#so yeah i own a leitner now sorry

[sureuncertainty]

oh also hands down one of the best moments of metrocon was when I went up to a booth purely bc it was one of the only ones that had the magnus archives stuff, and asked about it and we started talking about TMA, and then the artist goes here I have something for you, and handed me a teeny tiny book (like i’m talking like not even a square inch big) and it was a FUCKING TINY LEITNER IT HAD THE STICKER IN IT AND EVERYTHING

[everywishway]

dear gods i just fucked up and this is a 100000% true story that happened 20 minutes ago, if yall call BS I'll sue...

So i went into work to drop off something to one of my coworkers I bought them and decided to buy a few things. I checked out with a different coworker and we were just vibing and he went "yeah, so I was talking to my mom and turns out I'm distantly related to Grant O'brien? I even showed her a photo to make sure and she said that's the one. He's my second cousin or something."

Now, here is where I fucked up.

I dont know if it's because: I didn't really believe him, I have been awake since 6 am with only chocolate and water in my system, the fact that I've done nothing but homework all day and hadn't spoken to anyone or the fact I listened to the "I hate jurgen leitner" monologue on loop on the drive over so I was in a silly goofy mood but I said out loud:

"Wait, Grant O'Brien? LIke, Grant Anthony O'Brien? The Grant Anthony O'Brien who (insert minecraft villager noise bc I am not saying "fucked" in my child friendly work place) 50 people in one night? That Grant O'Brien?"

... I don't know why that was the first thing I thought of... I could've said "Dropout Legend", "Bartender from Dirty Laundry" or anything fucking else... I said this to someone I consider a kid... Like, he's only a year younger than me but I see him as one of my work kids... God I fucked up yall...

Dude, if you see this you have every reason to have me fired but, as part of my own embarrassment, I put it in the work quote book I run since it's something an employee said in the store and (as I run it) had consent to be put in. Im sorry tho, feel free to extort me till the day I'm in the ground.

[zabala0z]

Welcome to “New Fan consistently listens to TMA S2 while playing Minecraft and dying by a skeleton” I’m your host: the new fan. Or I dunno if I’m considered a new fan since I’m listening to s2 but I guess the podcast was made in 2016 and I finally got to it circa 2024. Anyways! Gotta get to it! Post too long already!

MAG 57: Personal Space

Eughhh this one is like top 5 TMA EPS of creeping me out. Lot of stuff here so I’m gonna talk a while. For example, Conrad Lukas was in charge of the project and the Lukas family was shown in Alone and Boatswain Call. Speaking of the latter, Nathaniel Lukas gave an investment to the project. He was the captain of that ship in MAG 33. Pinnacle Aerospsce is majority owned by the Fairchild family WHO CANNOT STAY OUT OF PEOPLES BUSINESS 💀

Carter, the guy who did the project, also had that feeling of being utterly alone in this damn void. He said the line between reality and dreaming was blurred, finding himself in space, a graveyard or an empty ocean. The latter two I think are a reference to Alone and High Pressure respectively which all have the theme of “loneliness, stranded, etc” in common.

The whole “being alone in a large empty space” has been a pattern. The Fairchild family features in that theme and even the Lukas family in Alone. Optic Solutions Limited is based in Norway but the only connection I can figure out is that Jurgen Leitner was from Norway but maybe there was something I missed. Anyways that’s it. God 😭

Nothing much on MAG 58: Rations. Another kind of emphasis on meat. I felt so bad for the unknown lady :( (EDIT 9/2: Benjamin Carlisle shares the same last name as Toby Carlisle and both have very prominent meat themes. God.)

MAG 59: Recluse

Oh boy Raymond Fielding. From what I heard before, I thought he was a good guy since like y’know he took in troubled kids but noooo. He seems to be like the same thing as that woman from Children of the Night. Creepy spider thing. Also; that damn table. Now we finally know what happened to the middle of the table, like the square. Also the apple; Same apple Evo found in burned out. Even described the same. Agnes also, in my theory, a good person because she kissed Ronald’s cheek before he left and then was persuaded to go down to the study where his cheek started burning and snapped him out of it. I think she’s good. I dunno what her deal is but still.

Also, again, the table. It’s definitely the same table. How did Graham find it? He said he bought it in a second hand shop in MAG 3. Did Ray donate it after the events? Did the house burn down but the table still survived? Like god. How did the middle part of the table end up under the tree? With the apple? I have so many questions.

MAG 60: The Observer Effect

Another eye theme. Not many connections but I’m assuming she wanted to blow up the Magnus institute with those barrels of petrol. Maybe she found out something her brother was involved in which she blamed the institute for. I think he didn’t die of a stroke because no one ever dies of natural causes, I mean come on.

Also. Jon getting an intervention is the funniest thing ever. Like he was like before “they’re avoiding me and giving me fruitful glances, they’re up to something” like my dude, they are worried about you 💀

“Yeah sorry if I’ve been distant”

“You literally watch my house”

“You rummaged through my desk”

“You said I was lying about a murder”

I’m literally cackling. They’re not even wrong, Jon is going a little cray cray from all this. He needs an emotional support cat I think.

[starrypawz]

prompt 67 of the nsfw prompts you just reblogged :>

100 nsfw prompts "“So good for me, look at how much you came.” AO3 (content notes can be found there)

So this is an old prompt, it's also not what I've been currently working on because... writer's block but hey maybe early relationship Gerry/Nemo will help

So good, so good, so good, so good, sogood, sogoo-

Oh…

Oh no

He shudders, lightheaded with his  pulse thrumming in his ears and it’s any wonder the sheets under him haven’t set alight from the warmth running through him. Especially as somehow there’s enough blood to spare to bring another rush of heat to his face as his brain catches up to the rest of him about what just happened as he lies there.

“Gerry?”

He might as well be the ashes of a Leitner by this point.

“Sorry-” He manages weakly, voice muffled by the pillow he’s buried his face into.

“Sorry?” Nemo’s fingers gently cup his jaw, cool against his skin and for a brief moment he imagines steam, “For what?” 

“Do I have to say it out loud?” He snorts into the pillow, “You know what just happened-”

Nemo snorts and then lightly thumbs his nipple and he moans. 

“That I just found out I can make you cum just from doing that?” Nemo  does it again and giggles and oh that doesn’t help matters at all as he tries to bury his face into the pillow further. And somehow there’s a tiny bit of him that’s aware enough to realise that this new wave of embarrassment rapidly… goes south. And that wave makes him bite down on a moan as he feels a twitch that 1. Reminds him these jeans are too damned tight right now and 2. That he needs to add this whole situation to the exponentially growing list of ‘things to unpack later. 

He sighs and manages to turn to face Nemo who kneels between his legs. 

“So-” Nemo skims a finger over the skin around his navel and he squirms before they flick the piercing in his navel, “Can I see?” 

He nods and shudders as Nemo’s hands work over his hip bone to where his jeans hang low on his hips with the waistband of his boxers peeking out just over the top and Nemo makes short work of his belt and fly and as he lifts his hips to help them he sighs with relief as he finds himself exposed. 

“Woah… that’s… that’s a lot,” Nemo breathes with an awed chuckle and he swallows hard as Nemo meets his gaze, “I… I made you do that?”

“Yeah… you did,” Gerry chuckles, the embarrassment now replaced with a strange swell of pride. 

“Does that hurt?” 

“A little… Don’t stop,” Gerry moans and grabs the sheets as Nemo gives a few more testing touches, “It feels.. Good,”  

(He also has to add that to the list) 

“I won’t,” Nemo grins as they wrap a hand around him  “If you touch yourself for me,” their grin takes on a bend that’s downright devilish and he manages a strained chuckle as he starts to thumb over his nipple and gasps which turns into a moan as Nemo takes him into their mouth as they tease him slowly. 

He whimpers and bites down on his lip, one of Nemo’s hands placed on his hip and he does his best to keep his hips still. Everything is on the edge of being too much but also not enough as Nemo continues to keep things slow. He does his best to match Nemo’s rhythm as he teases himself. 

Once again it’s all over all too soon. 

Nemo gives a muffled gasp as he jolts and he tenses for a moment but Nemo continues to tease him, seemingly intent on drawing every last drop from him as they give muffled moans as he whimpers. 

Nemo comes up for air eventually as they slowly release him with a wet pop.

Nemo continues to tease him as they seem intent on drawing every last drop from him as they moan around his cock as he whimpers before they eventually come up for air as they release him with a wet pop. 

With shaky hands he pulls them in for a kiss and… Oh. 

He feels Nemo smirk against his lips as he swallows down his own cum. (Not for the first time… what can he say he’s been… curious in the past) 

They break for air again. Gerry’s hands rest on Nemo’s hips.

“You came so hard for me,” Nemo grins as they pull him in for a biting kiss, “Good boy,”

He moans against their lips as he lets a hand wander downwards and

Oh

He cups them gently, the soft cotton of their boxers is soaked to the touch. Nemo whimpers and tenses their thighs as he rubs against clit as Nemo looks away from him with their face flushed red,

“Looks like you came so hard for me too-” He grins before he pulls Nemo in for another kiss as he slips a hand into their boxers. 

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 92 - baking apple pie

HOLD ON! Is that operator and Chief Inspector Hannah "Laura Popham/Jane Prentiss/Rosie Zampano" Brankin and the officer on the phone Alexander J"ared Hopworth/Martin Blackwood" Newall??? The operator sounds fairly clearly and the officer just sounds like Alex disguising his voice to sound deeper (or it's just edited like with Jared). Not so sure about the Chief Inspector. It lists both of them as additional voices, so it's possible?

"My dear Jonah" - ¬‿¬

"I know that what is done by those I cannot see might be felt here" - clever, using a place of Beholding to uncover those turned invisible by the fog. So… Did Barnabas know what the Institute was? What Jonah could do?

ELIAS "No, it was because he was curious. Because he had to know, to watch and see it all. That’s what this place is, John, never forget it. You may believe yourself to have friends, to have confidantes, but in the end, all they are is something for you to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard. This, at least, Gertrude understood." - Jon did better! Jon tried to help and save every single one of them! And in the end, exactly this was his doom to become the Archive. Gertrude did let all her assistants die, let others do the dirty and deadly work, which prevented her to get marked be all the fears.

MARTIN "Uh, sorry to interrupt, er, J-Jon’s here!" - Awww, he sounds so happy about this!

ELIAS "Goodness, Jon. Whatever happened to your hand? And your neck?" - Letting us know that the blunt knife did actually do some damage. Also Elias sounds so bored here. I mean, of course he Knew what happened, but usually he puts in a bit more effort to sound surprised or concerned.

JON [Chuckles] "I’ve had a hell of a week." - Yeah you did. On this day Jon got marked by the Vast and the Hunt. And just 4 days ago he got marked by the Desolation. (It is a Friday btw. and he met Jude on Monday.)

DAISY "Before I strangle the grinning bastard." - Letting us know, that Elias finds this whole situation amusing…

Oh yes, the static's pretty loud when Jon consciously compels someone.

Even though Elias sounds amused about the feeling of the compulsion, he also sounds like it takes a bit of effort to resist it.

ELIAS "There’s so much of this place, of ourselves, twisted by forces far beyond us. I just wanted you to know –" - Okay, was he about to talk about the Web? Since he wanted the others to know that he was not controlled and acted of his own free will. And conveniently in this moment Martin retrieved the others and interrupts him! Another Web!Martin moment!

BASIRA "Ah… Oh, god! And you killed him? You sure we shouldn’t be giving him a medal?" - Lol. Nobody liked Leitner xD At least his reputation.

God, the others finding out what really happened to Sasha… Martin and Tim I mean, I guess Jon already told Melanie.

ELIAS "Precisely. It finally tried to kill John. Then Leitner killed it. Then I killed Leitner." - THIS is a huge clue that Elias can't see what happens inside the tunnels! He couldn't see what actually happened to the Not!Them and he also couldn't hear Leitner (because of his A Disapprearance tho) when he told Jon that he entombed it.

Ben makes such a good villain! That chuckle when he phone rings!

ELIAS "No, there are plenty of other rabid dogs out there, mad with the hunt." - Smirke'ian name of the Hunt first time drop!

Martin doubting the police would do something like this reminds me of that The Fresh Prince of Bel Air's episode where Carlton thinks the police was only "doing their job" when they stopped him and Will and threw them in jail. That naiveté of disbelief that people wouldn't take advantage of their power.

ELIAS "Basira is now tied to the Institute. All of you are. Like fingers on a hand. And I am the beating heart of it. Should I, or the Institute, be destroyed, you will all, unfortunately, follow suit." - When I was first listening to this I stormed out of the kitchen to the group of friends staying at our place (because we would go on vacation together the next day) and babbled something incoherent to them about OMG THEY CAN'T LEAVE OR THEY'LL ALL DIE!!!

ELIAS "To offer some congratulations. You’re doing a lot better than I expected." JON "Feels like all I’ve managed to do is… not die." ELIAS "And believe me, that is a remarkably rare skill." - It's kind of true. All Elias needed was for Jon not to die. Yet.

ELIAS "The easily-digestible sort that wipe away any doubt and fear, and neatly organise your new world into happy little" - DOORBELLS!

ELIAS "These are things you must discover on your own." - This and with his explanation of Leitner "Telling Jon too much too soon!!!" I thought was a bad excuse. Turns out later, it was and it was intended! It was just an excuse to get Jon marked. Something I first considered lazy writing suddenly turned into brilliant writing!

ELIAS "Precisely. It is your job to chronicle these things, to experience them, whether first-hand or through the eyes of others" - Jon theater-kid explanation.

JON "I never chose this." ELIAS "You never wanted this, no. But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see. Our world is made of choices, John, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless." - Elias kinda gaslighting Jon here? How can it be choice if we don't know, what it means. When we don't even know there was a choice. That's kind of a philosophical question here that everyone can see differently… Also door motif!

ELIAS "I could. But I believe that if I did so, you would fail. The Stranger is antithetical to us. We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown. If you are to stop them, you need to get better at seeing." - Ok that one actually does make sense. But I believe that in this instance Elias was also genuine and not making excuses to get Jon marked. Not directly at least. He needs him to survive death.

The explanation of the Unknowing, what it is and does was also pretty mind-blowing for me the first time listening.

Jon lingering to ask if he's still human is so sad…

Even though Elias does sound like an absolute villain, grooming Jon into horrible things, I was still not entirely convinced Elias is the super bad when I was first listening. He does want to stop the Unknowing after all.

Elias' ambiguous villainy and obvious asshole-ness was performed so well in this episode

[radiosandrecordings]

I found the start of a script I was working on in.. apparently June last year. It was supposed to be for a podfic because I wanted to do my own travelling-to-the-safehouse fic but apparently this is as far as I got. I think it’s pretty good though so may as well post it. Left in all the ah... More creative notes I was apparently giving myself for direction.  [Tape clicks on] 

[Sound of two sets of footsteps on stone, reverberating around a confined tunnel. Possibly water drip?]

JON [Firm, but soft. Like a memory foam mattress.] Martin? Are you still with me?

MARTIN [As if distracted, snapping back to himself]  … What? Oh, yes, yes, still… Still here. Sorry it’s just- [He falters, struggling for the words]  Hard. With- With everything. It’s all a bit… [A pause. He’s making vague hand gestures with one hand.] A bit much. 

JON [Flatly] Oh. [Realising] Oh!- Do you- Do you want me to let go of your-

[Walking stops around here] 

MARTIN (OVERLAPPING)  [Firmly, almost panicked] No! Uh- No. No. This is… This is good. 

JON [Trying not to sound pleased. Failing]  Oh! Uh- Good. Good. 

[Several beats of silence as the walking starts up again]

MARTIN  … It’s grounding, really. Everything else is… A lot. Even breathing feels weird. I’m too… Hyper-aware. Of my own lungs. Not sure I breathed in there, not properly anyway. You just kind of dissolve into the background. Even yourself is too much company. Your whole body just kind of feels like a limb you’ve been sitting on too long, all the blood flowed out of it. So it’s… Nice. To have you. As a- As a focus point. 

JON [Muttered] Something to be said about anchors, and all that.

MARTIN  What was that?

JON Nothing, just a… Bit of a personal joke. 

JON (CONT’D)  Anyway. I think there’s light ahead, hopefully this should be the end of the tunnel. No idea where it’ll spit us out though. 

MARTIN Guess we’ll see. 

[Beat]

Just… Don’t let go?

JON  [Unbearly fond. Get it together, gayboy]  ‘Course not. 

[Tape clicks off]

[Tape clicks on] 

[They’re outside. There are outside noises. You know what those sound like, don’t you? I know you’ve been at home for 3 months but please. Please try and remember. Is there wind outside? Maybe a pigeon? It’s south bank there has to be pigeons. You remember pigeons, right? Also, river noises. Boat.]

MARTIN Are we at-

JON (OVERLAPPING) Southbank. Yes. 

MARTIN Southbank? But the river, we’d have to have- 

JON (OVERLAPPING)  Yes, I’m… Not quite sure the same physics applies, when it comes to those tunnels. They’ve spent more time being moved around by a Leitner than not. I think they end where they want to end. Bloody miracle we’re not halfway to Twickenham. Or still in London at all for that matter. 

MARTIN  ...Right.

[He absolutely does not get it] 

MARTIN (CONT’D) [He lets out a breath]  Can we just- Can we just sit? For a minute? 

JON  [Quiet]  Of course, of course…

[Movement as they make their way to a bench and sit]

[A seagull squawks overhead]

MARTIN  The sunrise is nice… 

JON  [Clearly not looking at the sunrise] Yeah, it is…

MARTIN  Do you have any idea what time it is?

JON  I’d say… Just coming up on seven.

MARTIN What, Beholding goes to the trouble of telling you that and it can’t even pin it to the minute? 

JON Martin, not to sound like the most stereotypical Englishman in the world, but we’re on South Bank. I just looked over at Big Ben. 

MARTIN Oh- Er- Right. 

[A sigh. He relaxes from all the wound up tension]

… God it really is just there isn’t it. Like, it’s one of those things that, if you didn’t grow up here, you don’t really get that it’s… Real, y’know? It’s like, you can see it every day and never quite get past the notion that it’s something that only exists as… Cheap, shitty fridge magnets and… And novelty t-shirts. 

… Does that make sense? No, no sorry I’m rambling-

JON (CUTTING HIM OFF) [Quick, reassuring]  No, no I get what you mean. 

[A pause. He’s searching for something to fill the empty air, desperate not to leave a silence between them. It’s only tangentially on topic, but it will do]

… I grew up in Bournemouth. Did I ever tell you that? 

MARTIN [Voice slightly shaky, but solidifying]  Not in as many words, no. I think you mentioned it, on a… Tape. At some point. Not directly.

[He hesitates] 

… Do you want to tell me about it?

JON [Hesitant. He may not have been Lonely, but he’s spent a fair amount of time trying to diminish himself] Only if you want me to. 

MARTIN But do you want to tell me about it?

JON [Meekly] … Probably not the best story for now, actually. Not terribly interesting. And when it is, it’s just a bit… Miserable, really. Childhood orphaning never really leads upwards in the ways Dickens would have you believe. 

MARTIN ...Some other time then?

JON [Stumbles slightly, as if shocked by the knowledge that there will be times that aren’t this. NOW YOU’VE THROWN HIM OFF HIS RHYTHM!]  Y-yes. Some other time. 

[Pause. 5 Seconds? Ambience. Sound of voices around has started to filter in.]

JON [Slow] I was just… I was thinking. About what- What Peter Lukas said, back in…  [With vehemence] There. And how it was… Partially true, in a way. We may not know each that well but… I’d like to change that. If- If you do. 

MARTIN [Soft] I would like that. 

[Content hum] 

… Tell me something non-miserable, then. 

JON What?

MARTIN About yourself. Something that isn’t, I dunno, doom and gloom. What about, mmm, favourite colour?

JON [Amused, mock scolding] Are you five?

MARTIN Humour me!

JON Fine, fine… Actually, no. 

MARTIN No?

JON  No, you tell me what you think it is. 

MARTIN [Under his breath] I tell you what I think…

[Contemplative] Okay. Okay. What is… What is Jonathan Sims’ favourite colour… You used to wear a lot of green around the office, dark jumpers and tweed jackets and stuff… But I’m half convinced you just thought it was a ‘professional’ colour, to match your fancy new job. I think it’s… I think it’s purple. 

JON [Surprised]  Purple? Why 

MARTIN When… When you were in the hospital… Georgie stuck some photos up on the wall next to your bed. Old ones, polaroids, but in a kind of artsy way since they clearly weren’t from anywhere before the 2000′s. They were you in uni, and you had this ridiculous purple streak in your hair. So… Purple. 

JON [Quietly mouthing the words along, not quite processing] Had a purple streak in Uni…

[Startled, just processed fully the implications] Wait, you met Georgie?

MARTIN  Not in the hospital, a bit later in the Institute yeah, but… That’s another story for later. No, we never met in the hospital, I never quite felt…

[Grimace] Up to company, when I was there.

JON Right, of course.  I remember that, though. Some time in my second year; I got a bit tired of people assuming I was a post-grad student and thought I’d try and dye my grey streaks purple. It fit in with the sort of… Aesthetic, I was cultivating at the time. 

MARTIN [Absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realise he’s saying it] I always liked your grey streaks.

JON [Shocked Pikachu but he’s got Dreamworks single raised eyebrow syndrome] Oh?

MARTIN [Oh shit, oh fuck, did I say that out loud] It’s just… Y’know. Nice. Not something you should want to hide. 

[Quickly changing the subject] … You didn’t answer though. Am I right or wrong? 

JON [Slow, amused. In a visual medium he’d be spreading his hands out] You got me.

MARTIN [Inordinately pleased] Really? Huh. Okay.  Guess mine. And no Knowing!

JON Oh, gosh, uhm… Yellow?

MARTIN [Hah!] Green! 

JON [Audibly :D because Martin laughed] Green? Why? 

MARTIN [Hummed] Mm, I dunno. Just something about it. 

