Jon, there was an even-less-insignificant chance he was being deeply interesting. If it was the latter, he couldn’t risk undermining his tenuous modicum of coolness by revealing how badly he wanted to interest Jon.

However, Jon didn’t say anything for a while, and eventually Martin couldn’t stop himself from looking over.

Jon was just staring at him, expression for all the world resembling a four-oh-four error page. “Are you staring at me?” Martin parroted back at him, resisting the urge to giggle.

Jon shook his head slightly as if clearing cobwebs from his face. “I suppose I was. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Martin raised his eyebrows, taken aback by Jon’s candor.

“You have a point, I suppose,” Jon continued, long-sufferingly. (Was that a word? It should be; it accurately described Jon’s sort of… general manner.) “I should devote less time and energy to work. I have been trying to improve the situation, you know. Not entirely successfully, I’ll admit, but the effort is… there.”

Almost involuntarily, Martin felt his face soften. Stupid heart. Stupid love. “Oh, Jon, I didn’t mean to criticize you. I know you’re trying your best, just like all of us.”

Jon tilted his head, blinking at Martin owlishly. “Yes, we are. All trying our best, I mean.”

Martin nodded, flashing him an encouraging smile.

They worked next to each other in silence for several more minutes before Martin couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Will you make another appointment to get new glasses? I think you’ll regret not doing it. And it would really put my mind at rest.”

Jon frowned in confusion. “Why would it put your mind at rest?”

Martin’s heart thumped uncomfortably. “Erm. Because I, ah. Care about you. As my boss, you know. And you need new glasses, and I’d hate for you to keep trying to get on without them…”

Seeming to accept this explanation, Jon nodded and turned back to his text, saying, “Yes, yes. I’ll call tonight when I get home.”

Martin doubted that. “Will you?” he asked skeptically.

“I… probably won’t,” Jon admitted ruefully.

Martin fixed him with a stern gaze.

“I’ll… call this afternoon. Would that make you feel better?”

Martin twisted his lips, considering. “You’ll call now,” he decided.

“I’ll… call now,” Jon replied, begrudgingly standing up and sliding his fossil of a phone out of his pocket. Martin nodded approvingly. (As fireworks burst quietly in his ribcage.)

&

“So. Your crush on Jon. Discuss.”

Martin misjudged the weight of a book and nearly hit himself in the nose with its spine as he pulled it off the shelf. “Oh, Christ – what?” he asked, slightly desperately.

Melanie turned to him, raising a haughty eyebrow. She was about two feet taller than him at the moment because she was standing on a stepladder, and she’d just re-dyed her hair – it was naturally black but she liked to give it an inky dark red wash - and she’d also gotten a spiky new eyebrow piercing, so today she resembled a vengeful war goddess even more than she already did on average. Her blouse was low-cut enough that he could see a tattoo of two skeletons doing the Charleston below her clavicle. Martin vaguely remembered a dress code rule about not showing tattoos at work, but Jon definitely wouldn’t notice, let alone care, and for some unfathomable reason the only dress code violation Elias ever seemed to have a genuine issue with was open-toed shoes.

“You. Crush. Jon. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Martin sighed. He doubted there was any point in trying to lie to her at this point. “How did you know?” he asked defeatedly.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Oh, was I really right? I was half joking! Because you brought him an extra sandwich from the café today and told him not to pay you back, remember. But you actually have a crush on him?”

Martin rested his forehead against the bookshelf, groaning quietly.

“Oh, this is so embarrassing for you,” Melanie cooed, not sounding remotely sympathetic. She gingerly leaned down from her perch on the stepladder to pat him on the shoulder. “There, there. Are you upset because I know your secret, or because your secret is that you have feelings for Jon? Because I could understand both!”

Martin just groaned at a slightly louder volume.

“Is it because it’s Jon? I would be upset too if I had a crush on Jon – Lord perish the thought. But it’s going to be all right, you know! It could certainly be worse! Well – it couldn’t be a LOT worse, but we can still get you out of this, we just have to start working on an intensive rehabilitation program and maybe some exposure therapy, you know, increased exposure to his personality –”

“Melanie!” Martin interjected, huffing out a slightly hysterical laugh. “I don’t mind that it’s Jon – Jon’s great!”

Melanie opened her mouth to argue but Martin kept talking before she could say anything.

“I just – I know he’s never, ever going to – to like me. In that way, I mean. Or in any – I’m not convinced that he likes me at all, period, to be honest. Which! Is okay! I don’t have any expectations.” He coughed uncomfortably; that last part was a bald-faced lie. “I don’t – I know, deep down, that I’m not his type. I don’t even know what his type is –”

“Georgie, apparently,” Melanie muttered darkly, and he flashed her a weird look, wondering what that was about.

“Well, yes, in theory, I suppose. Didn’t they break up, like, ages ago, though?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Melanie mumbled. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“All right, what’s your issue?”

Melanie sighed so heavily, Martin worried she was going to swoon off the stepladder. “Well… since you know my secret, I suppose you can know mine. I… have a crush on Georgie.” She closed her eyes, swinging her head down so that her bangs flopped against her forehead. “There. I said it.”

Martin felt a rush of fondness for her. “That’s great, Melanie! It really is,” he insisted when she frowned skeptically.

“Georgie’s excellent, and the two of you would make a great pair. I’d say there’s a pretty good chance she’d go out with you,” he added, trying not to let any bitterness seep into his voice.

Apparently he hadn’t been phenomenally successful. Melanie sat down on one of the rungs of the stepladder so that they were closer to eye level. “Oh, Martin,” she exhaled fondly, reaching out and rubbing a hand up and down his bicep. “You’re such a sweetheart. No, you’re so wonderful, really.” She lowered her head to maintain eye contact as he dithered modestly, face warm. “And that’s why I think you deserve better than Jon! Did you know I’ve seen him use his phone as a bookmark? He just left it there all day!”

Martin couldn’t help but laugh at that, and she gave him a pitying look. “I feel SO bad for you,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

“This is how you repay me for my unconditional support for YOUR crush?”

“I have good taste, what can I say?” She spread her hands, shrugging.

“Maybe you do. I wish I had a crush on Georgie instead. She’s so easy to talk to.”

“Ain’t that the truth. If you make a move on my girl, though, I’ll kill you.” She pointed at him, expression grave.

