Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The floating old dust, sitting on top of high and vast bookcases that coat the walls of London's most prestigious library, now rains into the creaky wooden floors, having been accumulated over the centuries the library has stood still. The Magnus library, being founded relatively recently, more so in contrast with other established libraries, has achieved its rank by merit of its founder Jonah Magnus, as he dedicated his life to collecting as many books, as big or small as he could find with the help of a few of his assistants and acquaintances. At his deathbed, Jonah could only pass on his life's work to whoever he deemed more competent within his eyeshot.

—

Jonathan sat at his boss's desk, with a sheet of office paper staring at him, and a slight salary increase waiting to be acknowledged. His previous position as an archival assistant in a old run down library never really contented him, as his envisioned future in academia has always scored high— published books on his travels, world breaking papers on old civilizations or perspectives on the human nature funded by his extensive research on materials he will never have access to— so were the aspirations of his college self, who was in turn too busy with pesty and unimportant matters to really pay as much effort as he, deep in his core, knows he could. Life is never that kind, as he knows, and of all English cities, he's in London, and of all of old London's libraries, he secured a job in the most extensive one.

Black ink pen in hand, Jonathan signed his new title. His long hours of filing and listening to shouts of his coworkers as they named the title, author, editor and publishing date of a book were replaced with going over the said files so he can actually command how the randomly placed books are placed and organized.

He pays his thanks to the man facing him behind the desk, to whom the office and high chair belong to, as he folds the paper inside a deep green envelope that nicely matches the colors of his suit. The room's old wooden construction and green decor contrasts with the color of this man's pale gray eyes that always stare a little too pointedly at Jon's curved figure as he rises from his position reaching for his metallic walking cane. He walks down the creaky stairs of the library, its upper floors showing the true age of this building's architecture as the steps contort in a continuous spiral down to the lower floors, usually better frequented by the public and therefore more friendly to his aching knees.

—

The old browsing stairs stretch from the bottom of the bookshelves to near the rear of the rounded glass ceiling, its old wheels grating profusely in Jon's ear while he, again, strolled the circular corridors of book mountains while annotating title, author, editor and publishing date of yet another row of books high on the shelves. He muses that while he may have gotten another position, the library did not gain another employee.

''Martin! Could you please quicken your pace, we have more than a mile of books to file and you've taken half the day.'' Jon yelled from the ground to Martin, who was several steps up on the rolling ladder and yelling back the details Jon needed for the filing reports.

''I thought you didn't have to turn up to write everything in your notepad after you got that promotion.''

''Well clearly if I didn't, you wouldn't have done half the day's work and I have to get this floor cleared by next Wednesday.''

Martin turned his head quietly to the dust covered shelves again, taking out another book and opening the cover.

''The Seven Lamps of Architecture, Jon Ruskin, Leitner, 1843''

Jon directs his gaze back to his notepad and writes.

The downstairs part of the library seemed like a whole new building compared to the old, frozen in time and chilly corridors of the upper levels. More movement meant a better chance for Elias to take something out of the barely budging money he keeps safeguarded to invest in more cozy elements to the library's common space. The floors were replaced, heaters were installed and several sitting cushions were arranged as well as a special corner filled with children's books, colorful seats and plushies was built, hosting once a week group readings where a voluntary member of the staff would come to read aloud to all the kids present.

To Jon's grand displeasure, said day was today.

The one time he can work comfortably on the ground level, without feeling any ache in his joints taking any grueling step up that offensive staircase, it's a friday evening and suddenly a whole class of small pre-school students come waddling into the entrance, accompanied by their teacher and caretakers. Tim is out for the day and in return for getting to work downstairs, Sasha is doing the work of organizing the previously filed books by herself, leaving only him and Martin dealing with the tiny critters trying to whisper about.

As he knows he's a man with low patience and with no aptitude for dealing with children, he tucks himself into the far shelves of books to take notes for storage.

Martin, who has taken up the receptionist role for the evening, greets the adults and children alike with a smile and directs them to the designated corner, to wait until he comes by to read to the children himself.

Martin has never turned down a chance to read to the barely standing creatures that come around every week, only when he's working as archival assistant to Jon upstairs does he push the job to Tim, who more often than not is not completely opposed to it.

The children are barely taken by the books and storm right for the fluffy and dull looking plushies that Martin went through great pains to obtain by scurrying around charity shops and his own old toy boxes to help with the decoration for the children's corner. ''It's not like I'm picking them up to play again, and they're much better off seeing daylight instead of wasting away in a cold, dark basement at least.''

Jon could never see the appeal in stuffed toys, he mused by looking at the small children walking around play fighting or playing pretend families. All he knew his childhood was just books.

Martin might lack skills to do anything of great importance around the library but he has the talent to captivate everyone in the audience when he reads aloud to a room. Even Jon couldn't help send a stare or two once in a while to check out what the pictures of the chosen book looked like, when Martin stopped his character voice to show the crowd what a little flower looked like covered inside a jar. For all it is worth, Martin could've been an excellent school teacher or daycare caretaker, yet he chose to apply to this run down library, seemingly unaware of the importance of the material kept in here. It's a quiet place to work, surely, much better than a rowdy classroom, but Jon could never picture Martin having such problems taking care of things as delicate as children.

As the clock wheels move and as the sun leaves the sky, so do the children leave the library, quiet and sleepy, holding hands down the sloop ramp to the library's main entrance. Martin turns his head around to the small storage room behind the receptionist desk, door hidden by the same color and texture as the rest of the wall, to retrieve an old plastic broom, ready to sweep the ground floor and start the closing shift routine.

As he sweeps the floors, cleans the desks scattered around the perimeter, and the seats on the chairs adjacent, a hum flourishes from the boredom and silence that perpetually haunt the library, filling the air with a nice stuttering melody that warms Jon's bones as he absentmindedly goes over his recent filings to review any mistakes before turning in the days work to, well, himself. The wondering steps across the ground are heard closer and closer to his hiding corner on the deep, forgotten desk at the back of the ground floor, usually occupied by tired and overworked students.

''Jon?''

His pen startles on the borders of the office paper and he lifts his head up, slightly taken aback.

''What is it now, Martin?''

''I'm about to close, will you be staying here overtime again?''

''Sadly due to today's, event, let's say, I couldn't exactly perform at a timely speed, so yes, I will be staying slightly overtime.''

''Well, don't stay too late, I guess.'' He stutters with nervous laughter. ''Um, would you like a cup of tea?''

Jon looks over the rim of his glasses and returns his gaze to the paper just as fast. ''Yes, that would be nice.''

''On the way.'' Martin hastens his pace down to the different temperature water coolers, stocked with a variety of tea bags, Martin's courtesy, and grabs a mug sitting quietly upon the plastic table.

''Nobody is going to drink tea in paper cups, Martin.' He had uttered quite offensively at his coworker, upon seeing the new small box divided into separate spaces filled with several store bought tea boxes of various leaf mixes. 'Obviously I know that, Jon, but I've brought a couple of mugs from the charity shop downtown, so at least the staff can drink.''

After correcting a couple of overthought mistakes, Martin arrives with two sets of mugs both pleasantly steaming with an earthy scent, he sets down one next to Jon and another in front of himself as he sits down on the chair far across the other man, who eyes him suspiciously with angry and tired eye bags barely covered by the thin rectangular glasses dropping slowly down his pronounced nose bridge.

''Are you going to keep staring me up for long?'' A displeased sound comes from inside their space, warmed by the steeped tea.

''Oh, sorry, I'll just be waiting for you so I can close up for the evening.'' A nervous laugh embeds itself in their space.

''I have a key, you know.''

''Yes, yes, of course. But I wouldn't want you to have to lock the doors alone.''

The sun has already set, the dark cold night breeze spreads through the fine cracks of the library's barely put together insulation, and his knees ache from the week-long heavy showers that have been coating the city, and for every inconvenience this man has put him through over the day, Jon can't find it in himself to deny Martin's thoughtfulness this time, so he sighs and reviews the paper sheets at the desk one last time before pulling himself up, reaching for his cane and storing the papers inside a folder, setting it down on the reception stand before grabbing his coat and scarf from the coat rack and retrieving his umbrella from the stand stored nearby.

Martin checks the windows and back entrances before turning on the security alarm and finally shutting the main gates, locking them effectively.

They exchange good nights and scurry on their separate ways, each warmed from the tea recently shared.

—

As the heavy clouds get swept away by the passage of time, the recent heavy rains are replaced with the monotonous gray clouds London's skies are used to. The return of this weather only brings light to the more prevalent cold that accompanies the start of the season and forces people to bring warmer clothes and seek the warmth of heaters more often.

Stepping down the stairs one leg at a time, Jon walks to the downstairs floors, quiet and busy with tired students cramming months of concepts into a day. He came to get help to carry one of the old electric heaters they have stored for the upper levels, as they were heavy and difficult enough for an able-bodied person to carry, much more so for Jon, who already struggled to climb the stairs on a good day.

As he walks over to Tim, he notices an odd trio standing near the receptionist's desk, an old woman making small talk with the young man behind the counter, as her black clad son looks over the library as a whole, as if wanting to notice what small of a change there has been since the last time he visited. The mother-son duo is accompanied by a strange man beside them, who holds the son's hand as he takes note of the space he sees himself in, as if he has never set foot in here before.

And he hasn't, from what Jon knows, as he recognizes the other two quite easily. He waits closely behind them for his turn to speak with Tim, when finally the strange man notices him and grins distortedly, trying to assemble a friendly smile. The tall man beside him angles his face slightly down and turns his gaze to Jon, contrasting black and white makeup covering the entirety of his skin, while he waves his hand in greetings.

''Nice to see you too, Jon.''

''It's nice to see you well, Gerry.''

The old woman finally turns her wheelchair around, looking Jon up and down with her wrinkled and permanently doubtful gaze. ''Finally living upstairs, I see.''

Gertrude Robinson was Jon's predecessor and former boss, working as the head archivist in the library for the better part of her life, and her retirement most likely was the sole reason Jon rose to get the position he so desired on his starting days at the library. Sasha had worked as Gertrude's primary assistant, then was promoted to work alongside her at the end of her career at the request of Gertrude herself.

"Sasha is only scheduled to come after lunch, if you wish to wait for her to update you on the current state of the upper floors."

"That won't be necessary, I'm just here to get out of the house in this weather."

She moves her wheelchair next to the couch areas at the center of the library, while the two college aged men stroll around the bookcases and shelves to find ways to kill the time. Jon takes his chance to walk behind the receptionist's counter to talk to Tim to help with his original dilemma.

''Strange thing Gerry has there, don't you think?'' Tim turns his head to hush at Jon's ear. ''Unimportant to note, but yes, he is a bit odd.'' Jon replies with a dry tone.

Tim is lifting the electric heater up the stairs while Jon walks behind him, acutely aware of his steps up the building, when he feels his neck's hairs stand on end from what feels like an unwavering, persistent gaze. As he turns his head in the offensive direction, he finds big, focused eyes framed by long blond curls belonging to the same man of the strange smile following him up the flight of stairs until they're completely out of view from the downstairs floors, up to Jon's own office. When Tim puts down the heater next to the closest outlet to Jon's chair, he looks up to find his coworker's usually frowning face filled with confusion and suspicion.

''Something wrong, Jon?''

''That man with Gerry is certainly quite uncanny, I'm not sure how Gertrude can stand it.''

''I don't think she can do anything about that, love is love and whatever.'' Tim walks off with a giggle, leaving Jon to his devices.