[Volume of crowd has increased considerably now]

MARTIN [Slightly more nervous. The slight break in conversation gave him time to notice the people beginning to crowd around]

- 

I apparently didn’t get to include it in the script, but it was going to be a reveal later that actually, Jon doesn’t have a favourite colour. He just agreed because he wanted to make Martin happy. 

[gammija]

The final Web!Martin evidence list

Now that canon is done, and we’ve got word of god confirmation that Web!Martin wasn’t complete nonsense, I decided to go back to my lil chronological evidence list and actually clean it up a bit, delete parts that in hindsight weren't all that indicative, and put everything in a slightly more readable format. (Obligatory disclaimer that i don’t and never did believe or advocate for some kind of evil web!martin, and that I'm not intending to connect a moral judgement to martin (or anyone else for that matter) having some of these traits)

So here: The (hopefully, please) final list with Web!Martin Evidence! Presented in order of importance, according to. me

The final (hopefully) Web!Martin evidence list

(In order from most to least obvious)

Spiders

I mean, it’s called the Web. TMA reiterates quite a few times that Martin liked spiders. Sometimes it IS that easy.

MAG022: Martin: "I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute -"

MAG038: | Sasha: "A spider?" Jon: "Yeah. I tried to kill it…" [...] Sasha: [Chuckles] "Well, I won’t tell Martin." Jon: "Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem."

MAG059: Jon: "I have done my best to prevent Martin reading this statement in too much detail. I have no interest in having another argument about spiders."

MAG079: Jon: "Apparently, biologically, his account of the spiders doesn’t make any sense according to Martin."

MAG197: Martin: “What? Because I like spiders? Well, used to.”

Lies and subterfuge

Martin is able to use lying and subterfuge to achieve his goals, and is called manipulative a few times.

Lies:

MAG022: Martin: "[He] became slightly more co-operative after I lied to him and told him that one of the upstairs residents had buzzed me in."

MAG056: Martin: "I lied on my CV."

MAG158: Peter: “But you said –” Martin: “Honestly, I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear.”

MAG164: Jon: "You – I actually believed you!"

MAG189: Martin: “Sorry. Sorry, John. Not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, y’know, I didn’t want to take any chances so it made sense to… um…” Jon: “Put on a show?” Martin: “Yeah, basically, more or less.”

MAG191: Martin: "That's not true." Arun: "Liar!"

Subterfuge:

The plan in 118, which revolved around convincing Elias that Martin was only “acting out”, to create a distraction for Melanie. (Also compare the way he evades giving a straight answer here with the way Annabelle talks in 196.)

Working with Peter in s4 under false pretenses, to distract him from Jon and eventually try to learn what Peter wanted.

Manipulation accusations:

These, I know, are somewhat contentious, since it’s mostly villains saying this to him. I’m still including them, since

1): From a media analysis standpoint, being mentioned 3 times is a sign to pay attention, even when it may not be the full truth.

2): I only see it as describing Martin’s behaviour in the previous points, not as a moral judgement; Especially since he almost always ‘manipulates’ people in positions of power over him.

Still, if it bothers anyone, feel free to ignore these.

MAG138: Martin: "That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!" Elias: "That makes two of us."

MAG186: Martin: “I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that?” Also Martin: “Oh yeah.”

MAG196: Annabelle: “Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed.” [SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT] Martin: “Point taken.”

The Lonely/the Web

The Lonely and the Web sometimes affect Martin to similar degrees.

In season 3, when Martin is getting used to reading statements for the first time, most of them leave him emotionally affected: MAG084, MAG088, MAG090,

MAG095: Martin: “S-S-Statement… done.” [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] “I don’t like recording these. There. I-I said it.”,

MAG098: Martin: [Panting] “End of statement.” [Deep breath] “I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel –”

Only the last two statements he reads are remarkably easier. This might be a hint that Martin is just getting used to reading them, but the quote from MAG098 seems to contradict that. Either way, it’s likely not a coincidence that those last two happen to be the Lonely and the Web:

MAG108: Martin: “Statement ends.” (exhale) “That wasn’t so bad…”

MAG110: Martin: “Statement ends.” [...] “I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway.”

In season 5, there are two powers’ Domains that actually affected Martin mentally, as opposed to only physically: the Lonely’s, in 170 (and arguably 186), and, depending on your interpretation, in 172, when Martin went exploring without knowing why he did so.

Proximity

Martin investigates a lot of the Web statements during season 1 to 3 (in other words, when the archive team still researches statements). The only ones he isn’t mentioned in during this period are MAG019 and MAG020, when he’s being harrassed by worms, and MAG081, which Jon records by himself outside of the institute.

Most notably, he’s the one who discovered the statement in MAG114, ‘Cracked Foundations’, which is the one statement in the entire show that sets up the interdimensional properties of HTR.

The Web!Lighter passed through Martin's hands first, before he gave it to Jon.

Similarly, Annabelle mostly spoke to Martin in season 5, despite most other Avatars usually focusing on Jon.

Aesthetics

Apart from the above obviously Web related areas, there are some other aesthetics which are mentioned in connection to both the Web and Martin, throughout canon.

These are describing the Web;

These are describing Martin.

Tapes:

Martin is the only character to treat the tape recorders as friends - any other character is either indifferent, or treats them as enemies.

MAG039: Martin: "I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm."

MAG154 Martin: “Oh. Hi. Hello again.” … (small laugh) “Sorry pal, false alarm this time.”

MAG156 Martin: “Mm? Oh.” [HE LAUGHS, GENTLY.] “Yeah. (rustling paper) I was going to read one. Hate for you to miss it!” [SHORT, FORCED LAUGH, AS HE FLAPS THE STATEMENT AROUND.]

MAG170 Martin: “Oh. Oh, hello. What’s this? Wow, retro! What are you up to, little buddy; just – listening? That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

MAG190 Jon: "[The tapes] seem to like [Martin]."

Retro:

MAG069: Statement: “I only saw Annabelle Cane once during this period. She wasn’t hard to pick out. She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her, and her short bleach-blonde hair stood out sharply against dark skin.”

MAG160: Jon: “Anyways, don’t tell me the phonebox down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic.” Martin: “It – might. Maybe.”

MAG163: Annabelle/the Web callying Martin via an old payphone: [ A PHONE RINGS. IT’S NOT THE TINNY, ELECTRONIC SOUND OF A CELLPHONE – NO, THIS IS A TRUE, HEAVY, CLASSIC RING.] Martin: “Uh. John? Uh, J, John – the, uh, payphone that’s – here, for some reason – it’s ringing?”

Hatred of burns:

MAG067: Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139: Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented).

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

MAG169: Martin: "Look, I just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever. [...] I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!"

Phrasing:

MAG039: Martin: "I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck. [...] It's just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think."

MAG079: Martin's poem: "The threads of people walking, living, lovi–"

MAG117: Martin: "This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out! Besides, spiders are fine. I mean, yes, people are scared of them, obviously, but actual spiders, they just want to help you out with flies."

MAG167: Jon: “Methinks the Spider dost protest too much.” Martin: “Jon –” Jon: “Joking! Just joking.”

Personality:

How applicable these are depends heavily on how you interpret Martin's own personality, so your mileage may vary.

MAG008: Statement: “Nobody ever said a word against Raymond himself, though, who was by all accounts a kind and gentle soul [...]”

MAG123: Jon: "The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves."

MAG147: Annabelles statement: "I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying. [...] My manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and I have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or overestimate you. Never reveal your true abilities or plans."

Word of God and Annabelle

I kinda wanted to ‘prove’ that Web!Martin had quite a bit of evidence to back it up, hence this header being last. But of course, in this post-canon world, there are a few lines that most obviously confirm the theory:

MAG197: Martin is Web enough to be able to read the 'vibrations', like Annabelle, and see Jon and Basira (the latter being especially notable, as he hadn't known she was there beforehand): [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND HIGH-PITCHED SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Martin: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" Annabelle: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." Martin: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Annabelle: "Yes."

Season 5 Q&A part 2: Jonny: “Essentially, it was fascinating looking at the fandom and, like, the Web!Martin believers, because what they were doing was correctly picking up on hints dropped in the early seasons that were later, like, not exactly abandoned, but it was much more like, ‘Well, no, he does have like aspects of The Web to him, but he is moreover The Lonely.’ And that came about very… very organically, really. Because throughout Season 3 and going into Season 4, we had this conversation and we were like, ‘No, actually he's like-” Alex: “‘It can't be, it cannot be, it must be the other way round’ Yeah.”

(Note that they say “throughout season 3 and going into season 4,” which likely means that season 1, season 2, and at least part of season 3, aka half of the entire show, were written with Web!Martin as an intentional possibility.)

If you read all that, thanks so much! Obviously, Web!Martin never really came to fruition, so it's fine if you still don't like it. This is just a post explaining where it was coming from, at least for me and the other theorists I've spoken to.

[cuttoothed]

For the second day of @jonmartinweek, mostly for the prompt "injury", though also a little bit "love confession" (by omission).

Set directly after episode 92. Content warnings for mild descriptions of Jon’s canonical injuries (blood, burns).

*

Things are...tense, when they go back down to the Archives. Actually, “tense” is probably an understatement, after finding out that Elias murdered not only Gertrude Robinson, but also the unknown man in Document Storage—who as it turned out was none other than Juergen bloody Leitner.

A lot to take on board, all in all.

Basira seems to have accepted her new employment status with eerie calm, and starts setting up at Sasha’s old desk (oh god, Sasha’s dead, has been for months), fetching notebooks and folders from the stationery cupboard and arranging pens and highlighters in a desk tidy. Daisy is nowhere to be seen—thankfully, Martin thinks, because she was even scarier than usual in Elias’ office. Melanie storms off into the stacks and there are sounds of shouting and things hitting the floor, which Martin is in no hurry to investigate. Tim sits at his desk with his feet propped up for about five minutes, then stands up and says: “Fuck this, I’m off to the pub.” He doesn’t invite anyone else to go with him, and Martin thinks their presence probably wouldn’t be welcome.

Jon arrives in about half an hour later, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke. Normally Martin would disapprove, but the way things are right now he’s tempted to take up a few bad habits himself. Jon looks...exhausted, defeated, his shoulders slumped wearily. His clothes are smudged with dirt, and there’s drying blood crusted around the injury on his neck; the bandages on his hand are starting to slip, revealing the angry, raw burns beneath.

Martin’s not sure he’s ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

Jon gives him a small, tired smile as he passes, then heads into his office and shuts the door. Martin knows that no sane person would try to go straight back to work looking like they’d just been through a war zone and still with an open wound; he is also aware that Jonathan Sims is the sort of person to do precisely that. He hesitates for a few moments, then makes a decision.

He fetches the first aid kit from the break room, and goes and knocks on Jon’s door. It’s a firm knock, a knock that he hopes says “I’m coming in whether you like it or not”, because it’s not beyond Jon to try to avoid them all for an extended period.

“Come in,” Jon calls, and even his voice sounds exhausted. When he sees Martin enter the room, his expression softens in a way that’s difficult to parse. Is he just relieved that it isn’t one of the others? Or is he actually pleased that it’s Martin?

It’s been two months since Jon went into hiding while suspected of murder, and the last time Martin saw him he had been quite sure Jon was planning to—to hurt himself, somehow. Before that, though, there had been a time when they were...well, close, in a way. Jon had let his guard down around Martin, in the midst of being so suspicious and afraid. He had trusted Martin, when he didn’t trust anyone else, had eaten lunch with him and talked about boring, ordinary things, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing just a little. He had even laughed, sometimes. It had been, despite everything, one of the happier times in Martin’s life, and if that’s not pathetic he doesn’t know what is.

“Hi, Jon,” he says.

“Martin,” says Jon, his tone soft. “It’s so—ahh, how are you?”

“How am I? You’re the one with a bloody great gash in your neck and looking like you put your hand in a fire.” Martin brandishes the first aid kit. “You really should go to the hospital, but I know it would be a waste of my time suggesting it.”

“Thank you for bringing that,” Jon says. “I appreciate it. You can just leave it on the desk.”

“Nope,” Martin tells him cheerily, setting the kit down and opening it. “I know you, Jon. If I leave it with you it’ll still be sitting here untouched tomorrow. Plus, I got my first aid certification when I was working in the library. It’s probably expired now, but I think it still counts.”

Jon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he huffs a breath that might be a laugh, and nods in concession.

“All right then,” he says.

Martin snaps on a pair of disposable gloves and directs Jon to sit on the desk and undo the top two buttons on his shirt, so Martin can examine the wound on his neck. It’s shallow, fortunately, and the bleeding seems to have already stopped. Martin cleans away the crusted blood as gently as he can, though Jon still winces a few times.

“What happened?” Martin asks, as he smears on antibiotic cream.

“Daisy. She, ah, she decided that I was dangerous. Needed to be dealt with. Fortunately Basira was able to convince her otherwise.”

“Bloody hell,” Martin mutters. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he’s always felt afraid around Daisy, like a rabbit being in the same room with a fox. But he just sort of assumed it was typical Martin fear of, well, everything. He never thought Daisy would actually hurt any of them. He applies a bandage carefully over the wound, and then turns his attention to Jon’s hand. Unwrapping the bandages reveals the red, blistered mess beneath, and Martin hisses in sympathy.

“Please tell me you went to the hospital for this.”

“I went to a walk-in clinic,” Jon says. “They cleaned it up, gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. They, uh, they did recommend I see my GP for follow up monitoring, and that I should get a referral to a physiotherapist, but, well, it’s been a busy few days.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, exasperated, and Jon smiles a bit shakily.

“I know,” he says. “I will go to a GP, I promise. It’s just a bit tricky when you’re wanted for murder. Anyway, it seems to be healing rather well, all things considered.”

Martin considers whether to apply antibiotic cream, but the skin doesn’t seem to be broken, and he knows it’s best not to touch the area more than needed. Instead, he rewraps it with clean, dry bandages, being sure to keep them loose.

“How did this happen?” he asks, to distract himself from the fact that he is, technically, holding Jon’s hand. Jon gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“I, uh, I was trying to get information from a devotee of the Lightless Flame. This was her price.”

“The Lightless Flame? That cult—from the statements?”

“The same. As it turns out, a—a lot of things from the statements are real. Unpleasantly so.”

“I—yeah, I sort of figured that out when Tim and I got trapped in these weird corridors for days by that Michael...thing.”

Jon’s face blanches, his brows furrowing.

“You—god, Martin, I didn’t know. Are you—I mean, you’re okay, obviously, but— Have you seen Michael since?”

“No, and I hope I don’t.” Martin feels faintly nauseous at the memory. He doesn’t realize his hands are trembling slightly until the fingers of Jon’s hand, the unburned one, touch his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he says. “When I realized a-about Sasha, about that thing, I hoped I could take care of it myself, spare you and Tim. I never wanted to drag you into all this.”

“I don’t think there’s much avoiding it,” Martin mutters miserably. “And you didn’t seem to mind dragging Melanie into it, while you were on the lam.”

“I shouldn’t have asked her for help either. It wasn’t fair to put any of you in the position of aiding a suspected murderer.”

“I never believed you did it,” Martin tells him fiercely. “It just would have been nice to know you were okay, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I—I wanted to contact you, but it seemed too risky. I knew the police would be watching you, since we’re friends. Or—or at least friendly.”

Everyone I’ve talked to says you and him were close. Martin had been ridiculously pleased by the accusation at the time, and he feels the same now, with Jon’s injured hand cradled in both of his. Jon trusts Martin with his wounds, his vulnerability. Jon wanted to contact him; Jon thinks they’re friends.

“I—” Martin starts to say, and he doesn’t know if his next words will be I missed you or I worry about you or some humiliating romantic confession blurted out and impossible to take back. He draws a deep breath, and instead says: “I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose one.”

He says it like a joke, and mercifully, Jon takes it as one, and gives a relieved laugh. Martin realizes he’s long since finished bandaging the burn and is now just sort of...holding Jon’s hand; he releases it, reluctantly, and Jon smiles, lifting his other hand to touch the bandage on his throat.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, hopping down from the desk. “I appreciate it, really.”

“As a token of your appreciation, you can go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for that hand,” says Martin firmly, closing up the first aid kit.

“I will,” Jon says solemnly, and Martin believes him, but he’s also going to check in and remind him at the end of the day because Jon has a tendency to forget about trivial things like his own wellbeing. It’s just who he is, and Martin’s made his peace with it, like he’s made his peace with being utterly, hopelessly gone for Jonathan Sims.

“I was going to make some tea, if you fancy,” he says as he opens the door. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Oh, and Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m back as well. I—” Jon hesitates a moment, then says: “I missed your tea.”

It’s not much of a declaration, but Martin understands what Jon means by it; for the two of them, it means a lot.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

The Purrfect Alternative

Premise: Why would there be a cat in the archives? An archive cat fixit.

2.7K words

Rated G

(Tw: A bit of violence but it's against Jurgen Leitner)

This is a fic dedicated to the @jonsimsandcats event! Hope you enjoy it :)

"Sorry, you haven't seen a cat, have you?"

Jon gaped at the larger man who suddenly barged into the office. 

"I-I'm sorry, a what?"

"Uh, a cat, tabby I think." The man hurriedly explained.

"No. No I haven't. Is it.. Supposed to be here?" Jon knew book shops sometimes kept cats. Perhaps archives did as well. Maybe Gertrude had a soft spot in her after all.

"N-no actually. I, uh, I was feeding it on the way in but when I got up with my things, well, my hands were full you see, so when I managed to open the door it sort of slipped in with me? I'm so sorry, I have to find it before-"

"Okay okay calm down, stop." Jon held up his hand and let out a sigh. First day of the promotion and he's already stressed. But it's fine. He's fine. He can handle a cat. He's good with cats.

"Where do you work? Upstairs? Are you sure it came down here?"

"Yes, I saw it. And I just started working down here today? I'm Martin. Blackwood." He offered a hand. Jon automatically took it. Big and soft. He let go a bit too quickly and coughed. 

"Work here? Are you certain?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to let Jonathan Sims know about becoming an archival assistant. He's the head archivist Elias told me to talk to."

"Well that's one thing to cross off your list." Jon smirked. "I'm Jonathan Sims. Jon, if you please. And Elias did not mention you. Tim and Sasha were supposed to be the only new recruits." Jon frowned to himself. He'll have to have a word with Elias about this. It's fine now that it happened but keeping Jon updated could really help in preventing these kinds of awkward introductions with people he's supposed to work closely with.

"O-oh! Well, here I am now too." Martin chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper.

Jon hummed "So you are I suppose. Well, let's not waste time on trivial matters, there is a cat that needs to be found." Jon got up from his chair.

"O-oh god, you're right. I'm so sorry for this." The other man apologized, remembering why he was there in the first place. It was clear that he now realized that the fact that the person he's asking to help him clear up his mess is his new boss could be very problematic for him. Jon easily sympathized with that kind of familiar pressure.

"It's alright, let's just, get this sorted." Jon was not willing to admit that a part of him was also just looking forward to seeing the cat. It would help distract him from his own stress, as it were.

Ten minutes later the two of them sitting on the floor in the stacks with a chubby tabby cat sprawled on Jon's lap. Jon was petting it affectionately while amicably getting acquainted with his new assistant. The man turned out to be a library veteran with useful cataloging skills that could help with the mess that was left down here. Having calmed down considerably, Martin had stopped fidgeting and was cooing at the cat who was head butting his large palm. Their presence soothed Jon in a way that surprised him. In the tranquil, quiet atmosphere of the stacks, sounds of cat purrs and Martin's low murmurs, he felt almost optimistic that despite his lack of experience and the large task ahead of them, he would be alright. 

-------

Paper meowed loudly behind him as Martin hurried down the tunnel with Jon and Tim at his tail. Martin glanced back as he reached an intersection and noticed they were too far behind, Jon limping on his injured foot. He hesitated, stopping and waiting for them to catch up. Paper came up and rubbed his leg before trotting down the tunnel on the right, tail held high and confident. Martin inhaled deeply to catch his breath, starting to walk again, this time more slowly. They managed to leave most of the fast worms behind and the ones down here were few and sparse enough to easily stomp down individually. Paper was making a game out of it.  He kept leaping onto some that crawled ahead of them, squishing them loudly with his paw. 

Jon and Tim caught up and the three followed Paper down the dark passage. 

"Yeah, get the damn crawlers." Slurred Tim. The CO2 he inhaled was not helping his coherency. 

"You know," gasped Jon, "I actually think they're larvae, given Jane's statement and-" 

"Jon, I'm going to have to ask you to stop now." Martin said, as calmly as he could, his voice a tad too high and loud. 

"... Sorry." Jon said sheepishly. 

They followed Paper down the forking paths, hoping the cat knew where in the seven circles of hell they were. 

Eventually they stopped seeing any worms as the path sloped up, ending in a sudden door. There was daylight filtering in from beneath it. Paper was eagerly pawing at it. 

"Uh, I think we found a secret way out of the institute." Martin could hardly believe their luck. 

"Excellent, now I can ditch work and no one will know I even left." Tim mumbled. 

"Tim, if you wanted to succeed in that endeavor, you should have not said that next to your boss." Jon commented dryly. 

The worm threat no longer being imminent, Martin allowed himself a nervous chuckle. 

They pushed at the door and with a bit of group effort, eventually managed to pry it open into fresh air. They came out into a narrow alleyway which turned out to be not far from the institute. As they walked (limped) down the street to find access to a working phone they heard someone cry out. 

"Jon? Tim? Martin!" They spotted Sasha hurrying towards them, carrying heavy bags of cat food. 

"Sasha! You're okay!" Martin exclaimed. "We were worried you'd get back and be caught in it like Tim had."

"Where have you been?" Jon inquired, straining to stand upright on his own. Martin came closer, gently supporting him by the hip on the opposite side of Tim. 

"We ran out of food for Paper, I figured I'd pop by the store for a moment to get some." Sasha said. "I came back when the building was being evacuated."

"Oh good, at least the alarm worked." Tim said tiredly. 