“She’s not even ‘your’ girl yet,” he reminded her, pushing her hand away from his face.

“I know, and it’s a terrible state of existence,” she sighed.

Martin sighed too. “I know exactly how you feel…”

&

“Here’s your tea, Jon,” Martin said, setting a mug down on the table beside Jon’s elbow.

Jon stared at it uncomprehendingly. Had he asked for tea? He didn’t remember asking for tea.

“Did I ask for this?” He lolled his head back to look at Martin, whose expression became rather miffed. Jon cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders and spinning his chair around to face Martin properly. “Sorry, that sounded rude. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just meant I don’t recall asking you to bring me tea and I’m confused, I suppose.”

Martin’s face softened and he rested his hands on his hips. “You didn’t have to. I could tell you could use some. It’ll perk you up.”

Jon slowly lifted the mug and took a sip. It was very nice tea – hot and earthy and surprisingly substantial. “It is very good,” he admitted quietly.

Martin quirked an eyebrow. “See?” he said, lips twitching with a fond smile. “Did you not get much sleep last night?”

Jon pushed a hand through his hair. His bangs were even shorter and more bothersome now, falling to his cheekbones or thereabouts. Georgie had insisted on giving him a trim the other day because she’d told him his “look” was “barely salvageable” and that she was “the only person he could trust with such a daunting task”. He hoped she really had salvaged his haircut, whatever that meant; Elias had told him this morning that he needed to stop changing it every week because he was suffering from “fashion faux-pas whiplash”. (Jon wished every day that he had different coworkers.)

Martin wasn’t as terrible as he’d thought, though. In fact, he was smarter than Jon had given him credit for and sometimes even disarmingly insightful. And nice. A very nice person. Now that Jon wasn’t actively resisting his niceness, he was experiencing the full force of it, and it was almost overwhelming at times.

“No, I didn’t. I was working late, and when I got home there was a documentary on about the Sepoy Mutiny and I wanted to stay up and finish it – it turns out it was three hours long,” Jon finished ruefully.

He expected Martin to tease him like Tim would, but instead he leaned against Jon’s desk (there were no extra chairs in his office, purely to irritate Elias). He leaned forward, eyes bright with interest. “Oh, really? What was the Sepoy Mutiny all about? I’ve heard of it but I don’t know much.”

And then Jon proceeded to tell him all about religious intolerance and racism in British colonial India, as well as military practices and Indian anti-colonial sentiment and the early foundations of the independence movement. It really had been a fascinating documentary, and Jon had just read a book about nineteenth-century India last month so he had plenty of auxiliary knowledge he’d been waiting to share. Besides, it was nice to have a captive audience; his cat was a fairly good listener, but it was so much better to talk to someone whose understanding of English was empirically proven.

“I’m rather surprised,” Jon added at some point. “I’d expected you to judge me for not keeping a proper sleep schedule.”

Martin chuckled, pushing his curly bangs away from his eyes. “Oh, of course I’m judging you,” he said. “But just like the other time, you’re the one who said it first, not me. I think your subconscious is nudging you to make healthier choices and you’re projecting it onto me for some reason.”

Jon took another swallow of tea and considered it. It wasn’t totally implausible – he’d been aware for a long time that he wasn’t the most healthful and put-together human being around, and he’d been aware for a decent amount of time that it would be a good idea to change that. And it made sense that he was projecting that motivation onto Martin – Martin displayed concern about his welfare, after all. Martin tried to take care of him in his own little ways – like bringing him tea he hadn’t asked for.

Jon lifted his mug towards Martin in a vague ‘cheers’. Martin grinned. He had the sort of grin that transformed his face – crinkling his eyes, filling his already-round cheeks, even perforating them with dimples. The dimples were rather sweet, Jon thought. They made sense for Martin, who, Jon reluctantly admitted, was a rather sweet man.

“Thank you for the tea,” he said, realizing he hadn’t yet. Martin smiled even wider, looking down at the floor in shyness. Jon noticed that his eyelashes were long and dark and fluttery, like moths’ wings.

Jon took a sizeable gulp of his tea, emptying most of the mug. Perhaps he needed to start getting more sleep immediately. His thoughts were meandering in weird directions, and he suspected the exhaustion was to blame.

&

“You know, I don’t think I’m technically allowed to let your girlfriend visit you at work every day,” Jon commented, offhand.

Daisy looked up from her Russian copy of ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’. (She was trying to teach herself Russian, for reasons on which she refused to elaborate). “Oh? Are you trying to stop me now?” She raised an eyebrow challengingly in a way that was much more intimidating than it should be, especially in the yellowy light of the break room after hours.

Jon sighed. “No, I suppose not. I think you’re actually more efficient when she’s around anyway.”

“’Course. Got to impress her.”

“You think she’ll leave you if you don’t do your job properly?”

“No, I think she’ll leave me if I behave like a layabout. Which I’m not.” She flashed Jon a warning glare.

He raised a hand placatingly. “I’m sure.”

Jon turned back to reading his emails. He expected her to stop talking after that; their conversation had ended up in a much more personal realm than he’d ever ventured into with Daisy in all the months they’d worked together.

“I suppose…” Daisy continued all of a sudden, and Jon glanced up sharply. What else could she have to say? She half-smiled at him, slightly embarrassed.

“I suppose she makes me a better person. Or rather… she inspires me to be a better version of myself. I’m the one doing the work, but she’s the one who motivates me. It’s rather… nice.” She flicked her eyes back down to her book, pale cheeks rosy.

Jon stared at her. That was more insight into Daisy’s private life than he’d ever imagined receiving. And it was oddly… enlightening.

“That is nice,” he told her, surprised by how much he meant it. Throughout the rest of the day he found his thoughts circling back to her words.

Chapter Text

It was seven pm on a Tuesday evening and Martin was preparing to clock out.

He’d meant to go home at five, he really had, but during the afternoon he’d been organizing Historical Landscaping and he’d gotten unexpectedly caught up reading a book about Edwardian flower gardens. He’d only intended to skim through it to ensure that none of the library visitors had marked it or torn the pages (which they never did, in Historical Landscaping, because they never went there in the first place). But then he’d start to actually read it and it was more interesting than he’d expected and he’d ended up sitting on one of the hidden armchairs in the back of the library reading it cover to cover. Which he didn’t regret, but of course he had to stay later in the day to finish his tasks, and now the office was deserted.