—

The old grandfather clock strikes repeatedly in Jon's ears, its loud and melodic beats awakening him from his concentrated state of being, and his body lets him know that he hasn't eaten in quite some time. Not in the habit of bringing leftovers from his home or ordering takeout, he decides to walk over to the staff room's cupboards to see if there are any available snacks he can feed off for the time being. Martin, besides his tendency to bring beverages into work, usually brings small biscuits to munch on mid afternoon, and invites anyone willing to eat with him.

As he puts his cane down on the last steps, he notices the couches and puff chairs rounded around a small coffee table, where his coworkers sit around in idle chit-chat with their old boss and her companions. As the stairs creak a final time, he feels the now returned stare weigh down on him, and a quiet decline in chatter when the rest of the staff turn their gaze upon him.

''Good evening, Jon, would you mind joining us?'' Speaks a kind and familiar voice, inviting him closer to decrease the distant space between himself and his peers.

''No, Martin, I wouldn't mind.'' Even if he had planned to soon return to his office and have his fill of snacks there, now he would have no choice but to get said food discreetly, assuming there are even any biscuits left. He caves in and walks to one of the couches, setting away his cane close by and grabbing a chocolate cookie off one of the plates.

''Would you care for a cup of tea too?'' Asked Martin expectantly.

''Yes, Martin, thank you.''

As Martin walked the mentally carved path to the hot water dispenser, Jon turned his eyes upon the blond man who was again staring at him, with those weirdly focused eyes and strange grin, while he hid his teeth in the green painted mug adorned with gold cats in various silly poses.

''I'm not drinking from a mug I have no idea where it's been, Martin.'' He said when questioned about the extra mug on the tea table, after Martin said he'd brought enough for the whole staff. The man stared at Jon with such an expression it almost changed Jon's own. ''Yes, I guess, I- well then we have a spare one for any guests, I think.'' His curved figure walked away from the table, and Jon followed suit, returning to behind the receptionist's desk, where his shift was going to continue.

''So, Jon, I don't think Gertrude introduced Michael to you yet.'' Started Tim, eyes shifting between the two opposing figures.

''No, I indeed haven't, Tim. Jon, this is Michael, Gerry's boyfriend, he's been renting out one of the flats on our floor for about two years while he's getting his post-grad.''

''It's nice to meet you, Michael.'' Jon turns his head to the man in question, finding the offensive pair of eyes already on him.

''Nice to meet you too, archivist.'' Said Michael, a slight giggle accompanied by the distorted way his eyes crease, his slight accent mixed in with a cry of a British pronunciation.

Martin sets Jon's mug directly in front of him, distracting both men and urging Jon to occupy his mind with a newfound cup of tea.

Seemingly noticing the tight tension in the air, Sasha hurriedly switches the topic.

''So, me and Jon finished clearing half of the 5th floor last week.''

''What was the book tally?'' Questioned Gertrude. ''About five thousand and three hundred.'' Answered Jon, almost instantly.

''I hope you both aren't overworking yourselves, these books have been here for centuries, there's no rush into counting them all. Even after being appointed head archivist, I used to spend an evening or two reading a book that caught my eye.''

''That's why you keep squinting at everything three meters away, then.'' Interrupted Gerry, a petty smirk painting his face. ''Oh, if I'm squinting at sixty seven, you'll be squinting at thirty five. I had to tear books out of your hands or else you'd be run over by cars on crosswalks.''

''You'd never believe I got adopted by a librarian.'' They bickered back and forth, while Michael sipped his tea, giggling weirdly.

As the plates cleared and the mugs dried out, Martin collected the dishware into the small sink inside the staff closet to wash the crumbs and lip stains while Sasha wiped the coffee table and Tim moved the cushions into their original space.

Michael and Jon stood to the sides, as a guest and a disabled man respectively, they were spared from any minor effort by the rest of the staff. Michael slightly clawed at his own fingertips, staring at the various movements across the floor, while Jon moved slightly to sit down on a nearby couch.

''Can I ask where you're from, Michael?'' Startled by the question, Michael looked down upon Jon and spoke.

''A coastal town in Portugal, I got my bachelor's there.'' He answered, quite taken by Jon's approach to small talk.

Before Jon could ask more, Martin suddenly called him out from the staff room. Jon walked to the call and saw dishes half done on the counter next to the sink, not noticing the bright haired man following close behind him.

''There's a kindergarten waiting at the door and I have to take them.'' Oh, Jon realizes, it's Friday today.

''Are you taking over the readings this week too?''

''I mean are you? Tim clocked out before we started eating, and I don't want to take Sasha's time with Gertrude.''

''Nevermind, then.''

As Martin hurried to the reception desk, Michael stopped him in his tracks. ''Can I do the children's readings?'' Confused, Martin asked ''How did you know we do these readings?''

''Gerry told me beforehand he used to listen to people read him books when he was a kid, and that now it has become a full weekly event, maybe I could help?''

Well, during Gerry's time, Gertrude was the one reading to him most of the time, maybe one of the previous staff. This whole thing was only implemented well after he started college. Jon could remember those days, when Gerry no longer frequented the libraries so often, and Gertrude found their reading couch quite empty. Jon saw himself in Gerry, somewhat, buried inside of books most of the time, sitting in a corner before his grandma picked him up from where she'd left him last.

''I'm gonna check them in first, but you can go ahead and pick a book.'' Martin continued to walk his way to the receptionist desk while Jon finished cleaning up the dishes left over, laying down an old towel on the counter before letting the small dishes out to dry.

As the children grew sleepier and the library ran quieter, the sun settled west, mother and son sat beside one another while silently listening to this long blond haired man read with a small accent and describing simple illustrations to the kindergartens besides them. Jon and Martin settled with new tea mugs on a desk nearby, warmed by the steaming cups and hushed murmurs, where the silent and cold space of the library's usual atmosphere turns into rare comfort on a cloudy evening.

After the children's caretakers make leave and the three guests go on their way home, Martin starts his closing ritual while Jon scribbles in his notepad ways to make up for this evening's wasted time.

''Jon, I'm shutting the gates!' Notifies Martin as he wears his rain jacket over his deep blue woolen sweater. 'I'm on my way.'' Replies Jon from afar, standing up from the desk and walking over to the main entrance.

''Today was fun, don't you think?''

''Well, if you don't account for the work that could've been done, sure, I wouldn't mind doing it again.'' Jon puffed while putting on his own coat and tying up his scarf around his neck.

''If you keep thinking about work so much, you're going to end up hospitalized.''

''For some people, their paying job is worth thinking about.''

After Martin finishes locking up, they go their separate ways, crawling along London's cold and windy night, a deep blue and gray sky coating their surroundings, only illuminated by faint streetlights until both reach their respective flats.

Chapter Text

The library was getting colder. The humid type of cold that weighs down on the inside of fog, that seeps into the cracks of trees, freezes the morning dew, and cries in soft rains that dampen every solid surface in its misery. These cold and wet days are usually cruel to Jon, whose knees and legs can't bear his body weight without further support, and he finds himself almost bed bound when the harsh winter weather claws its way into the small bedroom of his apartment.

This, however, should not be the case.

The library is indeed getting colder, and the use of warm coats and winter accessories is already in place. Having said that, inside a recently insulated and heated space, said clothes should not be required. So why, when Jon walked through the main gates, was the coat rack empty? He wasn't the first employee to walk into the library, as he could notice the hurried steps across the floor and the staircase's wooden steps creaking with the weight of someone walking downstairs.

"Good morning Jon, are you scheduled to work upstairs today? I don't think you should; the heating system isn't functioning properly, and we had to scatter the electric heaters downstairs for the customers." Martin explained, wearing his puffer rain jacket over his wool sweater, the clothes' soft blue tint contrasting with his fair, freckle-stained face, his cheeks and nose slightly flushed red due to the temperature.

Jon, opting not to disrobe from his trench coat and knit scarf, started walking towards the stairs, face contorted into a disdainful frown as he climbed the steps, ignoring Martin's pleas.

"It's not good for your legs to keep walking up and down all those steps several times a day." Martin had said, setting Jon's plain white mug down on the table coaster on top of the old, unused fireplace located on the third floor, where Jon had taken a seat after a session of slow and tedious filing. "I don't think you have the credentials to say that to me, after running up three flights of stairs twice to get tea." Responded Jon, feeling up the mug for its temperature. "Well, I mean, yes, but you know it's more than I don't have-"

"What do I have, Martin? What do I have that keeps me from going up and down some stairs? Do you think of me so incompetent?" He yelled, sitting up with his cane and stammering outside the small office, leaving his tea cooling, unfinished.

As he climbed higher, the less he could hear his coworkers' chatter, and silence swept over the floor along with a new chill that lay on the upstairs floor, not unlike an invisible, dense, and unmoving cloud that coated the space with colder air that seeped into Jon's bones. He almost curses his own stubbornness, if not for his innate need to prove he could handle less than desirable circumstances.

—

For the passing days, the weather has not been more merciful, and the library has not been warmer. The heating system has not been fixed, and will not be fixed in the near future, as far as everyone knows. Elias hasn't been in a particularly great mood, and he will not give anything but vague answers when asked.

This means that lately, everyone working inside the library has been congregating near all the electric heaters and drinking all the tea that Martin recently stocked up on due to the sudden winter cloud that has been plaguing the library. The only staff member who refuses to join his coworkers is Jon, who has been staying upstairs working, checking inside the bottom shelf books to work on his personal library, determined to find and study any book that provides information on any topics of his interest.

He sits on the floor, slightly disregarding his personal image in favor of not having to bend down or stand for any prolonged period of time, dragging himself through wood deeply ingrained with a small layer of dust that flies up to his face when disturbed, and scrolls through the small selection of books currently available to him. He shifts his position to a less uncomfortable one, when he hears the staircase creak louder and louder towards him. As he scrambles up, grabbing the bookshelves for support, he accidentally drops his cane onto the ground, letting out a curse as the creaking of the steps grows faster until they come to a full stop, and he hears a strange sigh of relief echo.

"Oh god, Jon, I thought you had fallen over for a second." Martin breathed harshly, leaving a cloud of condensation in the air.

"Not now, Martin." Spouted Jon, trying not to actually fall over, as he focused his strength on his hands to stay supported by the shelves.

"Well, I brought you a cup of tea, in case you'd-"

"Leave it, Martin."

"I, um, okay." Jon heard the ceramic being put down on top of the wood and soft footsteps walking down the stairs, his wrists giving out and letting him fall to the floor again, where he drags his cane next to him, and uses it to pull the tea mug closer to himself.

—

Jon opened the main gates, yet again, to stale cold air, as if there was no difference in temperature from the outdoors, not surprised but once again disappointed.

As he instinctively went for the staircase, he noticed the piles of books stacked one on top of the other filling up the space of several desks. As he goes to check them, Sasha's voice rings out.

"We moved about 5 shelves of books downstairs. You shouldn't be overworking yourself because of Elias's negligence."

"I can work perfectly fine, thank you for the concern. I don't see why a slight chill should impact me so harshly."

Sasha sighed "Martin brought blankets, we'll be curled up next to the children's corner. The kindergartners are still coming in despite the teacher's being warned of this month's predicament."

As Sasha goes away, still wearing her cardigan, Jon pulls a chair up to himself and brings a randomly selected stack of books to his space. As he opens his notepad and starts annotating the book's small details, he overhears another coworker's voice echoing through the chill air of the library.

"Boss, could you let me take that heater? We need it for the children's space." He hears Elias sigh, curling the bright red blankets around himself.

"Boss, we're going to have a class in here soon." Jon remembers being warned that, due to work hours being cut shorter, so were the visitation hours, to have mercy on the children so they wouldn't be exposed to the harsher temperature that came after sunset.

