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Jon was all about professionalism. He was deeply certain that if you had asked any member of the Institute staff, the word ‘professional’ would come up in their mind at the mere mention of Jonathan Sims. He loved to bring it up to his assistants; to brag about it with Elias. He delighted in knowing that he was pulling it off more than anyone else, and that it solidified his newfound authority as the Head Archivist. Now, this was typically utilized to justify the means he went to when scolding one particular Martin Blackwood. But Jon did not let go of the aforementioned professional attitude once the lack of it was not the fault of Martin. He found that today, when someone else was the culprit, his vices were even stronger.
Kalia and David had it coming, anyway. What were they doing, chatting around fifteen feet away from his office, like the hallway was a locker room? If that wasn’t bad enough, the subject of their discussion was far from anything necessary.
“—I mean, seriously, how does someone let themself get that big?” It sure sounded like David was smiling through that. “And to be a complete mess alongside that.”
For a moment, Jon was completely oblivious to whom they were referring to. Whoever it was, he was immediately on their side. Look at the utter lack of respect, not only to the subject of their discussion, but the workplace! To waste your time on something like this during work hours was affronting.
Kalia, a woman that Jon had previously deemed respectable, giggled. “It’s not even just that. I get that he’s supposed to be sweet and all, I’ve seen Stoker go easy on him, but his voice gets on my nerves. He’s so pitchy and weird, with those-!” She snorted. “—Those fucked up glasses, oh my god.”
Something about these descriptions felt familiar to Jon. He set down his pen and fully listened in.
“I cheered when he was transferred, honestly. Really sucks to see him mess up the archives too, though. I’m sure everyone there’s been fed up and a half already.”
Oh no.
“I wonder if his gigantic… pff, everything is going to knock down more papers than he can hold,” Kalia audibly muffled her laughs in her hand.
David, who clearly was doing some sort of physical acting alongside this, began performing an awful impression. “Oh! S,s,sor, sorry Mr. Sims! My voluptuous ass just keeps getting in the way of things! Oh dear, oh, I must’ve lost my report in my bra!” Kalia could barely contain herself at the, by Jon’s judgement, very mild and unfunny jokes. “Oh, yes, I would’ve thought the papers would be right snug in there, considering I, Martin Blackwood, have double D’s.”
This couldn’t go on much longer. Jon hadn’t realized he was standing until now, but didn’t give himself much time to think about it. His hand was on the doorknob.
David stopped the impression, but wouldn’t quit the idiocy. “Come to think of it, he’s got larger tits than you do.”
Kalia scoffed. “Unfair! I don’t shove cupcakes up my ass at Bouchard's parties, there’s no way I could stand a chance against him.”
He heard footsteps skittering away, but he pushed those out of his mind. Irrelevant sensory data.
Jon finally opened the door and stepped out of his office with two very potent footsteps. He never liked speaking with either of them, but that was usually attributed to the fact that they each had five or so inches on him. At this moment, Jon didn’t quite care. How could they talk about Martin like this? He seethed at the unprofessionalism.
Jon leveled them with a glare. “Kalia Lo. David Durns.”
“Ah, you caught us on our break,” David smiled. Jon didn’t like it.
“I’ll have you know that I can read clocks perfectly fine, David. This is no time for a lunch break.” He didn’t dare move closer, but assessed what their next response would be. Before Kalia could speak, he continued. “Unless you would prefer to be reported to your department, I’d advise you to get back to work.” He might just report them anyway, but this may do the trick.
The acid behind their eyes was clear as day. David was no longer smiling. “Sure thing.”
Now that they were gone, finally, Jon had a million other things to think about. How much of this was going on that he didn’t know about? And what if Martin heard? He could never let that get back to him. All of this was unnecessary thinking, and completely unrelated to the unprofessional behavior he’d just witnessed. But, if Martin was to become a valuable assistant, surely he’d need to be in the right headspace. Not filled with whatever nonsense the two librarians spat.
—
It was unfortunate that this pattern only continued, and in even more dangerous ways.