Well. Almost deserted. He noticed a dark-haired figure slumped over Tim’s desk, snoring gently. (It wasn’t Tim – Martin could tell from the lack of cologne smell.)

Martin walked over, looking down at his sleeping supervisor. “Jon?” he tried softly. He considered whether to tap him on the shoulder. On the one hand, it probably wasn’t a good idea for anyone to sleep at the office, but on the other hand… Jon needed rest.

Martin carefully sat down in Sasha’s chair, listening to the silence of the empty, shadowy office and Jon’s breathing. How long could you sit and watch someone sleep before it crossed the threshold of creepiness? Martin wasn’t sure. Should he wake Jon up? Or should he just leave? If he woke Jon up they might end up going home at the same time, which had somehow never happened before and would probably entail conversation outside in the parking lot or at the bus stop – the concept of interacting with Jon outside of a work setting was both thrilling and nervewracking to Martin. What if Martin couldn’t think of anything to say without the built-in conversation topic of whatever task they were in middle of? If all else failed, he thought, he could always just ask Jon what book he’d read or documentary he’d watched recently. That usually got him started on a monologue that either prompted follow-up questions or at least bought Martin time to generate another topic.

At any rate – he needed to stop just sitting here watching Jon sleep. It was very quickly getting weird.

Fortunately, at exactly this moment Jon shifted and snuffled in his sleep and began to blink into consciousness. He slowly sat up, sleeves twisted around his arms and collar lopsided. Groggily, he stared at Martin with an expression of utter confusion.

“What is going on? What time is it?” he mumbled.

Martin stifled a laugh. Jon’s hair was sticking up on one side rather comically – it looked like he was in possession of just one devil horn. Martin very much wanted to reach out and smooth it down. He turned his eyes to his watch instead.

“It’s a few minutes past seven,” Martin said, voice unintentionally coming out gentle, the way he would speak to a child who was up past their bedtime. “What are you still doing here, Jon? And why are you in Tim’s desk?”

“Oh, am I?” Jon looked down at the desk, perplexed, and flipped random papers over as if they would reveal clues to him. He noticed Tim’s Guy Fieri bobblehead and fixed it with such an expression of mind-unraveled bafflement that Martin couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

As he rested a hand on Sasha’s desk, chuckling uncontrollably, he glanced up to notice Jon watching him, surprised and a bit amused. It was a nice emotion to see on his face – typically he just appeared grumpy or tired or world-weary or vexed. When he wasn’t any of those things, the tightness in his jaw released and his eyes softened and everything about him was just more – open, sunny even, and he almost resembled a person who got enough sleep regularly and didn’t think all sports fans were annoying and maybe even actually read fiction sometimes.

Martin’s laughter died away, and now he was just staring at Jon’s face. He needed to stop staring at Jon’s face. He didn’t know what to do, so he capitalized on an impulse and darted his hand out to smooth down the sticking-up part of Jon’s hair – it was thicker than he’d expected it to be, and silkier too. He let his hand linger for just a moment, and then pulled it back.

It occurred to Martin that it was entirely possible he’d just done something deeply weird. Jon’s eyes were still locked with his, brow furrowing and mouth slowly falling open as if he were gearing up to say something but didn’t know what it was yet.

“I…” Martin awkwardly began, and then had no idea what word should follow.

Another moment passed as they just continued to look at each other, on the precipice of saying… nothing. The air felt staticky and Martin was strangely restless. Something was shifting. He could feel it.

And then suddenly Jon stood up, pushing Tim’s chair against the desk with a loud clatter. “Well, I have more work to do in my office. You should go home, Martin, it’s late,” he said, face closing again.

Martin peered up at him, tamping down his inner swell of disappointment. He wasn’t even sure why he was disappointed, because he wasn’t sure what he’d thought was going to happen. Had part of him thought they might have kissed? It felt silly to even entertain the notion. Fat chance. As if anything like that would ever occur, especially between him and Jon.

Jon was already turning away, picking up his jacket from where he’d draped it over the back of Tim’s chair and slinging it over his shoulder as he walked in the direction of his office.

Martin hugged himself. He felt very cold all of a sudden. “Okay, well – go home soon, okay? You shouldn’t stay here too late. Georgie’ll be disappointed.” And so would I, he didn’t add.

“I won’t tell her if you don’t,” Jon said, a slight smile on his lips even as he wasn’t meeting Martin’s eyes.

“Jon!” Martin huffed, resisting the urge to walk over and shove his shoulder. Maybe he shouldn’t casually touch him anymore, he supposed.

“Kidding,” Jon said, opening the door. “Night, Martin.”

“Night… Jon,” Martin replied, but Jon was already gone.

Martin was truly alone in the office now. He sighed, and put on his coat.

&

It was three pm on a Thursday and Basira was in the break room throwing darts.

“Um… I don’t think you’re allowed to throw darts in here?” Martin said nervously, standing in the doorway. Hopefully out of dart-throwing distance. Although Basira’s aim seemed pretty good, so there was no guarantee.

“There’s a dart board,” Basira replied without turning around. She threw another dart.

There was a dart board. Martin had to concede that. He thought maybe Melanie had been the one who bought it, although it really could have been anyone. His coworkers were pretty strange people, Martin mused, just as he did at least once a week.

“Still… Jon might get mad.”

Basira stared at him over her shoulder, letting her dart-throwing arm hang at her side. “Would he?” she asked flatly.

“He… probably wouldn’t notice,” Martin sighed. “Not that he seems to be any good at noticing much of anything…” he muttered.

There was a pointed thud as Basira threw another dart. “What are you on about?”

“Oh, nothing!” Martin trilled, busying himself with rearranging the teabags on the refreshment table. “Are you even allowed to be in here by yourself? You don’t actually work here, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten.”

“That’s funny, I did forget. I suppose I blend right in because I do about as much work as any of you do.” Thud. How was she not out of darts? Martin hadn’t thought the break room had very many of them.

“All right, there’s no need to be like that,” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes. He decided not to mention to Daisy that Basira was here, just to be spiteful. (Well, partly to be spiteful, and partly because he was scared of Daisy.)

&

“Jooooo-onnnnnnnnnnn.”

“Joooooonnnnn.”