"What in god's name happened to you three?" She inquired worriedly. 

"Prentiss, we'll fill you in later. We need to make sure the ECDC is informed regarding the CO2 in the fire suppression system that needs to be activated."

"And get you to a hospital." Martin chastised, squeezing Jon's side. 

"Yes yes." Jon waved dismissively but all the while leaning further into Martin's side. He really wasn't discreet, Martin thought smugly. 

Sasha was about to say something else when a loud meow interrupted her. Paper was nosing into the bag, fully aware of its contents and who they were meant for. 

Jon dislodged from Martin and Tim and hobbled towards the cat. 

The cat turned and moved back into Jon's welcoming arms, as the archivist picked him up and stroked him fondly. 

"We are lucky on all accounts that Paper is such a smart cat." He murmured into the soft fur, injury forgotten for the moment. 

Tim chuckled, "cats always ruin evil people's plans, it's a well known fact. Anyway, Sasha, please call an ambulance for us?" He said, and promptly sat on the floor. 

Martin sighed with relief. For now, they are all safe and together. And that's all that matters. 

-------

It was all almost too much to take in. Luckily Paper was held tight in his arms as he listened to Jurgen Leitner ramble on about powers and fears and monsters and Jonah Magnus. He had been chased by a distorted form of his boss, who was apparently replaced by a monster Jon and the crew tried and failed to destroy, thus separating in the ensuing pursuit. In light of these events Jon now needed something soft to ground him in the face of so much new information. 

The discovery of Elias' death was a shock, especially given the fact that apparently it happened when he was trapped in artifact storage during the Prentiss siege a half a year back. 

He (that is, his doppelganger) told them back then that he was trying to reach the suppression system switch when he tripped down the stairs over one of Paper's many scattered toys, alerting Jane in the process and was driven back into the storage area. His account seemed to check out given he was rescued from there by the ECDC after Jane was dealt with. And given the few toys strewn about the stairs leading to artifact storage. Why Paper kept scattering his toys all over the building was beyond Jon but that wasn't the main issue at hand. After trapping the creature in the walls of the tunnels, Jurgen Leitner proceeded to reveal himself. Once Jon dragged him back to his office, and picked the protesting Paper up to calm himself down, he unveiled the truth of Elias', or Jonah's, whole operation. 

Turns out Jonah Magnus decided life was too short to enjoy once and did exactly what eventually happened to him. Talk about karma. Leitner explained that Gertrude's plan was to stop Jonah from... Something he was planning. Perhaps a ritual to end the world in a way the others would fail to do. That bit of information was on a tape of Gertrude which Leitner played for Jon. By the time they reached the part where Leitner said, “they needed to kill Jonah's main body then burn down the archives.” Martin, Tim and Sasha had arrived back at the office as well. 

"Jon? Jon! Are you okay?" Martin rushed forward, hugging Jon tightly, ignoring Paper's loud yowling at being squished in between them. Jon sighed, "Martin, thank god. I-I'm fine." He hugged him back, relieved his boyfriend was safe, as well as his other assistants of course. "It chased after me but he stopped it."

Tim raised his axe, "Jon are you sure he's not... Another one?"

"Yes I'm sure. That" Jon took a deep breath, "is Jurgen Leitner."

After the team's loud exclamations of disbelief he and Leitner updated them on everything they had discussed. As he was being hugged by Martin and holding the fluffy cat he slowly began calming down.

After Leitner was done a long moment of silence ensued.

"So," Sasha said slowly, "Gertrude's dead?"

"Yes, she was shot and then hidden by Jonah in the tunnels. Unfortunately I couldn't get out to allow for a proper burial, so I had to leave her there." He seemed sad admitting it. Jon did not feel sympathy for him. This man deserved none for his past and cowardice.

"And now, we need to, what, somehow find the center of the maze of tunnels to kill Jonah completely and burn the archives?" Sasha asked skeptically. 

"Yes, the whole institute in fact. I have a gas main in the tunnels ready to be ignited once we find the center." Leitner said.

"How do we do that?" Martin frowned.

"Maybe Michael knows?" Tim quipped. "He just helped us out of that situation with his own… corridor labyrinth. Maybe he'll be able to help."

"Okay, okay let's first take a breather and calm down. We'll figure out how to solve this." Jon said, raising his hand to slow them down.

"Yeah, I'll make us some tea." Martin added, "At least now that... Thing won't bother us for a long while."

"Let it burn along with this hell of an institute." Tim said harshly. Knowing how his brother was killed almost the same way, Jon felt strong sympathy for Tim rush over him.

Which was replaced with a different emotion the moment he turned to the man who saved him.

"Thank you for your help, now Martin, I need you to hold Paper for a moment."

Martin, looking baffled, took Paper out of Jon's arms. "Jon wh-"

Jon swiftly approached the older man and proceeded to sock him in the nose with the full force of his fist. The crew gasped in unison. 

"That's for everyone you hurt with your idiocy, you stupid old coward." Jon seethed and punched him again. He heard Martin chuckle and Tim whoop as the man whimpered and attempted to protect his face.

Jon was glad they were spared the horrible plans of a 200 year old evil man and that they had some semblance of a strategy moving forward. He was, however, equally elated for this opportunity to do what he fantasized about since learning of Leitner's existence.

And, he supposes, all of this can be indirectly attributed to Paper, the archive cat.

-------

Jon woke up to the warm snuggle of his lovely fiance and a mouthful of cat fur. 

"Pffff, Paper geerroff," he mumbled, uselessly trying to push the stubborn cat away. The chirping of birds mingled with the sound of highland cows grazing in the field near their cabin. 

After the success of their plan to end Jonah, after the fire had already burned down the horrors of that evil place, it took a while longer for their troubles to be resolved. They had to endure endless questioning and investigations of the police. Jon, who was weakened by the ordeal to the point of needing hospitalization, took a long time to recover and regain his strength. Leitner claimed it was lucky he was cut off from the Eye this early, or the consequences would have been much more serious. The others seemed to have been less affected, but once the archives were completely reduced to ashes they recovered, their jobs burned down along with everything else. 

Sasha found a new job as a researcher in a prestigious institute, nothing supernatural involved. Tim moved on to journalism, utilizing his curiosity and charm to their full potential. Jon and Martin opened a tea & book shop, if only to make Paper a real bookshop cat. They have been slowly setting it up and settling down until... Well, Jon proposed and they took a break. Traveled to Scotland with Paper on an early honeymoon to see the cows and enjoy the quiet. 

And quiet it was. Until Paper shamelessly began purring as loud as a train right in Jon's ear. Jon huffed in fond annoyance and got up, leaning down to give Martin a kiss on the head and then shooing the crime of a cat off to the kitchen. 

"You can't give me a moment of reprieve, can you?" He stretched and followed the cat out the bedroom. 

He filled Paper's bowl and sat on the floor leaning his back on the cabinet, closing his eyes as Paper chewed his food noisily. 

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he was awakened by a soft tap on his head. He looked up blearily and smiled. The cat had long since finished eating and found a home in Jon's lap. 

"Morning love." Martin murmured softly, matching his tone to the serene atmosphere. After hesitating a moment, he bent down and sat next to Jon. Jon looked at him adoringly as he absent-mindedly stroked Paper, humming along to his purrs. Martin joined him, petting Paper, their hands occasionally (and very purposefully) brushing against each other. 

After a few minutes of calm silence, Martin spoke up. 

"You know, this reminds me of that first day we met. In the stacks."

Jon smiled at the memory. "Ahh yes, all three of us had a very fateful meeting there, didn't we? God, I was so stressed back then." 

"You handled it pretty well I have to say. Handled my nervousness pretty well too." Martin chuckled. 

"I was lucky you were there. You really helped me calm down." Jon admitted. "Well, you and Paper." Jon added fondly. 

"Paper was a really good archive cat wasn't he?" Martin said, leaning into Jon, pressing a warm, still sleepy kiss on his cheek. Jon closed his eyes, grateful for the events that led up to this moment of pure happiness, with his fiance and his cat. 

"Yes, the best cat in the world."

[pitviperofdoom]

Might I ask about 'Life Preserver'? I have no idea what it could mean, and that makes me very curious👀

This is my pre-S1 JonGerry AU! They meet while Jon’s still in school and Gerry’s on the hunt for a Leitner. It’s part of a trilogy in my head that includes JonGerryMartin later on, but Life Preserver takes place before Jon becomes the Archivist and is just JonGerry.

Here’s a scene from it!

---

“Thanks for meeting me,” Georgie said, by way of greeting.

Gerry shrugged. “‘S fine. What’s the occasion?”

It was a nice day. The cafe was bustling but not overcrowded. Georgie had insisted on dragging him to the one empty table outside, with the nice view of the street and the park on the other side. Gerry had eaten lunch in far worse places, with far worse company.

Shit, were they friends? Had he missed that somehow? Not that Georgie wasn’t nice enough, but he’d always figured she was more invested in Jon than in him. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure if being friends with your boyfriend’s ex was a thing you were supposed to do, and at this point he was too afraid to ask.

“Why does there have to be an occasion?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I just wanted a lunch partner.”

“Didn’t think you liked me that much,” Gerry said bluntly. Maybe that was harsh—she’d only given him a little bit of stink eye when they first met, and she’d let up pretty quick.

If Georgie was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. “I worry about Jon sometimes,” she said. “He’s not always the best at… at advocating for himself, I guess.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered.” For someone as prickly as Jon, he was shit at actually standing up for himself where it counted.

“Worried a lot about you, at first,” Georgie went on, clasping her hands around her coffee cup. “But I decided not to prod too much. I didn’t want to be one of those exes, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gerry lied.

“Figured it wasn’t my business anyway,” she said, pausing to take another sip. “Jon and I hadn’t talked in over a year by the time I met you.”

“Right.”

“You know, I didn’t even learn your full name?” she said. “Not til last week. Weird, isn’t it?”

Gerry paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. “I… guess?”

“And you know, it stuck in my mind for the longest time,” she said. “Could’ve sworn I heard it somewhere. So I did a quick Google search.”

Slowly, Gerry put his cup back down. Georgie continued to sip demurely at her own.

“Thought I’d find a Facebook page with a few friends in common,” she said. “Or a LinkedIn or something. So you can imagine how surprised I was.”

Gerry looked around at the cafe’s full outdoor seating area, and the crowded, public street beyond. Plenty of witnesses, in broad daylight.

“Ah,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Besides a slight lift of the eyebrows, Georgie’s expression barely changed. Gerry stared down at his cup, appetite gone. Around them, passersby remained happily oblivious.

“I didn’t do it,” he said after a moment. “The charges were dropped and everything.”

“On a technicality.” Georgie’s eyes were cold and steady when they settled on him. “Contaminated evidence, according to one of the news articles.”

“Look, I don’t know what you expect me to say,” Gerry bit out.

“I don’t know either, Gerry, but what am I supposed to think?” Neither of their voices rose above the dull roar of the street and the hum of conversation around them, but Gerry still felt like he was being shouted at. “Does Jon know about this?”

“No, and if I have my way, he won’t.”

Georgie’s steely gaze turned to a glare. “And you don’t see the red flags that might raise? That you might’ve—”

A tide of red rose up behind his eyes. Not anger, but the memory of blood, both the sight and the overpowering smell. “She did it to herself,” Gerry said coldly.

“Not what the coroner’s report said—”

“What do you want from me?” Gerry went on harshly. “I came home and found her halfway through—that. Went into shock long enough for her to get plenty of it on me, then ran out to the nearest coffeeshop and sat in a fog until the police picked me up. Happy?” Georgie’s glare only hardened. “It really doesn’t matter what you think. It’s the truth whether or not you believe it.”

She waited for him to wrest himself back to something resembling calm before speaking again. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. Why are you lying to Jon, then?”

“Oh, tell me what the best time to bring that up is,” Gerry said dryly. “Is that a fourth date conversation, or more of an anniversary thing?”

“I’m not talking about the murder,” Georgie retorted. “Why did you tell him you’re living with your mother?”

He probably could have come up with a feasible lie. But what came out instead was, “Because I am.”

The look on Georgie’s face was viciously unimpressed. “You’re living with your mum.”

“Yep.”

“Your mum, who by your own admission, committed a violent suicide in 2008.”

“Got it in one.”

“If you’re not even going to take this seriously,” Georgie began.

“Would you like to meet her?” Gerry asked. “It’s not like it’d be the first time you saw a corpse get up and walk around, would it?”

Georgie froze.

That was the funny thing about saying cruel things, Gerry reflected. More often than not, you had to say them out loud first to realize they were cruel at all.

But it was out, and he couldn’t swallow it back down, so he let it sit there between them, bloating like a dead thing in the sun. He didn’t look at Georgie’s face again. He wasn’t sure he could.

“What did you just say to me?” Georgie said shakily.

“I don’t want to say it again,” said Gerry. “And I don’t think you do, either.”

“That’s…” She sat back in her chair, putting just a bit more distance between them. Gerry shut his eyes. “How—how could you possibly know about that?”

Gerry heaved a sigh, running his hand down his face. He could always stop. He could get up right now and walk away. Never talk to her again, never see her again. Of course, if he did that, it’d probably mean never seeing Jon again, either.

Not for the first time, he wondered if that wasn’t a good thing.

“When you live like I do,” he said at last. “You learn to see it. Recognize it—them. The marks on people. Like the one on you.”

It was subtle, as the End always was. It never looked like a proper scar, the way the more violent ones did. After all, what was more natural than death itself?

“I’m… marked,” Georgie said. It wasn’t a question.

“Kind of impressive, to be honest,” he said. “Dodging Terminus. Not many can say they’ve done that.”

“Stop.” Her hands went to her ears quickly, almost instinctively, before she forced them down again. “Just, stop for a second.”

“Okay.”

Georgie sat and breathed for a moment. Then, “So your mother—” She paused again, gathering herself. “She… she was like that woman in the medical sciences building.”

“Dunno,” Gerry replied, forcing himself to look at her again. “I can see the scar, not what left it. And what my mum did was… unique.”

Her eyes were still fixed on the table in front of her, not on him. “Is this common?” she asked.

“Walking corpses, specifically?” Gerry asked. “Or did you mean more generally?” She nodded once. “Guess so. It’s been common enough to take over my life.” He watched her carefully, waiting for a sign that he should stop again. “There are forces behind the monsters. Powerful. Omnipresent, even. Most people are lucky enough not to notice, or be noticed. Some are lucky like you, and escape with only a scar. Others—” The Eye dropped a helpful bit of trivia in his head. “Others are like your friend.” She flinched. “Sorry.”

She sat and breathed for a little while longer. Gerry picked up his coffee cup again and waited.

“And what about you?” she asked at last. “Where do you fall?”

Gerry grimaced. “Long story. Very unpleasant.”

“Broad strokes, then.”

“Mum grew up seeing the monsters and decided it’d be nice if she could be one herself,” he said. “Then she thought it’d be even nicer to start a little monster dynasty, and that’s where I came in.”

At last, Georgie lifted her chin and looked him in the eye again. “And what about you?” she asked. “What do you want?” Her jaw shifted as it clenched. “What do you want with Jon?”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” he said quietly.

“That’s not what I asked.” Georgie’s eyes hardened again. “You know what I thought, when I first met you? I thought you were just—toying with him. Because I saw how he looked at you and how you looked at him, and it didn’t match. Like he was just—just a diversion for you. Just some passing curiosity until you got bored and moved on.”

Gerry slipped his hand off the table and into his lap. It was a bit late, she’d probably already seen it shaking, but it made him feel better, at least.

“Was I right?” Georgie asked. “It makes sense, even if it’s not the same as what I first thought. Growing up like that, I bet you’re curious. Is that what Jon is, to you? A way to play at being—”

“Human?” It came out harsher than he meant it to.

“I was going to say normal,” Georgie replied, glancing away for a moment. “But if these—monsters are as common as you say they are…”

“Look, you’re not wrong, alright?” Gerry sat back in his chair, letting his spine curve into an ugly slouch. “That’s how it started. He asked, and I was curious, so I went along with it.”

“And now?” she pressed.

“And now I want to keep it,” he said. “I want to keep him. I’m finally starting to like the world outside of the one I grew up in, probably because I finally have a reason to be here. Happy?”

“No,” Georgie said flatly.

Gerry tipped his head back with a groan. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to acknowledge what this sounds like!” Georgie glared at him, sitting up straight enough to look down at him. “What you’re making it sound like! So you grew up in a bad place—fine. I can’t imagine what that’s like. But then—what, you meet a nice guy and now you’re ready to leave it all behind and defy your undead mum and turn to the light side, just like that? That is not how it works, Gerry. It’s not as simple as that in this world, much less yours. You don’t just fall in love and fix everything, and it’s not fair to put that on Jon—”

Gerry barked out a laugh. “Is that what you took from this?” he demanded, dragging himself back up to face her. “You think I need you to tell me that—that love doesn’t conquer all, and I can’t pack all my baggage away and skip into the sunset because a cute boy asked me on a date and showed me the error of my family’s ways? Fuck you.”

Georgie held his gaze, unflinching. “Fine,” she said. “How should I have taken it, then?”

“I’ve wanted out since I was old enough to want anything.” The words came as if ripped from him, raw and bloody-tasting on his tongue. “You think I’ve never tried to leave before? But where’s someone like me supposed to go, hm? Even if I didn’t have monsters in my head and her ready to drag me back if I don’t come on my own, what place is there for me to run to?”

She didn’t flinch or look away again, even with Gerry a breath away from yelling in her face. Instead she watched him without so much as a twitch of an eyelid, leeching the venom from him with steady, infuriating calm.

“It’s like this,” he said. “Like I’m on a—a ship, sinking in a storm. I know if I stay on it, it’ll take me down with it, but what choice do I have? I could jump, but it would only drown me faster.” He swallowed, struggling against the dryness in his throat. “And I can see, just off the deck, all the boats that don’t have room for me, and all the people drowning in the ocean, and all I can do is stay where I am and throw life preservers until I join them.” His eyes burned. “But then I met Jon, and suddenly it’s like I have…” He gestured vaguely, struggling with his own analogy.

“A safe harbor,” Georgie said quietly.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think there is one. Not from this. Not from them.” He shrugged, feeling inordinately tired. “But for the first time, I feel like—like if I jump, someone will throw me a line.”

In the space that followed, the hum of surrounding conversations washed back in between them. Gerry was almost surprised to see them still there. Apparently he hadn’t gotten loud enough to scare anyone off.

“Well?” he said, when Georgie’s silence got to him.

“It’s a lot to take in,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“And I’m still worried about Jon.” She lifted her eyes to meet his again. “But, I’m less worried about your intentions than I was before.”

“Guess that’s something,” he answered, and heaved a sigh. “So what happens now? Gonna demand I come clean with him?”

“No,” she said, faster than he would have expected. “No, I… I never told him about mine. And, just on instinct… I don’t think I’d ever want him dragged into this, if it’s avoidable.”

She didn’t know, Gerry realized. She’d known him years longer than he did, and she didn’t know he came scarred by the Spider.

“Is he in danger?” she asked. “Being with you?”

“No,” Gerry said firmly. “I wouldn’t—no. I keep him as far away from my shitty life as I can. I told him I didn’t want him anywhere near my family, and he didn’t press the issue.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “He thinks your mum’s a homophobe, you know.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. “You know, he’s probably right? Think she might just hate the idea of love in general, though.”

“Messy divorce, I take it,” Georgie said dryly.

“Rohypnol and garden shears were involved, so yeah, I’d say it was pretty messy.” He realized his mistake when the sickened look crossed her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s… fine,” she said. “Probably should’ve guessed.”

They sat in silence again, but the climate of it had shifted. It felt easier, somehow. Less like he half-expected the fog of the Lonely to come rolling in for a snack. Gerry remembered his coffee, and found it just on the edge of lukewarm. He drank it anyway.

Georgie shot him one last odd look, then took out her phone. She scrolled through it for a minute or so, then snagged a paper napkin and pulled a ballpoint pen from somewhere to scribble on it.

“Here,” she said, sliding it over. Gerry looked down to find a line of neat blue numbers. “That’s the number of the therapist I talked to after—what happened to me.” She looked at him briefly, saw the dubious look on his face, and shrugged at him. “Just in case you need another lifeline.”

It was strange—usually Jon was the one to make funny things happen in his chest. This one didn’t feel the same, but he still didn’t quite know what to do with it. It left him feeling uncomfortably like he owed her something.

“I won’t let any of it hurt him,” he said, because he had nothing else to offer. “I’ll end it myself before I put him in danger.”

She nodded, though she didn’t look as relieved about it as he’d hoped. “That’s good,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t be a martyr, either. You—you deserve help. You deserve a chance to get out. You know that, right?”

He tried to smile, but it felt more like baring his teeth in fear. “Don’t think I really know what anyone deserves.”

Georgie reached across the space between them, telegraphing her movements in case he wanted to pull away. He didn’t, even as her hand settled on top of his. “I’m rooting for you, alright?” she said firmly, as if she’d just decided it then and there. “Jon’s… he’s happy with you, you know?”

“Fuck if I know why,” he forced out.

“Stop that.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I changed my mind about you, before. I can tell he makes you happy, too.”

His throat felt tight. “Yeah.”

“Fuck if I know why.”

“Oh, piss off.”

He palmed the napkin while she was busy laughing at him. For a moment he eyed the nearest bin, judging the distance and his chances of making it without her noticing. The moment passed, and instead he folded it carefully around the numbers and slipped it into his pocket to throw out later.

He never did.

[voiceless-terror]

Hey! If your still taking prompts I would love one where the season 1 crew finds out about Mr. Spider. Any scenario is awesome, but if you need ideas- Jon having a panic attack over a spider, or maybe one of the others losing it on Jon over his skepticism and Jon just breaks down, maybe he snaps at Martin particularly hard for a lecture on spiders when it’s a Bad Day. Anyway, thanks, and no pressure! Writing is hardTM

Hi there! I actually tried to incorporate as many of the bits from your prompt as I could- you’ll have to tell me if I succeeded. Hope you like! :)

Jon’s never had his own office before. Just a desk or a cubicle, a study carrel where he could bury his head in a book and avoid prying eyes. But now he has an office- surprisingly spacious, cluttered as it is. It’s nice for privacy. But it has its drawbacks- specifically, a very mundane one.