On a Tuesday morning, one where Jon was clearly run-through for the week, he had Martin sat in his office. Naturally, he wasn't happy. There were a myriad of mistakes in his recent report and it didn't look much different from his last one. That was the most major of his concerns until his ear caught on to some conversation just outside the break room. Incidentally, that was the same fifteen feet away from his office as before.
David and Hannah.
“—what Sims is drilling into him today—”
“—hmm, something something,” David began to speak in another voice, presumably mocking Jon. “Don't eat everything in the break room, Mah’tn!—”
“—Haha! David!” Hannah choked, despite it not being very funny.
Martin could tell Jon was momentarily distracted, but made no sign that he heard. “Jon?”
He snapped back to reality fast. “Ah, hmm. Sorry.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to find some way to recover.
“You sort of, um, zoned out there,” Martin chuckled awkwardly.
Jon attempted to regain his bearings. Martin hadn't heard, then. “Right. I'm sorry.” He couldn't dismiss him, then Martin would definitely notice David and Hannah. Oh, what if they said something to him? He couldn't have that.
But what he also couldn't have was this silence between them. Martin placed his hands on the armrests, ready to give up.
“No-!” Jon reached out, but halted himself. “Not, err, not yet, Martin.”
His face scrunched up like a sniffing rabbit. Jon decided he liked that look.
“I, actually. I have other things I’d like to go over with you.”
Disappointment settled in Martin’s eyes. That wasn't ideal either. Quickly, Jon thought of what to say, pushing files around with his fingertips.
He interrupted Hannah’s long distance joke about Martin’s hair with something even he didn't expect.
“You've made improvements.”
Martin buffered. “...I, uh, have? Have I?”
“Yes,” Jon stared directly past his assistant’s head, suddenly feeling very out of his comfort. “It seems I've only focused on the flaws of your work, but it looks as though those have decreased since your initial transfer.” Oh, what was he doing?
“Really?” Martin spoke with a mix of a hopeful tone and accidental dryness.
He nodded. “You're becoming a valuable asset.” Stupid, stupid, stupid… “I, well, I thank you for putting up with this for as long as you have.”
Was that enough? The hallway was quiet now, perhaps it was safe.
“Apologies for keeping you.”
Martin looked stunned, and he didn't say anything until he stood. “Thank you.”
—
Jon wasn’t necessarily lying, he realised. There were fewer errors in his most recent reports compared to where he started. Hm. Maybe Martin needed to hear it. That would keep him on track. Wasn’t it Dale Carnegie who said— nevermind. That was a load of bullshit, anyway. Nothing would change in his behavior, this was just a push in the right direction for his assistant.
…
Clearly this was affecting him more than he anticipated. Awake he was, rolling around in his bed, not unlike a caterpillar settling into its cocoon. He thought of Martin’s face if he ever heard the insults thrown his way. He imagined the way it would lose saturation, how his crinkled cheeks and eyes would smooth out, how he would look down in shame. Jon didn’t want to think of it. He couldn’t let it be real.
—
The next few weeks were odd. Martin was changing. He got a haircut, which was unprecedented. Jon hadn't seen it so short since they met. It was flattering, though, the shaved sides made his earrings stand out so much more. Still, there was something very un-Martin about it. He swam in his recently worn jumpers. It looked as if he'd just bought more, and in a size up. But the real nail in the coffin game when Jon saw Martin without his glasses.
The red rimmed specs were a significant feature of Martin, and now they were gone. Jon really shouldn't have gotten worked up over it, but how could he not? Martin was stable, he was unchanging. He brought him tea every day and looked the same week by week. Without the glasses, Jon felt as if everything was going downhill from there.
When he attempted to speak to Martin, he practically stared through him.
“Can you see me, right now?”
Martin blinked three times fast. “Ye-es?”
He wasn't even sure that he could see the disapproving look on Jon’s face at that moment. “No, you can't.”
“What?” He appeared incredulous. “You can't just know that, Jon.”
“Do I need to ask you how many fingers I'm holding up?”
“No,” Martin brushed him off. “I'm getting contacts soon, anyway.”
A perfectly reasonable decision that any rational person could make of their own volition. Anyway, Jon pressed further. He was deeply concerned. “Why?”