“Jon! Jon! Jon! Jon! Jon! Jon! Jon! Jon! Jon!”

Huffing in frustration, Jon swept up from his office chair and heaved open the door to poke his head out into the assistants’ office. “Christ, what is it?” he called out, irritated.

Sasha and Tim grinned at him. Of course it was them. ‘I need new coworkers,’ Jon thought to himself for something like the thousandth time. (That week.)

“Are you coming to the office party on Friday night?” Tim asked, wrapping his arms over the back of his chair like a hip teacher in a teen movie.

Sasha munched on a piece of popcorn. “Yeah, are you coming?”

Jon scowled. “Am I – are you guys eating popcorn in here again? You know I told you to stop making that. It makes the break room smell like popcorn for the rest of the week.”

“Is that a problem? Popcorn smells good, in my opinion.” Tim shrugged.

“You’re avoiding our original question.” Sasha tossed a popcorn kernel at Tim, who swerved his torso to catch it in his mouth. “Are you coming to the party or not? You haven’t shown up to any in months!”

“They only happen once a month, so that’s not very many,” Jon pointed out.

Sasha lowered her glasses to fix him with a stern look. “Yes, but you haven’t been to them. We’ve missed you there!”

“Missed tormenting me, you mean.” Jon very clearly remembered the office party where Sasha and Melanie had shared a slideshow they’d made of candid photos of him glaring and making generally displeased expressions at no one in particular. They’d called it ‘A Compendium of Grumpy Jon’. So he made faces when he thought about things that irritated him – what about it?

It occurred to him that in most of those photos he’d been thinking about Martin, and now that he and Martin were getting to be on better terms, maybe Sasha and Melanie would have less material to work with this year. “All right, fine, I’ll go,” he relented. “But only if –”

Sasha and Tim both immediately began cheering and whooping loudly and Jon raised his voice to speak over them. “But ONLY if you don’t make popcorn in the break room anymore.”

Sasha and Tim grinned at each other. “All right, we won’t make popcorn – in the break room – anymore,” Tim said, winking at Sasha.

Jon pointed at him. “I just saw you wink. Say that again, but don’t wink. I don’t trust that wink.”

Tim spread his hands, expression scandalized. “What, is winking against office rules now, Jon? Are you making winking illegal?”

“Yeah, Jon, is winking against the rules now? That seems crazy,” Sasha piped up, hand on her chest like an emotionally overwhelmed Victorian dowager.

“Jon, you can’t make winking illegal! This is tyranny!”

“Yes, Jon, that’s really an abuse of power!”

Jon retreated under fire back into his office. “All right, all right, calm down you two!” he called out to them.

“We’ll see you at the office party, right Jon?” Tim responded.

“Yes, yes.”

&

Jon regretted showing up to the office party. It was only an hour in and he had already somehow become mired in a deeply uncomfortable conversation with Elias and Peter, the bearded, vest-wearing library higher-up who seemed to outrank everyone except Elias, but whose actual position had always been very ambiguous.

“Jon, that’s a very nice tie you’re wearing. Peter. Don’t you think Jon’s tie is nice.” Elias wasn’t literally speaking through gritted teeth, but emotionally his teeth were clearly gritted.

“I agree, it’s a very nice tie, Jon,” Peter replied, staring directly at Elias. Elias raised a haughty eyebrow and pointedly continued to look at Jon with a stiff smile.

It was obvious that there was some sort of bizarre subtext going on here and Jon really did not want to be a part of it. After another long, uncomfortable moment of Elias smiling icily at Jon and Peter staring challengingly at Elias, Jon cleared his throat. “Well… Hmm. Anyhow. The weather is – what do you think about – erm.”

Then suddenly a hand tapped on his shoulder seemingly out of nowhere. Jon wasn’t a praying man, but he sent up a quick prayer of gratitude to the heavens in case any deities did in fact exist and had decided to rescue him from his own personal hell as a means of making their presence known.

“Who’s that?” Jon spun around swiftly to see Martin, wearing a floral-shirt-and-sweater combo that was just a note more elegant than his everyday floral-shirt-and-sweater combo, as well as the turquoise-framed glasses that Elias had told him to stop wearing on normal workdays because they were ‘distressing’.

Martin looked sheepish. “Ah, well, you see, Jon, I need your help with – something very important -”

Jon didn’t even care what this was about, he would take the out. Turning back to Peter and Elias, he assembled his face into a mask of apologetic sorrow and said, “Oh dear, I really must attend to this. I do beg your pardon. Perhaps we can continue speaking later.” Or perhaps not, he didn’t add.

Elias returned only a terse nod, giving no indication that he cared either way. Peter looked at Jon blankly, as if he’d completely forgotten that Jon was there to begin with.

Jon followed as Martin led him through the library. They were taking a rather odd route.

“Are we going… outside?” Jon asked, confused.

In answer, Martin swung open the door to the back parking lot, lit with harsh white floodlights below an inky black sky. Jon followed him out into the cool night air.

Jon stared questioningly at Martin, who smiled slightly.

“Thought you might need some air,” Martin said.

It dawned on Jon that Martin had been right. He hadn’t realized how anxious the party had been making him, but now that he was outside in the openness and quiet, he felt his muscles relaxing and his heartbeat slowing in a way that he hadn’t expected. “I… thank you,” Jon said. Softly, fervently.

Martin’s dark curls bounced as he nodded jerkily, quirking a smile as he rocked on his heels and looked out at the mostly empty parking lot.

“I’ll always come to rescue you, Jon,” Martin said.

Jon put his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure what to say. “That’s… nice of you,” he settled on. And then, “Cold out here, isn’t it?”

He turned to look at Martin, whose face indicated that Jon had done something odd and possibly impolite, but Jon hadn’t the faintest what it could be. “Do you want to go back inside?” Martin asked, sounding strangely disappointed.

Jon shrugged. “Well, I do have some extra work I could be finishing in my office…”

Martin laughed shortly. “Of course you do.”

&

Somehow, Georgie and Melanie had started dating. It was one of those things that made Martin feel like he’d fallen asleep for three months and missed important developments in his friends’ lives. But it really did seem as though one moment they hadn’t been dating and now here they were, sharing a swivel chair, sipping bubble tea in complementary colors and wearing matching short-shorts-and-ankle-boots ensembles (although Melanie’s was significantly more goth).