People knock.

It’s common courtesy, of course. It is polite to knock. Martin’s is tentative, three soft raps against the door. Tim’s is a booming ‘Shave and a Haircut,’ irritating and playful. 

Sasha’s is a brisk knock knock. No time or gesture wasted. Just knock knock. Simple, unassuming. It shouldn’t bother anyone.

After one week, Jon starts leaving his door open. It’s easier.

Today Martin peers around the doorway, a brief nod in Jon’s direction as he lifts his head from the statement on his desk. No smile, no question of how he’s doing. I deserve that, Jon supposes. Yesterday, he’d caught the tail end of Martin’s mumbling about his ‘ridiculous skepticism’ to Tim and promptly blew up, spitting insults over his research methods and incompetence. It was not his finest hour. By the end of it, Martin looked rightfully hurt and upset, and Tim just shook his head in disappointment as Jon barricaded himself in his office, this time closing the door.

Still, Martin brings him tea. Jon doesn’t know what to do with the feeling that stirs in him.

He moves softly, trying to make as little noise as possible as he sets the steaming mug down on the corner of his desk. Jon turns to him, ready to at least provide a thank you and a half-hearted apology when he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

A spider.

Just sitting there, staring at him from its perch inches away from the mug. The basement’s littered with them, unsurprisingly. Still, he can’t stifle the yelp of fear and disgust that tears its way out of his throat. His hands automatically grab at the nearest weapon - a particularly heavy tome- and his arms rear back, ready to strike. He isn’t expecting a strong hand to wrap around his forearm, stopping him in place.

It’s Martin’s hand. He knows it’s Martin’s hand. But that desperate, childish part of his mind that he tries to keep locked away is screaming black-spindly-leg- spider, it’s a spider, it’s a spider-

“Don’t touch me!” It’s a screech, louder than he meant it to be as he wrenches his arm out of the grip, chair hitting the wall with the force of the motion. Martin’s talking and Jon can barely hear because the spider is there, just sitting and staring and watching-

“I’m sorry! You shouldn’t kill it, though. I’ll bring it outside. C’mere.” Martin’s coaxing the thing into his hand, like it’s not monstrous, like it’s fine. “See? Nothing to worry about!”

Nothing to worry about, Martin says. It’s hard to reconcile that with the tightness in his chest, the quickening breaths that don’t seem to get him much air at all. Martin’s giving him a concerned look, edging closer as if to comfort him but that thing’s still in his hand, why is it still in his hand? He flinches, barely aware of the litany he’s muttering under his breath- please please don’t touch me.

There’s more people in the room, now. When did Sasha and Tim arrive? Why are they looking at him? Martin’s mouth moves but Jon hears nothing, just watches with wild eyes as Sasha ushers him out of the room as soon as she sees the spider. But he can still feel it’s crawling legs all over- light now, not strong. Just a teasing torment. He itches at his skin, fingernails digging into the worn sweater as if trying to reach bone. Tim’s moving forward, hands out as if he means to touch- can’t he hear what Jon’s saying? Why won’t they listen?

“...not going to touch you, I promise. But you have to breathe slower...going to pass out.”

He tries to focus on Tim’s breathing, the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest barely visible through his blackening vision. Tim nods encouragingly and Jon’s heartbeat lowers incrementally as he’s finally able to get a few deep breaths in, labored as they are. He doesn’t know how long they sit there for. 

“Good job, boss.” Tim’s smiling but really, there’s nothing to smile about. All Jon feels now is a bone-deep exhaustion; he doesn’t even have the energy to summon embarrassment. He nods at Tim’s hands when they finally approach, letting himself be pulled to his feet though Tim takes most of his weight.

“There’s a cot in the back of document storage,” Martin’s back, worry clear in his voice. The spider’s gone. Maybe Sasha killed it after Martin let it go. She didn’t like them much either. “Might be more comfortable back there.”

“He’s got a cot here, really?” Tim’s voice isn’t directed at him. “We’re going to have a talk about that.” It’s like he’s not in the room. It’s nice, in a detached sort of way. Jon’s not one for talking right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Martin’s apologizing to him, or maybe around him. He doesn’t like causing scenes, Jon thinks. “I didn’t realize it was that bad, or I wouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” Sasha’s saying from behind him.  “It’s not like Jon comes with a user manual. We learned that the hard way.”

“Just maybe let him kill the spiders from now on,” Tim says as he deposits Jon on the cot, frowning at his refusal to lie down. He doesn’t need a nap, just a short rest. He might close his eyes. He hasn’t decided yet.

Martin’s still talking. “...And that fight, yesterday. I shouldn’t have said those things, set him off-”

“They were true, and Jon was being awful to you. You know his moods-”

Jon wants to interrupt. Wants to tell Martin he’s sorry, that he shouldn’t have yelled. That he didn’t mean (most of) those things he said, that being called out on his dismissals makes him feel even smaller. That's how he copes, by lashing out and sniping. What comes out instead is slurred, and altogether more revealing than he would have liked.

“I read a book, once.” 

Tim pauses on his way out the door, presumably to get Jon water or a granola bar or something else he didn’t need. “What was that, boss?”

“A book.” His voice gets louder, and Martin and Sasha go silent. It’s nice when they listen. Jon goes on. “I was eight or so, I don’t know. It was a stupid, childish thing, but it was horrible. A-” he stops here, pauses to take another shaky breath “-A Guest for Mr. Spider. From the library of-”

“Jurgen Leitner.” Sasha finishes, staring at him with unblinking, curious eyes. She loves a good story, nosy thing she is. Jon likes that about her when it comes to research, and not other things. He nods. 

“It felt wrong. Violent. I hated it. You would’ve too, if you saw it.” If Martin read it, Jon wonders, briefly, maybe he would hate them too. “And it wasn’t just a book. It should have been- should have been just a stupid, scary little story about a spider and a fly. But it wasn’t.” He doesn’t want to say the specific words. Doesn’t want to speak the book back into existence, as if the very mention would make it manifest. “He was real, in the end. Mr. Spider. He was real, but he didn’t get me. He got- he got someone else.”

Jon doesn’t cry. He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. “I’ve forgotten his name, you know? The one he took. I don’t think I could place him in a crowd, not even if I tried. Not that I could. He’s dead, has to be. He wasn’t a nice person- a bully, really. But he was just a kid. A kid who had the unfortunate luck to have met me.”

He feels oddly calm, even as his three assistants stare on in horror (and fascination, in Sasha’s case. There’s a strange tightness in Tim’s face that Jon can’t quite figure out). He turns his gaze to Martin, because he’s not done yet. He needs him to know why. “The statements, the tapes- I-I don’t know where to begin. It’s like I’m not even talking. It’s like living it. And I can’t do anything about it.” Martin’s face softens to something like sympathy, but he still doesn’t understand. “The follow-up- those are my words. They’re the only words I have control over.” Words have meaning. Words have power. Jon read a monster into existence and it devoured someone whole. What else will he do, given the chance? Given the right words? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Martin doesn’t say anything. Jon doesn’t blame him- whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t Jon’s childhood trauma. He’s probably revealed too much.

“That’s…” It’s Tim who’s speaking, his tone unreadable as he draws a hand across his face in sudden exhaustion. “Okay. Take a break, boss. A nap or something. You look like you’re going to collapse.” Jon feels it. “We can talk later. About... all of this. It’s uh, good to know, though. Thanks- thanks for telling us.” The words seem genuine, although his face is oddly hard and serious. Jon nods, finally allowing his eyes to close as he leans into the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. Someone draws a blanket over him, but he doesn’t know who.

“Sorry. I’ll, ah, kill the spiders from now on. Just in case they’re the bad ones, yeah?”

Martin, then.   

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700379

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 80 - The Librarian

Leitner: English was always my first language. I used to adopt an accent sometimes when meeting people, a sort of personal joke, but truth be told, my Norwegian is terrible.

This is obviously an attempt to avoid the inevitable "You said Leitner has an accent but the voice actor doesn't at all!" so it is a little clumsy but about as non-clumsy as you could get, trying to retcon that. Better than Johnny's dad attempting to put on a bad Norwegian accent!

Leitner: The arrow, however, was not mine. The ‘Not!Sasha’ had come down several times.

I'd totally forgotten that the arrows were the Not!Sasha's work, specifically.

Leitner: Three years ago, I made the mistake of spending a full night outside my safehouses. I was almost beaten to death by an angry goth.

I'm sorry but the description of Gerard as 'an angry goth' and the incensed tone in which Leitner says it is hilarious - like the experience would somehow have been less upsetting if the person beating him within an inch of his life had had a more mainstream style of dress or something.

Leitner: I was born the heir to great wealth.

Yeah, he would've been - he sounds exactly like the sort of arrogant arse who has been told he's better than other people since birth and who fully believes it despite never actually proving it in any way. He also burns up other "lesser" people to light his own way with little to no remorse whatsoever.

Leitner: It was shortly afterwards I hired my first assistant. A dour man, by the name of Albert Stross. He barely lasted a fortnight.

He sounds so fucking BORED about it, too.

Leitner: And these people, they were… wrong somehow. They didn’t move as people should move, and their cadence was very strange when they spoke. They almost always forgot to blink.

So agents of the Stranger, presumably? Some more John Doe-s?

Thomas McMann was stabbed through the throat by something with too many teeth and limbs like knives. Mary Johnson was pulled into a cavernous maw that opened beneath her. Gregory Todd ran into a door that shouldn’t have been there. A great hand reached down through the roof and plucked away Leandra Toulouse. And there was one other assistant, whose… whose name I don’t recall, but the last I saw of him, he was being pulled into a great, pulsating pile of meat.

Okay, let's analyse this. The first avatar could be the Hunt or the Slaughter, maybe? The second one sounds a little like that Flesh maw that is mentioned in multiple episodes BUT there's already another avatar of the Flesh here and there's no mention of glistening or teeth or what-not so I'm thinking the Buried? The third one is obviously our dear Distortion, so the Spiral. The great hand could be the Vast, can't really think of anything else it might be. And the final avatar is very obviously of the Flesh. So between that and the presumed Stranger avatars above, we've got at least avatars from 6 different Entities working together to destroy Leitner's library.

Perhaps I was sensible enough to steer clear of the rooms that had fallen into darkness, or burned with a fire that seemed to leave the books untouched.

And here we have the Dark and the Desolation, so that brings it to 8 different entities. And the Eye very well could have been involved cause somebody figured out what Leitner was doing, even though he was trying very hard to keep it under wraps (but that could easily just have been Leitner fucking up somewhere along the way).

Jon: Like a… a, a muscle, spasming on reflex? Leitner: Yes, that’s actually rather good. Jon: It would explain Michael’s identity issues.

Oooh no, there's so much more to it than that...

Jon: Gertrude was going to destroy the Archives?

Now, that was a "Wait ... WHAT?" moment on the first go!

Jon: This place belongs to one of them, doesn't it? (...) Jon: And I ... Leitner: You belong to it too. Jon: I… Uh… I… I think I need some air.

Yeah, fair enough! That's a hell of a revelation to have about oneself!

Leitner: I’m not sure you would have liked him, you know. He’s paranoid enough. But I don’t think he’s got the stomach for it.

Yeah, unlike Gertrude, Jon is definitely not eager to sacrifice others, even "for the greater good".

Elias: How much have you told him? Leitner: Enough. Elias: About Gertrude? Leitner: No. No, I didn’t have time.

How does Leitner lie to Elias with such ease? Is it the power of one of the books?

Tim: Any sign of the woman? Martin: I don’t think so. We should have helped her.

They saw Helen, didn't they?

My impression of this episode

This episode is a little on the info-dumpy side but at the time of my first listen I had been looking forward to finally understanding what the Entities were and what was going on (because, yeah, I had been a little spoiled but had avoided extensive spoilers) that I didn't really mind. The worldbuilding of TMA was (and still is!) interesting enough on its own to hold my attention, even if it was perhaps a bit much to reveal this amount in a single episode. And there's ... well, there's a whole lot going on aside from that, not least the murder of Jurgen Leitner by Elias.

[starrypawz]

Okay these prompts are ADORABLE. ♘: Cuddling in a blanket fort, Gerry & Nemo? 😚

Intimacy Prompts

AO3

Gerry’s not sure what the consensus is on how many blankets is considered too much, but he has a feeling Nemo is very close to hitting that mark.

But he will admit, he is very cosy even if it was a bugger at first to find a way to fit his tall frame in here comfortably. But here is is, Gerard Keay spending his Friday night tucked into a blanket fort and getting a crash course on Disney movies.

(And he admits they’re not actually that bad, even though he knows a lot of the source material is a lot more… grim than what’s being put on screen (And it’s no wonder that there’s a Leitner masquerading as a rare print of Sleeping Beauty), he can admire them from an artistic perspective at the least, appreciate the skill involved in animation by hand and it could be interesting to do some studies based on the backgrounds, although he has a feeling he’s going to have ‘Once Upon a Dream’ stuck in his head for a week)

(He’d also found he’d appreciated way more than he expected when on admitting he’d never actually watched a Disney movie that Nemo didn’t make fun of him for it and had instead pulled out a tape from the small pile in their room and had quietly offered they watch them together)

“So you brought these with you?”

“Mhmm,” Nemo sighs, voice still a little too quiet for comfort as they pull a blanket tighter around them, “Seems silly but-”

“It’s not that silly,” Gerry notices at the video glitches a little at the edges as The Narrator helps Tigger (Who Gerry has realised in a very short period of time he’s become quite attached to) down a tree, “These mean a lot to you right?” “Yeah,” Nemo presses against him, “Used to watch this one a lot with my grandad especially when-” Nemo’s voice cracks a little and comes dangerously close to sounding like a whisper.

It had sounded like that when he’d first come over that evening, he’d had a hunch something was off solely based on the way Nemo had replied to his recent texts (Thank God for the fact he’d finally been able to get a mobile phone). So he hadn’t so much as asked to come over as say ‘I’m coming over’, and it turned out that part of that had involved picking the lock on the front door (And he did wonder for a brief moment if it was weird he was glad for that over having to deal with one or more of Nemo’s housemates?)

It hadn’t been as bad as he feared (Not that that said much). As he made his way to Nemo’s room he could feel that icy fingertip sensation trying to go down his spine and then worm it’s way into his chest and at one point it nearly took the breath out of his lungs. Placed his hand on the door and it felt like he was trying to push against a thick wall of fog and something was pressing on his brain for a moment and holy shit that fucking hurt. “Nemo,” He’d called out, “Nemo it’s me, let me in,” and he’d managed to push through. Found Nemo bundled up on their bed, reached out, found them chill to the touch but still breathing (thankfully).

“Gerry?” Their voice barely audible

“I’m here Nemo, I’m here,”

And then several hours, a few cups of tea, half a packet of chocolate biscuits, a warm shower and clean pajamas they were bundled up together in a blanket fort.

“You don’t need to get into that now,” Gerry soothes and sighs softly, reaches out and tucks a lock of dark hair behind Nemo’s ear, his fingertips just graze the skin behind, Nemo still feels cold but it’s more ‘went on a walk on a brisk autumn morning and forgot your hat’ cold rather than deep bone aching chill. He takes that as a good sign.

“What do you think about Winnie the Pooh?” Nemo asks. Gerry smiles and wraps his own blanket around Nemo’s shoulders and pulls them in as close to him as he can manage, knows he’s got enough body heat for the both of them. (And tries not to think too much about how he feels his pulse jump as they snuggle into his side and how it’s just so natural to put an arm around them as they do so, and how yet again they fit perfectly under his arm)

“I like it,” “You do?” “You sound shocked,” “Half expected you to say something about it being juvenile,”

Gerry laughs, “It’s aimed at children of course it’s juvenile but that doesn’t make it bad,” He pauses, “I think I’ve read some of the stories?”

“You did?” “Yeah,” Gerry pauses.

“Surprised you were allowed,”

Gerry shrugs, “Well wasn’t necessarily allowed but old copies of the books come into the shop often enough and they’re not exactly rare and she doesn’t care that much for books that aren’t rare,”

“Is this where you tell me there’s a Winnie the Pooh Leitner out there?”

“I don’t think there is, I mean I haven’t seen one,” Gerry snorts, “It would probably be a Hunt one,”

“Would you be chased by a bear? Or turned into a bear?” Nemo’s voice starts to get louder, at least by Nemo’s standards which Gerry takes as another good sign, “I don’t know what would be worse-”

“Could turn you into a teddybear,” Gerry snorts, “No that’s ridiculous, The Stranger has a thing for dolls, not bears,”

“You’re probably going to run into that one next-” “God I hope not,” Gerry sighs.

“Why does nearly every conversation we have end up coming back to Leitners-” “You started it this time,”

“I know,” Nemo nudges him.

“I like the tiger,”

“What?” “You know the tiger in Winnie the Pooh, I like him,” “He’s not a tiger, he’s a Tigger!” Nemo tuts, and pulls back, “Didn’t you listen to his song?”

Nemo snorts taking in Gerry’s shit eating grin, and lightly punches him in the arm, “You arse,”

He watches as Nemo laughs, and he’s pretty sure he’s never been so glad to see someone do so. And they’re so close to him, (again) and he’s thinking about their lips (again), and how cute their laugh is (again), and how they have a cute nose and cute freckles and cute eyes (again) and how maybe just maybe he could just...

He leans over, Nemo leans in and he takes the chance to finallybrush his lips to theirs. He feels Nemo tense up the moment it happens and the word sorry is ready to spill from his lips the moment he pulls back.

Instead when he does, Nemo says (and he swears he sees a spark in their eyes) “Do that again,” And he does.

His fingers reach out to cup Nemo’s cheek and he can feel their skin finally starting to warm properly under his fingertips. He kisses soft but bolder, Nemo kisses back just as bold, buries their hand in his shirt as they climb into his lap. And they kiss And they kiss, and are tangled in blankets and Nemo laughs breathlessly between kisses, and he laughs too and Nemo gets their fingers under his shirt and he shivers realising their fingers are still a little cold but it’s fine. He feels the warmth that started at their lips travel through their body and concentrate in his chest. And he feels something tug at him deep down in his chest and…

And then one of them? Both of them? Pushes too far and the blankets above their heads collapse but it’s fine. Both laughing breathlessly as they lay there tangled in blankets and he presses a kiss to the tip of their nose.

[catgirlthecrazy]

Imposter Syndrome

Fanfic partially inspired by episode 161, and also these excellent bits of Archivist Sasha AU/Not!Jon related fanart by @skyberia

AO3

Summary: Martin doesn't have much left of the real Jonathan Sims. He doesn't even have a face. Not a real one. Just a recording on a tape recorder.

************************

"Come on…" Martin strains against the super glue cap. "Come on." The damn thing won't move. Frustrated, knowing it's a dumb idea but with no better ones to hand, Martin grips the cap between his teeth and twists.

"What are you doing?"

Martin yelps and fumbles the glue bottle. He frantically grabs for it, but his flailing arms just knock the tape recorder off the table and send it clattering onto the floor. He scrambles to pick it up. Please don't be broken, please don't be broken. There doesn't seem to be any damage. No new damage, anyway.

(He fails to notice that the record button was pressed on by the fall)

Jonathan Sims, Martin's fellow archival assistant and target of an extremely inconvenient crush, raises an eyebrow at him. "Um, sorry, I didn't see you there. You startled me." Curse Jon and his inconvenient good looks. He'd always had a weakness for dark hair and hawklike features.

Jon grunts. "I suppose that's to be expected, given the circumstances." He glances around the storage room. "No worms?"

"What? No, not in here, anyway. I've seen a few around the institute. Been stomping on all of them. Kind of satisfying, really."

Jon grimaces. "Lovely. You never answered my question by the way."

Martin racks his brain, but the last few minutes are a fuzzy, giddy panic to him. "Sorry, which question is that?"

Jon makes an inpatient noise. "What you were doing just now." He motions with his hand.

Martin glances at the tape recorder. "Oh, that. Just trying to fix the tape recorder."

"You? Fix a tape recorder? I thought your degree was in parapsychology."

Guilt gnaws at his insides. Martin does not want Jon thinking too much about his qualifications. "It's nothing complicated! Just one of the buttons broke off. Thought I'd try and glue it back on." He looks at the glue bottle morosely. "Or at least, I was. This seems to be glued shut."

"And you thought you'd pry it off… with your teeth? You do realize that's a good way to end up in A&E with your mouth glued shut." The raised eyebrow is back. He's good at that. Unfairly good at it. It makes Martin's insides leap with excitement. It also makes him want to curl up in a corner and die of embarrassment.

"I know, I know, it was stupid. I'm just frustrated, I guess."

"Understandable, I suppose. Not exactly pleasant accommodations here in storage." Jon pauses. "Are you alright down here? Do you have everything you need?"

"What, me? Oh I'm fine. Totally fine. No need to worry about me." He laughs nervously.

"I believe current circumstances have proven there is plenty of cause to worry." Jon coughs and looks away, his cheeks darkening. Martin has to suppress a lovesick grin. Jon always does this when he crosses his own personal definition of professional boundaries. Which as far as Martin can tell, encompass pretty much anything approaching genuine friendship. Not that Jon is very good at staying inside those boundaries these days. Not since the Prentiss incident.

"Anyway," Jon says, recovering himself. "Do you still have those files on Pinhole Books? Sasha said she'd assigned them to you." He's all business now, as if he hadn't just unbent enough to be outright friendly.

"Those? I think they're somewhere in my desk. Why?"

"Just looking into a few things related to Leitner."

"Alright. I'll try to find them after lunch."

Jon nods, and starts to leave, but hesitates. "You might want to try hot water." He leaves.

Martin heaves a heartfelt sigh. Then he realizes the tape recorder has been recording the whole time.

***

Months later, Jane Prentiss attacks. Jonathan Sims flees into Artifact Storage to hide. Something else comes out.