He looks over to Elias, as the man tucks the shaved 'hair' on his side behind his ear. He sighs.

Tim turns around to his other two coworkers, tired and with a reddish nose. Sasha and Jon look at him questioningly, but make no move to intervene.

"I'll bite. What's the problem, boss?" Tim asks, incredibly monotone voice that expresses just how interested he is in listening to his stingy boss's woes.

"Oh, well, if you insist." Sighs Elias. "Things haven't been exactly nice with Peter lately."

Like they ever were. Everyone muses inward.

"How so, boss?" Tim questions, with no additional curiosity.

"Well, we planned on having a vacation, just the two of us, you know, quite romantic. Me and him on his yacht, a couple of food and drinks, all his fancy stuff. See, I decided to leave alone, I'm in my right to do so, just so you know, he has promised me everything, yet he keeps denying me these simple moments for me to have with myself. I just needed some time to think, I really did." He looks out the window, clouded with this evening's fog, and lets out another deep sigh. "Four weeks is a big commitment, you see, we've never been together for that long since last year, if I remember correctly."

"I thought you and him have been going back and forth for 20 years." Tim spouted back, rightfully exhausted and annoyed. "Boss, could you move over a bit to get the heaters for the 5 year olds?"

Elias grunted, but relented, having got what he wanted. Tim walked away.

As about half the books got moved to the "done" pile on the side of Jon's desk, the main gates opened.

Martin walked in, neck and chin bundled up inside his thick wool scarf, his cheeks red and his glasses fogging up as he entered the main hall, covering his eyes. He looked like a painting, the colors of his face contrasting with those on his figure, a light of radiating hues that brought meaning to a cold and stale room.

"Good morning." Said Jon.

"Good morning." Answered Martin. "Would you like some tea? I brought a new mix from the shop I think you would like." Martin pulled a small box from his bag, lifting his glasses off his face, he read.

"It's vanilla and Earl Grey, it's not what you usually have but, you know." He laughed nervously, as he looked at Jon's intense stare.

"I only like my tea black, sadly." As he returned his eyes to the notepad and book on the desk.

"Oh, yes, I-I'm sorry, I forgot."

Martin had left Jon's mug on top of the desk he worked at, turning a corner to sneakily sip his own tea while he tried to catch Jon's expression. He had accidentally put three cubes of sugar inside both mugs, contrary to the other man's wishes, but due to a small suspicion born of Jon's scowl as he drank his preferred tea, he was quite looking forward to seeing if Jon's reaction changed. He was afraid that his simple tea brewing abilities were not to his liking, as he was confined to the staff room's kettle and store bought tea bags, he felt lost.

Looking in the small view he had of Jon, sitting behind that bookshelf, he saw Jon's face contort in a small, delighted smile, as he sipped his tea and swirled the mug.

Martin's own face reflected a relieved smile.

The day continued as scheduled, Jon never leaving his work desk, his two other coworkers cuddling up near the children's corner, and Martin keeping himself running. Eventually, the main gates opened, and a small class of pre-school aged children walked in, holding hands and sneezing all over themselves. Martin, already up, checked in with the children's caretakers and led them back to the considerably warmer corner, where they sat in a semi-circle, where Martin would sit down and read to them.

As always, Jon could never concentrate properly on his task while in the same room as storyteller Martin; his voice was always too grating, his hearing too set on listening. He cursed at the book in front of him before closing it and turning around in the same direction as the noise. He couldn't help but lay his head in his hands as he looked at the scene from far behind, too adverse to step in any closer and possibly interrupt.

—

Jon woke in the morning at the sound of three separate rings, his alarm clock, the heavy rain pouring down loudly at his window, and to the constant call of his muscles aching in pain. He should call in sick to work, as his coworkers urge him to do so when he's in clear and noticeable agony; however, Jon always dismisses them, saying this is no arduous job, given he does "Nothing but sit for hours on end."

What Tim is welcomed to today, seated behind his desk next to one of the heaters, is the sight of his boss walking in with crutches.

As soon as he begins to rise from his seat, Martin rushes down the hall to meet Jon, fretting, as he urges.

"Jon, don't you think it would be better to-"

"You can leave me be and get to work, Martin." Jon grudgingly stepped forward into the library, climbing up the staircase with badly concealed difficulty. Martin wanted to keep pushing, to urge him to get down, as he saw Jon's leg falter at any moment, and his heart ran as cold as the room he was in. A deep, overwhelming cloud of sadness came over him as his eyes unfocused on the stairs and he turned around to tend to the staff room.

Elias had come in a while after mid-morning, hair slightly dishevelled in comparison to his usual prestigious appearance. Ignoring any thought of basic greetings, he walked straight to the downstairs spare office, twisting the metal handle on the door before slamming it, just short of brutally.

Tim looked at Martin curled up on one of the desks, twisting the tea mug on his hand for any feeble comfort, he looked at glass door where he could see Elias sat at his desk with his hands on his head, and he turned to look at Sasha, the same look of resolution and frustration mirrored on her face, as if they both thought at the same time "We need to do something about this now."

They both decided to first talk to Martin. Jon, arguably the party at fault, was straight up inaccessible, and Martin was usually the one with enough patience to check up on him. They sat across from him, touching his pale, frightfully cold hand to get his attention out of the outside's fog.

"Martin, I know it's a shitty thing to ask, but could you go talk to Jon for a second?" Decidively started Tim.

"I don't think he would like to see me right now. Or ever, probably." Martin laughed, although no actual laugh echoed out of him.

"I get that he's an insensitive asshole, but I think if you just push a little more, he might finally-" Continued Sasha.

"There's no finally, Sasha! If I 'push' a little more, he might file a complaint to get me fired! It's not worth it, don't bother." Martin lashed out, regretfully, closing in even more on himself as he took in both of his coworkers' stares. "I'm sorry, but I don't think pushing it is gonna make him come back."

Tim sighed. "All right, you know him best, after all."

Martin stood up, recollecting his spirits, trying not to mellow on his own misery, and turned to the couple in front of him. "Well, I think we could all do with a cup of tea, please?"

"Yes, Martin, thank you." Sasha took to answering for both.

As Martin went to his tea station, refilling the mug he had just finished himself. Tim stood up with newfound resolution, knocking on Elias' temporary office door.

"Hey, boss, I'm coming in." Tim twisted the doorknob, opening the door to Elias looking down on his gold wedding band and thinking Fuck, this is serious.

Usually, when the couple took to arguing, Elias would most often discard his wedding band and brag about the single life that was ahead of him. In a span of two to four weeks, he would wear his ring again, next to a new diamond stone resting on his finger and maybe even a flower bouquet when he walked through the office. This, however, was a fight so harsh that it had Elias looking down at the floor, which never happened, even in the rare occurrences where Elias was the one who got dumped, it never took more than a day for his husband to go back to get him. These were the occurring patterns that he and Sasha often bet upon.

"Yes, Tim, any questions?" Elias answered, finally taking notice of the other person sharing his space.

"Well, I speak for everyone working here, have you called any repair team to come take a look at the heaters?"

"I haven't, Tim. Frankly, I've been completely busy trying to get my marriage back together." Elias said furiously.

"Well, to be honest, boss, I don't think you and your husband's weekly squabble deserves to disrupt your employee's well-being, so sorry for wanting to know if we need to keep closing half a day earlier while nearly freezing to death."

"Well, Tim, I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but these cold days are rare and everything is going to be fine-"

Suddenly, where Tim had been staring at Elias's face, plain and empty darkness filled the space.

The fucking lights went out.

And so did the building's electricity.

—

When Jon finally managed to come upstairs, he took refuge on the third floor, where his arms gave out right after he sat down. His temper had gotten the best of him, and he climbed as high as he could, letting his anger and body collapse as the stale cold invaded deep inside several layers of clothing, penetrating his pores and settling beneath his bones. The insistent ache that had been plaguing him since that morning has not been quelled nor subdued, and as he sits on the small wooden chair, too far from any book and too weak to move, he looks up at the glass chandelier, distortedly modified so it could fit regular lightbulbs, and wishes for it to bear warmth.

Bored and cold, he lays his eyes on the table and the coaster sitting on top of it, as it fades from his view suddenly.

—

These cloudy, foggy days don't provide much light, certainly not enough to get from the dome skylight at the top floors to downstairs, even at lunch time, the lights were always on. Tim, Sasha and Elias were sitting down on a random desk, while Martin had climbed the stairs with his phone flashlight turned on.

"Things are going to be fine, wasn't that right, boss?" Tim turned to face Elias, his harsh voice echoing through the rest of the library.

"Tim, I don't think it's the right time to point fingers and blame.''

"Then I'll do it when I write my two-weeks notice."

"Don't be harsh!" Interrupted Sasha. "We need to fix this, and we can't panic. It's barely afternoon, and we just need to check the breaker box and get this running."

"Not to rain on your pride parade, but I don't think that's possible." Said Elias, resting his arms on the table, as if he were in a mere meeting and not the target of mutiny.

"How so, boss?" Questioned Tim, nerves rising as he uttered each word.

"How so, indeed. It seems that when Peter took me out of his spending, he took the library out too."

Both Tim and Sasha stared blankly at him, phone flashlights in hand, as they heard their boss admit, more or less, that their salaries were fully dependent on his boss's rocky relationship.

"Boss, does this mean we're going bankrupt?" Ushered Tim

"Oh, of course not, don't be dramatic, Peter is just having a small tantrum, he'll be back in a beat. I'll just be staying here, waiting where he can find me."

"Elias, I think you're gonna need to do more than sit there, like you have been for weeks!" Said Sasha, as she took in the situation and tried to figure out a solution. "Have you apologised, talked to him, done anything?!"

"Of course not, who do you take me for? He's the one who isn't paying the bills." Elias said, as if nothing he said was illogical.

"Boss, you stole his yacht."

"And as I've already said, I had every reason to!"

Both Sasha and Tim deeply sighed, frustrated and annoyed as they stared at their employer.

—

Martin climbed through the stairs, barely illuminating his path with his flimsy phone flashlight, stumbling through some steps in his hurry.

"Jon?" He would ask blindly as he felt himself stop climbing and feel solid, flat wood.

After climbing three flights, searching for Jon in every room his flashlight could show, he arrived at the third floor.

"Jon?" He asked again, feebly waiting for a response.

"I'm here, Martin." Sighed the man. "Oh, thank god." He breathed harshly, the air going colder and colder as higher he rose, his throat closing in the stale, freezing air, as if its usual dust had turned into snowflakes.

"Are you doing okay?" Martin asked, once he took in Jon's uncomfortable position on his chair, crutches leaning on the table, Jon made no effort to stand up, looking at Martin through his glass frame, the small metal that surrounded his lenses chilling his face even more. He brought his hands to his mouth and exhaled, his breath coming to life in a cloud caught only by Martin's eyes and his flashlight.

"Martin, could you light the fireplace? I have a lighter with me, but I have no idea if it'll take, considering we haven't touched the stored wood, ever."

Without even questioning why they haven't ever lit the fireplace in this whole ordeal, Martin obeyed.

Jon handed him his lighter, gold and carved with a spider web, before he even opened his mouth, Jon answered his unspoken question.

"Someone gifted it to me. I still hate spiders."

Martin crouched down to check his workplace, taking the dust-covered plots of wood from their tidy mount, and settled them on top of one another. As he turned around, Jon tore out a paper sheet from his notepad and gave it to Martin. He put the paper between the wood logs, lit the paper, and hoped.

He sat on the floor, staring fixedly at the small flame as it struggled to consume the wood, but held on.