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you started dating your crush!” Martin told Melanie, arms folded.

Melanie shrugged, lowering her mirrored sunglasses (which she was wearing indoors). “Been busy.”

Georgie gasped. “What, you have a crush on me, Mel? That’s, like, SO embarrassing.”

Melanie scoffed. “Uh, what? No, I do NOT have a crush on you. Who even are you?”

Georgie laid an affronted hand on her chest. Martin noticed that she was wearing the same glossy-black nail polish as Melanie. “Babe. That’s hurtful.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I just have to maintain the coolness vibe I had going on.” Melanie kissed her on the cheek, leaving a lipstick mark.

“Don’t worry, babe. No one here thinks you’re cool.”

“Anyway,” Martin interjected loudly. “I’m annoyed that you didn’t tell me.”

Melanie stood up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. She was taller than him by a least five or six inches, so he very much felt like a little brother whenever she hugged him. “I really am sorry, Martin. I just got caught up in things, I suppose.” She ruffled his hair. “And to be fair, you haven’t been updating me on your crush, either.”

“You have a crush, Martin? Why on earth didn’t you tell me? And why did you tell Melanie and NOT me?” Georgie asked accusingly.

Martin sighed. “Well, there’s nothing to tell, really –”

“Uh, there are lots of things to tell,” Georgie interrupted. “For one, who is it?”

“It’s Jon, keep up,” Melanie told her impatiently.

“Jon?!” Georgie squawked as Martin squawked, “Why did you tell her?!”

Melanie flapped her hand. “Listen, both of you, I’m just trying to get to the important details. Now, Martin, have you made a move, or haven’t you?”

Martin sat down heavily in Sasha’s chair. “I have. I’ve been trying, anyhow,” he said bitterly. “But I really don’t think he’s interested. He hasn’t been responding at all.”

The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted as both women pulled up swivel chairs on either side of Martin, laying comforting hands on his shoulders.

“Oh, sweetie,” Melanie said gently. “You really picked the wrong guy.”

Georgie glared at her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, love! It’s not your fault he doesn’t notice what a wonderful person you are. You should devote your attention to someone who is open to receiving it. There are plenty of lovely men out there who’d be happy to have a boyfriend like you!”

Melanie nodded. “Yes, there are plenty of fish in the sea. I mean, I hate clichés, but it’s true.”

Martin sighed again. He was an optimist, wasn’t he? That’s how he’d always styled himself, but it had felt less and less true in passing days. “Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly. His two friends wrapped him in a hug.

&

Today was one of the rare days when Jon and Martin had taken their lunch break at the same time. Martin had brought a tofu sandwich from the café down the street, and Jon had a Tupperware container of what looked like leftover curry.

They sat next to each other, chewing in silence as Jon scrolled through emails on his laptop, answering some and deleting others. Martin watched him quietly, tracing the profile of his nose and forehead with his eyes, noticing the loose hairs tucked behind his ears, his bony wrists, his chapped lips.

Unbidden, a thought entered his head, and the thought was this: ‘He is never going to look at me the way I look at him.’ It felt like a truth that had always been in his head, but which he’d been ignoring. He accepted it not so much with sadness but with a sense of resignation, like an exhale.

Maybe he wasn’t an optimist anymore.

Chapter Text

Jon didn’t often think about the moments when he’d first met the people in his life. He tended to remember their entrances in a sort of fluid sense – there had been a time when he didn’t know them, and now there was a time when he knew them, and the transition between those two periods mattered very little.

He was thinking about such a moment now, though, because he was going through Martin’s desk and he’d found a copy of the C.V. he’d handed in at his first interview.

Now, to back up, there was a perfectly normal, sane reason he was going through Martin’s desk. And it was that Martin was never at his desk anymore – he was still at work, of course, but he always seemed to be busy doing something around the library – and what was Jon supposed to do? Just – not investigate?

‘What are you investigating, Jon?’ asked Georgie’s voice. Not Georgie’s real voice. The voice of the Georgie-esque devil on his shoulder.

He batted it away. And then awkwardly glanced around the empty office to make sure no one had seen him batting an invisible devil off his shoulder.

The C.V. was mostly normal, if printed in a font that Jon himself wouldn’t have chosen. Martin had never been notorious for his professionalism, though, he thought drily. It was slightly odd that this C.V. seemed to indicate that Martin had done his Erasmus year at Heidelberg University when Jon fairly distinctly remembered him talking about his year in Ghent the other week. And come to think of it – he wore a jacket sometimes that he said he’d bought when he was studying at Trinity College Dublin. Had he done… all three? It wasn’t totally out of the range of possibility. Although it was pretty close to the edge of the range of possibility.

He needed to stop being so dismissive of Martin, though. Martin most likely wasn’t lying about where he’d done the Erasmus programme. That’s what Georgie would say, anyway. He felt rather proud of himself for having that thought on his own without any direct prompting from Georgie.

He was part of the problem, anyhow. At least, that’s what he imagined. Georgie had been telling him all along that he needed to be nicer to Martin, and he’d only just started listening, but it was too late – now Martin wasn’t around very much anymore, and it was almost certainly because he was fed up with being around Jon and his personality. Georgie hadn’t said as much explicitly, but she might as well have. Yesterday during lunch he’d asked her point-blank if that was the reason Martin didn’t stay in the office much these days, and all she’d done was purse her lips and continue eating her avocado toast, and even he was perceptive enough to pick up on that particular subtext.

This knowledge made him feel… something-or-other. It felt a bit like restlessness. And so he handled it the way he generally handled restlessness: by hurling himself into work until he was submerged completely. This time, however, the work was… figuring what was going on with Martin, and how to get him back. Because of… well, he hadn’t yet gotten to the part of the investigation that involved analyzing why he was undertaking it in the first place. He’d get to that part eventually, of course. Once he got Martin to come back. That was the more immediate task.

‘Skills include: Interpersonal communication, teamwork, raising office morale,’ the C.V. read. Jon probably would not have hired Martin if he’d been in charge of recruitment at the time, he realized. It was an odd realization. Even just a week ago he might’ve considered those skills unimportant, but in the last few days it had become apparent that they were indispensable. Maybe Martin really had been raising his morale all along.

He folded up the C.V. and slid it into his pocket.

&

“Hey love. How are you doing?” Georgie’s voice asked, tinnily, through the phone.