“I don't— what do you mean, why? Do I look bad?”
He certainly didn't look very Martiny. Martini. Martinesque.
“No, it's just, hm. Sudden?”
“A,a,alright. Did you need me for anything else?” Poor man. He just looked so confused.
“O-oh, no. Keep it up.” He winced at how out of character he felt.
After Martin left, he settled against a wall and reflected. The changes Martin was making, they couldn't be random. He knew they weren't. It all lined up with how people were talking about him.
Jon was a professional boss, but he was not confrontational. He'd have to find some other way to make sure Martin didn't hear David, Hannah, and Kalia speaking about him the way they did. Obviously, this would fuel his productivity at work, which was Jon’s only motive for this. Martin would focus much better with his typical glasses.
—
Yet another night spent staying up late, this was becoming a standard for Jon. Not that he was doing much to prevent the developing normalcy of his unhealthy sleeping habits. There were things far more important.
He was conducting research. Not any of his own, no, he was just… hmph. (Jon was looking things up on Yahoo dot com and it would be kind of you to not mention it.) He could tell that Martin was succumbing to peer pressure, and at least some of the distasteful jokes got to his ear. Jon wasn’t finding much luck through his research. Soon enough, his search history was bad enough that he had to delete some of it.
He ran a dry hand over his face in shame as he scrolled through it again.
Things like “True Story: I was bullied at work - Yes and Yes” and “(PDF) The impact of workplace bullying on individual…” came up.
It even got bad enough that he found a… What was it called? A Reddit.
r/workplace_bullying
He almost shut off his entire phone with how juvenile he felt. None of it, none of the articles, none of the comments, nothing felt suitable to his position to Martin. Would stepping in be an overreach? Would not stepping in be neglectful of his assistant? Why was his heart thumping in his ears?
—
Sincerely, with all of the life left in him after his long work hours, Jon despised work parties. He could tell Tim and Sasha made the most of it, from all of their afterplans and chatter during the workday. None of which Jon participated in. He wasn't sure about how Martin felt, but he assumed that he wouldn't be upset by the prospect. Yet again, it was all up to Jon to mope. He could do that, it was his role.
What he couldn't do was explain why Martin seemed to be stealing that from him.
He was pouting at his desk and tapping his pencil repeatedly, clearly upset about something. Jon may not have had many friends in secondary school to gossip with, but that didn't stop him from eavesdropping.
“C'mon, they're not the most exciting of events, but there really is no pressure,” Sasha nibbled on her nails.
Tim, clearly agreeing with her, nodded. “Elias doesn't really care what you do, you can just talk to us.”
“And the food is really shit, but we can order pizza.”
“I wasn't…” Martin quieted himself. “I wasn't really thinking about the food.” Tim looked like he picked up on the underlying sadness, as did Jon.
“We can get you something else,” Sasha said, rather obliviously for her intelligence.
“That's alright,” Martin scratched the back of his neck. “I'm, hmm, watching my weight anyway.”
Tim fixed him with a look, clearly he wanted to boost his confidence but didn't know how. Jon certainly didn't have anything to say either, especially not from his office. Maybe now he had a reason to attend the party. Martin was his reason.
—
Hearing Martin talk about himself from the comfort of his office was one thing, but at the party, having watched him avoid the plates of food like they would eat him was another. It was a little sad. He tried to be less upfront about his concern, but the overdone lingering clearly gave something away. Martin smiled at him, but somehow Jon could read the frown in his head.
“Hey, Jon.”
Right, he was expected to speak as well. “Hello.”
“Enjoying yourself?” Martin leaned his weight onto the rather steep table next to him. Martin was tall enough as it was, but to see that, well, what was practically a shelf be an average leaning height to him was interesting. “At all?”
Jon almost laughed. “Certainly not.”
“Yeah, I guessed not.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’re having much of a good time either.”
Martin looked at him oddly for a moment. “You can tell?”
“Well— yes? How could I not?”
He sputtered, as if he thought he was covering his tracks well. Of course Jon noticed, he wasn’t oblivious. He saw how Martin’s shoulders hunched in further than usual, how he eyed those around him anxiously. The poor man looked like he wanted to disappear. Something twinged in Jon’s gut.