Jon, in turn, stared fixedly at him. Almost all the way across the room, Martin's flashlight burned, forgotten next to his figure, partially illuminating those fiery locks of hair, frizzy from the humidity and Martin's own constant habit of dragging his fingers through his hair when anxious.

Martin's head turned to Jon as the flame started consuming the wood, a smile curving up on his face as he took in this small victory.

His eyes shone with the flames, his hair brightened as its colour melted within the light, the flush on his cheek reflected happiness instead of the usual red that came in consequence of this haunting cold, again, without any conscious effort, Martin's self reflected on Jon's face as a semblance of a smile and a small creace of his lower eyelids, that if not coated in darkness, could never be tied to the same man that wore them.

As the hours passed, the wood burned, its ashes piling beneath the already dusty floor of the unused fireplace. The room finally took in some heat, and Jon managed to find enough reason to move closer to the flames. He took his crutches again, the joints of his wrists reminding him they hadn't had enough of their rest yet, but he moved nonetheless. As Martin finally heard movement, he turned back, and as he saw Jon walking closer to him, he took it upon himself to drag the chair closer, lest Jon injure himself trying to sit directly on the floor. Jon sighed a thanks, and sat himself again, leaning his crustches on the back of the chair.

"What do you think caused this blackout?" Asked Martin, trying to do small talk now that they're sitting in much closer proximity.

"My guess is that the lights finally gave out, we haven't switched the lightbulbs in a bit."

"I switched out these lights last month, Jon." Laughed Martin. "You were there holding the ladder!"

Jon looked down, slightly embarrassed. He turned his face away and mumbled. "I'm sorry I don't remember everything, then," Martin kept giggling to himself.

"Well, I wouldn't either if I had my face shoved in as many books as you do, to be fair."

They kept sharing the flame, its heat softly emanating through both of their faces and slowly replacing the searing chill.

—

They had to come downstairs, eventually. Martin's phone was running out of battery, and the old wood was fast on burning out. Martin blew the small flame out and helped Jon up on his crutches as they slowly descended three flights of stairs into the lower floor.

What they saw once they fully descended was their boss holding a comically small, store-bought bouquet, consisting of three roses, and Tim frantically ushering what sounded like a speech for Elias to practice, yet he paid no mind, only rolling his eyes at Tim every time he took note of his boss's dismissal.

"I see him walking in!" Said Sasha as she peared out of the main gates.

Tim throws a firm stare at Elias as he walks away from him.

Through the main gates walks a big, tall man wearing a clearly expensive fur-lined coat, his white beard stretching a bit over his chin, complementing his white grizzly hair, combed away from his face and hidden partially beneath a sailor's hat. He stares at Elias, face twisted in a convoluted expression, too confused to laugh yet too amused to put any effort into hiding a small giggle.

"Good evening you're having, Elias."

"Hello Peter, as you can see, my employees have taken it into their own hands to get flowers to help you apologise, as your negligence has given everyone a headache, especially to me."

Sasha holds Tim's head on her shoulders as he contemplates going back to the job market again.

"How nice of them, really." Snickered Peter.

"Sad, isn't it, for me to have such an incompetent husband."

"Ex-husband, you mean."

"As you can see, I have a wedding ring, how could I have an ex-husband?"

"Yes, how strange" Peter walks closer to Elias, taking the flowers to his own hands and setting them on the receptionist's table on his side. Tim silently wails.

"I don't think you should accept an apology accompanied by those flowers." He took Elias's hands in his, calloused and wrinkled, as he pulled them up to his mouth and kissed them, both their wedding bands glistening over the soft light still emanating from around the room.

"It's that miserable salary you're giving my employees, how are they supposed to afford the usual bouquets you give me?"

Tim's spirits phoenixed back for the prospect of a raise.

"We'll see about that." Answered Peter.

The happy couple turned to the watching crowd. "You're all dismissed. Go home if you want. You'll be notified as soon as the lights and heating systems are back in order."

As they left, so did everyone else. Tired, frustrated, annoyed and irritated, everyone gave their respective goodbyes and walked their own ways. Only two lone souls stayed.

"I brought my car, do you want a ride to your place, Martin?" Asked Jon after both their bosses and coworkers had left. "I fear I have a debt to pay for after today."

"I don't think a favour needs to be paid back. But I wouldn't mind a ride."

"My car's that way." They both walked through the humid pavement, their steps resonating the same beat.

Chapter Text

A heavy stone weighs down above Martin's bed, his mattress slumps with its weight, and he feels his bones crack under its immense pressure. The stone is an all-encompassing, totalitarian force that concentrates all its power on top of Martin's self. Unable to move, he sleeps. The sound of his alarm rings, but his body resists its call for his phone is too far to be reached, and he lets it scream at him until it fades out fairly quickly after its long and insistent ringtone.

He stares at the wall, his head too stuffed with uncorrelated thoughts that stuff themselves into his mind, and he feels the slab of stone above him get heavier with each. The covers ruffle as he shifts his position on the bed, and the numbness spreads on his body as he feels the colder surfaces on his sheets, and he trembles with their touch.

His alarm rings again, its repetitive noise probing Martin's head open and surging a sense of urgency onto him that presciently insists that he needs to move right now. He finds himself slumped and anxious, for he cannot make an effort to either go to sleep again or move, so he stays still, surrounded by the pressure of a thousand seas drowning him. It takes him a certain amount of time, one he cannot discern, to move his hand to turn off his alarm at the side of his pillow. He stands up, fighting the immense weight his head bears and rises from his bed, readying himself for another day to pass.

The cold air his flat carries in the walls breathes into Martin's morning routine as he monotonously follows the same steps as any other functional adult that he will find stuffed with him in the same subway carriage he takes every day. He then walks across the same stone steps across central London to reach his workplace, tidies his outdoor wear on the flimsy coatrack, now filled with his own coworkers' clothes after the heating system got properly taken care of. He chills momentarily and takes himself to the tea station in the staff room, brewing two mugs of tea almost instantaneously. He takes a handle in each hand and climbs the creaky stairs that sing their miserable melody until he stops his step after spotting Jon, sitting behind a desk, head shoved inside a book, as per usual, and the light of his laptop's screen illuminating his dark skin in a greyish light. His eyebags wear an even darker grey that drains the vibrancy of his eyes.

Martin turns on the lights with his elbow, a smile beaming on his face, taking great efforts to disguise his previous cold and sad mien.

"Good morning, I made some tea for you if you'd like?" He walked closer to his coworker's workspace. As he received no reaction, Jon moved the table coaster to the outer part of his workload, as a silent "yes".

Martin set down the tea mug and stared at Jon's curved figure, scribbling and transcribing his handwriting back onto his laptop, the click on the keyboard serving as the only ambient sound apart from the echo of an old, mostly empty room.

As he saw his boss continue to ignore his presence, he took his cue to leave and check up on his other lively coworkers, doubting whether he should have climbed up the stairs in the first place.

—

Martin's after work routine was never any different from his morning, he walked the same trail to the subway, passed by the same stations back to his flat, climbed the same elevator that always made him feel cramped; not exactly too small but enough to make him feel a bit self conscious of his weight gain after testosterone before even questioning if the space is just specially tight, walked the same empty hallway, so quiet sometimes he even forgot he had neighbours, and settled on his bed, disregarding switching his clothes, just laying down until his body felt the urgency to move itself again.

The fog that clouded his dirty glasses seemed to seep into his own mind as he tried to remember the last time he ever felt human, if he ever did. Between switching through minimum-wage jobs constantly, taking shifts in various locations across his hometown to try to make amends for his life after transitioning, moving out to central London on his own at a fairly young age, and finally getting a mildly stable job, he never really had enough time to savour being alive. The happiness he finally felt after so many years fighting his own reflection mangled again after every fight he had with his mom, the new voice he so much liked hearing soured every time Jon left it ignored in the air, any change he once prayed anxiously about distorted and spiralled into something he grew to disgust, as he felt that maybe every physical attribute, gendered or not, just could not fit his body.

—

As he returned to his home one day, evening just as melancholic as the last one, he took notice of another buzzing sound separate from the constant one in his head. Sitting on his window still, as he opened the windows for the first time in a while, trying to drive out the stale air that had taken in the smell of his apartment, he came across a hornet's nest; its loud and strangely alluring song buzzed as it mimicked the constant sound of his clustered head.

Obviously, he panicked, of course. It's a hornet's nest installed in his apartment; if the critters housed in his new unlisted division spread to his neighbours' balconies, he would not even dare to imagine the consequences. As he dialled up the pest control number, it suddenly came to him that he had no place to stay while the exterminators did their job.

He disconnected the call before it even started ringing. He dialled Jon's number instinctively instead, his mind only catching up to his actions after he heard Jon's voice ring through his phone's speaker.

"Hello? Martin?" He hears the same tired tone once again that very day, and his shoulders slump almost as automatically.

"Oh! Yes. Hello Jon, I just wanted to say that I probably won't be coming in for a few days. I have things to fix up in the house." He spits out, completely forgetting his previous intentions.

"You're going to miss work for a few, let's say, home renovations?" Said Jon in an accusingly echoing tone.

Martin stays silent for a little bit, savouring the bitterness dragged over the invisible phone line.

"Well, you see, there's a hornet's nest."

The call goes silent for a few seconds.

"You have a hornet's nest in your flat?"

"Yes, that's quite what I said."

"Where are you going to stay, may I ask? Well, that's the thing. Martin thinks inwardly.

"I haven't really, uh, looked at that really, I haven't even called pest control yet." Stunned silence comes into the call again, but Martin hears Jon take a deep sigh through the phone.

"But you called me first to announce your two-day leave, isn't that right?" Called Jon out, frustratingly.

"I, um, yes, but really I have no choice but to--"

"Do you have any idea where you're going to stay?" Interrupts Jon. Martin really had no idea where he could stay; his mother's house was out of the question, having been previously taken by another relative, for she now lived in a care home. He had no actual other close family members that would take him in; most of them barely remembered his mum, much less the daughter she had. He could ask Tim if he could take his couch for a few days, knowing his coworker, he flinches at the prospect. Sasha, maybe? He doesn't know if they're even that close, really. The only person he makes an effort to talk to at work is-

"Martin?" Echoes Jon's voice, and Martin realises he's been silently thinking all of this time.

"Ah, sorry, to answer your question, I have no idea where to stay." He laughs awkwardly as it dawns on him that he just put his coworker in a fairly shitty position.

"Well, that case, I, um, how do you feel staying in the library until it's over?" He said, as if he wouldn't mind it.

"I mean, if the others don't really mind?" Martin answers, if he himself also doesn't mind.

"I'm sure they'll have no problems, but I'll check with them, and Elias also." Said Jon, again, as if he really didn't mind it.

"Oh! Thank you, Jon, thank you." Jon disconnected the call right after, maybe his words had finally caught up to him as he just basically invited Martin of all people to sleep for a weekend's time on the conversation pit used by middle-aged women when they do book club on Saturday evenings.

Before ringing pest control, Martin sat down to collect himself from this interaction. The nest's insistent buzzing keeps his mind steadily busy, and he's only again awakened when he sees a fast line of black passing through his vision.

—

After calling the exterminator's number, he fell again into bed, the new buzzing sound adding further to the amalgamation of static noises that permeated the ambience. Eventually, he zoned out.

He came into consciousness again when a small itch crawled up his arm, its small legs pacing curiously on top of the thick orange hair in his forearm. He flinched.

"Hey, little miss, don't scare me like that!" He giggled nervously as he slowly raised his arm to observe the creature slightly better.

"Do you and your sisters have a name? Now that you'll have to sign a lease?" No answer came from the hornet; of course, he's not so deep in his own world that he'll expect any living creature answering.