***

"Here you are Martin."

Martin blinks bleary eyes at the steaming mug that's just been set in front of him. He looks up to see Jon, a kind expression in his eyes. "You made me tea?"

"Of course." Jon smiles down at him. "You do it for me often enough. Seemed only fair."

"Wow, um. Thanks." Martin sips the tea. It's brewed exactly how he likes it: hot and strong with plenty of cream and sugar. "This is… this is really good!"

"Glad to hear it. And how've you been doing? It must be good to have your own place again."

"Not bad. Got a new flat not far from the old one." He'd lost the lease on the old place during his months in the archives. Not that he could have stomached going back there. There might still be worms. "Still unpacking boxes from the old place. At least the neighbors are quiet."

Jon nods. "Say, Tim and I were going to step out a bit early for drinks tonight. You want to come?"

Martin straightens. "Y- yeah, that'd be great." At that point, Sasha pops in with questions about the Herbert Knox file, and the conversation ends. Jon gives him a little wave and wanders back to his desk.

It isn't until later that Martin realizes: the rushing giddiness is gone. He'd had an entire conversation with Jon being nothing but nice to him, and his insides hadn't done one single swoop. He's still plenty fond of the man, but only that. Is his crush evaporating already? That was quick. Martin had expected to be pining after Jon for months yet.

It's probably for the best. Nothing would have come of it, except possibly Martin making a fool of himself. More of a fool of himself. And really, it's remarkable Martin ever had a thing for him to begin with. He doesn't usually go for blond hair.

***

Sasha takes Tim and Martin out to lunch. That's not particularly unusual. Jon is out following up a case, so he can't come, but that's not unheard of either. It isn't until she leads them away from their usual place and towards a park that Martin worries. He's not at all prepared for what she tells them.

"What do you remember about 0070107? Amy Patel's statement?"

Martin and Tim glance at each other. "That's the one where her neighbor was eaten and replaced by an evil drain pipe, right?" Tim said.

"I remember something about… changing photos?" Martin ventures.

Sasha pulls out a tape recorder. She doesn't look at it as she presses play. She doesn't even look at them. She's staring at some indefinite point in space to Martin's left, like it's a window to hell. The recorder plays.

"You're aware it's pronounced Kuh-ly-o-pee, right?" A man's voice, acerbic and dry, that Martin doesn't recognize.

"Really? I've always heard it pronounced ka-lee-o-pee." Sasha's voice.

"I suppose technically there's no correct pronunciation. But the organs are named after the Greek muse Calliope, so…"

Tim frowns. "Isn't that Leanne Denikin's statement? Who's that you're talking to?"

Sasha closes her eyes. "Jonathan Sims. The real one."

***

It takes them a week to find a way to deal with NotJon. During that week, Martin has to pretend that nothing has changed. That he isn't aware that his coworker and one time crush has been replaced by this… thing that calls itself his name. Martin has to smile when he says hello. Thank him when he brings tea. Laugh when he tells a joke. Just like normal.

(Were any of those things normal Jon behavior?)

Sasha's background in artifact storage provides the answer: an old diving bell with a penchant for disappearing people to infinite crushing depths. In his nightmares, Martin can still the the way the thing distorted, when it realized it had been caught. The way its limbs stretched into a grotesque parody of the human form as dark water sucked it in.

And then… things are normal again. There isn't even a police investigation. Jon apparently had no surviving family to raise a fuss about his disappearance. They get drinks, but even that is hard. It's hard to remember which of their fond stories belong to the real Jon, and which to the imposter.

***

One day, Martin finds an unmarked tape in the storage room. Thinking it's an old poetry tape he forgot to label, he pops it in a recorder to play. He could use a pick me up.

It's not poetry. The recording starts with a loud clatter, like the recorder being dropped. Then, Martin's voice. "Um, sorry, I didn't see you there. You startled me ."

"I suppose that's to be expected, given the circumstances ." A man's voice. Acerbic and dry. Martin can't breathe. He remembers this conversation. The voice on the tape is saying all the words that Martin remembers. It's not the same voice.

How long has this tape been sitting here? NotJon had hidden all the tapes containing the real Jon's voice, but apparently he'd missed this one. If Martin had found this earlier, if he'd managed to keep his poetry tapes in some kind of order for once … But Jon had already been dead by the time Martin had first met the imposter. His research on the NotThem made that abundantly clear. They might have caught on sooner. But it wouldn't have saved him.

"You never answered my question by the way."

"Sorry, which question is that?"

God. Had it really been that obvious, how much he'd liked Jon? Martin on the tape sounds like his head has floated off like a child's lost balloon. Jon's annoyance is audible even via tape. He remembers recognizing it as cover for genuine concern. It's so totally unlike the kind, smiling man Martin has known for the past year. How the hell did he never notice the switch?

Maybe he had. Hadn't his crush dissipated around that time? That makes Martin queasy to think about, but he clings to it anyways. That crush might be the truest thing he has left for Jon.

"Are you alright down here? Do you have everything you need?"

Martin blinks away wet, stinging tears. He remembers clear as day the kind and concerned look on Jon's face as he'd said these exact words. Except… those memories were fake. Had the real Jon looked at him like that? What would that even look like? Martin still doesn't know what the real Jon looked like. All he has is Melanie's vague description ("Short. Greying hair. Bit of an arsehole. Definitely not white."). All Martin's photos show only the imposter. He hasn't been able to find any Polaroids. God knows he's tried. He spent a week tracking down old yearbooks and photo albums and anything else he could think of. Plenty of photos of the imposter at varying ages. Nothing else.

Martin tries to construct an image of Jon. Take the few details he does have and paste them over the memories of the imposter. It feels less real than the fake.

Maybe that's the real horror of this monster. When someone you care about dies, you can normally take comfort in your memories of them. The NotThem has stolen that from him. No, worse than stolen. Corrupted. Taken Martin's memories of Jon and plastered them over with a false, smiling face.

All he has now is a tape and a voice.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 9/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Jon returns to work, and Melanie King interviews for a position as archival assistant that Elias forgot to mention he had posted. Martin cuts Jon's hair.

Chapter 9 of my post-canon fix-it fic is out and yes, I jumped on the haircut fluff bandwagon. 

Read above at AO3 or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Jon returned to work the day after they learned about (or more rightly, remembered) the Leitners. Martin had very mixed feelings about it. Even though Jon was eating again and getting enough sleep and making a show of taking his vitamins, Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever feel like he had taken enough time to recover. More than once, he found himself daydreaming about what it might be like if Jon just decided he was never going back to the Institute. Sure, Jon had said it wasn’t an option, but that was before—well, before now. Maybe, if things weren’t going like he’d assumed, he could be convinced to work somewhere else and finally get away from all of this. Or maybe work nowhere, if he wanted. Martin could make that work. He’d taken care of two people on one job before.

On the other hand, the Leitners had really shaken him. It felt like the Institute was sitting on a bomb that could go off at any time if someone took a wrong step—and most of the people walking on it didn’t even know it was there. If it ever had felt as simple as just leaving, it certainly didn’t now. And as long as that was the situation, he needed Jon there. They all needed Jon there.

He’d actually assumed Jon would head straight for the Leitner Room when he got back, but he didn’t. When he asked him about it, Jon’s answer was that Martin had already been there, and there wasn’t any point. That caught Martin off guard—after all, this was the man who not even two weeks ago had re-read every document Martin had tried to read for him—but when he pointed that out, Jon shrugged.

“Maybe I’m trying something different.”

Martin gave him a look. “Really?”

“Why not?” Jon gave what passed for a smile with him this week, and Martin felt like he had to accept it. “Besides, we don’t want to risk drawing attention to them. I think that’s the worst thing we could do.”

The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. Even Jon spent some time in the stacks helping out with client requests, which they somehow had still not caught up on. The only thing that stuck out was that once, on his way out of Sasha’s office, Martin found Jon at his desk going over several page of hand-written text and decided to ask him about it.

“So… Sasha said that people were still coming by with—stories, I guess?”

“Yes.”

“Is that one of them?”

“Yes, I’ve been reviewing them. Sasha really doesn’t like reading them herself, so I’m—” He looked up at Martin. “What?”

“I just didn’t realize. That’s all. That—” Martin frowned down at the papers in front of Jon. “That looks an awful lot like… well, a statement.”

Jon followed Martin’s eyes back to his desk. “I suppose it does. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Martin found the resemblance vaguely troubling, though he couldn’t put his finger on why it stood out to him. Nothing had changed, really, it was just about what it looked like. There were certainly enough other pressing things happening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it,” Jon said, putting his hand on Martin’s arm.

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I guess I should have assumed people were still coming in… I don’t know why it’s bothering me.” He shook his head and squeezed Jon’s hand briefly before turning to head back to the stacks. “I know you’d tell me if there was anything serious. Well, it’s all serious, but anything we could—you know what I mean.”

“Martin, I—"

“No, it’s really all right. I’m just worried about everything, I guess. Sorry for interrupting.”

“You weren’t,” he heard Jon say behind him as he left.

Otherwise, though, things almost seemed to be looking up. Even Tim, spotting Martin on a ladder while reshelving some heavy volumes, commented that Jon looked better.

“I mean—I feel like he does?” Martin agreed, straining to make room on the shelf at an awkward angle without dropping the book in his hand. “I think some—time off—actually did him some good.”

“Or maybe he was so heartbroken about missing our lunch together that he decided he couldn’t stay home another day.”

“I’m sure that was it, Tim.” Martin rolled his eyes as he finally managed to squeeze the book onto the shelf.

Tim was ready to hand him another volume from the cart when he paused, looking up at Martin and down at the cart again. “Wait, was that number—did it end with .5268 or .57?”

Martin looked back at the book he’d just placed on the shelf. “Let’s see—damn it, it was .57.” They hadn’t been paying attention, and they’d managed to miss the poorly placed divider on the cart. Now Martin was going to have to get the book back out of the shelf he’d only barely managed to squeeze it onto, although that maybe explained why it had been so difficult in the first place.

“Sorry,” Tim said. “That was my fault.”

“No, not really. I could have caught it too.”

“Be careful.” Tim shifted to the other side of the ladder as Martin leaned precariously toward the book that now didn’t want to come back out. “You know, Jon’s lucky to have you to take care of him.”

Martin was glad he could blame the color in his face on his efforts to pull the book.

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Um—what?” He almost had it now. “I guess? Yes? What are you getting at?”

“Just that I’m still here to listen. If you want to talk about—what happened.”

The book finally came loose, and Martin barely managed to hang on to it and keep his balance on the ladder—but he did. “Here,” he said, tossing it down to Tim once he’d regained his footing. It was his only answer.

***

Even the weekend felt better. He was finally relaxing a little bit about the Leitners—after all, they’d been there for several months and nothing had happened yet, and they were flagged now if anyone asked about one. There were very few people with a key to the room—just the others in the archives and maybe Elias—and none of them were likely to take a sudden interest in them as long as they didn’t attract it.

Jon stayed in bed with him. They went to the store. They made breakfast together—well, Martin made breakfast, but it was a real breakfast with eggs and bacon, and Jon watched him make it with more admiration than it deserved. At some point, Martin borrowed Jon’s trimmer, the one he used on his beard, and finally gave himself the haircut he’d been needing. It felt nice; it felt like a normal thing to do. Afterward, he checked on Jon in the sitting room and found him reading.

“Reading anything important?” Martin asked from the doorway.

“Just a book,” Jon said, briefly holding up a small, worn paperback that Martin recognized from his bookshelf. He walked up behind the couch to look over Jon’s shoulder.

“Like—a normal book that regular people read?”

“A normal book, at least,” Jon said, temporarily closing the book on his thumb to look at Martin. “Oh. You did it. Your hair, I mean. It looks—it looks great.”

“You think?” Martin ran his hand over the shortest part, where he could feel the bristle of the fresh cut against his fingers. “You know, I think I finally found a couple grey hairs this time.”

“Get over it.” Jon lifted his thumb to check the page number and then let the book close entirely before turning to rest his head on his arms on the back of the couch. “You do not get to talk about grey hairs.”

“I wasn’t complaining, I was just mentioning it,” Martin protested. “And I like your grey, it makes you look—”

“Do not say distinguished,” Jon groaned. “Everyone always says that.”

“All right—I won’t.” Martin bent down to kiss Jon instead. Jon started to kiss him back, but Martin stood up. “No, I don’t want to distract you.”

“Oh.” Jon raised his eyebrows. “Is that how it is?”

“Yeah. It is. It’s been forever since you’ve read just a book, and—well, it was something you said you missed.” He kissed Jon one more time, but this time on the top of his head. “And… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For—for trying.”

Jon looked surprised for a moment, and then his face softened. “Martin—”

“Nope,” Martin said, backing away from the couch. “We’re done here. You read. I think I may actually go give poetry another shot.”

“Really?” Jon asked.

“Yeah.” Martin shrugged. “Some of my—his—notebooks were in the stuff from storage. Thought I might go through them and see if it’s any good. It’s not like I was doing a lot of writing—well, there.”

“All right.” Jon sat back on the couch, but turned to look at Martin one more time before opening his book. “You know—if you write anything you like, I’d—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I would never put you through that,” Martin joked. “Just—enjoy your book.”

Martin didn’t end up writing anything—just a line or two that he didn’t like anyway—but going through the notebooks was fascinating. He remembered writing most of the poems in them. For some of them, he could even pinpoint exactly what he had been thinking about when he wrote them, or what had inspired them. He wasn’t afraid anymore that he was losing memories; he found he could navigate memories from the two existences almost side by side now, if he tried. It wasn’t a perfect description, but it was sort of like comparing two different edits of the same document.

He didn’t really identify with the version of him that had written the poems in that notebook. In a way, they annoyed him; it felt like going back and reading things you wrote as a child. He had outgrown them, maybe. He felt like there was simultaneously so much more and so much less to everything he’d tried to capture than he’d understood at the time.

Still, that didn’t stop him from wishing he could have been that person, or stayed that person, or become that person—he wasn’t sure how to think of it, but there it was. He’d liked writing that poetry; it had made him happy, inane as it was. He wanted to like writing it again.

***

Of course, Monday brought another unexpected turn of events. It started with Elias walking into the assistants’ office while Sasha was briefing them on the day’s activities. He looked tired after the weekend, which Martin realized was typical for him, but also vaguely enthused.

“Everyone,” he announced, “I’ve brought someone by that I’d like you to meet. A candidate for our new archival assistant position.”

“Wait,” Sasha said, crossing her arms. “What new position?”

“The one you asked me to advertise.”

“Well, yes, but that was like eight and a half weeks ago. Things were—different. We have Jon and Martin back now, thank god. And you never got back to me, so I just assumed you were ignoring me.”

“I have never once ignored you.” Elias shook his head at Sasha in feigned shock. “And to prove it—you just told me last week you were still behind on the archiving work, and that you weren’t comfortable following up with the reports we’ve been receiving.”

“Technically what I said was that I don’t think we should be dealing with them at all, they’re really not what an archive—”

“And as I told you, although only god knows why, some of our patrons are quite interested in those reports. So, we will keep dealing with them, but this”—Elias held up a finger—“is where our candidate comes in. Look, Sasha, I really think you’ll like this—and as always, I promise you’ll get final approval.”

“All right,” Sasha threw her hands up. “Bring them in.”

“Rosie,” called Elias, “please show her in.”

Before Martin could process it, he found himself staring at Melanie King.

“Melanie,” he said, surprised.

“Oh—” Melanie turned to look at him, and her lack of recognition brought him back to the moment. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Um,” Martin stammered. “Well—no. I guess maybe I just—feel like I know you? From your YouTube channel.” He laughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, right,” Melanie appeared equally uncomfortable. “I get that sometimes. Um—well, not all that often, actually. Sorry, tell me your name?”

“I’m—I’m Martin Blackwood. I’m one of the assistants here.” He belatedly stepped out from his desk to shake her hand, and she smiled again.

“And I’m Tim Stoker.” Tim’s relative comfort as he also shook Melanie’s hand seemed to put her at ease, at least until she rested her eyes on Jon. He was still sitting at his desk.

“Jon,” Tim prompted him.

“Hm? Oh, right, I’m—”

“I’m guessing you’re Jonathan Sims,” Melanie said.

“That’s—” He seemed mildly surprised. “Yes. I am.”

“My partner, Georgie—Georgie Barker—she’s the one who saw the ad. Said she’d heard someone she used to know might be working here, and well—anyway, we talked about it, and eventually she convinced me to put in my application.”

Jon realized she was waiting for him to say something. “Oh,” he managed.

Her smile faded slightly. “Well, nice to put a name to a face, anyway.”

Elias gestured toward Sasha. “And this is Sasha James, our head archivist.”

“Hello, Ms. King,” Sasha said warmly as she stepped forward. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” Melanie took the hand Sasha offered to her. “Mr. Bouchard—Elias—was just telling me about the work you do here, and if you don’t mind, I’d love to chat with you about it.”

“Of course,” Sasha said, leading the way to her office. “Come on in.” Elias followed behind, and they closed the door behind them.

Martin immediately pulled a chair over to Jon’s desk, leaning close and speaking quietly so that Tim couldn’t hear. “What do we do?”

Jon considered. “Nothing, I suppose.”

“But, well—can she—I mean, if she signs a contract, will it be like—”

“No,” Jon shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

“Are you sure?” Martin was still worried. “How can you—”

“I’m sure,” Jon said definitively. “No one’s getting stuck here. Look—that was all Jonah Magnus’s doing, completely. He doesn’t exist here, and when he did, he certainly didn’t have the ability to trap people in his employment.”

“Hm.” Martin still wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Martin, it’s fine,” Jon said, taking his hand. “If it weren’t—if I had any doubt—I’d stop it. I’d find a way. I wouldn’t let her go through that again.”

Martin nodded; Jon’s confidence, at least, gave him confidence. He went back to his desk and continued organizing his tasks for the day, although he was so distracted he hadn’t made much progress when Sasha’s door opened again. She walked out and closed it behind her, leaving Elias and Melanie inside.

“What do you all think?” she asked.

There was a brief silence, and then Tim spoke up first. “It’s a surprise, for sure, but if having someone else around helps you out, I’m all for it.”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t have the sort of background we usually look for, but as Elias pointed out, she has a lot of investigative experience.” Sasha leaned back to sit casually on the round desk in the middle of the office. “Normally that’s not something you’d need in an archive, but as long as we’re being asked to start following up on some of these statements—”

“I can follow up on those,” Jon interrupted. “She doesn’t need to—"

“Jon, onsite research and interviews are exactly what she does.”

“Yes, but as you’ve said, her credentials aren’t—”

“Oh, you’re a certified private detective?” Sasha asked with a note of sarcasm.

“I just meant for an archive—”

“I understand, and credentials are important, but I think we can also all agree that Martin, for example, has become an excellent assistant.”

Tim snorted. “Jon, I dare you to argue.”

Jon ignored him.

“Anyway, Jon,” Sasha continued, “I haven’t forgotten you’re interested in the statements too—I was going to ask you if you wouldn’t mind helping Melanie get adjusted. You know, help her out a bit. That’s assuming we go ahead with the offer and she accepts.”

Jon thought for a moment, then sighed. “All right. Yes.”

“Good,” Sasha said. “Martin, any thoughts?”

“Um—no,” Martin said. “I’m sure she’ll be—she’ll be fine.” Jon had said it would be fine.

“All right,” Sasha said, standing up. “I’ll tell Elias to make the offer.” She disappeared back into her office.

When they came back out, Melanie was smiling and chatting happily to Sasha about an episode of Ghost Hunt UK she and her crew had filmed in Glencoe. Part of Martin was still very nervous for her; the Institute clearly wasn’t the safest place in the world, even if she wasn’t caught there. Another part of him, though, maybe a bigger part, had missed her, and he would be glad to have her around—and seeing her and Sasha together gave him hope, somehow.

“Oh,” Melanie turned just before she and Elias left the office together. “Jon, Sasha mentioned that you’d be helping me get comfortable with things around here, and well—I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Yes, of course,” Jon said, not looking up from his desk.

This time her smile vanished. “I’m sorry, did I—did I do something to offend you?”

Now Jon looked up. “What? Why would you say that?”

“It’s just—I feel like you already don’t like me.”

“I—no,” Jon said. “I’m—”

“He’s been ill,” Sasha said. “He’s still recovering. Please excuse him.”

“Oh,” Melanie said, but she looked doubtful. “In that case, I hope you feel better.”

“Right,” Jon nodded. “Thank you.”

After she left, Sasha turned to the assistants. “As you may have gathered, she’s already accepted the offer, and she’s quite happy about it. She’ll be starting on Thursday, and I’d like to suggest that instead of lunch this week, we go out to dinner that night to welcome her. Please try to make it, if you can.”

Martin wasn’t sure if he was dreading it, looking forward to it, or both.

***

“Ready for supper?” Martin asked when they got home that night.

“Actually, first—I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

“Sure,” Martin said. “What is it?”

“Would you cut my hair for me?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Martin crossed his hands in front of his chest for emphasis. “I’m no good with scissors. I mean, I could try to trim the ends if—”

“I meant like yours. Well, not exactly like yours, that’s just—” He cleared his throat. “I want it short.”

“Why?” Martin asked, taken back.

“Would you hate it?”

“No!” Martin said immediately. “No, that—it’s just a big change.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jon agreed. “I think that’s why I want to do it. I mean, I won’t insist if you don’t—”

“No, it’s—if you’re sure, I’ll do it.”

They brought one of the chairs from the balcony into the bathroom. Jon reached back to pull the tie out of his hair, but Martin got there first. He tugged it loose, straightening out the strands that got caught on Jon’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” Jon asked again. “I think you’re more attached to it than I am.”

“Not really,” Martin lied, thinking about how he’d taken to brushing it out of Jon’s face while he’d been so out of it. He did kind of miss those moments. “I mean, it doesn’t actually matter how I feel, but—well, ok, give me a moment to say goodbye.”

“Whatever you need,” Jon said with amusement.