Martin sighed. He’d just finished dinner (frozen tamales from the weird vegan grocery store down the street from his apartment), changed into his favorite pajamas (sweatpants from the brand store at Carlos III University, where he’d done his Erasmus year, and a hoodie that had been oversized when he was fifteen and now fit perfectly), taken his T shot (every night at bedtime), made himself an enormous mug of strawberries and cream tea (in his most enormous mug - the Tardis-shaped one) and snuggled up on his sofa for a night of Bachelorette reruns (Rachel's season of course), and then Georgie had called him out of the blue to check in on him.

“I’m all right,” he said, adjusting the cushion behind him.

“Really? You don’t seem all right.”

“Why would you think that?” Martin asked, taking a gulp of tea.

“Uh, because you’ve barely been in the office this week!”

Martin bit his lip. “I’ve been at work!”

“Sure you have. But you’ve been avoiding Jon. Just admit it."

Martin sighed more heavily and rested his head on the back of the sofa. “Okay, fine! I have! But can you blame me? Every time I see him I just think about how beautiful he is and how I can’t have him –”

Now it was Georgie’s turn to sigh heavily. “You have to get past that, all right? How many times do I have to remind you that you can do better than him? He’s not very nice to you, remember?”

Martin set his tea on the end table so he could hug a pillow. “You’re right – he’s not. Or rather, I think he is, but he just doesn’t – know how. Like, he has all the tools for niceness but he just never learned how to use them.”

“Well, it’s not your job to teach him, you know. It’s his own job to figure it out.”

“Right again, Georgie.” And she was. He knew that. It was just – hard. He threw the pillow at the floor and felt a tiny thrill from the wildness of the action.

“Will I see you at work on Monday?” she asked.

“Of course. Night, Georgie.”

“Night, love. Get some good sleep.” There was a beeping noise as she hung up.

Martin sighed yet again and stared out the window at the quarter moon hanging wanly above the office building down the block. He hoped Jon got some good sleep tonight, too.

&

“Melanie?”

“...”

“Melanie.”

“Mm.”

“Melanie…?”

“Oh my god, WHAT, Jon?” Melanie snapped, spinning around so fast her tassel earrings nearly whipped her in the face.

Jon glared at her. “Don’t you work for me? Shouldn’t you be more… polite? To me?”

“I work for Elias, technically. And spit it out. I haven’t got all day.”

They were in the industrial office store where all the university departments were supposed to buy their supplies because of some years-old contract. Elias had assigned Jon and Melanie to pick up supplies for this week, most likely because he thought it was funny to force them to spend time in close quarters. Even when he wasn’t around to witness it. Arsehole. Jon scowled at the security camera in the corner of the ceiling, on the not-impossible chance that Elias somehow had access to the footage.

“Do you think Martin would like this?” Jon asked, feeling somewhat silly. He held up a ream of subtly pink-tinted printer paper.

Melanie frowned at it consideringly. “I mean… he does like pink. But – why do you suddenly care what Martin likes? Don’t you hate when things are printed on colored paper?”

“I do. Because I’m a sane human being.” Be nicer, Jon, he admonished himself. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. What I mean is that I am trying to… make sacrifices for the… for office morale. It has come to my attention that I… that the work environment in the library could be more… friendly. And…” He grimaced. “…Fun.”

Melanie snorted. “Who told you that? Tim?”

Jon sniffed haughtily. “No, actually. It was your girlfriend, for your information.”

Her face quickly sobered up. “Oh. Um. She’s, ah, she’s –”

Jon flapped his free hand, still clutching the atrocious pink paper in the other hand. “Yes, yes, she’s smarter than both of us, neither of us deserved to date her, I get it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Melanie said, snorting again. And then she tilted her head, sneering expression softening a bit. “It’s nice that you’re thinking of Martin. I’m sure he would like that paper.”

Suddenly feeling awkward, Jon shrugged and stared at his secondhand oxfords. “That girlfriend of yours. She’s a good influence on me.”

“A good influence of both of us,” Melanie amended.

He glanced up at her and she quirked a smile, adjusting one of her plastic hairclips. And there was a brief moment of rare solidarity between them.

And then the moment was over. “Have you taken a shower at all this week, by the way?” she asked.

“I took one last night!” He insisted defensively. (Not truthfully.)

&

Martin had finally downloaded Tinder, after the sixty-seventh insistent text message from Tim. Now he, Tim, and Sasha were huddled in the break room over a bowl of popcorn, discussing what to write in his bio and which photos he should include in his profile. Well, Tim and Sasha were discussing all of that, and Martin was absently nodding along and pretending to understand their arbitrary ‘Tinder rules’. His heart wasn’t really in it.

“You have to have one normal one, one sexy one, one artsy one, one travel one, one with a friend, one selfie –”

“You can have more than just one selfie!” Tim interrupted.

“If you have a bunch of selfies, people will think you don’t have any friends!” Sasha insisted, flicking a piece of popcorn at him.

“Really?” Tim asked, looking horrified and pulling out his phone.

“I don’t think it’ll be an issue, because I don’t take very many selfies anyhow,” Martin said.

“What about this one? You look great in this suit,” Sasha remarked, scrolling through Martin’s camera roll.

Tim waved his hand urgently. “No, not that one! That one’s from a wedding. All the guys will think he wants to get married.”

“But I do want to get married!”

Sasha patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Sure. But don’t tell them that, you’ll freak them out. That’s not what you’re on Tinder for.”

“Then what am I on Tinder for?” Martin asked incredulously.

“To put yourself out there!” Tim clapped him on the back.

“Find a man!” Sasha ruffled his curls.

“Date around!”

“Meet all the fish in the sea!”

“Have an experience!”

“Get some experience!”

As Martin grew increasingly flustered, his two coworkers hyped themselves up to be so excited that they were practically yelling. Presently, the break room door swung open and Jon strode in, glasses finally fixed and hair swept out of his face for once. “Martin, can I talk to you for a moment in my – what on earth are you all shouting about? This is a workplace, for Christ’s sake.”

“Martin’s on Tinder!” Tim crowed.

“Martin’s – what? What is that?”

“Do you not know what Tinder is, sweetheart?” Sasha asked, steepling her hands in front of her face.

“Don’t call me that,” Jon grumbled, setting his thermos down on the side table.