"I'll call you Jane Prentiss, and your sisters will be called the same; I can't distinguish between you!" He laughed again to himself. After staring at the insect for a while, his nerves spike never-endingly. The hornet took flight against him, and as instinct, he covered his ears with his hands, curling up as he realised it was gonna be a long night until the exterminators knocked.

—

Martin came into work immediately after leaving the exterminators at his home, after frantically cleaning and scrubbing every surface they could eventually take a glimpse at, and opened the main gates to the library, expecting stone-cold silence accompanied by a slight chill that had seeped into the pores of the faulty insulation and tainted the space with its misery.

What he didn't expect, however, was echoes of pen scratches and strong thumping that echoed from upstairs.

"Hello?" Martin didn't dare think he came right in the middle of a robbery; he'd more likely encounter the ghost Tim says he sees upstairs after closing time.

Silence swept away the entirety of the five floors, and a small voice echoed down, trying its hardest to sound composed.

"Martin?" Jon's voice came down.

"Jon? We closed three hours ago. What are you doing here?"

The answer sounded exasperated, like a child caught red-handed.

"Well, I- um, came to do some extra work for tomorrow, but what are you doing here?"

"You told me I could sleep here for a couple of days?"

Jon paused. "Yes, I did so, I just didn't expect you'd move in tonight."

"The exterminators arrived at my place pretty quickly, actually, and there were hornets in my bedroom. I wasn't looking forward to staying there, to be frank."

"Quite. Well, I won't bother you anymore. I was just leaving."

Martin heard some rustling before hearing the familiar, odd-patterned steps walking down; they sounded relatively close. Jon must've stayed overtime on the first floor.

As the mans figure came down into Martins view, a green fitted cardigan thrown over a knit turtle neck, dark in its colour, almost blending in with Jon's actual neck, and his curls haphazardly let loose, sitting a bit over Jon's shoulders, its upper strands framing his sharp face, all the right locks perfectly standing over his features, as if everything in his image was carved out with intention, beautiful in its own but captivating in its details.

"Do you have any idea where I could sleep?" He blurred out, desperately trying to keep the sight in front of him. "I came here, but I have no idea where to put my stuff, sorry." He laughed dismissively.

Jon paused and stared at him, a look of genuine resolve crossing his face, not one of disdain or annoyance, like the one his eyes usually bestowed upon Martin.

"You could move some of the couches to Elias' spare office, you also forgot to take your blankets with you after the heating got fixed, so theyre still in the staff room."

"Oh, I guess I did? Thank you, Jon." Martin laughed nervously; he hadn't even taken notice of the blanket's disappearance.

"No need for thanks, it's fine." He made a dismissive gesture while walking towards the coatrack, starting to get himself ready to leave. "Good night, Martin."

"Good night, Jon."

Left with himself alone, backpack still strapped to him, he took in the library's vastness, how the winter air permeates the room, the night's silence taking over again now that no words are being said, and Martin breathed in the atmosphere, as if he could absorb any remnants of his previous interaction that may have lingered.

Moving to Elias's temporary office, he sets his backpack on the couch, already settled inside the room; Martin has no recollection of knowing about said couch moving anywhere, but by the look of it, it's one of the couches that are spread around the upper floors, antique in their design, in a chic way rather than the downstairs modern furniture. But for being old, it was odly more comfortable, and therefore spared Martin from having to sleep in the open hall, and bothering Tim with moving one of the couches inside.

He turned on the office lights, taking in the space around him. He felt wrong, in a place he did not belong; the crippling emptiness and unfamiliarity of the room, his own lounge wear under his jeans, the strangely professional setting and his own figure.

Turning away from the staff room, he turned the kettle on and dragged the blankets to his new bedspace, layering five blankets over the couch as he waited for the water to boil. He let the tea brew and sat in the dark room, sipping the heated liquid. As he put the lukewarm mug down on the floor, he lay down on the couch, tucked himself in with his blankets and pleaded for warmth.

—

Faint whispers of blue skylight reflected upon the red flannel blanket wrapping a very cosy cocoon, a prominent carrot top peeking out from the inside.

Jon admits that when he had woken earlier than usual this morning, he expected to find Martin half-naked on top of the couch, snoring and drooling like a faced-up old dog. However, at the sight of the swaddled hair, face so buried in his capsule he can barely hear him breathe, Jon's eyes are compelled to linger on the small rise and fall of the mounts of fluffy covers; slightly protective but somewhat enchanted.

He sits on the office chair as slowly as possible so as not to disturb Martin's sleep. He puts down his binder, small pieces of paper overflowing the overused hard covers, its green paint chipped out. Looking back at Martin for a second more, he took his sleeping figure in sight, like a sacred thing he couldn't deserve to look at, nor get caught looking at it.

Martin stirred back to awareness, the bright winter light reflecting at him from behind London's colourless clouds, and a deep lurching feeling in his gut when he heard the thumping of a very familiar cane walking inside the office.

"Good morning, Martin, I'm glad you're awake." It is the first thing Martin hears of Jon, right before he sees him hand him his own tea mug.

"I made a cup of tea for you, if you'd like." Martin stood half his body up, carefully tucking away his heart boxers underneath the blankets. His hands took in the tea's heat in stride, his cold hands adapting to the warm surface.

"I made it quite a while ago. I'm sorry if it's cold."

"I don't mind." His voice cracked mid-sentence, raspy and deeper than usual as he spoke his first words of the day. "Do you know what time it is?"

"About eleven fifteen, I think."

Martin's expression was such that it put a small smile on Jon's face, barely concealed in his usual strict professional demeanour.

"I'll get dressed then, thank you for the tea, Jon." Taking mercy on Martin's soul, Jon shuts the door after he walks out.

Taking this moment of rest, he sighs over his lukewarm tea, drags the covers out of his legs, and gets ready for his new, unusual morning routine.

—

The rest of the morning goes quite normally, the years later months bring a swarm of students beginning their exam season, particularly one odd-looking pair that choose to spend their day on the circle desk next to the children's corner. Michael scorned the various scattered papers lying on the table with a tired and frustrated gaze, behind his strange, round glasses, which looked unfamiliarly normal on him. Gerry was caressing his hand in a gesture of comfort, as he seemed occupied ogling his own book, filled to the brim with bright bookmarks and post-it notes sticking out of the pages; occasionally, he would tear their hands apart to hold the book to annotate something on the page margins.

Martin found a spot spared from the rest of the tables' mess and put down two tea mugs on the table, a green cat mug and one filled with protruding clay eyes.

"Camomile would help, I think." He chimmed. Michael took in the cup and, looking straight into Martin's eyes with his staple terrific stare, now ridden with dark circles.

"Thank you, Martin." He smiled, a bit too late, given his reaction.

Jon got caught in the fish net that was Michael's scorn, as he watched those eyes look deep into his jealous core, as the mug was held next to Michael's lips and kissed. Martin startled as he heard the chair a few desks away slide and scratch the floor abruptly, and as he turned his head in the direction of the noise, he saw Jon's figure walk back to the staff room. Confused, he returned his gaze to Michael instead. The man's eyes returned almost instantly to his work, and Martin left their desk, returning to his original duties.

—

After sweeping up the eraser dust left by a group of what looked like art students, Martin heard someone incessantly pst next to him; looking back, he saw Tim leaning towards him in his receptionist chair. Tim waved his finger, motioning Martin to come closer, and whispered in his ear.

"Jon's been unusually green-eyed, don't you think?" Giggled Tim.

"..His eyes are green." Martin answered pathetically.

"He's been acting more bitchy than usual, is what I'm getting at." Explained Tim.

"What does that have to do with green eyes, thought, I'm sure he's just upset I'm taking his place by sleeping here."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you're not the prime target of his anger." Martin paused, leaned closer and asked.

"What do you mean by that?" He lowered his head to Tim's.

"Well, not to gossip around the workplace, but he's been holed up the whole evening upstairs, when he spent the whole morning around here following you."

Martin lifted his head, his expression filled with such utter surprise, Tim patted his jaw upwards, gesturing to close it.

Martin twitched his head, silently gasping around his words. "What do you mean he's been following me?"

"Well, not following as in stalking, but he's been clearly sticking around the same corners as you." Martin continued bearing his starstruck expression, thinking back to every moment of his day, and as Tim said, every time he remembered changing rooms, he always spotted Jon moving with him.

Staring at Martin's stunned face, Tim smirked. Sadly, all good things end too soon, and he was brought back to his pressing job when a harsh hand smacked at his desk. He turned his head to two girls and a small pile of books they wished to rent. One of them dragged her fingers through the other's bright red hair, long and wavy, the ends of her hair drooping down below the receptionist's desk.

As he wrote down the usual information, Tim turned his voice to Martin, winking.

"So, any idea why he would spy on you the whole day?" Tim kept persistently winking at him, and Martin's face reddened increasingly. He managed to stutter away something incomprehensible, which left Tim's face contorted in a smug grimace.

"I, I, I-I have no idea what you're talking about, Tim, and I'm gonna leave you to our customers now, have a nice day." Martin took the broom and walked up the stairs, taking his cleaning somewhere safe from Tim's insensitive jokes. Tim threw Martin a final wink as he climbed the steps and then turned his head to the two girls, wishing them a nice day while handing them the books.

—

As the day passed, the dense crowd of college students dimmed and left space for another crowd, this time smaller, of elementary students who paced their way into the children's corner. Michael, seeing as their small, wide eyes, curiously watch every unfamiliar corner of the library's ceiling; wiped the bags under his eyes, pulled Gerry over and made them both sit on adjacent chairs. Picking up a book standing on the shelves, he waited for the children to sit, to then read out loud the expressive voices of the characters as his boyfriend looked questioningly at the children, making various silly faces to accompany the story.

Martin was already mopping the light wooden floors around the library, preparing to finally close. Jon was also sitting close by, as Tim said; he stopped sulking upstairs once Martin came down to clean once more. The sound of Michael's voice echoing the silent halls, as well as the children's small giggles, made Martin's heart warm, with the sense that tonight, while still sleeping in the same quarters, he won't feel so much emptiness as yesterday.

Even after the children went their way on the yellow schoolbus to their homes, after Michael and Gerry packed up and left for the night, as Martin was closing the main gates, he turned around to see Jon's visage walking around, his cane's thumping reverberating as he took more paper files to the small office where Martin was, also, planning to return to. Both of them had never really talked today, apart from their morning greetings. Martin had been taken aback by Tim's comments earlier, and he never failed to try to connect them to Jon's weird distance towards him today. He would usually think he's being the normal amount of avoidant, especially since he knows Jon would hate to see someone steal his alone time in the office, but after his whole conversation with Tim, he can't blame himself for overthinking.

He saw Jon sit on the desk next to his makeshift bed, the couch barely tucked to its initial position, just blankets folded away. After Martin locked his cleaning supplies in the staff room, he prepared two tea mugs and set one on Jon's desk, the white on his mug contrasting deeply with the yellow light emitting from the rustic desk lamp while its fuse ceaselessly buzzed.

Martin turned away to the couch, laying down the blankets and arranging the arm cushions to fit better the shape of a pillow. He sat down, looking out at the cold and wet city, coated in the most juxtaposing colour to the inside of the library; a cold and harsh blue, one that Martin could associate with the colour of his own eyes, as his mother always told him his skin and face melted well with the winter. At the thought of his mother, he curled in on himself and caressed the irregular clay mug with his twitching fingers. He turned his head to Jon, watching the man's face as it brightened in the lamp's glow, listening to his pen drag words into the printed paper, taking in the sound of the leather chair shifting as he moved his legs once too much, drinking in the tired sighs and the pull of his glasses as they slid down his nose once more. Sitting on top of the blankets, his hands slightly warmed up with tea and his eyes honeying with the view he secretly indulges in, he sighs in relief for once, the overwhelming burden of existence lifting once from him, even if just slightly. He wonders if this is what it feels like to stay at home for the night, if home is just listening to your boss mumbling over his work as you and he both sit in a cramped office room, surrounded by the dark outside of these flimsy walls.