“No—no, I’m good.” Martin sighed and pulled it back again, this time into a low, loose ponytail. “So we’re absolutely going to get hair everywhere. I usually just take off my shirt and then jump under the shower afterward, but we could try a garbage bag or something—”

“I don’t mind.” Jon started to unbutton his work shirt, but then stopped. “You’re ok with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I—oh.” Martin suddenly realized he hadn’t seen Jon without a shirt on since the hospital after Hill Top Road, evidently not wanting to expose his scar again. “Jon, it’s—it’s fine. Sorry I didn’t realize before now.”

Jon still hesitated; Martin bent down and kissed him, reaching to undo the button under Jon’s fingers as he did. “Really, it’s fine. Just don’t black out.” He was trying to add some levity, although he wasn’t sure he pulled it off.

“I think I can manage that.” Jon finished unbuttoning the shirt; Martin took it from him as he pulled off the t-shirt underneath, and tossed them both out onto the bed. He deliberately avoided looking directly at Jon’s chest so as not to worry him.

“You’re really, really sure about this?” he asked, twisting his hand into the ponytail. “I mean, once this is gone—it’s gone.”

“Yes.”

“All right.” Martin took a deep breath, and with the scissors they’d borrowed from the kitchen cut his way through Jon’s hair, just above the tie. “There it is.”

“Oh god.” Jon wasn’t even looking at the hand Martin was holding up—he was looking at his reflection in the mirror and the uneven chin-length mop of hair that was left behind.

“We could leave it like that.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m kidding. Here.” He set the hair down on the counter. “Although it is kind of rugged. With your beard, you’ve got a sort of lumberjack thing going on there.”

“Right—very rugged. Until I stand up.”

“Nothing wrong there. You’d be the world’s most adorable hipster lumberjack.”

The look Jon gave him in the mirror said everything.

“All right, all right—here we go.” The trimmer buzzed to life, and bit by bit, the remaining length fell away.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Jon asked.

“Oh—I had a—a friend who taught me years ago. I used to cut his hair.”

“A friend?” Jon asked.

Martin realized he’d stumbled over that pretty badly. “A boyfriend.”

“You can say that, you know. You don’t have to hide it.”

“No—I know.” Martin stopped cutting for a moment to switch out the guide. “Or I assumed, I guess. It’s just that we’ve never really talked about any of that stuff. Well, I know Georgie, obviously—knew Georgie? But that kind of just happened. It felt weird just now.”

“Well, next time it doesn’t have to.”

“Thanks. I—I really do appreciate that.”

Jon nodded. “I’m sorry that—we really did everything backward, didn’t we?”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Martin flicked the trimmer on and off to make sure the new guard was attached properly. “I mean, there are definitely things I wish were different, but it’s not like I regret it.”

“Me neither,” Jon said.

“Besides, we’ve got time to make up for it now.”

Something about the sad smile Martin saw reflected in the mirror made him lean down and press his mouth to Jon’s bare shoulder. It was nice for a moment, but he quickly found himself spitting out hair clippings. “Ok—I do regret that.”

“Oh god, sorry.” Jon turned to try to help him brush some of the pieces off his face.

“And that is why we took the shirt off in the first place,” Martin said when they had gotten most of it, still grimacing. “Anyway, I’m almost done here—just want to get a little more off the top.”

Jon nodded and turned back to face the mirror again, and Martin continued, mulling over the day’s events.

“Jon,” Martin said, “what was with you and Melanie today? You really did seem like you didn’t want to talk to her. Are you that upset about her working on the statements?”

“No, it wasn’t that. I mean, I don’t like it—I’d rather handle it myself, or with you—but that wasn’t it.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? There was something.”

Jon hesitated, but finally answered. “I think it’s better to—try to stay unattached.”

Martin turned off the trimmer again. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. “That’s why you’ve never taken Tim up on drinks, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Jon, you—you need friends.”

“They don’t need me. And they certainly wouldn’t want to be friends with me if they knew what I brought here.”

“Jon—”

“It’s just better if I keep my distance.”

“Well, I disagree. And I hope you’ll at least come to dinner on Thursday.” Martin could see there wasn’t a point in arguing at that moment. He turned the trimmer on for one last touch up, but didn’t spend much longer on it—he was pretty pleased with it, overall, and it was easy to ruin a good cut by being too picky.

“What do you think?” he asked when he was finished; he was actually nervous to hear the answer.

“It looks great,” Jon said, turning his head in the mirror to look at both sides. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“It really wasn’t that hard,” Martin answered, but now that he knew Jon liked it he had to admit he was feeling pretty proud of it.

“Do you like it?” Jon asked.

“I do.” Martin set the trimmer down and stood back to look at it from farther away. “I’m definitely going to have to get used to it—but I mean, this is easier now.” He stretched his fingers out to scratch the back of Jon’s head.

“Oh,” Jon said, tilting his head back a little. “That’s—that’s quite nice.”

“You know—” Martin started to say, but then stopped as he felt himself blushing.

“What?” Jon said. “Everything all right?”

“I just—I know we don’t usually say stuff like this, but… well, I’ve been staring at you for thirty minutes straight, and you—you’re really quite good looking.”

Jon looked at Martin with his mouth slightly open, but quickly regained his composure. “You don’t have to say it. It’s obvious you think it.”

“Well.” Martin dropped his hand indignantly. “In that case, maybe I—”

“I mean, I can’t think of anything else that would have attracted you to me, so by process of elimination—”

“Oh, shut up.” Martin leaned in and kissed Jon hard, pressing his hands into the now-short hair at the sides of his head. It had been a while since they’d really kissed, maybe since they’d made up after their argument, and Jon returned it with equal insistence. “I can’t believe you turned that into an insult.”

“Sorry. You’re right, I’m not used to it.” Jon kissed him again, gently this time. “Shall I try again?”

“All right, but me too.” Martin tilted Jon’s head up by the chin. “You’re hot.”

Now it was Jon’s turn to blush, but only for a moment. “So are you.”

“No, you can’t just say that. You really are hot, I’m—” Martin cut himself off, realizing the hypocrisy of what he’d started to say. “All right, this is hard.”

“Maybe just back to this again?” Jon reached to kiss him one more time.

“All right. Until we get more practice.” He couldn't help running his hand through Jon's hair as their mouths came together again.

He could definitely get used to it.

[hypnoshatesme]

You’re Home

Gerry sat in a dark corner of a rather noisy bar, unwinding from his latest Leitner job. He was people watching, as usual, wondering who of the people dancing and chatting would end up falling prey to Gerry’s world. It wasn’t the most cheerful thought, but Gerry had a difficult time shaking the fears off his mind after burning one of the books. Even when it went well - and this one had - it was difficult to forget. He tended to try to drown the memories in alcohol.

He was spacing out when the tall blond approached his booth. Gerry looked up when he heard an awkward cough, and was impressed at how he had to crane his neck to see the face of whoever was standing in front of him. When he finally managed to catch a glimpse of the round face, he was confused, because the man didn’t look like he wanted to be there. He was twirling a corkscrew curl around his slender finger, clearly struggling to look at Gerry, eyes nervously darting around instead. He was gnawing on his lip and his whole body language screamed of the urge to flee.

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

The other man jumped, and Gerry half expected him to dart off. He didn’t.

“I...I’m so sorry, my...I...I was looking at you and my friends just wouldn’t shut up u-until I approached.”, Gerry nearly didn’t pick up the whole sentence as the man dissolved into flustered mumbling by the end, blush high in his cheeks and hands fidgeting.

Gerry looked towards the booth the blond had come from, where another four people were all sitting and chatting, deliberately not looking at them. Gerry didn’t like the look of them. He looked back at the blond, who looked like he was holding his breath, looking at his own hands.

“Well, what’re you supposed to do now?”

“I-I’m not sure they...they didn’t specify and I-I...I usually d-don’t…”, he was struggling to speak and Gerry was starting to feel sorry for the guy.

He motioned for him to sit down and the blond’s eyes went wide with shock and surprise, “Ah...you don’t...you-I can just tell them you told me to get lost. Y-You can just tell me to go!”, he said quickly, smiling nervously. There was a small gap between his front teeth, and Gerry found himself thinking it looked cute.

He motioned for the man to sit down again, “I’ll buy you a drink so the effort wasn’t for nothing. You look like you need it.”, he added with a somewhat cheeky grin, making the blond blush a deeper red.

He sat down after a moment of contemplation, with a shy smile, nervously tucking a stray curl behind his ear. It didn’t stay there, and as far as Gerry could tell, it was a lost cause, stray curls falling around his ears and into his forehead where hair had broken free of the hairtie that was keeping the rest of the blond curls at bay in a low ponytail.

“What’s your name?”, Gerry asked after taking a sip from his own drink.

He looked surprised, “Oh, uh...Michael.”, he smiled, “You?”

“Gerry.”, Gerry answered, drowning the rest of his drink, “Tell me what you want to drink.”

Michael looked confused, “You don’t have to, I mean...I came bothering you so really...i-if anything, I should buy you a drink.”

“Great. And I’ll buy yours, let’s go to be bar, then.”, he got up, watching, amused, as Michael blinked a couple times before the words caught up with him and he followed suit.

They were tipsy when they went outside for some air. Michael relaxed as soon as he was away from all the busy noise, and Gerry found himself looking at the relieved expression on his face a little longer than acceptable in a less intoxicated state. Michael noticed his look and gave him a crooked smile, grey eyes cloudy with alcohol, but still warm.

They had managed fine after the initial awkwardness - and with the help of a couple more drinks - and Gerry felt strangely light. He was having fun, he suddenly realised. He was enjoying the company, liked when Michael gesticulated wildly when he talked, even when his hands became sluggish with drink, liked the sparkle in his eyes every time Gerry motioned for him to continue after Michael gave him a careful, quizzical look, as if to give Gerry an opportunity to tell him to shut up.

But Gerry didn't want him to shut up, which seemed to surprise Michael every time and it was such a nice expression to look at. Gerry's intoxicated brain sometimes forgot to listen to the words coming out of Michael's mouth because he was so busy watching him.

"Do you smoke?", Gerry asked him now, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket.

Michael shook his head.

"Mind if I smoke here?", Gerry asked instead.

Michael seemed to consider, biting his lip. The motion was somewhat hypnotic.

"If you must…"

Gerry laughed, and it felt strangely foreign and light, "You know, I asked so you could say yes or no, not 'I guess I'll deal with it'"

Michael blushed, "I'm...I'm sorry. Not used to…"

"Saying no?"

Michael shrugged, worrying at his lip. They were chapped and Gerry was fairly sure he'd make them bleed soon if he continued to gnaw on them like that, skin catching in teeth every time. Gerry suddenly became very aware of the fact that he was very much staring at Michael’s lips. He blushed.

Michael's eyes went wide. If Gerry had already been hard to look away from before, the slight pink dusting his cheeks made it impossible. It made a stunningly beautiful contrast to the lose black strands hanging into his face, and Michael felt an urge to brush them away just so he could take a better look. Their eyes met which did little for either of their blushing faces to calm down.

It was Gerry who spoke, "Uhm.. mind if I kiss you?" He couldn't quite believe he actually asked that. Michael thought about it for a moment, biting his lip and making Gerry forget his shock at having asked that question.

"Okay.", Michael ended up saying, smiling before bending down to press his lips to Gerry’s.

Gerry kissed back the moment his brain finally processed what was happening. It was a little sloppy and tasted of drinks neither of them had particularly enjoyed, but they both hummed pleasantly when they pulled apart after a moment.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Michael's phone vibrated in his pocket. Michael fished it out. He looked disappointed at what he found, "Ah..that's my cue.", he smiled at Gerry apologetically.

Gerry nodded. He should probably go home too. He didn't want to, though, "Uh do you...want to exchange numbers?"

Michael was biting his lip again, "B-Before we do that I should probably tell you I'm...uhm...asexual."

Gerry wasn't sure what exactly he had expected but that wasn't it. He blinked, confused, and then shrugged, "Alright."

Now Michael looked confused, eyebrows drawn together, "Alright?"

"Well...yeah, alright.", Gerry mumbled, pretending to be very interested in the trashcan across the street in the hope of maybe hiding the blush creeping up his face at the realisation that he just asked Michael for his number and Michael hadn’t actually said no.

"O-Oh...okay, I just...I didn't want you to think I...uh...tricked you.", there was surprise in his voice, wonder even, "So you...still want?", he held his phone out to Gerry, blush high in his cheeks because Gerry was even more beautiful to look at up close and he apparently wanted to see Michael again and Michael couldn't quite believe it.

Gerry nodded, a little quickly, taking the phone and punching in his number. Somewhere in his sluggish mind an alarm was going off, telling him this was a mistake. Gerry ignored it, giving Michael the phone back. Michael took it gingerly, staring at the number in awe. Part of him was sure it must be fake but he didn't want to embarrass Gerry, so he forced himself to put his phone away without trying it out.

"Don't you want to call it? J-Just in case I...misclicked, or something.", Gerry asked curiously because his heart was still racing, his mind slow, and he wasn't sure he could trust his muscle memory. And for some reason he really wanted Michael to have it right.

Michael made a small, surprised noise, taking the phone back out and unlocking it before looking at Gerry, as if asking whether he should proceed. Gerry was itching for a cigarette to distract himself from those eyes that were making his skin tingle. He nodded.

Michael knit his eyebrows for a second before clicking and then they were both holding their breaths in rapt attention, waiting. Gerry felt his pocket vibrate and let out a breath of relief as he pulled it out, showing the number to Michael so he could check if it was indeed him or if somebody had just the worst fucking timing to call Gerry’s number. Michael's face lit up and he smiled, nodding eagerly and the stray curls bobbed with the motion.

"Okay uh…", Gerry mumbled, unsure of how to proceed.

Michael hesitated, before leaning down to press a short kiss to Gerry’s cheek, "I'll...I'll text you.", he said shyly, before leaving Gerry with a small wave and going back inside.

Gerry took a steadying breath, staring at the number on his phone. He finally remembered to save it and then he stared at the name instead. Did that really just happen? Had he really been stupid enough to exchange numbers with the cute blond? Gerry was worrying his lip now, playing with the ring in there as reality sunk in. Even through the slight haze of alcohol Gerry knew this was definitely a mistake. Then why the fuck did his heart jump when his phone vibrated again, Michael's name popping up. Gerry clicked on the message as if it might disappear any moment. 'Enjoy your cigarette :)' it read and Gerry’s found himself grinning at the phone like an idiot before he finally managed to find  the lighter in his pocket.

It was difficult to meet up with Gerry, Michael quickly found out. His job seemed to have the most random hours and sometimes he was out of town at short notice. Part of Michael was starting to wonder if Gerry maybe didn't want to see him, which would be fine, but it was always Gerry who left their little coffee dates saying they should try to repeat that. The smile on his lips always looked genuine and he was often the one who ended up texting Michael, suggesting a next time. So Michael had to assume he really just was that busy.

Gerry dodged the question of the nature of his job when Michael asked, but there were frequent bruises and cuts and Michael struggled not to push the topic. Gerry told him not to worry. As if Michael could do that. Usually he distracted himself with his studies when his thoughts got too hung up on it.

Michael’s university schedule and his part time job didn't add to making meeting up any easier. But he managed to make time for Gerry. Sometimes their dates ended up being rather short because of that, but they always left Michael feeling like he was floating in a very pleasant way, so he always made time for them.

This time, Michael had invited Gerry to meet him at home and Michael was regretting it, but also very excited about it at the same time. He liked meeting Gerry outside, sitting in the back of some café or strolling through the park with their beverages, but Michael's anxiety about there being other people usually caught up with him sooner or later, adding to him already being a flustered mess when Gerry eyed him with those beautiful brown eyes, warm and welcoming, encouraging Michael to go on with whatever he was babbling about, glinting in amusement when he noticed Michael was stunned into silence at his gaze.

Yes, he could certainly do without the sudden awareness that there are other people around who might see him blushing like that. So when his roommate left to visit family, Michael finally got his courage up to invite Gerry over. He hoped that hasn't seemed suspicious. Gerry had sounded surprised, and hesitated a little, but had agreed in the end, with a nervous smile. Michael had been dreaming about that smile because he didn't know what it meant and it worried him.

Michael was checking his makeup and hair for the third time because he had worked himself into a sweat cleaning the apartment and preparing snacks and he was sure it must be runny by now and, well, his hair was always a lost cause. He tried to tuck the stray strands in to make the half ponytail look neater, but it just made it worse, curls defying gravity simply to spite him. At least the glitter around his eyes was actually still in its place. Michael was nervous about what Gerry might think. He kept his appearance as neutral as possible outside, but Gerry didn't seem like somebody who would mind. Michael held on to that, petting down his skirt before leaving the bathroom to check if the apartment was spotless and tidy for the hundredth time.

Gerry was staring at his phone, waiting for time to pass. He had been early as fuck, had walked around the neighbourhood because he couldn’t very much just stand in front of Michael’s door for over fifteen minutes, somebody might see him, and was still too early when he made it back. How much too early was okay? He didn't want to surprise Michael and freak him out because he wasn't ready or something. Then again, this was Michael. He probably had been ready an hour before their agreed upon time and was driving himself up the wall with nerves. So it probably would be good to be a bit early, right? Gerry left out a frustrated sigh and rang the bell. The door was opened immediately.

Gerry tried to take the stairs at a normal speed as his brain was still trying to process what the fuck he was thinking he’s doing. He had taken care about not being followed, he had. But still, this was a risk. It was one thing to let whoever - or whatever, rather - find out where he lived, but showing the way to Michael’s apartment was asking for trouble. But now he was already here. Sometimes Gerry felt like part of his brain just didn’t properly function when Michael was the one talking to him.

Michael was peeking out of the door, listening for the familiar steps of Gerry’s boots, debating whether he should step into the hallway or not. Instead, he nearly accidentally closed the door when he saw Gerry approach. He breathed out, slowly, calming himself, and opened the door wider instead.

“Hi.”, he managed to say when Gerry came to a stop in front of his open door.

Gerry looked up and was stunned for a moment. Michael usually was all muted colours and hunched shoulders, trying to fade in with his surroundings. Now, he was standing up straight, hair pulled back, not obscuring his face for once, revealing pink glitter around eyes framed by long, dark lashes. His lips were glossy and a light pink, pulled into a sheepish smile. He was wearing a slightly cropped green sweater and a flowy pink skirt passing his knee. He looked gorgeous.

“Ah...is...are you okay?”, Michael whispered after a moment of silence, brushing his hair behind his ear and succeeding in untucking the curls that had somehow finally stayed there. He was getting a little anxious under Gerry’s gaze, unable to read it properly.

“You’re beautiful.”, Gerry blurted out.

Michael looked surprised now, face flushing a bright red, “Oh...oh, okay?”, he didn’t know what to do with that, but the fact that they were still standing at the door was starting to stress him out, so he stepped to the side, “Do you...want to come inside?”

Gerry’s face was dusted pink when he finally understood and he hurried inside, closing the door behind him, “‘M sorry, I just was...surprised.”

“You...don’t mind?”, Michael eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

Gerry shook his head, “Why would I? You look...”, confident was maybe a stretch so Gerry went for the next best he could think of, “Comfortable. And skirts are great. I was really just a bit...taken aback. Why don’t you wear something like this outside?”

Michael twisted a curl around his finger nervously, “Uh, I like to...blend in, outside. Which is...hard enough when you can reach some ceilings standing.”, he chuckled, “But certainly impossible with a more...unconventional style.”

“Fuck conventional style. You look great.”, Gerry grinned.

Michael laughed, “I guess it makes sense you’d say that.”, then his smile went sheepish, eyes shining, “Thank you. Come, I’ll show you the apartment.”, he held out his hand towards Gerry.

Gerry smiled and took it, letting Michael guide him through the immaculate, small but cosy living room. Michael was definitely much more comfortable. Still nervous, but not as skittish, not needing to look around every couple minutes to check if anyone was looking at him. And actually standing at his full height for once.

Gerry really wasn’t sure if getting this excited about somebody looking properly comfortable was normal, but he could barely stop smiling as Michael showed him around the small apartment.

They settled back on the couch after Michael made them some hot chocolate and Gerry carried the snacks that were prepared to the coffee table. Michael insisted on Gerry deciding what to watch, and, soon enough, they had made themselves comfortable on the couch. At some point, Michael took Gerry’s free hand, playing with his fingers, and Gerry smiled into his mug.

“I really like your nails…”, he mumbled, running his fingers over Gerry’s nails.

“Why don’t you paint yours?”

“It would draw attention…”

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “Why don’t you go for something subtle? You could see if it’s really so bad…”

Michael sighed, “I don’t know...did you start with something subtle?”, he added, curious.

Gerry looked at him, blank, “Do I look like I ever did something subtle in my life to you?”

Michael laughed. Gerry grinned, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to Michael’s cheek. Michael blushed, laughter turning into something closer to a giggle. Oh, this was definitely nice. Gerry had noticed that Michael seemed to keep his reactions muted when they meet outside, laughter just a little damped, controlled, compared to their first conversation in the noisy bar. Gerry had thought it had simply been the lack of alcohol, but clearly it had more to do with how tense Michael seemed to feel outside.

As the evening went on, Michael seemed to melt into Gerry’s side, never letting go of Gerry’s hand. However, as it got later, his grip went limb, as he was starting to doze off, head resting against Gerry’s. It looked like a very bad angle and thoroughly uncomfortable, as far as Gerry could tell from where he was sitting.

“You should go to bed, this...doesn’t look very comfortable.”, Gerry mumbled, squeezing the hand that was still holding his gently.

Michael shot up, suddenly, mumbling an apology. Gerry raised an eyebrow, “Woah, it’s fine. I’m just saying you’ll probably regret falling asleep all crumpled up.” Michael was tense, suddenly, wringing long fingers in his lap, avoiding Gerry’s eyes. Gerry drew his eyebrows together, “Michael? Everything okay?”

Michael nodded, too quickly, “Yes...yes, of course I…”, Michael swallowed, looking away, “I...I just...I didn’t change my mind, Gerry.”