“I guess I thought I was a good actor,” Martin smiled meekly.
He wasn’t. Despite his freshly washed and healthy looking hair, or the nice smell wafting off of his jumper, Jon could tell that nothing else was taken care of. If you didn’t pay attention to how Martin’s sightless eyes couldn’t focus on anything, you would notice his upcoming dark circles immediately. On Jon, this was natural, but here? On this man? It felt like a puncture wound in the gut. He wanted to force Martin to curl up somewhere and nap for at least a few hours. He would gently lay a blanket over him, and if Martin hadn’t gotten rid of his damn glasses, Jon would remove them gently from his face so as not to burden him while he slept. His eyes would linger, linger on the freckles scattered across his cheeks, linger on his calloused hands now relaxed in sleep, linger on the way his bangs would unevenly lay on his forehead, linger on—
Hm.
That… that was something he’d have to dissect later.
Jon's eyes traveled over him for less than a second (despite his lengthy list of what he noticed) before coming to a conclusion. “You're not well.”
He blinked. “I'm — not?”
“You look pale,” he bravely stepped forward. “You're leaning on things for support.” And you look exhausted. “You should eat something.”
At the mere suggestion, Martin backed away. “Oh! No, I, I mean, not that the food looks bad…”
Jon shrugged. It wasn't the greatest. But something else was going on.
“... I'm just not, er, n-no thank you.”
“At least a glass of water.”
Martin conceded, and somehow let Jon get one for him.
This would be a win, if Jon hadn't spotted Kalia and Hannah far behind them. Kalia covered her mouth with giggles; Hannah pointed vaguely in their direction. Was it really their sole mission to make fun of Martin without his knowledge?
“One moment,” Jon excused himself.
He could've sworn he heard Martin hush a ‘no, you don't have to,’ but Jon may have misheard. He powered onward until he was nearly face to face with the workplace mean girls.
Hannah smiled. “Oh, hey boss-man!” It sounded wrong coming out of anyone but Tim Stoker’s mouth, especially as he is not their boss. “Enjoying the party?”
“Not particularly,” he grumbled. Now was the time to be confrontational. “What were the two of you talking about before I got here?”
He tried to position himself as someone important that they wouldn't mess around with, but somehow, they saw him as an ally?
“Have you seen Blackwood’s new hair?” Hannah pointed. “It looks like he did it himself, look at the back!”
Jon hadn't found it to be as bad as they were describing. A bit of him was lost to the idea of Martin scrambling to cut his hair off after the mean comments.
Oh, was he hearing them this entire time?
“I almost prefer what he did with it before, the shaggy… what did David call it?” Kalia tapped her chin.
Hannah let out an unsavory cackle. “Bath mat, like Bianca Del Rio said in that one movie. But honestly, this is just worse.”
“Short hair doesn't look good on pigs, sorry to say.”
Jon's fists clenched. What kind of a person refers to, to, to Martin of all people as a pig? The man of gold and sunlight incarnate?
He uttered out one sentence to shut them down. “I am not your friend, Hannah.”
She gave him an odd look.
“And I don't appreciate your less than savory comments on my assistant.” He gave a quick glance to Martin, who, as he feared, was watching. He most definitely couldn't hear him, but he could see them. Tim was next to him, also anxiously waiting.
Kalia mumbled to herself, while picking at her nails, “You've made him cry ten times more than we have.”
Jon heard her. “As if you have the courage to say your… your nasty comments in front of him.”
“Piece of shit.”
He scoffed. “I will be reporting you to Mr. Bouchard by the end of this. As for what he does, I'll make sure it's scathing.”
Kalia was already sinking away from the conversation, but Hannah was annoyed. She went to say something else, but he'd decided that he had enough. Jon walked right back up to Martin, nodded, and began to walk away.
“Whoa, wait up, boss-man.” That was Tim’s voice, teetering a line between comfortable and cutting. “What'd they say?”
“Nothing that I won't repeat to Elias.”
Tim grinned, clearly realizing what side Jon was on now. “May I join you?”