Once his tea has been drunk, he sets it aside on the couch dismissively, admitting he'll take care of it once Jon decides to leave. However, after hardly continuing to stay awake after three hours of mindlessly scrolling and even attempting to read the book he threw in his backpack while hastily packing, he noticed Jon had not moved but an inch from the desk he still sat at.

He stood up and decided to take care of the mugs now, unashamedly attempting to rouse Jon out of his workaholic state. This did nothing to phase the man, as he continued to scribble and now tap at his keyboard insistently, so Martin saw it fit to leave Jon alone for now. As he set the mugs to dry, he returned to their shared light and tucked himself neatly on the blankets, turning his head away from Jon, burying his face in the crook of the blankets and his makeshift pillow, trying to hide from the light that spread all across the room.

It was Jon's turn to peek through his glasses at Martin, as he heard a soft, "Good night, Jon." mumble through the blankets. He whispered his good nights back and lowered the brightness of the lamp on his desk, trying not to further disturb Martin's slumber, yet again. Martin was already too tired to take notice of the change in brightness, especially with his head so deep in the blankets as they were already, and so did not notice the lack of typing or ink being pushed around printing paper anymore. Jon took advantage of this opening to keep his gaze on Martin's curled-up form, the rise and fall of his chest, once again bundled up inside a red blanket. He never thought he would yearn to stare, to take in the sigh of something so mundane as his, frankly annoying coworker, sleeping soundly on a couch crudely made into a bed. Now he finds his heart warming, his eyes failing to be torn apart from Martin, as they seemingly did the whole day, like they took a life of their own.

But alas, the now dim light of the lamp only did so much, and his body was already screaming at him to join Martin in slumber, his joints aching and eroding with each movement he made. He needed to rest. So he stood from the chair as carefully as not to trigger the sleeping man or the burning of his knee pain, took his cane strode to the front gates, where he would leave Martin on his own. He contemplated giving Martin a point on his leave, arguing between purposely waking him after being so careful not to do so, but still felt a nagging guilt for leaving the man without any warning, coming to his mind the image of a small bird being left alone in its nest.

Contrary to his more logical side, and the rusting creak of his joint as they bore the stern of more steps, he decided to check on Martin once more.

Even if he had already dressed up in his outdoor wear, he did not expect such sudden heat from within the library, as it usually turned colder in the night. Sometimes, during his overtime stays, he would bundle himself up inside his coats before deciding to retreat home.

He opened the door he had previously left ajar to see a bright yellow glow come from the door, which he found strange. Had Martin turned the lamp back on? Jon was sure he shut it off right before he left.

Flaming bright next to Martin's curled figure, a fire blew fervently, spreading through the old couch's wood and overlaying cloth, catching on the rim of Martin's blankets, reaching up to Martin's similarly coloured locks. Jon's attention focused so highly on Martin that he forgot to note the fire had already consumed the whole room.

Chapter Text

Home.

If one asked Jon to describe a home, he would give the same answer as if questioned about a residence. After the passing of his parents, despite being as young as he was, he could never seem to understand the distinction between these words. Even after spending his whole childhood confined to his bedroom, reading, eating the same repetitive meals his grandmother made for him, and sleeping in what was previously his own mother's bed, he could never associate his grandmother's house with a childhood home. His grandmother was very particular about how things should be arranged; the living room, kitchen, all needed to look the same as always, even his own bedroom never took his shape, as if he was only a passing guest. Returning every night to his flat never made him feel the relief he would hear Tim sigh for during their leisure chats. How could he know the meaning of a word he was never taught how to spell?

When he saw flames consuming the office he was so familiar with, spreading a bright orange light through the room, the couch, and Martin's red blanket, he understood that even if one didn't know something, they still had the chance to lose it.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, rousing Martin, that in turn, also started screaming, quickly taking note of the heat surrounding him, Jon just stood frozen in place, his green eyes staring the up and down the flames as they consumed the walls and the books displayed upon them, the same books Jon had filed and dragged through those dreadful stairs until they fit nicely and orderly between the old shelves. He had developed a deep affection for his collection, the books he knew were untouched by his coworkers, his little connection to the workplace he spent so much time in, he thought as he took in the sight of the flames burning the pages from between the wood.

By the time it took him to get out of his stupor, Martin was screaming his name as he held a dusty fire extinguisher in his hands.

"Jon! Get out of there and help me!" Martin raised his voice as Jon had never heard before, his desperate tone striking a tight string of worry in Jon's heart, as he forgot the pitiful scene before him and turned his body towards Martin.

"Call the fire department, I'll handle this!" Martin commanded, making Jon fumble his coat for his phone, dialling the emergency services as quickly as his shaking fingers let him.

"Why didn't you wake me up right when the fire started?! Were you gonna leave me here waiting for it to burn me?!" Martin accused furiously right after Jon finished the call.

Jon stared at him. "I didn't know a fire had started, Martin! I was going back when I saw the room burning!"

"What the fuck?! Didn't you hear the fire alarm?!"

Jon startled and stared deeply at Martin, as he realized that he had not and currently does not hear the fire alarm.

"No, I think it may be broken."

Martin looked straight into Jon's eyes, his hands fiddling with the fire extinguisher while his head worked out how the fuck were the smoke alarms broken? This building is almost all wood.

Before starting to curse aloud to the fire about how his boss was an absolute incompetent and a narcissist devoid of any empathy towards his employees, he took a frustrated breath as he focused on actually doing something to take care of the fire. Forcefully taking out the lockpin, he was taken aback by the pressure release and stumbled to find his footing before pointing directly at the fire.

It was over almost as quickly as it started.

Jon still stood, hand over his ribcage as he manually and laboriously took each breath.

Martin stood, shaking, as he put the used fire extinguisher in a corner before turning to Jon.

They silently stared at each other, the silence stretching over their panicked breaths as they slowed, as if looking at each other's faces helped them come down.

—

Sometime later, they both heard sirens from across the hall, and as Jon walked towards the gates, they heard the doors bending against the weight of someone knocking. The gates had barely unlocked when they were flung open by two firefighters, rushing to assess the situation.

The firefighters turn into one another, sharing a look, when one turns to Martin and says;

"It is— was a small fire."

"Yes, but we have no idea where it came from." Martin answered, too tired and stressed out for basic niceties.

"It is rather odd that it started in a small office."

Jon, after being pushed mercilessly behind the door, walks towards Martin and tells the firefighters.

"There was a problem with the smoke detectors; we will be discussing that with our employer."

The rest of the night went as smoothly as it could after this whole fiasco. Elias wouldn't pick up the phone, and after filing some minor paperwork, the firefighters turned to leave, when one of them, a blonde woman with several facial scars, approached Jon.

"The causes are definitely suspicious. We'll look around the perimeter for a while, and we will notify you and the person responsible for the building."

That said, she and her partner closed the gates, leaving the lone couple behind.

Jon and Martin stood still in the now quiet hall, taking a second to compose themselves.

"Well, I guess I will have to move upstairs for now!" Martin giggled awkwardly, his previous commanding and desperate demeanour dissipated. Jon laughed with him, "I guess I will have too."

Silence once more settled between them, and Jon wished it could still be the same silence they shared not even two hours ago, the lamp's colours gleaming on his closed eyes still heavy in between his lashes. Suddenly, as something came to him, it hurt to think about the light.

"I-I think you shouldn't sleep in here anymore, Martin." Started Jon. "I think it's dangerous, it's not safe."

Martin almost laughed at this.

"Where would I go, Jon?"

Jon stared at him, a complicated and hesitant look in his eyes that covered a small, determined urge to.. Martin couldn't describe it.

"I, maybe, if it's not a lot of work, you could come sleep at my place for the night?" Jon let out, his eyes nervously scouring every corner of his vision that did not include Martin.

Martin barely contained the surprise on his face when he noticed Jon's face contort into something bred out of pure regret, afraid to have this heavenly blessing taken back from it, he agreed.

"I-I mean, if you don't mind it, of course I can, Jon." His voice was barely containing his usual childlike excitement.

Jon sighs, and his chest relaxes as he moves inside the now dark office, sitting down on his old office chair once more.

"I'll wait for you to finish packing."

"Yes, of course."

Thankfully, most of his things were fine, apart from his old red blanket; its hems were slightly charred from how close they were to the fire. He packed the rest of his belongings and put on a pair of large jeans over his pyjama pants; he felt embarrassed enough talking to the firefighters, looking like a homeless man taking shelter inside a public library.

Jon sat quietly in his chair, looking attentively at Martin's every move, a slight anxious feeling still creeping within him as he saw Martin fumble through the burned off couch legs and the dark, now definitely, frail wooden floor.

Eventually, both set off to Jon's car, Martin settling his backpack on the back seat while Jon turned on the engine, spending the car ride in quiet company.

—

Jon liked to think he kept his image neat and well-kept in front of his coworkers; he'd iron his white buttons down every morning, wear tailored semi-formal pants almost every day and make sure his shoes were never left unpolished. He kept his posture as straight as he could and tried his best to look professional, even if most of his coworkers couldn't visibly bother. He wasn't exactly scared of Martin thinking of his place as unsightly, but he could admit to some nervousness about letting a coworker who didn't really know him into his flat.

Climbing the small steps towards the elevators, slowly rising to the middle of the building and deliberately stepping quietly through the hall, Jon held his nervous breath as he turned the key in his lock, attentively looking at Martin for his reaction to seeing his messy apartment. As he turned on the entrance's lights, Martin sighed in relief as he let himself in and asked

"Where can I take my things?" His voice cracking slightly. Jon takes a minute before answering

"I, well, my couch isn't very large per say, so I'll need to clean up the bedroom, if you don't mind waiting."

Martin looked at him in disbelief.

"Jon, I'm not sleeping in your bedroom. I can take the couch, it's no big deal." He answered.

"Martin, you don't fit in there, and even if you did, it wouldn't be a comfortable fit. I'm not letting you take the couch." He argued

"Well then, I guess I'll just sleep on the floor."

Jon looked at him almost furiously. It was too late to be arguing who was sleeping where. He shut up and walked to his bedroom, his knees almost collapsing at the sight of his bed. Before he could take mercy on his joints, however, he crouched at the ground, taking every discarded piece of clothing and shoving them into the closet before closing the door. He put his cane down by the bedside table and sat down on the mattress, stretching his legs along the floor; his sheets were pulled up to the pillows, and he rolled them in each other to make it easier for him to make his bed each morning. He pulled down his sheets and puffed up his pillows before calling Martin over.

When Martin walked in, he noticed Jon's figure over the bed, gesturing him to come closer, and if not for his very tired mind, he wouldn't have sat on the bed so close to him. Jon eyed him, his backpack still on his back, almost dragging its bottom on the sheets, if it weren't for Martin's size and curved posture.

"We'll need to share the bed, then." Jon uttered, almost silently, as he turned his gaze over to his empty wall, hiding his face.

Martin stayed silent for a while before standing up and jostling the mattress under him. For a moment, Martin thought about refusing, but he is selfish, he realises, and maybe just a tiny indulgence wouldn't hurt. "It's fine, I don't mind it. Can I take the bathroom for a second, to change?" He asked nervously, his previously tired mien evaporating.