Gerry looked at him, confused, “‘Bout what?”

“T-The whole...sex thing.”, Michael twisted his hands into the hem of his sweater.

Gerry looked very confused now, “I...I didn’t assume you did? Did I say something wei-”

“No! No, uh...it’s just...it...it happened before? When...when I asked people over...t...to hang out. I just...I wanted to make that...clear.”, he was looking down, cheeks burning.

Gerry frowned, “Well, I don’t know what was up with those people, but I’m not looking for loopholes, Michael. It’s fine, okay? There is no reason for me to question it. In fact, it’s not really my place to question it, is it? You're the only one who could do that.”

Michael looked at Gerry again, eyes uncertain, but hopeful. Gerry gave him a reassuring smile and Michael released a shaky breath, relaxing a little, “I...I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“It’s okay, don’t worry. Can’t blame you if apparently past experience has made you extra careful. But like I said, I’m not looking for loopholes or expecting there to be any, Michael. You were pretty straightforward with it and that’s it, in my opinion.”, Gerry shrugged.

"I…", Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Okay. I'll try to remember."

"I'll remind you if you forget, no problem.", Gerry smiled and Michael returned it with his own small one. He looked exhausted, worse than he had when falling asleep on Gerry. Drained.

"You really look like you could do with some sleep."

Michael nodded slowly, stifling a yawn, "I could. Uh...do you...want to stay? If you want you could sleep in my bed and I'll take the couch-"

"Michael, you don't fit on the couch.", Gerry chuckled.

Michael blushed, "I sleep rolled up anyways! Well uh...if you...if you don't mind I...don't think I'd mind you sleeping in the bed with me, either?"

"You don't think…?", Gerry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I...hm...yeah?",  Michael looked a little uncertain and awkward, but strangely hopeful.

"I could also sleep on the couch.", Gerry decided to point out.

"Ah...yes, of course. Is that what you'd rather do?”, he tucked a curl behind his ear, “I just know that the street outside can get quite noisy early in here so...yeah. However you prefer, Gerry."

Gerry thought about it. Michael was still looking at him with that hopeful expression.

"How about we see if you really don't mind me in bed, and if you do you tell me and I come here?", Gerry decided, looking at Michael questioningly.

Michael thought about it for a moment, and nodded, “Okay.”

They cleaned up the living room, bringing the dishes back into the kitchen, but not bothering with cleaning them for the night.

Michael turned towards Gerry as they made their way to Michael’s bedroom, "I can give you some pyjama if you want?" Gerry nodded.

The clothes were obviously too big and Michael smiled widely from the bed, eyes crinkling at the corners, when Gerry shuffled back into his room after changing. Gerry returned with a small grin, slipping into bed next to Michael. They got comfortable and Gerry sighed, suddenly feeling very tired himself.

He looked at Michael, whose face was close, but not uncomfortably so, "How are you feeling so far?", Gerry mumbled.

"You're warm.", Michael returned, yawning and moving a little closer to Gerry.

Gerry chuckled, "Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Good. I...I think I'm fine.", Michael mumbled, burying his face in Gerry’s hair.

"You're still thinking?", Gerry teased.

Michael sighed, "Not for long…", and it was barely audible with his tired voice and the fact that his face was still very much pressed into Gerry’s head. Gerry smiled, closing his own eyes.

Gerry was awake when Michael opened his eyes in the morning. He was looking at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thoughts. The sun was playing in his hair and face, specks of light against smooth black hair and tan skin, catching in brown eyes and turning them to gold. Michael had not become much better at not staring over time. If anything, he just kept finding more details that added to the breathtaking picture that was Gerry.

Like right now, his eyes fell on a mole behind Gerry’s left ear and his eyes lit up, delighted. He brought his hand up to run it through Gerry’s hair, gently, watching the strands run through his thin fingers like water, fascinated by the contrast of the hair against his fingers. His thumb gently brushed over the mole on its way down, featherlight, and Gerry shivered slightly, tilting his head as to look at Michael.

"Good morning. Slept well?", he mumbled, and Michael wondered how it might be to wake up to the pleasant sound of Gerry’s voice every morning.

He smiled, "Morning. Yes, you? I know the space is a bit tight…"

"Mhm, I've slept in worse places, Michael.", Gerry mumbled, pressing slightly chapped lips against Michael’s forehead. Michael sighed blissfully.

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment, actually.", he mumbled, chuckling.

Gerry grinned, gently brushing his fingers through Michael’s hair, "Yeah, I'm not too good at those, I think. But I did sleep well, thank you for asking.”

"I'm glad to hear that." Michael mumbled, leaning his head against Gerry’s shoulder.

It took another hour before either of them even considered getting up, neither being awfully keen on leaving the comfortable bed or each other’s warmth, but starting to get hungry. Gerry sighed heavily as he finally managed to untangle himself from Michael's long legs. Michael wasn't helping, pouting when Gerry started to move. It looked adorable and Gerry pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips before getting up.

Michael hummed before moving to sit up himself, stretching long limbs with a drawn out yawn. Gerry was tying his hair back Michael watched, because it was always worth watching those beautiful fingers run through black hair, movements efficient, but still surprisingly graceful. Or maybe not so surprising. Gerry had artist’s hands and Michael often found himself thinking they'd look good moving a brush over canvas. They looked like they were made for that.

Gerry turned back to him and grinned, and it made for a quite odd picture, him drowning in Michaels pyjamas, too big and too long, pastels somewhat off since Michael was so used to the all black. He wondered if Gerry slept in black, too. Gerry’s grin revealed slightly crooked canines and Michael just couldn't deal with how adorable he looked and beamed back, not even caring that he was caught staring again. If this wasn't worth looking at, then what could possibly be?

Gerry held out his hand and Michael took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He pressed his lips to Gerry’s hair, "You look so cute, Gerry."

Gerry blinked in confusion for a moment before laughing, "That's one I haven't heard before."

Michael looked offended, "How?"

More laughter, "You do know what I usually wear? I'm not exactly going for cute."

"Well you can't escape what you are, no matter how much leather you put on.", Michael grinned, kissing the scar on Gerry’s eyebrow that had appeared there the last time they met up after Gerry had been gone for a week. Michael quite liked it, despite it looking rather unnerving considering how close the wound must have been to Gerry’s eye.

"Sure." Gerry grinned back, before nodding towards the door, "So...breakfast?"

Michael nodded and they made their way into the kitchen.

Gerry was fairly sure that he had lost his mind now. Telling Michael to come over to his apartment had to be a sign of that. He didn't own a whole lot of things so cleaning up hadn't taken very long. Now he was waiting, standing in the middle of his hallway, staring at the entrance door. The bell rang. He had definitely lost his mind.

Gerry opened the door and was met with Michael's lovely smile, and forgot for a moment that this was a bad idea. And it was very hard to remember when Michael was sitting in his lap after Gerry had shown him around and ordered food, kissing him, hands running through Gerry’s hair reverently.

They were interrupted by the bell, and Michael sighed as he pulled away. Gerry smiled, gently running his knuckles over Michael’s slightly red cheek, “Do you want to get the drinks from the kitchen? I’ll go get the door.”

Michael nodded, getting up from Gerry’s lap, and pulling him to his feet, too. Gerry planted a short kiss on Michael’s cheek before going to the door.

“Gerry, what do you even eat? I was searching for glasses and your kitchen is kind of...empty.”, Michael said as he sat down on the couch, setting the glasses and the bottle he got from the kitchen on the coffee table next to the takeout.

Gerry turned the TV on before settling back on the couch with his food and looking at Michael, “Honestly? Mostly takeout.”

Michael stared at him, expecting that to be a joke. Gerry simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Gerry, cooking isn’t that difficult or time consuming.”, Michael chided.

Gerry wanted to point out that he often came home at odd times and after a fight or chase or something more unpleasant, but decided not to. Instead he said, “I don’t know, I never really learned much of it and this is just...more convenient.”

Michael looked personally offended, which honestly looked cuter than it had any right to. Gerry gave him an apologetic shrug, unsure what else to add.

“Are you going to be around for a bit this time?”

“Hm?”

“Are you leaving again soon?”

“Oh...yeah, actually. If things go well, it shouldn’t be a week.”, but things rarely go well , he added in thought.

Michael sighed, taking his food and leaning back next to Gerry. He was thinking, biting his lip, and Gerry decided to let him be and eat for now. Michael started picking at his food absentmindedly after a moment.

“Text me when you can meet up again?”, he mumbled.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I...I usually do?”

Michael nodded, “I know. I want to teach you a bit of cooking, if you don’t mind.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “But...I mean, if you want?”

Michael smiled at him, “I do.”, before continuing to eat.

It ended up being two week before Gerry was finally back in his apartment, and another three days before they managed to meet up because Michael was stuck doing everything for his group project himself, as usual, while also doing his sick coworker’s shift on top of his own. But eventually, the day was finally there and Michael was standing in front of Gerry’s door again, this time with grocery bags.

He had been worried when Gerry had gone silent on him for two days. Apparently he had been stuck in the hospital, unconscious, but was already feeling better and would probably leave later. Some kind of fall, as he had said. Michael knew that asking for more details was pointless and, in the end, those wouldn’t really calm Michael down. No, that only started happening when Gerry finally texted him about meeting up again and it would end - hopefully, if Gerry was, as he had said, in one piece - with Gerry opening his door.

He did and Michael released the breath he’d been holding while waiting as he saw that Gerry was, indeed, fine. Gerry gave him a warm smile before his face turned into confusion as he saw Michael’s bags.

“I thought we’d get groceries together?”, Gerry asked, stepping to the side to let Michael in.

Michael shrugged, walking inside and into the kitchen, “I have to pass the store on my way here anyways.” He turned around as Gerry followed him into the kitchen, “I also got you flowers!”, he smiled, carefully pulling out a bouquet of bright yellow carnations out of the bag.

“I...oh.”, Gerry blushed, confused, “I don’t own a vase.”, he added, dumbly.

Michael grinned, “I assumed as much. I got you one.”, he said, pulling out a simple glass vase out of one of the bags.

Gerry stared, “Y-You shouldn’t be buying things for me, Michael, you're just a part-time cashier-.”

"Hush, it's fine. You can give me the money for the groceries, if you want. But these are a gift.", he smiled, delicately tracing the petals with a soft smile, “Your apartment looks a bit bare, I think they’ll make it look more like home.”

Gerry didn't know what to say because Michael looked so very beautiful standing in Gerry's kitchen, looking lovingly at those bright flowers, hair in a messy bun with stray strands flying everywhere. It was nearly painful to look at, a strange ache in Gerry’s chest that made him want to do anything but look away. It wasn't the flowers that were making Gerry feel more at home.

"I...thank you.", he breathed out when Michael looked up at him, wondering about the sudden silence.

Michael now directed that loving smile at Gerry and Gerry wondered if his heart might combust.

"I hope you don't mind that they break with your aesthetic. Black flowers are hard to come by.", Michael grinned, filling the vase and delicately unwrapping the flowers and placing them in there, long fingers adjusting petals and leaves and Gerry suddenly understood why Michael liked watching people's hands so much. It was breathtaking to watch the slight, deliberate movements, more of a caress than anything. What had Gerry even done to deserve holding those hands?

Michael put the flowers on the counter when he was satisfied, "Might look better in the living room, but for now…"

"Michael? Can I kiss you?", Gerry blurted out, overwhelmed by the whole situation.

Michael froze and his smile faded as he started biting his lip. He wasn't looking at Gerry when he answered, "S-Sure…"

Gerry knit his brows, "You're doing it again."

Now Michael looked at him, "Doing...what?"

"Answering my yes or no question with 'if I must'."

Michael looked away again, brushing a curl out of his forehead, “I’m sorry, Gerry, I...sometimes I just don’t feel like it.”

“Then why not answer accordingly?”, Gerry kept his voice calm. This wasn’t an accusation. He was afraid he knew the answer already.

Michael looked back up at him tentatively, “I...I just-I know we haven’t seen each other in a while and…”, Michael was starting to scratch at his arm, “And...and I know you already compromise a lot a-”

“Michael.”, Gerry interrupted. There it was. “Michael, it’s fine. That’s why I ask you. So you can tell me no if you're not feeling it.”

Michael was looking at him with that uncertain expression again, like he was trying very hard to believe, but also too afraid to do so.

Gerry smiled, “Michael, there’s not much point in kissing if one of the parties isn’t even enjoying themselves, okay? It’s fine.”, his smile pulled into more of a grin then, “And as far as I know cooking doesn’t require a whole lot of kissing, so we should be fine, right?”

Michael had that surprised, awed expression in his eyes he often got when Gerry was saying something perfectly reasonable to himself, but seemingly mindblowing to Michael. His mouth quirked up into a soft smile, "I...o-okay."

Gerry went to help him unpack the groceries, “So, do tell me about the group project, the last message you sent about it was a bit all over the place…”

Michael sighed, putting away some eggs, “Oh, yes, I was...it was a mess, see…”

They were sitting on Gerry’s couch later, blissfully silent after their meal, empty plates stacked on the coffeetable. Gerry felt warm and comfortable, and he wasn’t sure how much of that had been the food.

“That was really good.”, Gerry sighed, looking at Michael.

Michael smiled, “See? And it wasn’t that much effort, was it?”

“I guess not.”, Gerry chuckled, “I might try making this by myself…”

Michael’s smile widened, “Do that! If you struggle, you can always text me. And we can try making something else the next time, maybe.”

Gerry nodded, “Sounds like a good idea.”, he yawned, “Hm...should I take the couch today, Michael?”

Michael looked confused, “I...what?”

Gerry shrugged, “In case you don’t feel like sharing the bed today, I don’t know...you seem more comfortable without me getting too close.”

Michael blushed, “Oh...I...yeah, but I don’t think it’s necessary to go that far? I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed!”

“I slept many a good night on this couch, Michael, if that’s your concern.”, Gerry raised an eyebrow.

“No, I mean…”, Michael sighed, “I think it’s okay.”

Gerry watched him for a moment, trying to determine whether Michael was forcing himself into doing things just to not be an inconvenience. He at least didn’t look like it. Gerry sighed, getting up and stretching, “Tell me if it turns out not to be, then, yeah?”

Michael nodded seriously, and Gerry brought the dishes into the kitchen before going into his bedroom to change for the night.

“I put what you wore last time in the bathroom for you.”, he managed to remember to say to Michael before he was out of earshot. He heard a muffled ‘okay’ as he closed the door behind him.

“Everything alright?”, Gerry mumbled after they had settled into bed for a couple minutes.

Michael yawned, “Yes...yes, I’m fine.”

Gerry smiled, “Goodnight, then. Wake me if anything’s up.”

“Okay. Sleep well, Gerry.”, Michal whispered, burying his face into his pillow.

“Thanks, you, too.”, Gerry mumbled, closing his eyes.

Gerry had his back turned to Michael in the morning so that Michael opened his eyes to the eye on the back of his neck, making him jump slightly in surprise before he realised what he was looking at. Gerry had his head resting on his arm, hair brushed up and away from his neck. He seemed to sleep like that a lot. Maybe he got hot with his hair down otherwise.

Michael was struck by how smooth his skin looked. There was a small scar disappearing into his hair, and of course the tattoo, but otherwise it looked wonderfully soft. Michael wanted to kiss it. He bit his lip. He knew Gerry was awake, but Michael would understand if he wouldn’t want Michael too close after Michael had kept him at a distance just yesterday.

"Gerry?", he whispered nonetheless, because Gerry never got upset at him asking. Well, hadn’t until now.

"Hm?", Gerry grumbled turning around slightly.

Michael hesitated, "Would...would you mind if I kissed your neck?"

Gerry turned his head back at that, "No."

Michael bit his lip before he carefully leaned closer, pressing his lips to the back of Gerry's neck, a butterfly kiss against the tender skin there.

"Was that okay?", Michael mumbled.

"Yeah.", Gerry hummed.

Michael did it again, hand running along Gerry's shoulder and down his arm. Gerry made a noise that sounded like a purr. Michael smiled, pleasantly surprised.

“Feel free to continue…”, Gerry mumbled, lowering his head, and Michael watched intently as more skin was exposed where the collar of his shirt got pulled down. Michael traced it with his fingertips, uncertain.

“Are...are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Michael? It felt nice…”, Gerry turned his head a bit, looking at Michael out of the corner of his eyes.

Only that was enough to make Michael blush, gaze as intense as it was beautiful. "Uh...I...I just thought because...well, it's...it's not going anywhere? I-in case you'd rather...not at all, then. B-Because I...I still do-"

"Michael", Gerry sighed, but instead of the annoyance Michael was expecting he sounded somewhat fond. He turned around completely then, propping himself up on his elbow. "Listen to me. So, first of all, I'm not waiting on changes so you don't have to, either. It sounds extra stressful and you have enough stress.", he smiled gently brushing Michael's curls out of his face. He pressed his lips to Michael's forehead and continued, "And secondly, do you know when I'm ever going to even consider questioning your motives?"

Michael looked taken aback, eyes big and uncertain, "I...n-no?"

"When you tell me, clearly, to my face, that I should because you are having doubts yourself. Before that, Michael, you could literally kiss every inch of my body if you'd want and it would still not make me question your identity, okay?"

Michael’s eyes were still wide, but now he looked like he was close to tears. He swallowed, nodding carefully, because he wasn’t sure his voice would work right now. It rarely did when Gerry was looking at him like that, like Michael was worthy of his undivided attention. Much less when he was saying things like that, things Michael sometimes allowed himself to dream of hearing from anyone, really, but never really let himself hope. He should keep expectations realistic. But Gerry kept breaking down all of what Michael considered realistic. Sometimes, it was a lot to take in.

Gerry gave him a moment to calm down before asking, "Can I kiss you, Michael?"

Another nod, and Gerry bent down to draw him into a sweet, tender kiss. Michael returned it, cradling Gerry’s face. They pulled away after a moment, Gerry caressing Michael cheek with the back of his hand. Michael looked more relaxed now, though Gerry was sure part of him was still freaking out. He was starting to be sure part of Michael was always freaking out about something. Gerry sighed as Michael took his hand, pressing a kiss to its palm. Gerry smiled.

"Gerry?", Michael whispered after another moment. His heart was racing, and he was already regretting opening his mouth.

Gerry looked back into his eyes, "Yes?"

Michael’s face was heating up, "Do you...uh, want to kiss my neck?", he mumbled, looking away in a feeble attempt to hide his blush.

"Do you want me to?", Gerry smiled.

Michael nodded, "O-only if you want, I...I understand if you'd rather not, I-if it gets too much a-and-"

Gerry raised an eyebrow, "Too much? For me?"

Michael tentatively looked back at him, "Y-yes? I...getting carried away?"

Gerry frowned. He disliked the certainty in Michaels voice as he said that. "Did...that happen before?"

Michael looked away again. Another nod, this one hesitant.

Gerry sighed, "Michael, look at me, please.", he looked into Michael’s eyes when Michael did bring himself to look back at Gerry, "How about I tell you if it gets too much for me and you tell me if you’re getting uncomfortable? Does that sound good?”

Michael took a moment before answering, "Yes."

"Good.”, Gerry smiled, caressing his cheek. “Can I kiss you again?”

Michael nodded, a shy smile appearing back on his lips. Gerry returned the smile before closing in, pressing their lips together. Michael wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

When they pulled away, Gerry ran a finger down Michael’s neck, “Do you still want me to kiss your neck?”

Michael nodded, “Yes.”

Gerry kissed his chin before pressing his lips to Michael’s neck, tentatively. He looked up at Michael, “Okay?”

Michael looked at him and nodded, “Yes. It...it’s nice.”, he smiled.

Gerry smiled, continuing to kiss Michael’s neck, caressing his jaw and cheek with his fingers. Michael sighed, leaning into the touch and relaxing into it, eyes fluttering close.

That wasn’t the last of Michael’s insecurities, of course, but he did try to remind himself of that morning when he felt like he might choke on his anxieties again. He wanted to trust Gerry because Gerry had no reason to lie about being fine. He reminded himself of that.

So did Gerry. Gerry was happy when he was with him. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference to him if that time was spent curled up on the couch or in bed, Michael’s fingers running down his back reverently, lips kissing a trail from Gerry’s shoulder to his ear, or whether it was spent talking with Michael, or trying to follow his instructions he was giving Gerry during one of their cooking lessons, laughter bubbling out of him - still the loveliest sound Gerry ever heard - at Gerry’s mumbled complaints when he managed to fuck up what had sounded to be pretty straightforward.

During neither situation did Gerry feel bothered by Michael’s lack of sexual interest. Gerry was much more concerned with the fact that Michael’s freckles were starting to fade as the days grew shorter, and Gerry hadn’t gotten to count them all. And he reminded Michael of that, too. The blush rising into Michael’s cheek at that was always beautiful to look at.

But moments in which Michael seemed to be suffocating on his worries seemed to be getting less frequent in general. Despite Michael always apologising for forcing Gerry to have the same conversation, it was definitely becoming more rare as time passed.

And Gerry didn’t mind, anyways. He really rather had Michael tell him about what was gnawing at him than having Michael sit in it, growing more and more anxious and losing sleep. It was much easier to try to soothe those anxieties when Michael told him what exactly they were, even if it often came down to the same. And it seemed to help Michael, too, to be able to put whatever was bothering him into words.

Michael sometimes still looked at Gerry nervously when he thought something he'd said might give incentive to confront him about whether he was actually sure about his identity. Which was a ridiculous thought to Gerry, since Michael talked in the same tone about people he considered beautiful than he did about a perfectly organised bookshelf. One time, Gerry told him that.

"Oh…", Michael had blushed a pretty red, "I like you more than a well organised bookshelf, Gerry!", hed said quickly, shuffling closer on the couch to wrap his arms around Gerry.