Tim grinned. “It’s for finding men!”

“I hardly think that’s appropriate for – oh.” Jon’s expression and posture became profoundly awkward as he seemed to comprehend the nuances of the situation. “Well. Um. Good for – Anyway. I have business to attend to – I think – I was supposed to talk to someone –” he trailed off as he backed out of the door, leaving his thermos behind.

Tim and Sasha dissolved into giggling. Martin stared sadly at his – so far mostly blank – Tinder profile. What was the good of it? For a few minutes there he’d almost convinced himself that he wanted to go on a date with some handsome stranger he hadn’t encountered yet, but of course the source of all this angst had to literally walk into the room at just that moment.

He sighed. Was he ever going to get over this miserable crush?

Chapter Text

“You’re literally the worst person I’ve ever met,” Tim drawled.

“Figuratively,” Jon said automatically, not looking away from his computer. He’d spent the last forty-five minutes or so trying to figure out how to use the ridiculous new software that Elias had just insisted they all switch over to this week. Elias liked to force everyone at the library to start using new software every couple of months or so for no discernible reason. Jon felt especially targeted by this policy, as it had taken him about five extra years to buy a smartphone and another seven years to truly understand what apps were. (He still wasn’t sure he actually understood, no matter how many times Georgie had tried to explain it to him.) (Georgie had also tried to explain streaming television to him even more times but that was a long-lost cause.)

“No, you know what? I actually did mean ‘literally.’ You are literally the worst person I’ve ever met, and it’s even more true now that you’ve said that.”

Jon scrubbed a hand over his face in exhaustion, pushing his glasses up into his hair. It was nice that they didn’t fall apart every few minutes like they’d done before he’d had them fixed. He supposed he had Martin to thank for that. Martin. Jon had to admit that he rather… missed him, believe it or not. He would never be caught dead saying it to Georgie, of course, but as annoying as Martin had been… which wasn’t even really that annoying, come to think of it. It had occurred to Jon recently that maybe he was the sort of person who complained about things because over time his sense of self had solidified that way, but the truth was that he complained about things because it was in his nature, not because they genuinely impacted him in a significantly negative way. Ordinarily, this realization would not have given him pause. What was wrong with complaining about things? Sometimes things were dreadful. And sometimes things were just banal, but no harm would come from being grumpy about them.

But sometimes things were actually… not dreadful, or banal. Not even remotely. And complaining about them anyway actually made them seem that way, and prevented him from seeing the bright, crystalline elements of an otherwise dreadfully banal environment.

At his age, Jon tended to think that his life would continue to be the way it was. He was past the formless years of personal development, beyond the aimless liminal journey of discovering what sort of human being he was, what he wanted to do with the life he had, where he wanted to live and work, how he liked to take his tea. But perhaps it was never over – perhaps he’d only stopped somewhere on the way, but he could gather up his things and carry on if he wanted to. He could continue changing into a different sort of human being who did different things with the life he had. Maybe a sort of human being who didn’t expect everything around him to be dreadful and banal, and by doing so transmogrify it into dreadful banality. He was finally starting to see the point of everything Georgie had ever said to him. Maybe he should buy her a cake. (Well, he wasn’t quite a cake-buying person yet.)

Of course, it wasn’t easy to become a less complaining-oriented person when all of his coworkers loved to complain. Namely about him.

“What is it this time, Timothy?” he sighed. “Is it because I gave Sasha the information desk shifts this week?”

Tim was the only employee who authentically enjoyed working at the information desk. Everyone else hated it because it almost exclusively involved interacting with random strangers. Tim loved it because it almost exclusively involved interacting with random strangers. He called it ‘a dating app, but it’s I.R.L. and there are only nerds.’ (Everyone refused to tell Jon what I.R.L. meant.)

Tim stretched a long leg over to kick Jon’s ankle because Jon still wasn’t looking at him. “First of all, my name’s short for Timmellius.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. That didn’t sound true, but then again… he didn’t even know Tim’s last name, so he was in no position to dispute it. (Should he know Tim’s last name?) (No… it was fine… right?)

“And second of all,” Tim continued.

“Oh, please enlighten me.” Jon rolled his eyes.

“Well, first-and-a-half of all, rude. Second of all, you’ve driven Martin away! He barely hangs out with us anymore.”

Jon frowned. “Has he been showing up to work?”

“Well… yes. I think so, anyway. But he just… avoids you, and ends up avoiding all of us by extension. It’s because you’re mean to him.”

Jon frowned deeper, finally rotating his swivel chair so he could face Tim properly. “Have I been mean to him?” he asked, concerned. He had no idea why he suddenly cared so much about Martin’s perception of him.

Tim appeared thrilled to have secured Jon’s attention. “Were you not doing it on purpose? I guess it must just be your personality.”

“I’m trying to have a better personality,” Jon muttered, turning back to his work.

Now Jon had secured Tim’s attention. He rolled his own swivel chair closer, cologne suddenly wafting on the left side of Jon’s face. “Wait, are you serious?”

“I am… serious,” Jon sighed. Earnestness would take some getting used to. He pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want Martin to avoid us – me – anymore. I’ll talk to him today. Air things out.”

For a moment, Tim didn’t say anything. Jon turned to look at him to make sure he hadn’t suddenly dropped dead – he imagined that would be Tim’s only potential reason for shutting his mouth. But he just appeared… speechless. “Wow, Jon, that’s… mature.”

Jon looked away, cheeks tingling with embarrassment. “Don’t make a big thing out of it,” he grumbled.

“Why do you suddenly like Martin? I feel like all you’ve ever done is complain about him.”

“Well, that’s not totally – okay, maybe that is true. But I think I just didn’t appreciate him properly. He’s a very nice presence. He brings a sort of… cheer, to the office. He… inspires me to be a better version of myself,” he finished quietly, unwittingly finding himself echoing Daisy’s words from a memory in the back of his mind.

“Oh my god,” Tim drawled, sounding delighted. “Are you, like, in love with him or some shit?”

Jon sat up straight, letting go of the pen he’d been toying with. “Is that what it is?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Tim inhaled sharply in a way that sort of resembled a muted scream. “Oh my god!” he said again. “I was messing with you! But are you actually?”