"Yes, feel free to…" Before Jon could finish, Martin was already gone.

Jon giggled to himself before hurriedly changing into pyjamas and pulling himself upwards towards the outer side of the bed. Both of his bedside tables were cluttered with dishes, books, and an assortment of stationery that he usually used to annotate with; he tried his best to tidy the situation, making it look as presentable as possible without straining himself further.

When Martin came back, he found Jon with his back straight propped on a pillow, his glasses low on his nose as he adjusted the sheets on his side, the low lamp light slightly reflecting on his glasses and spreading down through his face, making his skin glow ethereally.

Martin stood in the doorway until Jon caught him staring, he tried to avoid his eyes and sat down on the inner side of the bed, opposite Jon. As both finally lay down, bodies turned in opposite sides, Martin's heart beat ferociously in his ribcage, his lungs unusually laboured as he manually took each breath. Jon eventually shut down the light and, tucking himself more snugly, said his goodnights. Martin said his back, extremely aware of how strained his voice sounded as he tried his best to compose himself.

—

Martin's dim phone screen had hit three am before he could finally fall asleep. He was in Jon's bed, for Christ's sake; curled up inside his sheets, his head resting on his pillow, almost cocooned in his winter duvet. Jon's smell permeated his whole being, and he indulged in this definite one-time opportunity even if a small part of him still yearned for more. He felt like a creep fantasising about a potential timeline where he woke up inside these sheets every day, a slow weekend morning where he could stretch his body across the queen-size mattress and feel a drag of a calloused hand across his hair, and without needing to guess who the touch belonged to, fell the hand drag down his skin as it rested upon his waist, and a tight hug from—behind.

Martin's dream had come to an abrupt stop when he felt, indeed, two pairs of hands slightly pulling him into Jon's side of the bed. If he wasn't hallucinating, which he almost certainly believed he was, Jon was spooning him.

He was sleeping, right? If the small rise of his lungs was any indicator, now that Martin could feel them. He also felt warm cusps of breath shadowing over his back, the bump of Jon's nose, and he even started questioning if the small tickle on his nape was no longer from his own hair, but Jon's.

His heart started pounding even more insistently, and worried that it could disturb Jon, he held his breath for long stretches of time, only moving his chest in complete necessity since he would never forgive himself if he awoke Jon. He could pass out from exhaustion, as long as it meant he didn't do anything to scare off Jon.

Savouring the small up and down movement he could feel of Jon's breathing, until he, lulled by it, fell asleep.

—

Light prickled in from the small holes in Jon's blinds, which roused Jon's sensitive eyes, his mind cloudy with sleep as he regained his consciousness slowly. He usually was up from bed without any sun to wake him up, but he had slept so badly last night, got home so late, and his bed was so warm, strangely so. He curled up more against his pillow, strangely bigger than usual and — oh my god, it wasn't his pillow, was it?

Jon, now wide awake, pulled his hands as close to himself as he could and rolled to the farthest end of the bed he remembered falling asleep facing. His heart thumped ridiculously from his spine to ribcage, as if all the flesh and organs closing it in weren't enough to contain it. He tried to rationalize, Martin was surely still asleep, and he most likely didn't notice anything, and in the slight chance he did, he would just deny it. In fact, if questioned, he could even deny Martin shared a bed with him, and actually, he never stayed overnight at his place—

"Jon, are you awake?"

Fuck

He tried his best to look unconscious; however, maybe from the way he was trembling, Martin saw through him.

"If you are awake, would you like some tea? If you could tell me where you keep your tea?"

Jon's curled form stood firm, except for his head, which slightly nodded a yes.

"Is everything okay?" He heard Martin ask, with an unusually deep tone, which at least assured Jon Martin had really just woken up.

"Headache, tea's on top of the counter next, hard to miss."

"Do you need any meds?" Martin asked, as if he knew where Jon kept his own medication.

Jon wanted to punch Martin, in a sense, even though he was the one throwing a tantrum instead of acting like a normal adult; yet, he felt cared for, his dismissive nature melting away as Martin spoke to him.

"No, just tea will be fine." He muttered

"Okay then." He felt Martin drag himself to the end of the bed, rise and click the light switch in the hallway.

"Martin?" He spoke, throwing his words to the empty air beside him.

"Yes?" He heard back.

"Thank you."

There was a pause in the air. With his head turned, Jon couldn't see the flush spreading on Martin's face, almost clouding his glasses.

"Ah, yes— consider it a way to lay you back for letting me sleep in here." Martin said, the small nervousness in his voice returning.

—

Martin entered the small kitchen. Jon's flat was a bit bigger than his, but the kitchen itself was, he thinks, smaller. It looked like a small hallway with a small window at the end of it, under it a small table containing only one singular chair, and through the wall were all the usual kitchen appliances lined up: counters, stove, microwave, sink, fridge. The counters were prestinely clean, albeit dusty, looking weirdly untouched.

Martin came to make tea, so he wouldn't have to use anything special, and he didn't need to search for anything, since both the kettle and tea bags sat right next to each other.

He did, however, worry a bit for Jon; now, he doesn't know what the man has for breakfast usually, but if his sickly skinny form, moody mornings and heavy eye bags have anything to say, it is that Jon probably doesn't eat anything for breakfast. Martin has had that suspicion for a long time now, especially since he also very often notices how Jon doesn't bother to have lunch half the time.

He tried once to bring an extra lunch with him, masquerading it as packing too much for the day and not letting it go to waste, which Jon responded with, "We have a mini fridge in the staff room for some reason, just make sure to label your food so Tim doesn't accidentally eat it."

He couldn't tell if this dismissal was intentional or not, but he decided to save face and chose not to try this strategy again, least his worries start getting too obvious.

—

Jon briefly joined Martin inside the kitchen, his cane thumping softly against the rug at the entrance. He took an already filled mug of tea and sat down at the small table by the window, where he sometimes ate, whenever he actually ate.

Martin soon joined him, and the awkwardness of the morning started seeping through them, both looking intently at each other to figure out if he definitely knows.

"I didn't know what you usually eat for breakfast, so I didn't want to intrude much." Giggled Martin, trying to chase off the tense atmosphere.

"Oh, it's fine, I don't usually eat breakfast anyhow."—"Oh! Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"

Jon stood up, rummaging through the upper cabinets and fridge to see if there was anything—

"Oh Jon, it's fine, really! I also don't usually eat anything in the morning."

Jon looked at Martin apologetically, even if Martin was hungry, he didn't have any ingredients to prepare anything.

He returned to the table, his frown a little tighter,

"I'm sorry, Martin. I've been a terrible host."

Martin looked at Jon affectionately; his hair was mussed from sleeping only on one side, and the band shirt he slept in was stained and old. Martin took in the awfully domestic side of this and burned it in his retinas, wishing maybe that when he arrived at his cold appartment, after meeting the team of exterminators, he could lay down on his matress once again and repeat this moment inside his head until he couldn't anymore, until the weight of life dropped him back to reality, as he wished the moment he was now recording would never end.

"It's fine, I probably couldn't do better."

Chapter Text

Martin shut the car door beside him, the car's stale air awfully penetrating his nostrils as he fit himself on the small car seat.

Jon had forced— insisted on giving Martin a ride to his place, disregarding Martin's complaints about gas.

They spent the morning talking to each other, asking questions, and making jokes. Unlike anything seen in the workplace, Jon was gradually lowering his guard around Martin. Once they sat in the car, the atmosphere was not as heavy as it had been when they last stepped in.

The ride itself was quiet, almost. They were both still tired, and sleep still clung to their eyes when they looked at each other, so in a silent understanding neither spoke.

—

Martin walked inside his apartment, a strong smell of chemicals hitting his nose and perforating his lungs, burning them. He stood in the doorway for a moment and then worked on opening every window in his house, letting the cold air take control of his house once again.

He unpacked his belongings, folding his clothes and some of the blankets he retrieved from the library, not all of them, he thought them useful in the winter anyway. He set the folded clothes on top of the messy mountain of sweaters that covered his closet; in his rush, he threw the messy laundry on the closet and closed the door, and since he was still tired, he didn't want to address the mess yet.

Martin threw himself on the bed, closing in on his limbs due to the cold winter air now let in his flat, and fell asleep.

When Martin woke up, he was trembling.

Either trembling or frozen solid, he didn't know.

His joints were stuck in place, his bones chilled in his every movement, through the countless layers of clothes, he felt as if he was naked.

When he looked at the window, the sky was dark. Fuck, had he really slept for that long?

His hands felt cold to the touch, and he tucked them under his scarf— he hadn't even underdressed for the outside and blew hot air onto them.

After a while, he stood up and closed every window, started heating a kettle and switched out his clothing for pyjamas, settling himself on his bed with a blanket and a warm teacup.

He felt inspired tonight, after the most eventful weekend in his employed life. He picked up a notebook and a pen from his bedside table, and, looking up to the moon, started writing.

His breath on mine by Martin. K. Blackwood

Once, our backs barely touched,

I, too scared to turn

But you, in your sleep

Put your arms around me

He blushed, as he always did when he wrote about Jon.

—

After dropping Martin off at his front porch, Jon drove back to his house, acutely aware of his heartbeat thumping ferociously in his chest. He felt conflicted, he didn't feel anything for Martin, so why was he acting this way? Was his anxiety spiking up due to more recent events, or was he developing an allergic reaction to gingers?? Maybe he was still embarrassed by what happened this morning. No matter how much thought he put into it, he couldn't figure out what was wrong with him.

When Jon got home, his thoughts hadn't wavered, and his heart hadn't stopped its intensive beating. He thought about resting with a cup of tea, but looking down at the kettle still on the stove top and their two mugs tucked in the sink, he decided against it. He tried to rest in his bed, stretching his knees from driving, but when he lay down, he could still smell Martin's remaining scent, and he cursed at how fond it made him feel.

—

The next work week came around, with the same biting cold as last week, accompanying Jon and Martin to the workplace.

They met at the opening gates, probably for the first time since they started working. Jon almost always spent more time getting out of the house than he'd like, and Martin's unregulated sleep sometimes made him get out of the house a bit too early.

"Good morning, Jon." Martin said first

"Good morning." Responded Jon, stepping through the doors Martin had so nicely opened for him.

As they stepped together into the library's ground floor, they were faced with their other two coworkers staring at them, Sasha feigning a small smile, Tim's eyes almost popping out of his head as his mouth stood agape. Elias, who was also there, must've been telling them what happened over the weekend, but seeing their focus shift to the entrance, he turned his head to move.

"Oh! Jon, Martin, how have things been?"

"Are the smoke alarms working again?" Asked Jon, his voice nasal with disdain.

"I'm glad you asked! No." Said Elias. "However, now that everyone is gathered here, I have wonderful news to share!"

"You called someone to take care of the floor affected by the fire?" Asked Martin.

"No! Peter and I are now engaged!" Elias said with a smile and showed his hand to his employees, his ring finger decorated with a big oval emerald encased in a gold band.

Everyone stayed silent while Elias waved his hand, very content.

"It was so romantic, we had gone out on a trip in Paris, and while on the private jet, he handed me this little box with this little trinket inside! Isn't it nice?"

While Elias kept complimenting himself and the ring, Sasha and Tim took another look at Jon and Martin, a silent, compassionate expression on both of their faces. They waited until Elias excused himself to take a phone call, hopefully to actually fix things up in the building.

"So, how are you two holding up?" Asked Sasha, fixing the purple-framed glasses on her face.