Gerry had laughed, "That's high praise coming from a future librarian. And not something I was worried about, really.”, he added, because part of him feared Michael might think that if he didn’t. He pulled Michael closer, caressing his arm, “I think you spend more time looking at me than at any heat bookshelf I've seen you pass, actually.”, he grinned at Michael, “Which is interesting considering it should take you longer to check if it really is organised to your taste than to look at somebody you've been seeing somewhat regularly for...what? Half a year now?"

"A bit longer, I think.", Michael said, chuckling, before looking at Gerry with a soft smile, “And I never know when I’ll actually see you again, Gerry. Or if you’re not going to be sprouting more than just a black eye and some cuts the next time. Or...if you’re going to be back at all.”, the smile vanished from his lips and he sighed, leaning his forehead against Gerry’s shoulder, “I don’t want to end up regretting not having spent enough time looking at you while I could.”

Gerry went silent, trying to understand what he had just heard. He cleared his throat before mumbling, “Wow, that...that’s dark.”

Michael looked back at his face, “Am I wrong? Is it a guarantee that you will come back from your work every time?”

And his eyes looked like he knew the answer already and it made Gerry’s chest ache, “No.”, he managed. Michael smiled, a small and sad thing, resigned. “I’m...I’m sorry.”, Gerry tried, caressing his cheek, because he didn’t want Michael to look like that, but he couldn’t do much to change that expression. Even the apology sounded somewhat hollow, despite Gerry genuinely meaning it. Michael deserved better than this.

Michael took his hand and squeezed it, trying for a happier smile, “It’s okay, Gerry. It’s...it’s not too different from how I usually approach my acquaintances, especially the ones I’d like to last. Like every time we meet might be the last time.”, Michal blushed at the realisation that he was sounding ridiculously dramatic again, which wasn’t at all how he meant it. He just was aware that people usually lost interest in him and just stopped being around. Or died. Or disappeared. It was fine. Michael was used to it.

Gerry was frowning at him, but there was a hint of humour in his voice when he spoke again, “Oh, christ, Michael. Starting to think you should be the one wearing all black.”

Michael grinned, “Oh, I used to! When I was a little younger.”

“Oh?”, Gerry grinned, eyes amused and curious, “I need to see that.”

“I’m afraid no photos exist of that time.”, Michael said, petting Gerry’s cheek lovingly.

Gerry laughed, “Well, if you won’t show me, I’ll just have to make you reconnect with that style again.”

Michael chuckled, tucking a stray black strand of hair behind Gerry's ear, “Maybe you should, one day.”

"Gerry, I don't understand how you never get cold arms.", Michael whined, rubbing his bare arms. Gerry’s bathroom was cold, but Gerry was, as usual, wearing something sleeveless, seemingly unbothered by the chill as he applied makeup to Michael’s face.

"And I don't understand how you can wear cardigans all year long, Michael.", Gerry grinned, "Hold still now, I'm nearly done.", he mumbled, gently tilting Michael's head back a little further for the finishing touches on his lips.

Michael's eyes fluttered close, throwing dark shadow over his pale cheeks and Gerry really wanted to kiss him but the lipstick wasn't dry yet.

"Done.", he exclaimed, stepping away from Michael, whose eyes opened again, meeting Gerry's, uncertain and questioning.

Gerry nodded towards the mirror, "You look great." He grinned.

Michael looked sceptical and got up to look at himself, ducking his head a little bit as he always had to with Gerry's bathroom mirror. Even when Michael had preferred black for his wardrobe, he never experimented much with makeup then. And while Gerry's black rimmed eyes, black eyeshadow and occasionally black lips looked quite striking on him, Michael didn't think it would work on himself. He was wrong. The contrast was starker than on Gerry's tan skin, and maybe it looked a little odd with the freckles, but it certainly worked. Michael particularly liked the glittery eyeshadow.

"You should wear this yourself more.", he mumbled, angling his face towards the light to watch the sparkle and grinning.

Gerry laughed, "I thought you'd like that one. Don't you want to check out the whole picture?"

Michael hesitated before nodding and turning his back to the mirror to follow Gerry out of the bathroom. They went to Gerry's room, where the only full body mirror in the apartment was.

"The skirt is still too short.", Michael mumbled on their way, disliking the feeling of the air against his knees as he walked.

"Your legs are just long. I buy my clothes to fit me , so of course they'd be a bit short on you.", he laughed and Michael sighed, smiling at the sound.

When they reached the bedroom, Gerry nodded for him to go to the mirror, grinning widely. Michael couldn't remember ever seeing him so excited. It was heartwarming, and he smiled back before stepping in front of the mirror.

He felt Gerry's gaze, expecting, as he took in his own reflection. It wasn't that Michael never wore black anymore, but he usually added some sort of colour, knowing that all black would draw as much attention as when he'd go outside with his indoor clothes. It didn't look bad, though.

The skirt was definitely shorter than he was comfortable with, the tanktop tighter than it was on Gerry, even though Gerry was quite a bit more buff than Michael. It also looked cropped on him. The skin peeking out between it and the waistband of the skirt was nearly blindingly pale in the midst of all the black. Michael checked one more time if the black nail polish was dry and then shoved his hands into the skirt pockets. It really looked odd. Like himself, still, very much, pale skin, blond curls down his back - he needed a haircut, he noted - and freckled face, eyes uncertain as always. But it also looked very much unlike himself. He missed colour.

"I look pale.", he stated after turning around a couple times, looking at himself in different angles.

"You are.", Gerry sighed, walking up to him and wrapping his arms around him. He leaned his head against Michael's arm, looking into the mirror, "You look striking."

Michael chuckled, taking one hand out of his pocket to run through Gerry's smooth hair. "I think this looks better on you."

Gerry hummed, "Want to change?"

Michael looked at his reflection again, "No, it's fine for now. Tonight."

Gerry nodded.

"But I will put my cardigan back on, Gerry, my arms are freezing.", he grinned.

Gerry laughed, rubbing Michael’s arms. They were cold, "I'm sure it'll bring the outfit together.", he pressed a short kiss to Michael's jaw. "I'll be in the kitchen, cake should be cool by now. Tea or cocoa?"

"Tea.", Michael smiled. He shivered when Gerry stepped away and out of the room, taking his warmth with him.

Gerry put on the kettle in the kitchen, cutting the cake Michael had baked before. He had just brought all into the living room, placing the mugs and plates with cake unto the coffee table, when Michael emerged again, this time wearing a chocolate brown cardigan that certainly clashed with the rest of the clothes but looked very much like Michael. Gerry chuckled and Michael smiled a little awkwardly before sitting down on the couch next to Gerry. His eyes fell on the mugs and plates, but also on the vase of sad, dry flowers.

"Gerry, I've told you before that you should really throw those away.", he laughed. Michael had been surprised when he had seen the wilted flowers weeks after he had brought them, still in their vase on the coffeetable. He had assumed Gerry had simply been too lazy to throw them away or forgotten to do so.

"I like them.", he said now, as he had the other times Michael had pointed them out to him,

Michael looked at him, "They're dead."

Gerry shrugged. He just couldn't bring himself to throw them away. Every time he looked at them he thought about Michael in his kitchen, soft smile and wild hair,  delicate fingers caressing the soft petals of the flowers, and Gerry liked thinking about that every time he glanced at his coffee table.

“I’ll get you new ones.”

“You better get another vase, too, then, these are staying.”, Gerry laughed, taking one of the plates and starting to eat the cake. Michael shook his head, but smiled, taking one of the mugs.

Michael was approaching the end of his studies and was getting busier, so they didn’t see each other quite as much. Gerry would occasionally drag him out of his room when he felt like Michael hadn’t left it in too long, take him on a short walk and buy him something that wasn’t coffee, because Michael was drinking too much of that, somehow putting him more on edge than he usually was. On some of those instances Michael had been concerningly silent, too tired to react to what Gerry was saying with more than just a small smile. Michael assured him he was taking care, but they clearly hat varying definitions of what that meant.

Then again, Gerry didn’t really have the moral high ground in this either. He’d broken two ribs on his last Leitner hunt and still winced when he moved a bit too quickly. Even half-asleep, that always drew worried glances from Michael.

Before final exams and assignments really started, however, Michael invited Gerry over again. To relax before things got really stressful , he had said, looking like he hadn’t slept in at least a week. Gerry was starting to worry about what ‘really stressful’ meant to Michael. They baked muffins - Gerry was slowly turning into less of a liability in the kitchen - and Michael’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like months. Gerry’s presence always calmed him, and combining them with the comforting motions of baking was wonderful.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been free much.”, he mumbled as he put the muffin tray in the oven and turned around to see Gerry cleaning the dishes.

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “Michael, did you listen to your own sentence? That’s a weird thing to apologise for. I know it’s not your fault. It’s okay. I’m glad today worked out.” He smiled and dried off his hands.

Michael sighed, “I mean, it is. If I wouldn’t need so long to feel like I’ve studied enough-”

“Michael, you never feel like you’ve done enough. While I’d love for that to be different, it’s more because you clearly need a break more than the fact that our meetings have become a bit rarer.”, he tried for a grin, “It’s actually nice to not be the reason for that for once.”

Michael pouted at him, before sighing, “Fine.”, he walked over, putting his arms around Gerry and pulling him close, “Do you feel better from your last...accident?”

Gerry nodded, leaning into Michael’s hug. Every time he got hurt during one of his jobs Gerry became more aware of the fact that it was probably only a matter of time until Michael would be dragged into it, too. Gerry was always careful. But he knew that could only really do so much. He buried his face in Michael’s yellow sweater and breathed in. He didn’t want to think about that, now.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to tell me something, by the way?”, Gerry mumbled instead, trying to steer the conversation somewhere he wouldn’t have to be thinking of possibly being responsible for Michael’s death.

Michael froze, and Gerry felt a little bad for being pushy. Michael never forgot something like that, but he often needed time to find the courage to actually say whatever it was he wanted to talk about.

Gerry looked up at him, “Sorry, doesn’t have to be now, of course.”

Michael sighed, smiling down at him, “When the muffins are done.”, he wrapped a black strand of hair around his finger, watching it slide right off it as soon as he released the lock, “What have you been up to besides getting bruised and battered? Any new exciting books you came across?”

Gerry had to remind himself that Michael did not mean the ones he burned, but the ones he read, and let out a nervous breath, forcing his thoughts away from burning pages and Michael suffering, to the normal books he liked to read when he had the time. It became easier as he started talking, telling Michael of how he had passed his time lately as Michael started cleaning the kitchen, asking for details or adding something of his own occasionally until Gerry relaxed.

Gerry wasn’t used to talking a whole lot, but Michael still seemed to know how to make him when he felt Gerry’s thoughts were getting upsetting. Gerry was grateful for it, because he knew that when he got into a bad mood, he was a pain to deal with. Michael knew that, of course, it had happened once or twice, mostly in the beginning, before Michael had found ways to prevent Gerry from shutting down completely or getting snappy. They usually managed, now, and it was about when Gerry was really running out of things to say when Michael got the muffins out of the oven. He put a couple on a plate, hissing as they burned his fingers. Gerry grabbed to mugs of tea and followed as Michael made his way to his room.

They sat down on Michael’s bed, and Michael sighed, as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He mumbled, “My roommate’s moving out.”

Gerry looked at him, surprised, “Oh? After exams?”

Michael nodded.

“What about you?”, Gerry asked because he knew Michael wasn’t good with new people and would probably avoid finding a new roommate, if he could. He just wasn’t sure if Michael was making enough money to afford something passable by himself.

Michael was starting to bite his lip, wringing his hands in his lap and avoiding Gerry’s eyes. Gerry knit his brows after that went on for a moment, Michael clearly wanting to say something but was struggling to do so.

“Michael?”, he asked carefully.

“Uh…”, Michael turned around, so he was looking at Gerry, “I was wondering...wanted to ask...i-if you want to consider? Maybe? Y-You don’t have to, I...I can try to...to find somebody else but...I...I think I would like you to move in, if you’d...if you’d want.”, his cheeks were burning by the end of the sentence, and Gerry was impressed that he managed to not give into the urge of looking away again, eyes big and nervous, as he started scratching at his arm.

Gerry felt his own face heating up as the words caught up with him, “O-Oh...oh.”, was all he managed, licking his lips and rubbing the back of his neck.

That wasn’t what he had expected. At all. Ever, really. As much as he loved having Michael over or being here, as much as he enjoyed the domesticity their dates had taken on, Gerry had never allowed himself to dream of it as a permanent arrangement. Too many factors spoke against that. Too many spoke of early death for the both of them if Michael kept sticking around. But would it even make such a difference if they moved into the same place? Maybe it would even be better. Gerry would be there if something would come for Michael.

Michael was regretting his question, eyes desperate as he tried to take it back, “Y-You don’t have to! I...I know it’s a bit of a short notice and...and I know your apartment is nice and probably in a better location than this a-and of course, you-”

“No, Michael, no, that...that’s not it, I…”, Gerry swallowed, “I...I think I’d like that.”

Michael stared at him, clearly expecting him to be joking. Gerry gave him a small, shy smile.

“I...Are you...sure?”, Michael asked, tentatively.

Gerry nodded, “Yes. I...I am.”

Michael’s face lit up and he threw his arms around Gerry’s neck, hugging him close and burying his face in Gerry’s hair, letting out a relieved sigh. Gerry chuckled, returning the hug and running his hand through Michael’s hair.

Michael suddenly froze again, at that, pulling away a little, “I-If you...if you change your mind, Gerry, you-”

Gerry sighed, pulling him back and nuzzling his shoulder, “I’ll tell you. But for now...I think it’d be nice.”

Michael allowed himself to relax a little, combing through Gerry’s hair, mind already trying to imagine how it would be to be able to do this more often if Gerry really did move in, but also trying to not think about that in case Gerry ended up changing his mind, which would be understandable, really, but if he didn’t Michael could see him every morning, or most, the bleary eyes and messy hair and sleepy smile, and Michael felt like he might combust with warmth and excitement at that.

“Can I try a muffin?”, Gerry mumbled after a moment.

Michael laughed, letting go of him, “Yes, of course. I hope they’re to your liking!”, he said, taking the plate and holding it out to Gerry.

Gerry smiled, taking one and biting into it, leaning his head against Michael’s arm. They were good, as always. Michael took one for himself, settling against Gerry with his tea and sighing blissfully. He felt much better now that he had finally asked. And Gerry’s answer had certainly made worth all the time it had took him to work up the courage to do so.

It was evening and the muffins were gone, the mugs empty, and they were now laying on Michael's bed and Michael was stressing out about his final assignments and about what he would do after he was done with university . Gerry listened patiently, playing with a particularly tight corkscrew curl that was laying on the pillow, making small, reassuring noises occasionally. He knew it didn't help to tell Michael things would be alright, but he still liked to do it. He hoped Michael would remember when he was particularly down about everything.

After a while, Michael fell silent, exhausted and defeated, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh and throwing a long arm over his eyes. Gerry noted that his nail polish was still immaculate despite a week having passed since Gerry painted them for Michael. It had taken a lot of convincing, but eventually Michael agreed to try it. He had chosen a barely noticeable light pink and, as far as Gerry could tell, hadn’t had any unwanted attention because of it. Gerry was glad about that since Michael seemed very happy with how they had turned out. Gerry wanted him to have something that made him happy. Gerry traced Michael's thumb nail delicately.

"Have you found something?", Gerry asked curiously, after the silence had stretched on for a bit.

"Hm…?", Michael let his arm move up, so he could look up at Gerry, who was still propping himself up on his elbow beside him.

"You mentioned you also started looking into possible jobs so you're not stuck in limbo after you graduate-"

"If I graduate."

Gerry sighed. Of course he would graduate. But Michael didn't want to hear about that, "If you graduate. I was wondering if anything caught your eye?"

Michael dropped his arm further back, letting it rest on his hair on the pillow, "Hm...actually, yes. I saw that...uhm...the Magnus Institute was hiring.", he said it quickly, in hope Gerry wouldn't hear because he didn't want Gerry to know he was silly enough to be interested in such an institution.

Gerry froze and Michael was regretting speaking, was about to play it off as a joke, but when he saw Gerry’s expression it died on his lips. Gerry didn't look annoyed at Michael being ridiculous, he looked shocked, terrified even.

"No.", he said when Michael was about to ask if everything was okay and his voice was off, shaky.

Michael sat up, eyeing him, worried, "Gerry? What..what is it?", he asked, touching Gerry’s cheek gently with his fingertips.

Gerry took in s shaky breath, "My...parents. They worked for the Institute."

Michael's eyes went wide. Gerry never talked about his family. He only vaguely mentioned that his father died before he could remember him, and that he grew up with his mother. The way Gerry said the word mother made Michael assume that it hadn't been a good experience and he didn't pry. Gerry clearly didn't want to talk about it.

"Oh...okay? And...was it-"

"Please don't go there, Michael. It's...its not good. They...I…", Gerry was trying, desperately, to come up with some way of explaining without actually explaining all the fears and everything else.

Michael was watching him helplessly, wanting to make this easier for him, but not knowing what ‘this’ even was. And Gerry couldn't take that look. Michael deserved knowing, deserved Gerry being honest. But Gerry was afraid of what that might do. Michael might hate him by the end. He couldn't unknow if Gerry told him and then he was stuck with a reality far scarier than the one that already freaked him out. Gerry was afraid his eyes might lose their shine in the face of the truth.

"Michael, do you really want to know what my work is?", he ended up asking.

Michael knit his brows, confused, "You...do you work for the Institute?" That didn't make any sense. Michael knew how paper cuts looked, and Gerry certainly came away from work with much worse and deeper injuries than one should get from working in a place like that.

Gerry laughed, but it was short and humourless, "Hell no. But...well, we deal with the same."

"What?", Michael blinked, confused, because Gerry was implying his job had something to do with the paranormal and Michael didn't think Gerry was one to believe in such things. Michael never assumed anyone in their right mind was, of course. Maybe Gerry was referring to something else.

Gerry took a deep breath. And then he told Michael about everything. He watched Michael nervously, unable to imagine what his reaction could be. Gerry never thought he’d ever tell anyone. Michael’s face went through a variety of expressions, confusion, disbelieve, worry, fear, but he listened, nodding for Gerry to go on when latter asked whether he should stop.

Silence stretched on when Gerry finished.

“Should...should I go? Do you need space?”, Gerry asked eventually, because Michael’s face had taken on a worrying blank expression.

He snapped out of it at that, looking at Gerry, “What? No! I...I’m sorry, I was just...I was just thinking.”, he ran a hand through his hair, “I...things...might make more sense now…”

“Things?”, Gerry asked, surprised.

Michael looked at him, uncertain. “If...if you don’t mind, I’d rather tell you some other time. I need...to think. And I’m feeling quite tired by now.”

Gerry nodded, confused about what Michael could possibly mean. But he didn’t push. “Do you want me to go? So you can think?”, he asked instead.

Michael shook his head, “No, I think I’d like to let myself sleep in tomorrow for the last time.”, he blushed, “That...That’s always a lot nicer with you.”

Gerry smiled, still a bit shaken by the relative muted reaction of Michael to everything, “Alright. I’ll go change, then, okay?”

Michael nodded, pressing a kiss to Gerry’s cheek, before Gerry got up and left with what had by now become his designated pyjamas. Michael always kept them washed and folded in the same place in his closet, loving watching Gerry bury his nose in the soft fabric, taking in the scent.

He got up himself after Gerry had left for the bathroom, changing into his own sleeping clothes before bringing the dishes into the kitchen. His mind was still whirring from what Gerry had told him, but he knew he was too tired to really process it now. He hoped his exhaustion would win over his racing thoughts so he could sleep tonight.

They were curled up in Michael’s bed little later, Michael’s head tucked under Gerry’s chin, Gerry’s hand resting on his back. Neither of them was sleeping, but both were trying to shut down their thoughts so sleep could finally come. Neither of them was very successful with that.

It was Gerry who broke the comfortable silence, fingers tracing patterns on Michael’s back, "Michael?"

"Hm?", came the mumbled answer. Michael definitely sounded like he needed to sleep. Gerry wished he knew how to help.

"You know...you know monsters could find you right? I mean...more...possible. B-Because of me. They...they might follow.", Gerry asked instead, trying to calm his own worries. Maybe it would help calm Michael’s, too.

Michael pressed his face into his chest with a mumbled ‘yes’ for an answer.

Gerry bit his lip, "And...you're okay with that?"

Now Michael pulled away a bit, and Gerry let go of him, in case he wanted more space. Michael stayed close, but looked up at Gerry, "Gerry did you just ask me whether I'm okay with possibly being hunted by monsters?", he said, voice a bit clearer now, and a little amused.

Gerry blushed, hoping the relative darkness in the room would hide it. Of course it was a silly question. Who would be okay with that? Gerry just hadn’t been sure if Michael had thought about that in his tired state. He hadn’t said anything about it, after all. "Well...yes? If you'd rather change your mind about moving in...or-or even dating...I...it's...I’d get it, I mean."

Now Michael sighed and moved so his head was laying next to Gerry’s, eyes locking with Gerry’s, "Gerry, this is worth possible death by the paranormal to me, okay?”, he brushed Gerry’s hair behind his ear, “I...You're home, Gerry. You make me feel like I can be myself.”, Michael let out an awkward chuckle, cheeks red, before he grinned at Gerry, “Fuck possible monster attacks, I've dreamed of this for all my life and I will not let that cut it short."

Gerry looked at him, speechless, the light seeping in from the window illuminating Michael’s eyes, brimming with defiant happiness and affection, and Gerry didn’t know what he could possibly say to somebody who looked at him like this at the prospect of the monsters that were always a constant in Gerry’s life catching up with him.

"You're a strange one", Gerry finally managed, because he wanted to say something, wanted to put the overwhelming awe he was feeling into some shape or form, into words.

Michael chuckled, taking Gerry’s hand under the covers and squeezing it, "Says the one who just told me his job is hunting evil magical books." His grin was wide and fond.

Gerry returned it, "Fair.", he said, squeezing back.

Michael yawned, shuffling closer again, “Let’s sleep…”

“Yeah, sounds good.”, Gerry mumbled, pressing him close and hiding his face in soft curls.

Soon, they were both fast asleep.