Jon finally turned to look at him. “No, stay with Martin.” He glanced behind Stoker, just to see Blackwood standing alone. He rubbed his eyes like they were sore or wet, and his posture indicated insecurity. His hair was cute. His sweater was boring, but that wasn't his fault. It was a product of the comments of the workplace. Jon felt a strange twist in his stomach at the sight of Martin’s red cheeks. He wanted to comfort him. This urge was foreign, and he was uncertain of the reasons for it, but he knew deep in his beating heart that something was there.
“Boss-man?” Tim was onto something.
Jon shook his head. “Just. Stay with him.”
“On it!” He saluted.
Anyways.
He knew where Elias would be at this party. He’d be with a group of strange old men, drinking and laughing like there's dollar bills stuck in their throats. Carly, the Head Researcher, would be there too. Sure enough, he was correct.
After a few moments of questioning if he can speak in private, she asked: “Can't this wait?” Jon shook his head, and she sighed. “Alright.”
After spilling everything to her, he straightened himself up, and went right home.
Monday would be fun, indeed.
—
Monday was fun.
David, Hannah, and Kalia were rumored to have gotten a strong wordage thrown at them. Jon couldn't be more pleased.
Except… Well, he could.
No punishment could fix Martin. He didn't really let on how much the insults got to him, so much so Jon wasn't even sure that he heard any of it until then, but it was easy to tell that there were changes. He’d have to repair his assistant’s ego if they wanted a productive work environment again.
A small voice in his head told him that technically, this wasn’t completely necessary. He could let things be how they were, and even if Martin was upset, he’d get his work done just fine.
Yet another part of Jon needed some reason to justify his plans. Maybe Martin’s self consciousness would make him slack, or be late trying to figure out what to wear. Maybe these eating patterns would continue and he’d wear himself out. If nothing else, Martin’s demeanor might drive Jon into the ground on its own.
He had to talk to him.
Jon made an attempt, peeking out of his office every now and then, but Martin didn't look like he wanted to talk. And, well, when Jon wanted to try…
Martin ran out the back door. The one Jon usually used for smoke breaks. It wasn't until the distinct sound of thunder crackling reached his ears that he snapped out of his stupor and went after him.
Jon found him in the rain. No umbrella, no nothing. If Martin’s face wasn't so red, he wouldn't be able to tell that he was crying.
“M’alright,” Martin lied when Jon approached.
Jon tentatively reached out and grazed his fingertips on Martin’s puffy sleeve. “You're, hm. You're wet.”
“Am I,” he responded dryly.
Jon inhaled. “Are you al — ”
“ — why would you — ?”
“ — sor — ”
“ — sorry. You go first,” Martin gestured vaguely.
Jon fumbled for a moment before regaining his grip. “I… you've been changing.”
Unfortunately, Jon would have to compare Martin to a dog at this moment. It hurt him as much as it hurt anyone listening to his thoughts, but Martin really looked like a lost puppy when he tilted his head.
“You must've heard what the researchers were saying,” Jon pulled back briefly. When he moved closer again, Martin flinched.
His brows furrowed. “Yeah?”
“You've gotten self conscious.”
“Oh, have I?”
Jon wasn't great at reading the tone of others, but Martin was upset. “Err, yes.”
“How could that possibly be your business?” Martin grew exasperated quickly. “Here I am, trying to get work done, but oh no! My boss has to understand every single one of my fashion choices.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were —”
“— Okay? Make sure I was happy? Here? Why? You've seen no reason to care before any of this chi-ch,childish… bullshit! Why now?”
“Because I…”
Wait.
What was he going to say there?
He liked him? He wanted him to be okay? He cared? Those, admitting any of those would be absurd. But, well. They were true. He hadn't noticed it while he was gaining these… feelings. But out in this rain, alone with his assistant, his feelings were hitting him like a ton of bricks.
“Because you what, Jon?”
“Martin,” Jon pleaded.