"Not so bad actually, I had a small infestation in my flat, so I called Jon, and he told me I could sleep in the library for a couple of nights. He was still here when I arrived, and right when he was going home, he saw a fire spread inside the office, and I managed to put it out, thankfully. He called the fire squad, meanwhile, and we're waiting for news. You know, how did a fire actually manage to appear out of nowhere?" Martin had left out the bit where he stayed at Jon's flat for the night, you know, in case he had actually imagined it.

"Where were you sleeping?" Asked Sasha.

"In the small office, there was already a couch there so I didn't need to move anything in the middle of the night."

Tim had been leaning over the table where Jon sat, listening to Martin and Sasha's conversation.

"And what were you doing so late in the library?"

"We have a restock coming soon, new releases and all, sometimes I stay overtime to speed up the boring work." Jon said, lying.

"Where did you see the fire start?"

"On this floor's small office."

"That's odd." Tim commented, a smug look on his face Jon was a bit scared to decode.

Tim and Sasha looked at each other for a moment before saying they needed to take care of some matters they couldn't name, and ran behind a bookshelf. Jon and Martin stared at them before Martin recomposed himself, turning to Jon.

"A cup of tea?" He asked Jon.

"I certainly wouldn't mind", Jon was sitting on the chair, and rested a hand on his cane, fidgeting with it. He mused about the work he needed to do over the next couple of days; he wasn't really lying about there being a restock, just that it wasn't what he was working on when the fire started. He was always passionate about learning, hence why, after college, he didn't find it so egregious to work on such a large library. He liked reading, liked knowing about anything his brain could comprehend; being sheltered for most of his life, it was the only way he found to entertain himself.

Martin came back shortly after, putting down Jon's mug on top of the table and blowing air into his own mug. Jon looked at the plain mug beside him, and then looked at Martin's blue one; it had clouds illustrated on it, and almost always matched Martin's blue cardigans or sweaters, and Jon liked associating him with the sky, always there, and comforting in a sense Jon didn't want to think about for longer than he'd like.

Actually, thinking about Martin was the only thing he had managed to do the entire weekend. How embarrassed and stupid he must've looked spending the night actually cuddling with his own coworker, asides from said coworker being Martin of all people. He justified his earlier heart palpitations by telling himself he was still stressed from the fire, from letting a borderline stranger inside his house, and having a perfectly normal reaction by having a borderline heater sleeping beside him.

Martin sat down next to him, curiously taking peeks at his friend? Maybe? If coming over and being the small spoon didn't cross the 'friend' line, he doesn't know what does.

Jon is still staring blankly forward, the steam rising from his mug clouding his glasses, but since they're always down his nose, Martin doesn't think it bothers him that much.

They're sitting in silence while sipping their tea.

Jon stands up, suddenly.

"I'll set this over by the counter." He says, almost in a rush. And then he's gone to the upper floors.

—

It was past noon now, when Martin was wiping down some of the tables, when two women walked into the library, Martin recognizing them to be the two firefighters who helped him and Jon that night.

"Hello, is the responsible person in here?" Asked one of them to Tim, who was sitting at the receptionist's desk.

"Yes, I don't think he's left—but what seems to be the problem?"

"We have updates on the fire on Friday night." Said one of them, her voice serious in tone.

Almost on purpose, Elias climbed down the stairs to see the two firefighters staring intensely at him. The one who's been quiet spoke up.

"Are you responsible for this building?" She said it with no sympathy in her voice, but no harshness either, but her shaved blonde hair and facial scars did little to calm down Martin, who was silently looking at the situation.

"Not when it comes to finances, but yes, I am." Elias responded smugly.

"My partner and I need to speak to you outside, if you don't mind." Said the other one, more kindly, fixing up her hijab on the sides of her shoulders.

"That'll be no issue." Elias said calmly.

Martin and Tim stared at each other questioningly.

—

When Elias came back with the two women, he asked Martin to join the conversation for a second. They turned to him and asked him several questions, some of which had his hair standing on end."

"Do you know if there is anyone who could be threatening your or your coworker's safety?" Asked the friendlier one.

"I-I don't know, probably not?" Martin answered, a bit confused.

"Have you or your coworker been threatened or sent threatening messages recently?" She continued asking.

"No, not me, at least. And Jon hasn't shown any signs of being, um, threatened.—Why are you asking these questions? Um, Officer."

"We highly suspect the fire was caused by arson. There is a woman in the area who was released on probation recently, so she's our prime suspect for now due to her less-than-good temper, but we want to rule out any other option before going ahead with it."

Her partner interrupted.

"If she's the culprit, most likely she came here. Are there any security cameras placed outside?"

"No." Answered Elias.

"Are there any security cameras inside the building itself?"

"No." Elias continued, coldly, "We only keep handwritten records of who borrows our books, and your best chance of knowing if she walked in here is to ask our receptionist." Elias pointed at Tim.

Both of them turned to Tim, yet again. He was sitting leisurely on his chair, but once he saw the two large figures walking towards him, he immediately straightened up.

Has a woman named Jude Perry, asian, short stature and muscular build—short purple hair, come inside the library recently?" The blonde asked.

Tim slowly opened his records for the month and skimmed through the various names and phone numbers. He silently wailed at himself for not paying attention to people's faces when he scans them.

"Was she accompanied by anyone, perhaps?" He nervously asked.

The two officers looked at each other for a second before one of them turned to Tim.

"A woman named Agnes Montague, bright orange hair down to her waist, hard to miss."

Tim remembered a woman like that, coming just right before the fire, and she was accompanied by a shorter woman at the time, who kept her hands around the supposed Agnes' hair. He flipped some of the pages and pointed with his finger to her name, barely legible in his handwriting.

"Here, just that week." Tim told the women standing near him.

"Perfect, could we take a photo of this?" Asked the nice one.

"Yes, of course." Answered Tim.

The two officers told the men present that they would assess the situation with the actual police department, but if there were any leads they needed to share, they could call their number as well as go to the actual police.

They left the library, then.

—

Jon sat at a desk on one of the upstairs floors as he listened to Sasha go through shelves of boxes full of paper, misfiled notes, and completely thrown away by the staff that previously worked there.

"Sometimes I wonder what was going on in Jonah Magnus's head. I get that rich people are bored, but this is a bit too much." Said Sasha.

"I think he just really liked reading." Commented Jon.

"A bit too much, honestly."

"I think he could've used binders and staples more, maybe an actual filing cabinet on every floor, instead of having everything thrown to different sides, this is thrice the job expected of a librarian for Christ's sake" Jon answered, quite annoyed.

"I don't think it's good to speak ill of a man's work right next to his picture, looks like he's watching."

Sasha pointed at a big picture frame of an old photograph, taken probably in the mid-1800s. Jon looked at it, Jonah's eyes were light in colour as Jon could've guessed from the weird reflection coming off of them. He didn't like working on this floor for that reason; he never liked the thought of that picture watching over him.

Sasha changed the topic; "So, what did you and Martin do after the whole fire thing?"

Jon, honestly, would rather bring Jonah's picture with him to his flat rather than talk about this, he realizes.

"Oh, it was nothing, nothing happened, I mean." He answered nervously.

"Really? So you went home, and he stayed here? I didn't see his stuff here when I got to work."

"He was back at his flat Sunday morning, I believe."

"And would you know that?" Sasha probed Jon.

"I-I called him, to see if he was okay." Jon did technically talk to Martin, but he just didn't do it by phone because he was right next to him in his car.

"That's nice of you, you know, I was thinking about that earlier, actually; I don't know how he managed to go back to sleep after putting out a fire, with the leftover extinguisher smoke and how weird it must've felt—hell, I would be too scared to sleep—" Jon interrupted her monologue.

"He didn't sleep here; I drove him to my place." He felt os words come alive and die right after they left his tongue, regret feeling his insides immediately because he knows exactly how Sasha is with these things—

"Oh, really, that was really nice of you, Jon." And she said no more

Fuck. Jon thought. Tim will never leave me alone after this.

The conversation died, and they continued on their work.

—

A week or so had passed since the fire incident, and the two women came back once more just to take their testimonies. Soon enough, everyone working at the library had almost forgotten it.

That was until one night, when Jon stayed, again, overtime in the office, that Elias had still not remodelled, reading the newspaper

"Arsonist strikes again— Starting a small fire inside London's biggest archive of literature."

Jon stared at the headline. Firstly, that was a big way to say 'library', and secondly, why would anyone bother to set fire to this place? He continued reading.

"Jude Perry was still on probation when she managed to set aflame a small office tucked in the library's ground floor—where most visitors frequent. At the time, only two employees were present during the incident; thankfully, neither was hurt."

"The perpetrator said that she had seen one of the employees wink at her and her girlfriend while he was scanning a couple of books they borrowed. When confronted with these accusations, the receptionist at the time told the officers in charge he was not facing them when he winked 'playfully', but at one of his coworkers. The officers confirmed this with the witness mentioned."

…

What the fuck, Tim?

The article didn't elaborate on anything, just gave a small rundown of events based on the firefighters' report and witnesses' statements. A statement which Jon never gave, in fact, and he was the one who found the fire in the first place. He should've been there giving his statement along with Martin; it was only fair since they had experienced that together, in fact, they should've been accounted as one statement, they had essentially seen the same things. For a second, he mused if it would be worth it to start working downstairs more; however, he snuffed that thought out almost immediately.

He closed the newspapers and continued his readings, this time on the evolution of the sceptics.

—

To Jon's own dismay, he never actually stopped thinking about Martin's sleepover at his bed. When he'd see him at work, his mind would wander to what his hair looked like when he was sleeping, how he would curl up inside the blankets; it stirred Jon's heart into turmoil, and spiked his anxiety through the roof.

It became unbearable to work on the downstairs floor; almost at every turn, he would spot Martin going on his merry way, cleaning, sweeping, resting on one of the couches with some dumb poetry book, making tea. Jon grumbled his way in and out of his tasks, his mind always preoccupied with keeping out in case he needed to interact with Martin.

He didn't exactly know what made him start feeling this way, but he didn't like to think about it, and to him, that was enough.

To add to his misery, it was a Friday, when he went downstairs to retire for the evening, he spotted no other than Martin reading a fantasy tale to this week's kindergarten class. He stopped almost at the foot of the stairs to listen, far away from the show, leaning on his cane and the handrail and silently heard Martin's voice read through the simple dialogue as he read to the children.

It felt oddly soothing to hear him read, and maybe that's why Jon was so captivated every time he caught it happening. In the insides of his thoughts, hidden from everyone and himself, he sinfully wished he could sit next to Martin and make him know that he is listening, instead of cowardly hiding like he always does.

A loud thud echoed through the mostly silent library as Jon lost his footing and stumbled down the few remaining steps onto the floor.

"JON!"

Martin was at his side almost instantly. It was a small fall, mercifully, and Jon lifted his torso and picked up his cane, which had fallen right next to him.

"Are you alright?!" Asked Martin, very nervously, while a kid hid behind his leg, looking curiously.

"Yes, Martin, I'm fine, you don't need to worry—" He tried to stand up using his cane, but seeing his knees were unwilling to cooperate, he stayed on the ground.

"Do you need help?" Martin offered, when Jon cut him off mid-question.

"No, Martin, I swear it's fine, don't you have to—" The kid standing behind Martin reached out his hand, trying to help Jon stand. Martin laughed and reached out his own, crouching a little to reach Jon better.

Jon took a small look at both of them, face flushed with embarrassment, and took Martin's hand.

"Thank you." Jon said quietly, his head down low.

"Don't mention it." Martin said, amused at how he could still see Jon blush at, presumably, not to act stubborn next to a class of four-year-olds.

Jon straightened up and gently hit Martin's foot with his cane, and sat on a desk near the children's corner as Martin led the children back to the colourful tiles and assured the teacher everything was fine.