Jon got out of his chair and paced around the room – almost tripping over Daisy’s unclaimed shoes. Was he in love? It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. It certainly explained some things. Namely, the way he’d been so cognizant of Martin’s absence, and the way Martin’s smile improved his mood, and the way… oh dear. Oh goodness.

Part of him wanted to analyze all the evidence and the reasoning and the pros and cons and the why and how and figure out exactly what was going on with his heart. But there was another part of him – a steadily-strengthening part of him – that just knew the truth, in an intrinsic way that was too visceral to refute. It was funny how the real story became clearer once he shed the narrative he’d doggedly chosen for himself.

“I think I am,” he said, stopping suddenly and pivoting to face Tim, who hung over the back of his chair, curly bangs falling in his eyes.

“Jon,” Tim said, baritone voice unexpectedly tender. “That’s rather sweet.”

“Oh hush, it’s not,” Jon groused automatically, folding his arms.

“I mean, it is kind of gross, like finding out your dad has a love life.”

Now Jon was just confused. “In what sense am I a father figure to you?”

Tim bit his lip thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe more like a weird, grumpy uncle.”

Jon scowled. “That’s not very –”

“But an uncle I’m still rooting for,” Tim continuing, quirking a surprisingly genuine smile.

Jon pushed a lock of hair away from his face. He felt very vulnerable. But not necessarily in a bad way. Vulnerability left room for danger, but also space for opportunity.

“I think he’s in the Historical Landscaping section right now,” Tim stage-whispered.

“Why would I –”

“Go get him!”

“Oh! Right.”

&

Martin was supposed to be organizing the shelves after some terrible undergrads had put their research books back in the wrong place, but he had gotten very engrossed in collection of photos of Versailles – well, not exactly Versailles itself, but the place where Marie Antoinette had lived before marriage, which was sort of a similar type of place but much smaller. The photos were also, bizarrely enough, sun-faded, even though he couldn’t imagine why this book had ever seen much daylight. The truth was, in fact, that it wasn’t actually a very interesting book, and he just didn’t want to go back to the office. Sue him.

“Martin?”

Martin hurriedly shoved the book back into a random position on the shelf. If the terrible undergrads could do it, so could he! “Yes?”

Jon appeared at the end of the aisle, awkwardly waving a hand. “There you are,” he said, smiling somewhat stiffly. Jon’s smiles were generally fairly stiff, but Martin was familiar enough with his range of facial expressions at this point to recognize the source of this one’s stiffness: nerves. What could Jon be nervous about? Was he nervous about the hole in the shoulder of his sweater growing large enough that the sleeve fell off? (Martin would feel nervous about that if he were Jon.)

“Ah, Martin – I just wanted to talk to you about – erm –”

“About what?” Martin desperately hoped he wasn’t getting fired – nobody could prove he’d been stealing paper clips. (Melanie had encouraged him to turn his earring-making hobby into a ‘side hustle’, and purchasing his own metal bits and bobs would severely impact profit margins.)

“Well, about – erm –” Jon ran a hand through his unevenly layered hair. “I… I miss you!” he said suddenly, sharply.

Martin’s breath caught. “What?”

Jon sighed heavily. “I mean… you have a, ah, presence, that I – that really adds to the, ah, atmosphere of the office. And so I’d like it if you – oh, sod it all. I just – you have a nice smile, and you –”

“I have a nice smile?” Martin interrupted, unable to stop himself. He was also unable to stop himself from smiling.

“Yes,” Jon huffed, sounding almost grumpy about it. “And you just – you – I like myself better when you’re around, because you bring out the best in me, or what-have-you, and so –”

“I do?”

“Please don’t interrupt, Martin, this is rather nerve-wracking –”

“Why is it nerve-wracking?”

“What, are you interviewing me?” Jon grumbled. Martin choked out a laugh even though his heart was actively exploding in fireworks. “Fine, Martin, I like you very much. There it is. Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Martin said, because he was.

Jon awkwardly cleared his throat. “And so, just to clarify, what I mean by that, is that, um –”

But Martin already understood. Heart in his throat, he leaned over and carefully kissed Jon on the mouth.

Even though he’d initially felt fairly confident in his decision, there was a small part of him that thought maybe there’d been a terrible misunderstanding. That part was silenced, though, by Jon gently angling his head and lightly placing a hand on Martin’s upper arm. Martin felt like he was made of morning sunlight. It was quiet, and soft – no fanfare, no drama, not even any fireworks except the ones inside his ribcage. But it was just right. It was perfect.

“I like you very much as well,” Martin whispered leaning away.

Jon smiled. This time, it wasn’t stiff in the slightest.

&

Working in a research library wasn’t always the most interesting way to pass the time. But nevertheless, some would argue that there were occasional moments when it was, in fact, the most interesting way to pass the time. (‘Some’ meaning Martin. And Melanie when she was working in the same area as Georgie and Georgie had elected to wear her velvety thigh-high boots.) A typical day for an assistant librarian at Magnus College Research Library – well, for one assistant librarian in particular, anyway – consisted of activities such as shelving books, re-shelving books, printing documents, scanning documents, gossiping with his co-worker about her girlfriend, gossiping with his other co-worker about her girlfriend with whom he’d just previously been gossiping, politely reminding his boyfriend to clock out at five pm, passive-aggressively texting his boyfriend about how lonely he was in the apartment when it was nearing six pm and there was still no sign of Jon, getting tea for Jon, requesting that Jon make him cups of increasingly obscure types of tea (strawberries and cream was for amateurs), and helping students find what they needed for a research paper while finishing up the search as quickly as possible so that he could go back to sitting at the information desk, where Tim was certainly going to get bored enough to start asking questions about his love life that he (badly) pretended not to delight in answering. Sometimes Melanie got involved too, but only when the information provided an opportunity to tease Jon. (Martin provided her with varying levels of ammunition depending on how much he felt Jon deserved to be made fun of for, say, using dish soap as body wash.)

It all added up to a rather enjoyable workday – in situations such as this one they say you have to ‘make the fun’. And Martin felt that he’d quite succeeded in that respect. He owed it all to his optimism, he thought. He hadn’t always gotten everything he wanted in life, but he had gotten one thing he’d wanted very much, and that was enough to make all the pining worth it.

“Are you having a good day, dear?” Jon asked, poking his head into the break room, where Martin sat eating his lunch and watching an online video.

Martin smiled so much his cheeks hurt. “Yes, very much so.”