Then, Jon did something he could only describe as 'smushing their faces together.’ He didn't cradle Martin’s cheeks, but he pressed every bit of his hands to them, and pulled the soft man close. They each sighed, almost at the exact same time, and if Jon wasn't so wrapped up in everything, he would've laughed. He could feel Martin’s feeble delight through his mouth, through his sturdy hands around his shoulders, through the gentle taste of his lips. It wasn’t magic, but it sure felt close enough to it that Jon couldn’t tell the difference. For a moment, everything made sense. Without an explanation spelled out in any existing language, all of Jon’s emotions became clear to him upon this action.
He almost chased after Martin again when they broke apart.
“Wow,” Martin remarked, his wet hair sticking to his face. Jon smiled despite himself. “A bit cliche, but wow.”
Jon found that he couldn't say a word.
“That didn't really answer my question, though.”
“Right. Yes!” He cleared his throat. “I.”
Hmph.
“You,” Martin did the head tilt thing again.
Jon inhaled and readied himself to be humiliated. “I care about you,” he settled on. “And I'm sorry.” Martin waited expectantly, and oh, yes! He had to say why. “For, ehm. Treating you how I did, it was unprofessional. It wasn't right for the workplace, and…” he steadied his weak knees. “It wasn't right for you. I don't want to make you feel as, as if I'm similar to David, Hannah, Kalia, the lot of them.”
Martin’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “You haven't.”
“Don't lie for my sake.”
Delightfully, he took Jon’s hands in his. “I'm not! You… I like you too.”
Jon couldn't possibly see why, but he wasn't about to turn Martin down.
“Good!” Stupid blurty mouth.
“Good?”
He stammered under Martin’s gaze. “Y,ye-es?” Good lord, what now? Oh! “I, what were you? What were you going to ask, ah, before?”
Martin’s lips pursed. “Nothing important.”
“It is to me,” Jon said, before realizing how absurdly emotional he made it sound.
“Al,alright? Then,” Martin cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask why you were talking to Kalia and Hannah the other night.”
“I may have let them know in advance that they, and David, would be reported,” he said in a stale, workplace friendly tone. “It was necessary for the work environment.”
Jon expected Martin to sigh, to argue, to ask why. But he actually did the easiest thing for that moment and grinned. “Well, thanks,” he said easily.
He blinked a few times fast. “You’re welcome.” There was more to say. Because Jon couldn’t get his mind on anything that wasn’t completely moronic, he spoke without a plan. “I hope you haven’t lost your glasses?”
Martin answered him as if this wasn’t something that mattered deeply. “No? I mean, I’ll still have them, but I haven't got the contacts yet.”
“So you still have your specs.”
“Yeah.”
Jon leaned forward and backwards rhythmically, on his toes, to back on his heels. “You should keep wearing them.”
“Bullies be damned, huh?”
“I just like them.”
Martin almost looked stunned, at least, before he picked himself back up. “Seriously?”
“Well, yes, they’ve got a nice shape —”
“— Have you been moping about my glasses this entire time?”
Jon had the audacity to turn a little sheepish. “...Well.”
Martin threw his head back and laughed louder than Jon had heard him. He could’ve melted on the spot. “You have!”
“No need to make a fuss about it,” Jon hushed him, crossing his arms in defiance.
Neither of them could help noticing how close they’d become when Martin’s neck stopped craning at a hilarity-induced angle. Jon scratched at the back of his neck unconsciously.
“We should probably talk about this,” he murmured, before putting on something that was half his typical voice, half his now coined ‘Martin Voice.’ “Definitely, er, definitely talk about this. If you’re even comfortable with, well, with me, as your superior, mm, making advances on you after what must’ve, m, must’ve been a traumatic ex…” He trailed off after hearing Martin mumble something that distinctly sounded like a ‘shut up.’
“I think I’m alright, Jon,” Martin chuckled. “M’not about to go get you fired, okay?”
Jon let out a quick breath. “Thank you.”
“But I am willing to talk about this,” Martin put his hand on Jon’s, and suddenly, he wasn’t completely sure of his ability to breathe ever again. “After we get out of this rain.”
Honestly? He’d almost forgotten about the rain.
“Let’s,” Jon smiled, and they walked back inside, all drenched and unprofessional together.